genre: fluff, heavily suggestive at the end, non-idol au, college au, childhood friends to lovers, penpals to friends to lovers, unrequited love that is actually requited, reader is an exchange student at jongho's university, ateez are volleyball players, i know nothing about volleyball, mentions of virgin jongho at the end, first love kind of thing
wc: 8.5k
summary: you and jongho met as children during a letter writing project. years later, you get the chance to meet in person because of a study exchange but you are determined to keep your feelings a secret - after all, how do you tell your best friend you’re in love with him?
a/n: this is my contribution to the alive live collab hosted by @sungbeam! it was such a fun collab where I got to speak and write with such amazing mutuals, ily all ❤️❤️❤️ the last scene of this fic actually took me ages to write, it just wouldn't come together like i wanted, so the nsfw scene has been taken out potentially to be posted as a side fic in the future when the idea is coperating with me 😭😭 i hope you like it anyways!!
thank you to @xomakara for the banner. i legit never make banners for my fics so thank u so much bby <3
masterlist // requests: open
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To my new friend,
My name is ----. I am 8 years old. I live in England. I like to write stories.
What is your name? I don’t know a lot about South Korea. Where do you live? What do you like to do?
I look forward to your reply.
From,
Your new friend
-
It started because of a school project.
Your Year 3 teacher was friends with someone who taught abroad and they came up with a writing unit that involved sending letters to people hours away in South Korea. You wouldn’t say you were excited about it but you definitely thought it was cool. Countries in Asia felt so far away from where you were right now and the idea that you could communicate with one without the use of technology sounded wonderfully archaic (you’d just learnt that word and used it obnoxiously when you had the chance).
So you wrote your initial letter using the writing frame your teacher gave you. You shared your name, your age, your home town, and your favourite hobby. You asked about Korea, about where they lived, to share something in Korean that you could practice reading or speaking (you didn’t know at the time how different hangul looked from English and that it would take some effort to be able to read it).
You didn’t know that your letter being selected by one person would change so much of your life.
-
To ---
Thank you for your letter.
My name is Jongho. I am 8 years old. I live in Goyang. I like to sing.
Goyang is very pretty. I like the lake here. What is England like? My teacher says it rains.
What do you write?
I wait for your reply.
From,
Jongho
-
You only shared a handful of letters before the writing project came to an end. You remembered holding your opened letters in your hand and frowning at your teacher as you asked, “does that mean I can’t speak to Jongho anymore?”
She’d smiled, happy that you seemed to have made a new friend, and assured you that you could keep communication - “just ask your parents permission to share your home address,” she advised.
Your parents, who had heard you excitedly speak about Jongho since you received the first letter, had smiled with amusement and agreed. They helped you write it down at the bottom of your next letter. You took your time to make sure each letter was clearly written so Jongho wouldn’t get confused and send it to the wrong place.
Two weeks later, a new letter with Korean postal stamps landed on your doormat and, you supposed, that was really the beginning.
Some of your hometown friends kept writing to their penpal but eventually, physical distance became too much. There were bigger worries, the kind that plague the mind of pre-teens, and then the problems of those teenagers that feel like the end of the world.
You had those too, of course.
You worried about whether the pimples on your nose were too obvious and whether your breasts were growing in appropriately because Sabrina already was already a DD while you were barely fitting a B cup. You dated the greasy boys that attended your school and cried into the lap of your friend, Hana, when they inevitably broke your heart.
You held Hana when the same thing happened and punched her girlfriend in the face when she spread a rumour that your friend wore granny panties (because those were incredible embarrassments in secondary school).
You didn’t tell everything to Jongho but you did tell him a lot. Once you hit 13, you became more aware that he was a boy and you were a girl, even if you’d known each other since before that mattered. When you got your first phone at eleven, you’d carefully written your number at the bottom of the page so he could text you. It was only later, when your mum raged at you about the phone bill, that you realised that probably wasn’t as viable as you had originally thought it was.
You didn’t speak in letters any more but you spoke every day on Kakao, which took a lot of translation apps to figure out how to set up an account.
I really need to learn Korean, you told him.
I can teach you, Jongho promised.
You sent each other videos and photos when you were fourteen. You’d sent him a version of yourself you considered perfect, made up with the appropriate lighting. You blushed when he called you pretty. The first selfie Jongho sent you was similar to yours - head angled up to get the right part of jaw, lips pressed together, eyes focused on the image on his phone screen. He was handsome, you’d known that, but you remembered the moment that you thought you actually liked him.
It was snowing in Seoul and he was trying to show you it. He’d spun the camera around his head, giggling his delight. He was bundled up in a massive ski jacket, hood pulled over his head. His eyes were sparkling in reflected light and his cheeks were burnt pink from the brutal winds that came in winter. You’d screenshotted it without even thinking and found yourself, embarrassingly, gazing at the secret photo while your heart beat in your throat.
You didn’t tell him of course, you couldn’t - that was embarrassing.
You didn’t know whether the rules for dating in Korea were the same in England but you knew you couldn’t bear the thought of doing something to ruin this relationship. It was important to you, more so than anything in your life.
I like talking to you, Jongho admitted.
I like talking to you too, you had replied, and then quickly added, even if you tell terrible jokes.
Hana would tease you about your international boyfriend, and you would blush and deny it vehemently. She was the only one that knew though you wished it were true.
“You’re my dream couple,” Hana had joked once. “I ship you.”
You’d groaned and shoved her off the bed in retaliation, even as your cheeks burned and your mind jumped in a hopeful dance.
-
Jongho was pretty sure that he was in love with you by the time he was sixteen.
There wasn’t any big moment or any one thing that truly made him realise. It just was. You were an important part of his life in a way no one else was. You were the first person he messaged when he woke up and the last before he went to sleep. When he ate new food, he’d think about whether you’d like it. When he listened to music, you were the first person he would recommend it to.
His eomma would always get this knowing look on her face when he brought you up. “Oh, she’d like this?” she’d say as if it were the funniest thing he’d ever said.
His appa had taken to calling you that ‘sweet foreign girl’. “Are you going to show that sweet foreign girl?” he’d ask whenever he took a photo. “Make sure you tell her the history, it’s important.”
There had been a girl that lived down the street from him during high school. Peonghwa. She was sweet, he recalled. She would always wait for him on the corner so they could walk to school together. She kissed him once before she’d darted away into her house, and Jongho remembered this sickening feeling that he’d done something wrong.
“Peonghwa-ah kissed me,” he told his eomma.
She hesitated for a moment before humming. “Okay. She’s a good girl.”
“She is,” Jongho agreed.
Eomma eyed him closely. “Did you want her to kiss you?”
He thought about his answer for a moment, debating the curling discomfort in his stomach. “No.”
Eomma pushed. “Because it’s her? Or because you’re thinking of someone else?”
Your face came to mind immediately. You updated your kakao profile picture constantly and he was greedy in how he took them in. The one you had up now was cute - you’d dressed up as a witch for some halloween party. You were all in black with your hair pulled into pigtails. You’d scrunched your nose up as you grinned into the camera.
Jongho had never lied to his eomma and he wasn’t able to start now. “Someone else.”
He’d let Peonghwa down the next day. He told her politely that he was flattered but he didn’t think about her that way. “I like...someone else.”
The first person Jongho actually told about you was Yeosang. The older friend was on the high school volleyball team with him. His phone had buzzed, a message from you and Yeosang had caught the dopey look that crossed his face when he read it.
“You didn’t mention you were dating,” Yeosang mused.
Jongho visibly startled. “Huh?”
“Dating?” his hyung gestured to the phone, still lit with your message, “I mean, I hope you don’t smile like that when you get texts from your eomma.”
Jongho’s ears burned red. “It’s not like that,” he insisted, “we’re just friends.” he paused and then added, “she lives abroad anyway. It’s not like anything is going to happen.”
Yeosang’s lips formed an ‘o’ shape. “Is that why you’ve never dated anyone?”
“Maybe,” Jongho admitted.
Of course, Yeosang told Wooyoung and it got passed around the whole team. His hyungs’ insisted on calling you his girlfriend and when no one was looking, he sometimes wondered what it would be like to actually ask you.
Do you like him? Do you like him? Would you date him? It all felt woefully embarrassing. Jongho had typed it out a few times, let the question sit there before ultimately deleting it.
Instead, he told you - you look pretty. I like talking to you. You make me laugh.
And every reply he got, every moment where you thought of him for even a second, made his heart skip a beat.
Even now, at twenty, it was still the same.
What university do you go to again? You asked.
Yonsei. He replied, why?
My school has an exchange program. Yonsei’s on the list. Should I apply?
Jongho couldn’t breathe, joy and terror and hope all weaving together in the center of his chest to make every inhale unbearable. He floundered trying to answer you, thumbs hitting the wrong letters. How do you say ‘fuck yeah’ in English again?
If you want to. He said.
Do you want me too?
He was honest. I’d love nothing more than to meet you in person.
The word love made him feel sick. Was that the right thing to say? He didn’t know. The wait for your reply felt like millenia, pushing against the fabric of time and space, because in reality, it was only a minute. Still, he watched the three dots like they were a lifeline.
I want to meet you too Jongho. Wish me luck.
-
I’ll meet you in front of Yonhi’s gates.
Roger that.
You sent your agreement and then stood at the door of your dorm room, deciding whether it was appropriate to hide away for the next semester. It had been one thing applying for the exchange program and a completely different thing to be standing in dorms on Korean soil, your closest friend just minutes away from meeting in person. The nerves and excitement had steadily increased as this dream became more of a reality, until just now when it slammed into your chest - made your heart pick up speed and your breath catch in your throat.
You stared at Jongho’s message for a moment longer. It was only natural, you reasoned, to feel anxious. You’d known Jongho for so long, he was practically a second skin, but you didn’t actually know him, right? You didn’t know what he really sounded like. You didn’t know how he really looked under the midday sun. You didn’t know how you fit into life with him in person rather than over the phone.
You’d confessed your uncertainty to your mother, only once, in the hours before you boarded the plane. “What if I’m making a mistake?” What if he doesn’t like me?
Your mum had heard the unspoken question. She smiled in that way that mothers do when they want to reassure you but can’t know for sure. She smoothed her hands over your cheeks like she once did when you were a baby and said, “Then you come home to people who love you in three months. Something tells me you won’t want to though.”
Three months. You only had three months.
Your fingers curled around the door handle and pulled sharply. You’ve got to make the most of it.
On the way, you got lost four times. Yonsei campus was vast, and more often than not, you got distracted staring at unfamiliar ancient architecture and took a wrong turn. Eventually, you got to the gate. You had searched the location and seen the photos, but it was different in person. Your first palace entrance, the gate stretched high in dramatic fashion. The reds and greens that adorned so brightly were clearly part of a restoration project.
And, standing on the other side like something out of a drama, was Jongho.
You recognised him immediately, almost instinctively. You didn’t have the forethought to wonder if that was too fast for someone you’d only seen through photos. You were too distracted, taking in that he looked so much better in person. He was taller than you thought, shoulders broader, head held higher. His nose was curved and his jaw sharp, his lips plump into a pout that you had spent far too much time analysing. When he glanced over, you took notice of the recognition that rose in his dark eyes and the way his smile blossomed so beautifully.
Fuck.
He really was unfairly attractive.
Jongho called your name, his voice slightly deeper in person than over the voice note, and raised a hand to wave. You did the same a second later, trying not to get distracted by the long strides he took to reach you.
When he hugged you, your heart leaped in your chest and you couldn’t stop the way you relaxed into his strong arms. He smelt so good and he held you so tight, he must have felt your heart beating against his. You hesitated a moment before returning the hug, arms folding around his waist and letting yourself enjoy the heat of him pressed against you, just for a moment longer than would be deemed appropriate.
When you parted, his happy grin was so wide that his eyes curled at the edges.
Truly unfairly attractive.
“I can’t believe you’re actually here,” he laughed.
“Neither can I,” you admitted, “I don’t know why they picked me.”
Jongho nudged your shoulder. “Don’t sell yourself short,” he scolded, “You studied hard.”
“And now I’m here,” you said.
“And now you’re here,” he echoed, “with me.”
You had to be imagining the way his voice softened at the end there, or reading into the fondness that he gazed at you. You had to be because he glanced away and when he looked back, it was gone, replaced with a friendly edge. It shouldn’t have made your stomach drop as much as it did.
“I was thinking,” Jongho said, “we could get coffee and then I can release you for orientation.”
“How’d you know when my orientation is?” you wondered.
The tips of his ears went pink. “One of my hyungs is a student representative,” he admitted, “I asked him to look after you.”
This time, it was you who nudged him. “Ooh, special treatment already?” you joked.
“Only the best,” Jongho nodded, “for my friend.”
You didn’t like how tight that made your throat, and you swallowed around it determinedly. You linked your arms with his, trying not to notice how firm the muscles were when he hooked his elbow, and glanced out around them, anything to avoid making eye contact. “Lead the way, Jong-oppa,” you ordered. “This jet lag is severe. I’m going to need a litre of coffee.”
-
Jongho could still feel the heat of your hand in the crook of his arm. Your scent of your sweet perfume still lingered, stuck to his clothes where you had touched him. And Jongho felt like he hadn’t been able to breathe properly since he first saw you in person.
Of course, he knew you were pretty and funny and smart in so many ways. He’d spent so long ruminating on your face, on the voice messages you’d left him, on the memes you shared. But it was different in person. It was better.
Your face lit up when he made you laugh. Your accent slipped through so strongly on certain English words and the way Korean - learnt for him - formed on your tongue was mesmerising. You hummed when you drank your coffee and when you tried to find the right words to express yourself, your gaze drifted to the right, as if that could help you focus.
Jongho was enamoured, way more than he thought possible.
When he dropped you off at the orientation meeting zone, he almost didn’t want to let you go. Maybe you didn’t want to go either because you hovered by him as you greeted other foreign exchange students you recognised from previous online zooms you’d had to partake in. There was a small selfish and irrational part of him that wanted to invite you somewhere else - for dinner, for a walk, anything - but he held his self-restraint enough until the representatives approached and San made eye contact with him, beaming as he always did when he saw one of his precious teammates. San always called that on nights of team drinking, hooking one of them - usually Woo or Yeosang - with his strong arms. The outside hitter was a good person, Jongho knew, probably one of the best he knew. There was a reason that he was part of the student representative committee and not just because he was one of the few people he knew that spoke three languages confidently.
“Jongho,” San greeted happily. He clapped his teammate on the back before turning a charming smile onto you. “And I assume this is...” he said your name and then made a show of dramatically bowing as he introduced him, “I’m Choi San. Jongho and I play on the same team.”
You looked a little starry eyed at the sight of the man, and Jongho squashed down on the ball of displeasure that rose within him. It was just San, he reasoned. He was an attentive flirt but he would never - they all knew how Jongho felt about you and San would never betray his trust like that. Still, it twisted him up inside to see how the handsome man made you swoon without much effort. The insecure part of him needlessly compared himself - what did San have that he didn’t? Would you like San more than him? Would you want San over him?
“Charmed,” you said and smiled so prettily, unaware of the anxious and self-deprecating spiraling of his thoughts. That really didn’t help.
“Jong has told us so much about you,” San confessed with a cheeky grin.
“San-hyung,” Jongho’s cheeks turned pink.
Your eyebrows jumped up and you sounded amused when you said, “Did he now?”
“Only good things,” San assured.
“San.” Jongho tried to interrupt, but his hyung was on a roll.
“But I don’t think he truly explained how beautiful you were.”
Jongho snapped. “San.”
You were pink as well. “You told your friends I was beautiful?” you asked, shyly. Your eyes darted to him and away, like you were afraid to settle for too long. Was that good? Jongho hated how uncertain he felt.
It felt like a trap, like whatever he said something could go wrong. Jongho stumbled over his words before eventually saying, “It’s an objective truth,” he muttered.
His chest felt tight. Your eyes sparkled. San looked immensely pleased with himself.
When Jongho had taken his leave, he had been both relieved to escape the combined teasing and disappointed that he couldn’t spend any more time with you. Which was silly, he reasoned firmly, he’d already made plans with you for dinner, but walking away from you after waiting so long felt like it was happening way too soon.
Of course, he couldn’t quite escape the teasing.
Mingi threw the ball at him as soon as he entered the practice room. Jongho cursed in surprise and the taller blocker grinned at him in delight. “How’s your girlfriend?”
Seonghwa rolled his lips to hide his grin and Yunho giggled behind his hand.
Yeosang looked up from a long stretch from the middle of the court. “How is she finding Seoul?”
He had long given up trying to get them to stop calling you that. He chucked the ball back. “She’s good. She says she likes it so far,” he murmured.
“And?” Wooyoung pushed. He was throwing a ball into the air as far as he could and rushing around to catch it. “Did you fall into her arms and declare your love for her?”
Once again, Jongho felt hot. “No, of course not. I-I wouldn’t - that isn’t appropriate, I just...”
“Waaaa,” Hongjoong arched a surprised eyebrow, “How’d you manage to form a sentence in front of her?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted bitterly. He moved to one side of the practice room to drop his bag and shed off his hoodie - reluctant, because it meant he couldn’t smell you as he worked. Pathetic, he mocked himself and frowned down at the fabric like it offended him.
He could feel his teammate’s - his friend’s - eyes on him. He had no doubt that could read his genuine frustration, leading to the pause in teasing. They were good like that. It was one of the reasons they had remained friends for so long - each of his hyungs knew when they could mess around and when things were getting too real. It was why Jongho knew everyone was listening when he continued talking, “I didn’t expect...that seeing her in person would be so different. She was just...”
So beautiful, so smart, so charming, so funny. So much more in person than just in text. Was it possible to fall in love with someone who already had your heart? Because Jongho was pretty sure that was what happened.
“Isn’t that a good thing?” Yunho wondered, voice softer, “Means you weren’t imagining your connection.”
Jongho let the hoodie drop on top of his bag and turned around. “Maybe, or maybe it's worse,” he murmured, “She’s even more perfect than I could have imagined.” He licked his lips, “And she’s my friend.”
“A friend you’ve had feelings for since high school,” Seonghwa reminded, “friendship is a good start to a relationship.”
Jongho pressed his lips together and tried not to dwell on that. He knew his older friend was just trying to help him, but he couldn’t bear it, not if it caused things to fall apart. His friendship with you was one of the most important things in his life - the idea of risking it...
Mingi piped in to say, “If he has the balls to do something about it.”
Jongho’s eyes went sharp and Wooyoung threw the ball he had at Mingi’s head with a shout of, “dude, timing.”
Mingi ducked out of the way before it hit him. “What? Let’s be honest, Jong’s going to spend the next three months pining, pretending he doesn’t want to kiss her, and then when she goes back home, none the wiser, he’ll regret it.”
“I don’t want to-”
Mingi waved his hand dismissively. “Ruin anything, I get it dude, I do, but like - come on, not everyone gets this chance with their first and only love. She came here to see you.”
Jongho corrected it immediately. “She came here to study.”
Seonghwa, ever the peacemaker, spoke with reluctant disagreement. “She could have picked anywhere, right? But she picked here. For you.”
For you. God, Jongho’s heart did a traitorious leap at that. He swallowed and found himself tensing as if to turn that soft thought into discomfort. “What do you want me to do?”
“I want you to not miss your chance, bro,” Mingi said earnestly.
Hongjoong called for attention. “I want to practice,” he insisted, “and while you practice setting, you can decide whether it's worth the risk.”
The captain’s words echoed around Jongho’s head as much as Mingi’s. Worth the risk. Was it? Were you? It seemed so simple when he was thinking about it alone, void of real-life consequences.
Of course, you were worth it. Everything about you, about their relationship, about their history with each other, was worth it.
But it was all that which was at risk should things go south. He could just picture your pretty face, twisted in disgust or pity as you told him “I don’t see you like that”. His nightmarish imagining filled in the aftermaths with distance and tight smiles, low contact becoming unanswered questions.
But the hopeful part of him dreamed. He could see your smile, bright and joyful as when you saw him for the first time, as you told him “I feel the same.” He could imagine being allowed to press his lips to your plump bottom lip, to not have to fight the urge to pull you into a hug; to really know what it felt like to hold your hand tightly in his.
Was it worth the risk? At the end of practice, palms aching and shirt sweat drenched, Jongho had made his decision.
-
When people asked you how you were enjoying your time in South Korea, you were honest when you told them, “I love it.”
You loved the reliable wifi on the subway. You loved how cheap iced coffee was. You loved the call buttons in restaurants so that you didn’t have to try and make awkward eye contact with your server to get more drinks.
You loved your dormmates - Korean and foreign exchange students alike - and how welcome they made you feel. You loved your classes and the chance to build your Korean speaking skills properly. But most of all, the reason why you enjoyed your time so much, you loved your time with Jongho.
Any fears you might have had about your friendship moving from online to the real world was unfounded. Jongho folded you into his life as if you had always been there and you supposed you always had, in some sense. Old jokes and memes became part of everyday conversation. He reminded you to drink water, just now he was pushing a bottle into your hand with a disapproving frown. The names of friends, his teammates, were as familiar to you as you were to them.
When you finally met the volleyball boys, Wooyoung had asked if it was okay to hug you “because I feel like I’ve known you for years. Jongho never shuts up about you.”
“He spoke about you all too,” you had told them, “he really looks up to you all.”
Jongho mock-groaned. “Don’t tell them that.”
Yunho pretended to wipe a tear. “Jong-ah, you look up to us?”
“He has to,” Mingi said, “He’s just a little bear.”
The blond might have been quick witted but he wasn’t fast enough to dodge Jongho’s elbow to the stomach.
“Bear?” you arched an eyebrow in surprise. “Why bear?”
“He’s got the strength of a bear,” Hongjoong explained, “one of the best hitters on the team.”
“Plus he looks like a teddy bear,” San added cheekily. He giggled when he got a kick to the back of the ankles in retaliation.
You looked at Jongho’s narrowed eyes and pressed lips, and gasped in delight. “Oh my god, you do look like a teddy bear.”
“See?” San defended himself.
Jongho stuck his bottom lip out. “Please don’t encourage them.”
When you called him baby bear later, he sighed in despair and put an arm around your shoulder. Wooyoung and Mingi made a show of complaining that you were getting special treatment.
“That’s because I actually like her,” Jongho shot back immediately.
Of course, that caused more objections, as intended, but you couldn’t focus on what was being said. No, not when the comfort weight of his arm around your shoulders made you feel warm all over, not when the scent of his perfume - musky with citrus undertones - flooded your senses and made your heart clench with torturous interest.
He’d been doing that more, you had noticed. Finding himself next to you - an arm around your shoulder, a hand brushing yours when you walked together, body angled your way as he listened to you with his undivided attention. It was sweet but perhaps, too much for your poor heart. Every time, he made eye contact with you or he reached for you, you felt yourself melt every time. It was so easy to forget that you were friends and nothing more when he smiled at you like that.
You’d gotten used to saying that. We’re just friends. People had asked, mostly those in your dorm who had caught sight of Jongho dropping you off basically every night. He always did the same thing - hugged you close, wished you a good night, and would stay on the porch until you’d shut the door securely behind you.
Soyeon, one of the student representatives residing in your dorm, had wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. “Making friends with the locals huh?” she teased.
You’d explained the long story of your friendship and ended it with the familiar assertion of friendliness. “Nothing else,” you’d asserted, “Jongho doesn’t see me that way.”
Soyeon looked more amused than anything. “I’ve been to a few parties with the volleyball boys,” she said, “and I’ve never seen Jongho take even the tiniest interest in anybody. No one night stand rumours, no relationships that can be confirmed, nothing. But you show up? He’s here every night, walking you home, giving you his jackets.”
You glanced down as if guilty. The familiar weight of the jersey sat on your shoulders. Jongho was so much broader than yourself so it hung off your frame, the sleeves over your fingers. You liked wearing you, you’d shyly admit, because it smelt like Jongho. Under the older girl’s clear gaze and unwavering explanation, you felt like you were doing something wrong.
“I was cold,” you explained quietly.
“And our star hitter was only so happy to warm you up,” Soyeon winked.
The clear innuendo made you flush. “We’re friends, nothing else,” you insisted, “this is a friend’s jacket. The jacket of a friend. We’re not, I’m not - we’re friends.”
“Hey, I’m not judging you,” Soyeon put her hands up in defense, “Friends, more than friends, whatever you say.”
She’d walked away, leaving you trembling and nervous and horrifically aware that the way you felt right now was very much not friendly.
When you texted Hana that you might have a crush on Jongho, she sent you back: well yeah, obviously.
That was the thought that lingered with you now, squished between Jongho and Yeosang in the tiny booth of the beef barbecue restaurant just outside of campus. It had become a weekly routine to meet somewhere - a local restaurant, a park with convenience store ramyeon and fried chicken, or hongjoong’s off campus apartment - and just destress after a long week of classes and high expectations. You did enjoy the time, you liked Jongho’s friends a lot and it was a wonderful time to just relax.
But then Jongho would put the first piece of meat on your plate or laugh happily beside your ear, his body shaking against you, and you’d remember that you like-liked him.
God, you felt like a silly school kid. Hopelessly and pathetically overwhelmed by your crush, and Jongho didn’t make it any easier.
See, you knew your friend was handsome, funny, helpful - but it was so different in person. You could see the way his eyes lit up when he laughed, hear the way he formed his words so intelligently, feel how earnest he was in helping you. It was like the idea of him had formed into reality and it was so much better than you could have imagined.
You’d dated before. Your last boyfriend had been an engineering student at your university and told you that “he wasn’t ready for a relationship” before immediately starting to date one of his housemates. Before all the red flags became apparent, he had been handsome - but not like Jongho - and smart - but not like Jongho - and he made you laugh - but not like Jongho.
It was almost pathetic how much you were comparing them and you had this horrible feeling that you’d be looking for Choi Jongho in every man you dated going forward. Fuck.
“Are you okay?” when he ducked his head to speak with you, his breath was warm against your cheek.
You shivered, crossed your legs at the ankles for physical support, and smiled brightly. “Fine. Just thinking about the amount of homework I have to do.”
He rapped on your forehead gently and you tried not to visibly melt at the feeling of his fingertips on your skin. “Nope. No homework thoughts allowed.”
Yunho swept his gaze across the room and then darted back. He lowered his voice when he said, “Don’t look now. The lacrosse girls are out.”
Mingi sat up straighter in interest and Jongho let out a long suffering groan.
You blinked in confusion. “What’s wrong with lacrosse?”
“It’s less the team and more one person in particular,” Seonghwa explained.
San poked Jongho on the shoulder. “Minji has a crush on our baby bear.”
You swallowed your discomfort at the announcement as Jongho batted at San’s hand. “It’s not a crush,” he said, “she just thinks I’m playing hard to get.”
“Are you?” you found yourself asking.
“No,” Jongho’s answer was quick, “No, I’m not interested.”
Your gaze drifts over. Across the room, the girls were still wearing their kit - you vaguely remembered the school’s itinerary email that shared the lacrosse team had a game today - and seemed unaware of the other team nearby.
“Which one’s Minji?” you asked.
“It doesn’t matter,” Jongho objected as Yeosang answered, “the one on the left. Red hair.”
Ah. The girl in question was laughing at something the teammate across from her said, eyes scrunching at the corners in pure joy. You hated how the sight of her hit you in the chest.
“She’s cute,” you murmured.
“And I’m not interested,” Jongho said firmly. He stabbed one of his chopsticks into a chicken wing as if it personally offended him.
“Soyeon told me about the volleyball boys,” you mentioned. “I didn’t know that you guys were so popular.”
Yunho and Wooyoung grinned. Hongjoong turned pink. Seonghwa coughed into his hand and ducked his head. Yeosang and Mingi gave you an embarrassed grin. Jongho kept his head on the plate in front of him.
“We...have stories,” Yeosang said slowly, “except for Jong. He doesn’t really like that scene.”
“Which adds to his mystery,” Wooyoung added.
“Unfortunately,” Jongho sighed.
You can’t really explain what this information does to you. Curiosity wars with delight and relief. It shouldn’t, it doesn’t really mean anything, but the part of your brain that had already imagined growing old together read it as something important.
You find yourself watching him again, tracing the curve of his jaw and the pretty curve of his nose. You take note of how his lips are angled downwards unhappily and how long he’s been chewing that piece of chicken.
When you reached up, you intended to touch his cheek but panicked that it was too intimate and changed the destination to pat the top of his head. He looked at you in surprise as you smiled and hoped you looked normal. Friendly.
“Aigoo,” you cooed, “I didn’t know my baby bear had an admirer.”
He watched you, eyes wide and round. You told yourself you were imagining the soft edges or the twitch of his head as if he was leaning into you. You told yourself that the ‘my’ didn’t mean anything, that it was innocent. You told yourself that it didn’t mean anything when Jongho just sighed, shoulders slumping, and didn’t immediately try to remove your hands from him, like he did with his other friends.
“Minji can admire all she wants,” he murmured, “she’s not the one I’m interested in.” Before you had a chance to respond - not that you’d have been able to, your tongue feeling heavy in your mouth at the intensity of those words - Jongho picked a piece of meat off the grill and held it out to you. “Try this cut. It’s good.”
-
Since Jongho had announced he was going to ask you out, his friends had been intensely invested. Every night, after he’d drop you back to the shared dorm building, he’d get asked the same thing - “so?” - and he’d have to shake his head or avert his gaze.
It was truly embarrassing how terrified he was about taking that step.
He always had an excuse as to why he couldn’t ask. Too much to drink, someone walked passed, you saw someone from your course; his voice had broken and you’d laughed too hard, or -
Yeosang looked unimpressed. “She nearly choked on sweets?”
Jongho hummed and kept his gaze on a loose thread at the end of his shirt. “She ate them too fast,” he murmured, “And I don’t want her to think of a date with me and link that to her near death experience.”
“Yup, I’ll admit, that wasn’t an excuse I had predicted,” San commented.
“Not an excuse,” Jongho challenged, “I just, um, it has to be-”
“Perfect,” Yunho and Mingi finished his sentence with a roll of their eyes.
Jongho flushed. How many times had he really said this? “It’s important,” he insisted, “I just - it’s going to change everything and I...I have to do it right.”
He’d imagined it so many times. That perfect moment. In reality, he knew it couldn’t be possible. Rationality, what he dreamed of was never going to match reality, but there wasn’t anything wrong with wanting it to at least be similar right? To have that one wonderful moment where confessing his feelings for you felt right rather than the most anxiety inducing thing he’s ever done.
“You’re gonna miss your chance,” Wooyoung scolded, “you aren’t the only one who fancies her, you know?”
Jongho froze as his heart leaped horrifically into his throat. “What?”
“I heard it in my dance class,” the libero admitted, “Apparently, Hyunjin already asked her out.”
Jongho felt adrift, like his world had been unended by such a simple revelation. With 5 words, his mind was swirling, his chest tightened by the panic pumping through him.
He knew Hyunjin - he was Wooyoung’s friend of a friend who kept each other company during long rehearsal stretches. They’d spoken a few times at parties to know that Hyunjin was genuinely a nice person, and he wasn’t blind to the man’s attractiveness. He could just imagine the smooth smile that would have made you blush or the charming pick-up lines that would have made you blush.
You didn’t tell him, he thought vaguely, you didn’t tell him about any date.
“What did she say?” Jongho asked, though he didn’t want to hear the answer.
Wooyoung’s eyebrows furrowed as he hesitated. “Jongho...”
Jongho was up so quickly, the sofa pushed backwards on the wooden floor slightly. “I have to go,” he declared.
Hongjoong looked startled with worry. “Jong, are you-”
But the maknae of their group was already heading for the door, stumbling into his shoes and forgetting the keys still in the pocket of his hung jacket. He couldn’t think clearly, not with so much anxiety and dread coursing through his bloodstream. He didn’t know whether to laugh or scream or curse himself out for his avoidance. He should have thought - you were wonderful, perfect even, why wouldn’t anyone else see that?
Their team captain looked ready to follow behind but was stopped by Seonghwa’s grip on his elbow. “Let him go,” Hwa sighed, “he’s gotta figure it out himself.”
“Maybe it’ll be the kick up the arse that he needs,” Yeosang murmured hopefully.
Mingi hummed in agreement. “50,000 won that he actually asks her out.”
“50,000 that he martyrs himself.” Yunho shot back.
“Guys,” San shook his head and then leant forward on his knees to add, “50,000 that he does ask her out but he fucks up the first time.”
Hongjoong pinches the bridge of his nose.
-
Soyeon had been out the night before and had made it clear she wasn’t to be disturbed, which was probably why she looked half asleep and unimpressed in your doorway. You didn’t get the chance to ask her why she was there before she said, “your boyfriend is at the door.”
You didn’t even try to correct her, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. You’d seen Jongho just an hour or so before, and he’d seen fine. You couldn’t think of a reason as to why he’d be here now, unless - you wondered if there was some kind of emergency, something that had him rushing here.
You muttered a quick apology to the older woman and moved out of your room, down the short hallway and stairs to get to the main door. On the steps, Jongho looked breathless, pink in the cheeks and eyes wide. You desperately scanned him for any signs of injury.
“I need to talk to you,” the words tumbled over his lips. “Alone.”
It sounded serious, terrifyingly so, and you could only nod in stunned agreement. He followed you up the steps quietly and your mind whirled. You jumped from one reason to another wildly - a family member hurt, an argument with the volleyball boys, an issue with the coach, a problem with a professor, or - your heart did a painful lurch - did he know you had feelings for him?
You let him into your dorm room and the door shut behind you with a weight of finality. Jongho hadn’t been in your room before, you realised, and a sense of inadequacy filled you. Your bed wasn’t made, covers crumbled from where you had been laying on him. You hadn’t cracked a window in a while because mosquitos kept getting in and you had a worried moment when you thought the space smelt funny, despite the diffuser you had placed on your desk. There was a pile of dirty clothes falling out of the basket because you hadn’t had time to go to the laundry room and god, yep, that was a pair of your comfortable granny pants sticking out the top.
You shuffled yourself so your body was blocking the view of the mess before you spoke. “What’s wrong, Jong-oppa? Are you okay?”
Jongho’s gaze was steady and his voice was raw when he said, “don’t go out with Hyunjin.”
You startled, surprised. “What?”
“Please,” Jongho begged. “I don’t think I could handle it.”
“Handle?” you repeated faintly.
When Jongho reached for you, you let his hands warm yours without much thought. You’ve never refused his touch and, like always, it made your heart pound in your ears. It was made worse by the way that he was looking at you, a desperate tinge seeping into his gaze. I’m dreaming, you thought, this has to be...
“If you’re going to date anyone, date me,” Jongho stated. His fingers flexed around yours. “Please.”
“Jongho...”
“It’s your choice. You can say no, fuck, I promise I won’t make it weird.”
“Jongho.”
“I just...please don’t date Hyunjin. The idea of him getting to hold your hand or kiss you o-or -”
“Jong,” you said his name louder, more forcefully. You had to hear it properly, you needed to be sure. But when he looked up at you like that, it couldn’t be anything else, right? “You want to go on a date with me?”
“I want to take you on as many dates as you’d let me,” he confessed.
Your voice shook. “Where?”
“Huh?” Jongho blinked.
You elaborated, “Where are you going to take me on our date?”
“You...you want to?”
The corner of your lips twitched up into a smile. “Do you want me to say no?”
“No,” Jongho said quickly, “but um, I didn’t expect you to actually say yes. Are you sure?”
“Probably the most sure I’ve been about anything,” you admitted.
Jongho shuffled closer, until the tops of his socks bumped against your house slippers. You noticed how much taller he was like this, looking down at you with such warmth. His thumb traced circles on the back of your hand. “Can I kiss you?”
You shuddered a breath. It was insane how such a sweet question made you fall for him all over again. “Fuck yeah.”
The first touch of lips was soft, a gentle touch with an unsteady breath. It was a moment of stepping over that boundary, of the line between friendship and more being crossed. Jongho was so careful with you and you leant into him fully, eyes fluttering closed.
The second kiss was firmer, more assured. You shaped his lips the way you liked and your free hand splayed across the center of his chest to feel his heart beating against your palm. Jongho’s nose bumped against yours as he let you guide him, show him what you wanted, and obliged happily.
The third kiss was molten. It burned your skin as he took control, pressing in closer and when he licked into your mouth, you sighed in contentment. Your hands stretched until they could intertwine in Jongho’s hair, gripping tight enough to make him curse. He rocked forward instinctively and you could feel him, the bulge in his jogging bottoms a delicious sign of how much he was into this, into you. It gave you that pleasant fuzzy feeling at the back of your head and, driven by that feeling, you let one hand drift lower to feel him in your palm.
“Ah, shit,” Jongho twitched in your hold before rearing back. He looked even more attractive like this - pink cheeks, eyes blackened and lips swollen. You rubbed your thumb against the seam, only stopped when a hand grabbed at your wrist, panicked in how it stilled your movements.
“Wait, I...I’ve never...” his voice warbled, insecurity seeping in.
You didn’t want him to feel that way, embarrassed around you, but you couldn’t stop the disbelief that crossed your face. Could you really be blamed? Choi Jongho was a gorgeous man, a popular athlete; you knew he had the attention of others in the university. Had he really never... “Like, at all?”
Jongho pursed his lips and diverted his gaze to somewhere over your shoulder. “I’ve never been interested in anyone,” he said, “no one but you.”
If it were possible for you to love him more, you did at that moment. You pushed yourself up on tip toes to press a firm kiss to his lips and you grip on his clothed dick - mournfully because fuck, he felt so good - lessened. “We don’t have to do anything,” you murmured, “kissing is enough. Being with you is enough.”
Jongho’s expression was unreadable but you knew that meant he was thinking, debating his opinions and weighing the best response. He always did that when it was something important and you knew - your feelings, your relationship and anywhere it went - was incredibly important to him.
Eventually, he let out a low sigh. “Show me,” he asked, voice rougher than it was before, “show me how to make you feel good.”
You felt it in your stomach, the words and the earnest way he said them. “Are you sure?”
Jongho’s fingers released your wrist, stepping closer into your hold. One hand came to cup your jaw, stroking at the skin there until your eyes fluttered. “Show me,” he repeated.
Who were you to deny him?
“Strip,” you ordered, voice trembling. “And get on the bed.”
Later, under the thin bedsheets on your too small bed, you laid half on top of Jongho’s broad chest. You felt the steady rise and fall of his chest, and listened to the beating of his heart against your cheek. It was the most content you had ever felt, safe and secure in his arms. Jongho traced ticklish patterns along the curve of your back, fingers dipping low to trace bite marks that he’d littered your thighs and hips with. You shivered and nudged your nose affectionately into his pec.
You looked up when his trail stalled and frowned as Jongho’s eyebrows furrowed together, as a thought came thundering back to him. “What about Hyunjin?”
You tilted your head. “What about him?”
“He asked you out.”
Oh, right. Yeah. Jongho had come to you, looking so panicked, so desperate with love once hidden pouring into his words. You had been focusing on more important things, you reasoned.
You shook your head. “He didn’t. Hyunjin asked me to help him with his English language assignment.”
“Oh.”
“Who told you that he did?” you wondered.
“Wooyoung,” Jongho admitted.
You huffed a laugh. In the short time you’d known his volleyball friends, Wooyoung was friends with everyone and thus, the person who seemed to know everything. He was also a terrible gossip and had more than once shared the most dramatic version of the story he’d heard. “Really?”
“He was really convincing,” Jongho defended himself.
You didn’t hide your smile. “Besides,even if Hyunjin had asked me out, I would have said no.”
Relief danced in Jongho’s eyes as he tried to hide it behind feigned nonchalance. “Oh? Why? He’s a good guy.”
“Well yeah, he’s smart and gorgeous,” you agreed and snorted in laughter when Jongho looked down at you with a deadpan disappointment. “But, see I already have feelings for somebody else.”
Jongho’s hold tightened around you, possessive in a way that made your toes curl. “Yeah?”
You hummed. “Yeah, we’ve known each other for years,” you murmured, “and he’s the best person I know.”
“And the most handsome?” Jongho teased. Another time, you might have rolled your eyes, pretended to feel nauseous and tell him nothing of the sort.
It was different now though.
You reached up to cup his cheek, caressing the soft skin under his pretty eyes. “He’s beautiful,” you admitted and delighted in the way that Jongho went pink and grinned shyly, gums on display.
“Funny, I have someone like that,” he said. He angled his head to press a sweet kiss to your palm. “I’ve been in love with her for most of my life, to be honest.”
God, the word love made your stomach drop in the best way. “That’s a long time.”
“Yeah, but she’ll always be worth the wait,” he said, and you couldn’t stop yourself from rearing up to kiss him again.
-----------------
a/n: thank you so much for reading!! pls check out the works of the other writers in the collab :)
summary: in a dystopian future where the government enforces arranged marriages to combat plummeting birth rates, you’re assigned a husband—choi yeonjun, a stranger you’ve never met.
warnings: explicit sexual content, soft breeding kink, language, forced marriage system, emotional vulnerability, pregnancy, domestic intimacy, power imbalance due to forced pairing, first time sex, creampie, dirty talk, oral sex,
wc: 19,1k
notes: hi everyone! ✨ so recently this idea popped into my head—i’ve been wanting to write something with an arranged marriage trope but the whole cold ceo x neglected wife thing was starting to feel a bit repetitive, especially since i’ve already written something in that genre (which i still LOVE btw, but i just wanted to try something new) 🥲 then i remembered this anime called koi to uso — it’s about this dystopian world where the government assigns you a partner and yeah… i never finished it because it turned super harem-y and that’s not really my vibe AJSJHSKJJH but the concept really caught my attention, so i thought hmm maybe i should give it a try 🫣
hope you guys enjoy it!! 🫶
everything begins the day you turn twenty.
you wake up to the faint noise of birds outside your window, sunlight filtering through the pale curtains, painting quiet shadows across your bedroom floor. your mother is already in the kitchen, humming lowly, but there’s something off in her tone. a tremble, maybe. or maybe it’s just you. maybe you’re imagining it because today’s the day you have to register.
the day you officially surrender your right to choose who you’ll love.
in this country, love is not a decision. it is a number, an equation, a state-mandated obligation for survival. for years now, the country’s birth rate has been plummeting. desperate to avoid demographic collapse, the government instituted the pairing system: when you turn twenty, your data—genetic markers, temperament, emotional intelligence, compatibility rates—is run through the database. the algorithm does the rest. your match is chosen, your future locked in, and within the year, you are expected to marry and attend compulsory family planning. you have one job: produce offspring.
love is banned unless sanctioned by the state.
you walk into the government building with your hands shaking, your mother squeezing your fingers too tightly, her eyes red-rimmed but dry. she’s been crying in secret, you know. she didn’t want this for you. no one does.
and yet—there is no other choice.
the registration is swift. a photo, a signature, your blood drawn for one final compatibility cross-check. they tell you the letter will arrive in three to five business days. the envelope will be yellow. unmistakable.
“please return home and prepare for assignment.”
you try to keep your days normal after that. university lectures. cafeteria lunches. walking home with your head down, ignoring the couples holding hands across campus, each one with an official barcode tattooed on their ring fingers—a symbol of government approval. your own hand feels heavy just looking at them. branded love. manufactured desire. they never really chose each other.
sometimes you wonder if any of them are happy.
three days later, the yellow envelope is in your mailbox.
you freeze when you see it. fingers trembling, breath caught, skin going cold. the paper almost burns in your hands. you don’t open it right away. you walk straight to your room, lock the door, sit on your bed with your heart racing so violently you think you might throw up. and then, slowly, carefully, you tear the seal.
your eyes skim the top. the official logo of the bureau of demographic affairs. your name, your assigned number. and then:
assigned partner: choi yeonjun. age: 20.
a small, passport-sized photo is attached to the right side of the letter.
you stare.
he’s... beautiful.
cat-like eyes, tilted just enough to make him look a little wild. dark lashes, long and thick. a soft, upturned nose with a gentle slope that suits the elegant structure of his face. lips—full, plush, the kind that look perpetually kiss-bruised even in monochrome. his jaw is sharp but not too much, softened by a slight pout in his mouth. he’s unnervingly symmetrical. there’s a balance to his features, a harmony, like he was designed—crafted—to be attractive.
your throat feels dry.
beneath the photo, there’s a line of text confirming the date of your preliminary meeting—next friday at 2 p.m., government center, family conference room 2B. both sets of parents are expected to attend. your wedding will be planned based on that meeting’s outcome.
you lie back on the bed, letter pressed to your chest, and stare at the ceiling.
it feels... wrong to think this—but he’s attractive. unfairly so. and that terrifies you even more. because you were always taught not to feel. not to dream of fairytales or meet-cutes or falling for someone in the rain. love at first sight is a myth now. it's forbidden. it would disrupt the system. too much emotion, too much unpredictability. and yet—
yet here you are, cheeks warm, heart skipping, staring at the grayscale face of a boy you’re about to marry.
a boy you’ve never met.
friday. 2:00 p.m.government center, family conference room 2B.
you’re early.
your dress is navy, modest, but it hugs your figure in a way you wish it wouldn’t. you didn’t pick it to be pretty—you picked it because it was formal, appropriate. your mother insisted on curling your hair, and your father didn’t speak the entire ride over. only your little brother tried to smile at you, but even his usual mischief was subdued. he kept playing with the sleeves of his hoodie in the backseat, pretending not to be upset.
the building is tall and silent, cold in a way that doesn't come from the air conditioning. it's the sterility of a place that sees life as a series of documents and laws. a place that doesn’t care about dreams.
you sit on one side of the long glass table, your family beside you. your mother keeps wringing a tissue in her lap. your father’s jaw is clenched, his hands crossed tightly. this is the last time they will sit with you like this—before you are someone else's.
and then the door opens.
you hear his voice before you see him. low, warm, laughing quietly at something one of his parents said. and when he walks in, it’s—
it’s hard to breathe.
he’s wearing a black suit that fits too well. slim, tailored, crisp like a page never touched. his hair is pushed back, soft and styled, a few strands falling delicately onto his forehead. and his face—his photo didn’t do him justice. his features move with his expressions, eyes gleaming like obsidian, mouth curved just slightly at the corners as if he’s always on the edge of a smile.
choi yeonjun.
his mother is elegant, her hair in a low twist, expression unreadable. his father looks composed, dignified, already halfway through a handshake with the government official present. this isn’t their first pairing. you remember reading his file—third son. they’ve done this before.
you feel like you’re being auctioned off.
“this is my assigned partner?” yeonjun asks, voice lilting, curious—not judgmental. he’s looking straight at you. and then he bows.
you stand and bow too, polite. your voice stays caught in your throat.
“you’re pretty,” he says softly, once he straightens. “i’m glad.”
it shouldn’t affect you. it shouldn’t. and yet your stomach flutters, just for a second, before you kill the feeling dead.
you don’t say anything. not because you’re rude—but because this isn’t real. this is a performance. this is a sentence.
the government mediator begins to speak, outlining the stages of the arrangement: the preliminary meeting. the planning process. the mandatory cohabitation. the one-year marriage trial before reproduction is expected.
you zone out after a while. your mother is crying again. your father’s voice is hoarse when he answers the legal questions. your little brother won’t look at you. and across from you, yeonjun looks like he’s done this in another life. calm. collected. but not cruel.
then, the mediator clears her throat.
“now, if the parents could please give the pair some time to speak privately. it is customary.”
your mother hesitates. she squeezes your hand until her knuckles turn white. she whispers something—"don’t let them take your heart too, okay?"—and then lets go.
and just like that, you are alone with him.
just the two of you, in a silent room that smells like paper and polished wood.
yeonjun exhales once your families are gone. his shoulders relax a little.
“wow,” he says. “that was intense.”
you nod. your hands are in your lap, clutching the fabric of your dress.
“you don’t talk much, huh?”
you glance up at him. he’s watching you with a soft kind of curiosity. not the kind that pries. more like he’s observing the weather—trying to guess if rain is coming.
“i do,” you say finally, voice quiet. “just... not today.”
he smiles. “that’s fair.”
a pause. he sits across from you again, legs crossed, posture easy, like he’s not under the weight of state surveillance. like this is his decision.
“i know this is strange,” he says. “i’m not gonna pretend it’s not. they pick someone for you, give you a name and a photo, and you’re supposed to start building a future. it's... a lot.”
you say nothing. you’re watching the way his fingers tap on the edge of the table. rhythmical. patient.
“i’m not here to make this harder for you,” he says, gentler now. “i know some people get assigned to assholes. i promise i won’t be one.”
your brows knit together, surprised.
he leans forward, elbows on the table, chin resting in one palm.
“if we have to go through this, we might as well not suffer through it.”
and you look at him then, really look.
his gaze is steady. not forceful. not manipulative. he’s not trying to make you like him. he’s just... honest.
"you’re used to this,” you murmur.
his smile falters. “not really. i’ve just watched my brothers go through it. and i learned what not to do.”
there’s something about the way he says it. like he’s seen what happens when the system doesn’t pair people right. like he knows how love can die before it’s even born.
you swallow, throat tight.
“i didn’t want this,” you admit.
he nods. “me neither.”
silence settles between you again. it’s not awkward. just full. like both of you are trying to breathe in a place with no air.
“but...” he says softly, after a while. “i think you’re interesting. and you’re easy to talk to. even if you don’t say much.”
your cheeks flush, and you hate that you can feel it. he notices, of course. but he doesn’t tease you. he just smiles to himself, quiet and pleased.
“so,” he says, tilting his head. “can i know something real about you? not government data. just... you.”
you blink.
he waits.
slow burn. that’s what this is. he’s not rushing. he’s not playing pretend. he’s offering you a chance to make something human out of something cold.
and even though everything in you is screaming don’t trust it—
you speak.
you tell him a little. not much. just enough.
and he listens. attentively. sincerely.
maybe that’s how it starts. not with a kiss. not with a confession. but with someone sitting across from you, asking who you are when no one’s watching.
two weeks later.
the wedding is on a thursday.
you don’t get a white dress. there’s no music, no flowers. no ceremony beyond a document and a pen and the sterile voices of government officials making sure everything is binding and accounted for.
you wear beige.
yeonjun wears black again. no tie this time. his hair is messier, like he didn’t bother too much. he looks good anyway, like he always does. like someone who never had to try.
the room is almost identical to the one where you met: glass, steel, a flag in the corner.
your mother sobs quietly during the signing. your father doesn’t let go of her hand. your brother tries not to look, but when you lean down to hug him goodbye, he hides his face in your shoulder and mutters a broken, “please don’t forget us.”
and that’s when you finally cry.
not loud. not messy. just silent tears running down your cheeks as you sign the paper that says you no longer belong to them. your name next to yeonjun’s. your status: married. active participant in national repopulation initiative.
they even stamp it. a red seal. final. absolute.
you don't remember the ride to your new shared apartment. only the sound of the car, the blur of the buildings, your hands gripping the hem of your coat in your lap like it’s the only thing tethering you to reality.
yeonjun doesn’t speak for a while. and when he does, it’s soft. careful.
“you don’t have to pretend around me,” he says, eyes on the road. “i know this hurts.”
you don’t answer.
he pulls into a residential complex. government-provided. modern, quiet. two bedrooms, a shared kitchen, everything fully equipped. it smells like fresh paint and new plastic. not like home.
your boxes are already inside. so are his.
the apartment is... neutral. beige walls. grey couch. chrome kitchen. there’s a small balcony, but it faces another building.
you walk into your assigned bedroom and close the door without saying a word.
and to his credit, he doesn’t follow you. not right away.
but now, days pass like fog.
there’s a schedule pinned to the fridge now. a printed routine from the bureau: acclimation period, cohabitation adjustment, health preparation. underlined: mandatory hospital check-up before family planning begins.
you go to the hospital together a week later.
the nurse greets you by your couple ID number.
yeonjun jokes to break the tension—something dumb about feeling like a robot in a factory—and you don’t laugh, but you glance at him sideways. just a little. he notices.
you both go through blood work, fertility testing, infectious disease screening. the nurse asks personal questions. too personal. about cycles and hormone levels and sexual history—
you flinch.
yeonjun speaks for you when you freeze.
“she’s not comfortable,” he says simply. “ask me first.”
his voice is calm, but there's steel beneath it. the nurse adjusts her tone after that.
on the ride home, you stare out the window. he drives with one hand on the wheel, the other tapping his thigh, nervous energy he never shows in his posture. it’s the little things you’re starting to notice.
“you didn’t have to speak for me,” you say, finally.
“i know,” he answers. “but i wanted to.”
and again—there it is.
that kindness you didn’t ask for. that warmth he keeps offering, even though you haven’t given him much back.
nights are the hardest.
you pretend to sleep early, even when your eyes stay open in the dark for hours. the room feels too still, too foreign. the bed smells like the laundry detergent they gave you in the relocation kit. the ceiling fan turns slowly, quietly. your chest feels tight, like grief has found a home inside your ribs and refuses to move out.
sometimes, you press your ear against the bedroom wall. you can’t hear much. just the occasional soft shuffle, the hum of yeonjun’s voice when he speaks on the phone in hushed tones. he never speaks long. never laughs out loud. not anymore.
you miss your mother’s voice echoing from the kitchen, your brother’s heavy footsteps running down the hallway. the scent of warm rice and grilled mackerel. the sound of your father clearing his throat before calling everyone to eat.
now, there’s only silence.
until one night, a knock.
not loud. not urgent. just... present.
“hey,” comes his voice through the door. “you don’t have to open. i just wanted to say... i know this feels like the end of everything, but it isn’t.”
you sit up slowly. your hand hovers near the handle but doesn’t reach it.
“i know we didn’t choose each other,” he continues, voice low and careful, “but maybe that doesn’t mean we can’t choose to be good to each other.”
you swallow. your throat feels raw.
after a pause, your voice comes out in a whisper, hoarse but steady. “okay.”
you don’t open the door. but you walk to it, lean your back against the cool wood. and then—almost imperceptibly—you hear the sound of him lowering himself on the other side. sitting with you. just like that. no pressure. just presence.
you stay like that for a while. breathing the same air, separated by a few centimeters and a thin barrier. but somehow... it feels closer than anything else has in weeks.
you don’t talk more that night. but when you finally slide back into bed, you sleep without crying.
that’s a first.
the next morning, there’s tea waiting on the counter.
he doesn’t say it’s from him. but he’s the only other person here, so you thank him anyway.
a nod. a tiny smile. you sip it, and it’s sweet.
from that night on, something shifts. neither of you says it aloud, but the air is different now.
you start having breakfast together. simple stuff—toast, boiled eggs, fruit. you sit across from each other at the tiny kitchen table and talk about nothing. weather. uni schedules. news updates.
one afternoon, you both arrive home soaked from the sudden rain.
you were out grocery shopping. he met you on the walk back by chance. no umbrella. you ran together. you laughed—really laughed—for the first time since being assigned. your clothes clung to your skin, your breath short from the sprint.
in the elevator, he looks at you and says, a little breathless, “you’re kind of cute when you’re mad at the rain.”
you blink at him. cheeks warm. you don't know what to say.
that night, he passes you a hairdryer through your door.
“so you don’t catch a cold.”
you murmur thanks. he lingers in the hallway a moment, like he wants to say something else. but then he leaves.
the next few nights, he knocks more often. never asks to come in. just talks through the door. sometimes you join him on the floor again, your backs pressed to opposite sides of wood. you start to open up. a little at a time.
one night, just past midnight, you both end up in the kitchen again.
you couldn’t sleep. neither could he. you make tea, he brings a packet of cookies.
the city outside is asleep. your apartment is bathed in soft fridge light.
you find yourselves sitting on the floor, backs to the counter.
he asks, voice low, “did you ever fall in love before all this?”
the question feels heavy. you stare into your cup.
“no,” you answer honestly. “i didn’t let myself. what was the point, if it was forbidden? if we were all going to be assigned anyway?”
he nods slowly. you notice the way his eyes flick toward the window, as if remembering something far away.
“i did,” he says finally.
your heart stirs.
“in high school,” he goes on, “i fell for this girl in my class. she had this ridiculous laugh and used to bring snacks for everyone. i liked her for three years. never told her. i thought... i don’t know. part of me really believed she’d be assigned to me.”
you watch the way his lips twist into something halfway between a smile and a wince.
“i used to daydream about it,” he admits, almost embarrassed. “our names printed together on the envelope. hers next to mine. like it was meant to be.”
you don’t say anything. you let him speak.
“and then she got married last year. to someone else. she posted a photo with her husband and... i laughed. like, really laughed. because it was so stupid. how much hope i’d put into something that was never mine to decide.”
you imagine it. the version of him in a classroom, heart racing every time she turned around. young, hopeful. painfully innocent.
you don’t know her name. you’ll probably never meet her.
but you hate her a little.
you hate that she had his love, his dreams, his belief. something you were too scared to even touch.
and you hate that your chest aches when he says her name without saying it.
“i’m sorry,” you whisper. “that it didn’t work out.”
he looks at you, and there’s something tender in the way his eyes soften. “i’m not,” he says after a beat. “i wouldn’t have met you if it had.”
the silence after that is heavy, electric.
you don’t answer.
but you stay there with him. knees almost touching. the scent of tea between you. eyes a little too full. hearts slightly ajar.
the email arrives quietly, with the mechanical ding of a notification breaking the silence of your morning. it’s nothing dramatic—just a government seal, a cold subject line: YOUTH EMPLOYMENT PROGRAM FOR NEWLYWEDS.
you’re still in your oversized sleep shirt, hair loosely tied up, your fingers wrapped around a warm mug of barley tea as you sit at the small kitchen table. the place smells like toasted bread and laundry detergent. yeonjun walks in a few minutes later, yawning, dressed in sweatpants and a faded university hoodie, a slice of toast clenched between his teeth. he glances over your shoulder to see what you're looking at.
you click the email open. it’s from the ministry of social and familial affairs—another mandatory policy. another thing the government arranges for you, like you’re pieces on a board.
“because both parties are currently enrolled in higher education,” you read aloud softly, “the government will provide access to part-time employment opportunities and offer a financial subsidy for essential living expenses during the first year of marriage.”
you don’t say anything for a long while after that. the words hover in the air, bureaucratic and impersonal. but somehow, they make this life feel more real. more permanent. like you’re not just living in a temporary dream—you’re expected to stay here. build something.
“well,” yeonjun finally says, mouth half-full, “that’s... something. we should check it out later.”
you nod, even though your stomach feels hollow.
you still think about that night. the night he told you about his first love. about how he spent three years loving her in silence, convinced she'd be the one fate would give him. the girl with snacks and a bright laugh. the one who got married last year. not to him.
and no matter how much you tell yourself it’s ridiculous, it still gnaws at you sometimes. there’s this faint, irrational heat in your chest whenever she crosses your mind. you don’t even know what she looks like. you don’t know her name. but something about the way he talked about her—with such tender resignation—makes something sour rise in your throat.
you hate that it lingers.
you hate that it hurts.
that night, the rain starts late.
it begins with a steady tapping against the glass, the kind that would normally soothe you—white noise for your thoughts. but then the wind picks up, howling through the narrow alley between your apartment and the building next door, and you know what’s coming.
the first clap of thunder makes you freeze.
your fingers curl around the blanket. your chest tightens. you try to breathe slowly, like your therapist taught you when you were younger. but then comes another one—louder, deeper. it shakes the walls. it shakes you.
you’ve always hated storms. they made you cry as a child, and when you were too old to crawl into your mother’s bed, you forced your little brother to sleep beside you just so you wouldn’t feel alone.
now you’re in a place that doesn’t smell like your mother’s laundry, that doesn’t hold your brother’s sleepy warmth.
you’re alone again. except you’re not. not really.
you don’t think. you just move.
barefoot, your steps light across the cold floor, you open your bedroom door and cross the hall. you knock on yeonjun’s door twice, already feeling embarrassed, but unable to stop.
he opens almost immediately, wearing a gray t-shirt and sleep-tousled hair. his eyes are soft when they meet yours.
“are you okay?” he asks gently, already understanding.
you hesitate. “can i… stay here tonight?”
there’s a beat of silence. he nods, stepping aside without a word, and gestures for you to come in.
his room is dim, smelling faintly of his cologne and clean linen. it’s warmer than yours. there’s a stack of books by his bed, an open laptop with half-written notes still on the screen, a navy blue hoodie slung over the chair.
he grabs an extra blanket and starts to lay it out on the floor, but you shake your head, already trembling from another rumble of thunder.
“i… don’t want to be alone,” you whisper.
yeonjun pauses. and then, slowly, he walks back toward the bed and lifts the corner of the blanket for you.
you crawl in on one side. he lies down on the other. space between you, but not coldness. not indifference.
“i’ve always been scared of storms,” you murmur into the dark. “when i was little, i’d run to my parents’ room. then i made my little brother stay with me. i thought that when i grew up, i wouldn’t be scared anymore. but i guess… i still am.”
you feel the bed shift as he turns onto his side, facing you. his voice is low, almost a hush.
“nothing’s going to break tonight.”
those five words feel like something heavier than comfort. they feel like a promise. and they make something fragile inside you twist.
you’re quiet for a long time after that. the silence is heavy but not uncomfortable. it’s the kind of silence that lets your heartbeat slow. the kind that feels full of something new—something you don’t have a name for yet.
you fall asleep to the sound of rain and his breathing, even and steady beside you.
and when you wake up in the early morning light, his hand is resting over yours.
you slept like a baby.
it's the first thought you have when you blink your eyes open, bathed in the pale light of morning seeping through the curtains. the room smells like faint detergent and something unmistakably yeonjun—warm cotton and the slightest trace of his cologne. the air is quiet now, no more thunder shaking the walls, no rain tapping restlessly against the windows. and your chest feels… calm.
it surprises you, how rested you feel. how deep your sleep was. how safe.
you remember all those nights with your younger brother, clinging to him as the storm rattled outside, whispering stories or counting sheep until your mind shut down from exhaustion. sleep was never easy back then. it was something you wrestled for, clawed your way toward, until it finally overtook you like mercy. but last night... last night, it came softly. it held you.
and now you realize why.
yeonjun’s arms are around you.
not tightly, not possessively—just gently draped, like he forgot to move in the night, like his body instinctively curved around yours in sleep. one of his hands rests over your wrist, the other loosely against your waist, warm even through the thin fabric of your sleep shirt. and his face is so close, calm and boyish, lips slightly parted, his breath even and soft against your skin.
your heart pounds immediately, panic fluttering low in your stomach—not because you’re scared, but because this is unfamiliar. because you don’t know what to do with this kind of tenderness.
you want to pull away. you should. you really, really should.
but instead you stay.
you stay because there’s something about this moment that feels too fragile to break. something inside you, some cracked place, is being filled just by existing in this quiet closeness. and you realize—though you’ve never wanted to admit it—that you’ve been touch-starved for a long time. that there’s a part of you that’s been aching for connection, for warmth, for someone.
his fingers twitch slightly in his sleep, adjusting against your hip, and your breath catches. the movement is innocent, unconscious—but your skin reacts like it’s been branded. you swallow hard, trying to still the storm inside you, even though the one outside is already gone.
you stay like that for several more minutes, listening to the soft hum of the apartment, watching the way the sunlight plays over his features. you trace the line of his brow with your eyes, the soft curve of his lashes, the shape of his lips. he looks so peaceful like this—unguarded, almost boyish. and for a second, you wonder what he’s dreaming about. if he ever dreamed of something like this.
he stirs eventually, a sleepy sound escaping his throat as he blinks slowly awake. his gaze is unfocused at first, but then it lands on you, and something warm flickers in it.
“…morning,” he mumbles, voice still gravelly from sleep.
“morning,” you whisper back, suddenly aware of how close you are, of how your bodies are still tucked together like pieces of the same story.
neither of you moves.
there’s a pause where his eyes search your face, slow and unreadable. and then, with a sleepy smile tugging at his lips, he lets out a soft breath.
“you didn’t run away in the middle of the night. that’s a good sign.”
you laugh quietly, your cheeks burning. “i slept too well to even think about moving.”
he hums, pleased. “me too. i usually toss around like crazy, but i guess… you were a good influence.”
you want to joke. to deflect. but instead you find yourself whispering something real.
“i felt safe.”
his eyes soften.
you don’t say anything else. you just lie there a while longer, not moving, not rushing. there’s a peace in the way your bodies still fit together, in how neither of you seems quite ready to let go.
but the world, eventually, pulls you back. responsibilities, the clock ticking louder in your head. breakfast. classes. life.
yeonjun stretches lazily and finally pulls back, giving you space without question, his smile sleepy but kind. “i’ll make us coffee.”
you nod, watching him slip out of bed, hair tousled, shirt riding up slightly at the back. you press your hand to where his body had been, still warm, and you sit there a little longer, your thoughts spiraling in slow, confused circles.
because even though last night was about fear and storms… this morning feels like the beginning of something else entirely.
the waiting room smells like antiseptic and soft lavender, a strange combination that doesn’t manage to calm your nerves. you sit side by side with yeonjun on a sleek government-issued bench, your fingers clasped tightly on your lap, trying not to let your knee bounce with the anxiety pressing into your chest.
he seems more composed than you are—back straight, hands relaxed, legs slightly spread in his usual confident posture—but when you glance sideways, you notice how he keeps licking his lips, how his jaw clenches just a little every few seconds.
the appointment with the planning officer had been scheduled right after your wedding—clinical, efficient, emotionless, like everything else in this system. you hadn’t talked about it. hadn’t even wanted to think about it. but now it’s here, and there’s nowhere to hide.
“choi yeonjun. choi y/n,” a nurse calls softly from the doorway, clipboard in hand. “follow me.”
you walk side by side into a white, spotless office where a woman in a pale beige suit greets you from behind a desk. she looks to be in her forties, composed, direct, her nametag reading ms. kang – reproductive health officer.
you sit across from her. the air feels heavier now.
“so,” she begins, smiling in that polite, unyielding way government workers do, “you’re about a month into your union. how’s the adjustment been?”
you blink, unsure how to answer. yeonjun speaks first.
“we’re getting used to it. slowly.”
“good,” she nods, tapping something on her tablet. “you’ve both passed the health screenings, no genetic flags or fertility concerns. so the next step is to begin trials of compatibility-based conception.”
you shift in your seat. trials.
“have you already begun your sexual relationship?” she asks, her tone calm, like she’s asking about the weather.
your breath catches. your eyes widen slightly, and your face goes hot. “uh—no. not yet,” you manage, your voice too soft, almost guilty.
yeonjun straightens a little, eyebrows twitching, his tone sharper. “we’ve only been married a few weeks. there hasn’t been time.”
ms. kang doesn’t flinch. she only nods and types something on her screen. “i see. while it’s natural for some couples to take time, we recommend initiating intimacy soon. it will help establish the rhythm of your connection and allow us to track progress for planning interventions if necessary.”
your ears are burning now. her words play back in your head like static: initiate intimacy, track progress.
you glance at yeonjun without meaning to, and he’s already looking at you—but his expression is unreadable. his jaw is tight again.
“we’ll… take that into consideration,” he says curtly.
the rest of the appointment passes in a blur. you nod and agree to things you barely hear, accept pamphlets on fertility monitoring and hormonal optimization. by the time you walk out of the clinic, your skin feels too tight for your body.
you don’t speak on the way home.
you sit beside him on the train, trying to focus on the passing buildings outside the window, but your thoughts keep circling the same place. the way she said it. the expectation of it. and worse—the idea of it.
because the thing is… you’ve thought about it. even before this meeting, in the quiet moments, in the space between shared breakfasts and brushing past each other in the kitchen, in that night you slept in his arms like you belonged there.
you’ve wondered what his mouth would feel like pressed to your neck.
you’ve wondered how his hands would move if he weren’t just offering comfort.
you’ve wondered how his voice would sound if it wasn’t so composed—if it cracked with want.
but that was all private. safe in your imagination. not something stamped into paperwork. not something tracked by government programs and fertility logs.
and now you can’t not think about it.
when you finally get home, it’s too quiet. you move around each other like magnets unsure if they should attract or repel. you both pretend you’re just tired. that it was just a long day.
but the silence drips between you, thick and unspoken.
you head to your room without a word, tossing the clinic folder on your desk like it burns. you try to sleep. but the image of yeonjun, tense and handsome in the cold clinic light, won’t leave your mind. his voice, defensive. his fingers, twitching on his knee. and most of all, the memory of his arm around your waist from that night—the heat of his skin under your palm.
an hour passes. maybe two.
you shift in bed, restless. you toss the blanket off. put it back on. stare at the ceiling. you hear footsteps in the hall.
a soft knock at your door.
you sit up, heart hammering. “come in.”
yeonjun stands there, messy hair and hoodie half-zipped, eyes unreadable in the dim light. he doesn’t come in right away. just leans against the doorframe and runs a hand through his hair.
“sorry,” he says after a moment. “about earlier. the clinic.”
you nod. “it’s okay.”
he looks at you then, longer, and something flickers in his expression—something caught between curiosity and hesitation.
“they make it sound like it’s supposed to be… mechanical,” he murmurs, crossing the room slowly. “but it’s not, right? it’s not supposed to be.”
your breath catches.
he stops by your bed. close enough for you to see the flutter of his lashes, the nervous line between his brows. close enough that you feel the heat radiating off his body.
you don’t know who moves first. maybe it’s you. maybe it’s both of you at the same time. but suddenly, the space between you disappears.
his hand brushes your cheek, soft and hesitant, and you lean into it without thinking.
“i don’t want it to be just… a task,” he says quietly, voice barely a breath now. “not with you.”
you don’t answer. you just let your forehead rest against his chest, your heart beating too loudly, your breath catching in your throat.
and when he wraps his arms around you again—warm and strong and familiar—you feel the storm rising again.
but this time, it’s not outside.
it’s you. it’s him.
and it’s not fear anymore.
it’s something else entirely.
you don’t kiss that night.
you could’ve. maybe you almost do. there’s a moment where his thumb brushes the corner of your mouth and your eyes lift to meet his, and you feel it—that shift, like the world holds its breath. but then he steps back, gives you a small smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and says goodnight in a voice that’s too soft, too careful.
he leaves your door cracked open behind him. and somehow, that’s worse than closing it.
after that, the tension lingers—thick and quiet like smoke.
in the mornings, you find yourselves together more often than not. your coffee mugs sit side by side now. sometimes you forget whose is whose. he steals sips from yours and you pretend to scowl, but your heart trips every time your fingers brush when you both reach for the sugar at the same time.
you fall into a rhythm. not romantic. not domestic. but something else. something intimate in a quiet way.
when the job placement emails come through, you sit together on the couch, scrolling through them on your shared government-issued tablet. yeonjun lands a spot as an assistant at a community cultural center downtown—flexible hours, reasonable pay. you get placed in a local library, part-time shelving and cataloguing.
it’s not exciting. it’s not your dream. but it’s… stable.
“at least we won’t starve,” yeonjun says one evening, his arm slung lazily over the back of the couch behind you. “thanks, government.”
you snort. “maybe next year they’ll assign us a kid and a dog, too.”
he laughs—really laughs, loud and full—and something about the sound makes your chest ache. it makes you want to say something dumb just to hear it again.
but what sticks with you, what haunts you, is that night after the storm. not because of what happened—because of what didn’t.
and what happened at the clinic. what the officer said. what yeonjun said after.
you think about it too much. think about him too much.
and you think about her.
the girl he loved once. the one he talked about in that quiet, midnight voice, when the rain had softened and you were wrapped in his hoodie like armor.
you remember how his gaze turned distant as he spoke of her, how he confessed that he truly believed she’d be the one assigned to him. that he waited. that he hoped.
how the disappointment burned when he found out she wasn’t.
and you shouldn’t feel anything about it. it’s in the past. he told you that.
but sometimes, when you catch him staring into space or fiddling with that little leather bracelet he always wears, your chest twists a little. and you don’t know why.
you’re not in love.
you’re not supposed to fall in love.
yet it keeps slipping in—quiet and slow. like water through cracks.
one evening, it rains again. not a storm, just a steady drizzle that makes the air smell clean. you’re both tired from work and university, but neither of you wants to be alone in your room.
you sit on the windowsill together, knees touching, sharing a bowl of strawberries yeonjun bought on the way home. the fruit is sweet and cold against your tongue.
“i used to love the rain,” he murmurs, watching it trail down the glass. “when i was a kid, i’d sit on the porch for hours just listening. it felt like… everything else stopped for a while.”
you glance at him. his profile is soft in the dim light, his hair falling slightly over his eyes.
“it used to scare me,” you admit quietly. “storms, i mean. as you may know...”
he smiles without turning to you. “you were scared.”
“yeah.”
there’s a pause.
“you weren’t scared the other night,” he says. “not with me.”
you shrug. “you made it easy not to be.”
the silence that follows is gentle. not awkward. just… full.
“do you think it’s still possible?” he asks suddenly. “to fall for someone? even with all of this?” he gestures vaguely, and you know he means the system, the laws, the matching algorithms and fertility checkups and pre-written life paths.
you don’t answer right away. you don’t know how to.
“i think we’re not supposed to,” you say after a long pause. “but maybe… that doesn’t stop it from happening.”
his eyes find yours then, and they don’t look away.
your heart stumbles.
neither of you speaks. the air feels like it’s crackling again—not with lightning, but with something just as dangerous.
the next night, you fall asleep on the couch together. not planned. not anything.
you were watching something. you don’t even remember what. but you woke up with your head on his chest, his arm wrapped around you, heartbeat steady against your ear.
you don’t move. you can’t move.
it feels too good. too right.
his shirt smells like laundry soap and skin. his fingers shift in his sleep, brushing lightly along your back. it makes you shiver. it makes you think about things you shouldn’t.
you stay there until the sun begins to rise.
you pretend to be asleep when he finally stirs and lifts his head slightly, blinking at your face. you feel the weight of his gaze.
but he doesn’t move either.
and neither do you.
because something’s changing. you both feel it.
you just don’t say it. not yet.
not until it’s too loud to ignore.
and maybe that moment is coming faster than either of you is ready for.
you try not to overthink the moments.
you try.
the accidental sleep on the couch becomes less accidental. the next week, it happens again—this time during a shared late-night study session. you're both exhausted, papers and notebooks strewn across the coffee table, half-finished cups of coffee gone cold.
you wake up tucked under the same blanket, the light off, the tablet blinking low battery on the floor. yeonjun is beside you, his legs tangled with yours, his breathing soft against the crown of your head.
he doesn’t say anything when you open your eyes. he’s already awake, watching you, and when he sees you stir, he whispers a faint “morning” like it’s a secret.
you nod, throat dry. “morning.”
neither of you moves.
and maybe it’s the silence. maybe it’s the way his hand is resting lightly on your hip, not possessive, not bold—just there.or maybe it’s because of the way your name sounds in his voice lately—gentler, more familiar, too intimate for two people who were supposed to be strangers made spouses.
whatever it is, it roots itself deep in your chest, wraps vines around your ribs, and refuses to let go.
but things are still complicated.
you remember the appointment at the family planning center far too clearly. how the sterile walls and uncomfortable chairs felt like a sentence being handed down. the woman at the desk, clipboard in hand, speaking in clinical terms while smiling too much. the questions.
“have you two begun sexual relations yet?”
your body stiffened so fast it hurt. you’d shaken your head, cheeks burning.
“no,” you said, barely above a whisper.
and then yeonjun.
his voice didn’t waver. didn’t shrink. but there was a hint of something—offense, maybe, or just discomfort buried beneath practiced calm.
“not yet.”
not yet.
those words echoed for hours after.
the woman nodded, unbothered, flipping her pen in one hand.
“you should consider beginning soon,” she said, checking off a box. “intimacy will help strengthen the emotional bond and allow us to begin identifying which fertility path will suit your needs. the government recommends couples begin within the first ninety days of union.”
you had never wanted to disappear more.
the walk home was silent.
yeonjun didn’t mention it. you didn’t either.
but it sat between you like a stormcloud, buzzing with electricity, waiting to crack open.
you catch him watching you more after that. not in a bad way. not in a way that makes you feel unsafe. no—it makes you feel too safe, and that’s somehow worse.
he’s careful. always. but he’s still a boy. and you’re still you. and your bodies know things your minds are afraid to say.
the small space you share only makes things more dangerous.
his cologne clings to your pillows. your lotion starts appearing on his arms. he hums the songs you listen to in the shower. he buys your favorite snack without asking.
you start wearing his shirts to sleep without realizing. you only notice the third time it happens—when he stops in the hallway and his eyes dip, linger, then flick back up with a quiet clearing of his throat.
“is that mine?”
you glance down at yourself. it’s an old oversized gray tee. soft. worn. familiar. his scent baked into the fabric like sunlight.
“uh… yeah. sorry. it was just on the chair and—”
“keep it,” he says, not letting you finish. “looks better on you.”
you go to bed that night with your skin buzzing.
and things only build from there.
he starts cooking more, pulling you into the kitchen with an easy “help me” that really means just stand here while i talk to you. you lean on the counter while he cuts vegetables, while he stirs sauces, while he tells you about his classes and how boring statistics is, how he almost fell asleep mid-lecture. you laugh and call him dramatic. he grins and tells you it’s your fault for not waking him up when he left.
“you’re supposed to be my wife now. you have responsibilities.”
he says it like a joke. you laugh like it is one.
but your heart stutters anyway.
one night, it rains again. not a storm, just heavy and constant, soft thunder echoing in the distance. you find yourself awake at midnight again, restless, curled on the couch in the living room with your knees tucked to your chest.
yeonjun finds you there.
he doesn’t say anything—just sits beside you, close but not touching, and watches the rain drip down the windows.
“can’t sleep?” he asks.
you shake your head. “not really.”
“you okay?”
you nod, even though you’re not sure.
the air between you hums. it’s familiar now. this closeness. this heavy, unsaid thing growing slowly between shared silences and sidelong glances.
you lean your head on his shoulder, unsure why. maybe it’s because the rain feels lonelier tonight. maybe it’s because it feels like something is shifting again.
his breath hitches almost imperceptibly, but he doesn’t move away.
“do you think they’re watching us?” you ask softly. “the government, i mean. checking how fast we fall in love. how fast we sleep together.”
he’s quiet for a moment.
“maybe,” he says finally. “but they can’t measure the parts that matter.”
“like what?”
he tilts his head toward yours. “like this.”
you feel the words like fingertips down your spine.
you close your eyes, and his shoulder under your cheek feels like solid ground.
this is the moment where maybe everything could change.
but you don’t kiss. not yet.
you breathe in together.
and for now, that’s enough.
the power cuts out a little after ten. it happens suddenly—an abrupt flicker, followed by darkness swallowing the apartment whole.
you blink, heart skipping, your body already tightening with reflex from the sound, from the silence that follows too quickly.
then the soft sound of rain begins again.
but unlike the last time, this one is gentle. no thunder, no flashes of light through the windows. just rain, steady and calm like fingers tapping against glass. it’s the kind of rain that makes the night feel softer than usual. quieter.
yeonjun lights a candle he keeps in the drawer near the kitchen, its flame swaying in the center of the living room table, casting shadows on the walls. he brings it over to the couch where you sit curled up under a blanket, your knees pressed to your chest, already waiting.
he joins you without asking.
“guess we’ll have to pretend we’re in the 1800s,” he murmurs, glancing at the candle.
you laugh softly. “at least you’re not reading me poetry.”
“don’t tempt me,” he grins.
the silence that follows isn’t uncomfortable. it rarely is now. something about the rain, the flicker of light, the way you’re seated side by side with your shoulders barely touching, it all feels… close.
your gaze drifts to the window, where the raindrops race each other down the glass. and before you can stop yourself, your thoughts start circling again. you’ve been doing that more and more—ever since that night. ever since yeonjun told you about her. the girl he loved in high school. the one he thought would be assigned to him.
you swallow. your chest tightens, not with pain exactly—more like an unfamiliar ache. something raw you haven’t named yet.
“can i ask you something?” you say, voice quiet.
yeonjun hums, eyes still on the candlelight. “of course.”
“i haven’t stopped thinking about her.”
he turns to you, brows faintly furrowed. “who?”
“the girl you were in love with.”
his expression doesn’t change much. he just blinks slowly, watching you. “why?”
you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “i don’t know. maybe because… i’m jealous of her.”
that makes him laugh—soft, surprised. “jealous?”
you nod, heart pounding. “yeah. i guess it’s stupid. but… she got to be your first love. she got all of you when it meant something. and now, i’m just—”
“my wife?” he cuts in, still smiling, trying to lighten the air. “you’re my wife now. kind of a win, don’t you think?”
but you don’t smile back.
you turn to face him, the dim light catching on your lashes, your jaw tight. “it’s not the same,” you say softly. “i know this is supposed to be a marriage, but it doesn’t feel right… hearing about your past like that. it’s not fair. it’s not fair that i have to be the one who came after.”
yeonjun’s smile fades. the playfulness drains from his face, replaced by something heavier. something slower. he looks at you like he’s really seeing you now—like maybe he’s been seeing you all along but didn’t know how close you were to unraveling.
“hey,” he says quietly, voice low and careful. “you’re not after anyone.”
you try to look away, but he catches your chin between two fingers, guiding your eyes back to his.
“she’s the past,” he murmurs. “but you—you’re the present. you’re the one who’s here. who sleeps beside me. who leaves hair ties on the bathroom sink and wears my shirts and steals my side of the bed.”
your lips part, but no sound comes out.
“don’t do that to yourself,” he whispers. “don’t compare. it’s not the same because this is real. and growing. and you—”
he leans closer.
“you make me forget her name.”
you blink, breath catching. the air feels different now. the candlelight flickers between you, but you can barely see it. all you can see is him—his face inches from yours, his voice warm and deep and trembling just enough to make your pulse race.
“yeonjun…”
“can i kiss you?” he breathes.
you nod.
slowly, his hand slides to your jaw, his thumb brushing the soft skin beneath your cheekbone. he closes the space between you inch by inch, giving you time to pull away, but you don’t. you lean in.
when his lips finally meet yours, it’s not fireworks. it’s gravity.
you sink into it, into him, into the warmth and tenderness of it. it’s careful, at first—testing, soft, a question asked in the silence. but then you tilt your head, fingers finding the collar of his shirt, and he answers with a deeper kiss, one that pulls a sound from the back of your throat you didn’t expect.
it’s too much. it’s not enough. it’s everything all at once.
when you finally part, you’re breathless.
he presses his forehead to yours. the candle crackles gently nearby. the rain keeps falling.
“i’m sorry,” you whisper.
“don’t be,” he says, brushing his nose against yours. “i should’ve known. i should’ve said something sooner.”
you shake your head. “no. i needed to feel it. to say it. i think i’ve been holding everything back since this marriage started.”
“me too.”
you both fall quiet again, but this time, it’s different.
you’re not two strangers trying to survive a system anymore.
you’re two people finally reaching across the space that was never meant to last.
and outside, the rain sings soft lullabies to the city, and the candle flickers like a heartbeat, and in his arms, you no longer feel like a second choice.
you feel chosen.
the next morning, something has changed.
it’s subtle. nothing overt. not at first.
you wake up earlier than him and find yourself just… watching him for a moment. the soft rise and fall of his chest. the curve of his lashes against his cheek. how he frowns slightly in his sleep, like he’s still half in a dream. you should look away—you’ve always looked away before—but now your eyes linger.
when he stirs, blinking against the light, he sees you watching. he doesn’t flinch. he just smiles, sleep-warm and real, and your heart does something uncomfortable and sweet in your chest.
“morning,” he murmurs, voice rough.
“morning,” you whisper back, your voice catching a little.
he reaches out lazily, his fingers brushing your arm beneath the blanket, and even though it’s nothing, just that, your breath hitches. you tell yourself it’s the closeness. the aftermath of the kiss. but the warmth in your chest says something else.
and then the day goes on—but not quite the same.
at breakfast, he sits closer than usual. your elbows touch when you both reach for the sugar. he doesn’t apologize like before. doesn’t pull away. just grins and bumps your shoulder on purpose this time.
you roll your eyes. “you’re annoying.”
“you kissed me last night,” he says, way too casually. “you don’t get to call me annoying anymore.”
“you asked first.”
“still counts.”
the banter is light, teasing, familiar. but under it, there’s a new current. an awareness. every glance feels heavier. every touch lingers a second longer than it should. when he hands you a dish, his fingers brush yours, and neither of you lets go right away.
the silence between you becomes something else entirely. no longer filled with obligation or awkwardness. now it feels like a question that neither of you is brave enough to answer out loud.
until it happens again. in the kitchen, late at night, as you’re washing dishes and he comes up behind you. at first it’s innocent—he says something dumb, you laugh—but then his hand finds the small of your back, and you freeze, not because it’s wrong but because it’s not. it feels too good. too natural.
you turn, slowly, water dripping from your hands, and he’s already looking at you like he wants to kiss you again.
he doesn’t. not yet. he just leans in and gently tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. his fingers graze your cheek, his eyes drop to your lips, and then—he walks away.
you stand there for a moment, heart pounding, wondering how the hell he keeps doing this to you.
a few days later, you’re invited to visit your family.
it’s your first time back since the marriage. your parents had called to check in, of course, had even video called once or twice, but nothing replaces being home. your mother’s cooking. your father’s quiet warmth. your brother’s chaotic energy.
the moment you walk through the door, your mom pulls you into a hug so tight you almost cry again. your dad claps yeonjun’s shoulder, awkward but trying. your brother, now twelve, looks like he’s grown taller.
he eyes yeonjun up and down, squints a little, then smirks at you.
“so, are you pregnant yet?”
you freeze.
your dad chokes on his tea. your mother lets out a gasp so sharp it could cut metal. yeonjun’s eyes go wide—like someone just yanked the floor out from under him.
“yoonho!” your mom yells, already reaching for the nearest dish towel like it’s a weapon. “you can’t ask that!”
“what?” your brother yells as he runs from her, laughing like a maniac. “i just wanted to know if the government system’s working!”
your dad is still coughing. you’re standing there redder than a tomato. burning with mortification.
yeonjun, after a stunned beat, laughs. really laughs. full chest, head-tilted-back laughter that’s so contagious you can’t help but giggle through your hands.
“don’t encourage him,” you say, smacking his arm lightly.
he grins down at you, eyes sparkling. “i’m sorry, that was—really something.”
“he’s an idiot,” you mutter, still mortified.
“he’s your idiot,” he says, voice softer now.
you glance up at him and smile, something warm spreading in your chest. it surprises you, just how much that smile feels like home.
and even after the chaos settles, even after your mom manages to drag your brother back by the collar to apologize properly, even when you sit around the table laughing and eating and telling stories—there’s a small, secret current running beneath it all.
the way yeonjun’s hand grazes your lower back when he leans past you to grab a dish. the way you lean into him just slightly when your mom starts talking about your childhood, and he listens like he wants to know everything.
and when the night ends, and you both return to your apartment, it’s quieter—but it’s a good quiet. that kind of peace you only feel when someone’s truly, finally getting under your skin.
the drive back home is quiet, but not in a bad way. it’s the kind of silence that lingers after too much laughter, after too much emotion crammed into too little time. the windows are fogged slightly from your breaths, and the hum of the road is the only sound between you. outside, the city lights blur in soft halos, the streets wet from the rain earlier in the day, reflecting neon and moonlight.
you’re leaning against the car door, eyes heavy, body full from dinner, from memories, from everything. your family had insisted you stay the night, but you knew it would’ve made leaving harder. too emotional. too permanent. so you thanked them, smiled through the tightness in your throat, and left.
and now, here you are, beside him. yeonjun’s one hand is on the wheel, the other resting between the seats, fingers tapping idly against the console. you glance at it once. then again. his profile is calm, a faint curve to his lips like he’s still smiling at your brother’s chaos.
you break the silence first.
“sorry about today… my family can be a lot.”
he lets out a soft chuckle. “i liked it.”
you turn to him, a little surprised.
“really?”
he nods. “they’re… warm. chaotic, yeah, but it felt real. like they love you so much they don’t even try to hide it.”
you press your lips together, looking down at your lap, suddenly blinking back something stinging in your eyes. you weren’t expecting that answer. or maybe you were, but not the way it made your chest ache so gently.
“thanks,” you whisper.
you don’t realize you’re still staring at him until he speaks again, this time softer.
“and your brother…” he smirks a little. “i can’t believe he said that.”
you groan, hiding your face in your hands. “please don’t remind me.”
“i’m serious,” he laughs, and then looks over at you, his gaze lingering longer this time, “you were so red.”
“because it was embarrassing,” you shoot back, but your voice is lighter, warm with the trace of a smile.
his eyes flick down to your lips.
“you’re cute when you blush,” he murmurs, and it’s so quiet you’re not even sure he meant to say it out loud.
your breath catches. your heart stutters. suddenly the space between you feels smaller. the console is no longer an arm’s length—it’s a breath. the air is thicker. hotter.
you look at him, really look at him—his jaw sharp in the glow of passing streetlamps, the tendons in his neck tense, his grip on the wheel a little tighter now. he looks back, just briefly, but it’s enough. something electric pulses between you.
and then he pulls over.
not far from your building, not quite home yet—but enough to be alone. enough to pause. the engine hums low, a steady heartbeat in the silence. he doesn’t look at you right away, just stares forward, fingers tightening, loosening, tightening again on the wheel.
you feel your pulse in your throat.
“i…” he starts, then stops. he turns to you, eyes darker than before. clearer. “can i ask you something?”
you nod, heart racing.
“why did it bother you?” he asks quietly. “about the girl i told you about.”
you stare at him. that familiar heat returns to your chest, crawling up your neck. you bite the inside of your cheek before answering.
“i don’t know,” you lie at first. but then, you sigh. “maybe because it was real for you. maybe because… you had someone you wanted, once. and i never did. and now i’m supposed to just… live with that. pretend like i’m not wondering if she would’ve made you happier.”
he watches you for a long moment, expression unreadable. then, finally, he leans a little closer, voice low.
“do you think i’m not happy?”
your throat dries.
“are you?” you whisper.
he exhales slowly, shaking his head like he can’t believe he’s about to do this. and then he shifts, fully turning toward you. his fingers reach up, brushing lightly against your chin, lifting your face to his.
“you’re not her,” he says. “you’re you.”
and then, without waiting, without asking again—he kisses you.
it’s not urgent. not rough. it’s slow, deliberate, tender with something sharp hidden beneath. like he’s been holding it back for too long and now that it’s happening, he’s pouring everything into it. his hand cups your jaw, thumb stroking your cheek. your lips part before you even realize, and his tongue grazes yours, soft, testing, like he’s still asking if this is okay even now.
you melt into it.
your hand slides up his arm, gripping his bicep, grounding yourself as heat spreads through your veins. your bodies don’t move much, still confined by seatbelts and space, but it’s intimate. intense. and when he finally pulls back, breathing harder than before, he rests his forehead against yours.
“you’re not her,” he whispers again. “and thank god for that.”
you sit there, breaths mingling, skin flushed, hearts racing in tandem. your hand is still on his arm. his thumb is still tracing your cheek.
and this time, neither of you says a word. because you both know—something just changed again.
you’re not lovers. not yet.
but your hands brush again on the way to bed. he holds your gaze a little longer. and when you lie down, back to back, you find yourself pressing closer, just enough that your spine feels the heat of his chest.
you fall asleep like that.
and neither of you says a word.
you both had an appointment early in the morning. the ministry of civil labor had sent a formal notice last week, listing the available part-time positions for couples still enrolled in university, and now you were seated across from an administrative worker who barely looked up from her screen as she explained the contracts. yeonjun was placed in a logistics department for a government-run supply chain—something with inventory and system inputs. you were assigned to a small local archival center where they'd digitize old birth and marriage records, which felt ironic in a way that made your stomach twist.
“you’ll receive your first schedule by the end of the week,” the woman said without emotion, and you both nodded, signing at the bottom of the page, pens scratching the paper in tandem.
walking out of the building, yeonjun nudged your shoulder with his and whispered, “look at us. signing contracts like a real married couple.” and you rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help the smile pulling at your lips.
“you mean we weren’t real before?” you asked, raising a brow.
he smirked, unlocking the car and opening your door. “we were married on paper. now we’re married... and employed.”
you both laughed, climbing into the vehicle, and the warmth lingered even after the engine hummed to life. it was a quiet kind of happiness, soft and simple, like the feeling of your bare thighs against the leather seat, like the sun warming the dashboard. you wore a dress that day—casual, nothing too fancy, but it clung lightly to your frame in the breeze when you walked out earlier, and you caught the way yeonjun had looked at you from the corner of your eye. not blatant. just... noticing.
the road was mostly empty. the hum of tires on pavement filled the silence as the laughter faded, replaced by something thicker. something weightier.
at a red light, he stopped the car smoothly, one hand still on the steering wheel. the other lifted, slowly, casually, and without looking at you, he placed it on your thigh.
he didn’t squeeze. he didn’t slide his fingers higher. just let his palm rest there, warm and firm, like it belonged.
your breath hitched.
you tried not to move, tried not to tense up, but the sensation crawled up your spine like wildfire. it was such a simple touch, so ordinary, but it landed somewhere deep in your belly—hot, twisting, coiling. your skin tingled where his fingers barely pressed into the flesh, and your thighs felt suddenly, achingly aware of how little separated them from him.
he said nothing.
neither did you.
but your body betrayed you—the way your chest rose a little faster, the way your knees shifted slightly, as if trying to find an answer to the question that touch had asked.
the light turned green.
he drove on.
his hand didn’t move.
the silence stretched, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. it was charged. heavy with something that neither of you dared name yet.
you exhaled, slow and shaky, and he glanced at you briefly, lips curving—not into a smirk, but something softer. something fond. he rubbed his thumb in a slow arc, barely there, and your fingers curled around the hem of your dress to keep from shaking.
by the time you got home, the tension had woven itself into your skin like a second layer. you both stepped out of the car and walked toward the apartment quietly, but the air buzzed with every step.
inside, the routine resumed—shoes off, bags down, water poured into glasses—but your thoughts were nowhere near the surface. every time he passed behind you, you felt his presence more than you saw him. every brush of his hand, every graze of his arm felt like a firestarter.
you stood near the sink, rinsing the cups, when he came up behind you. didn’t touch you. just stood close enough that you felt the heat of his chest on your back, close enough that your breathing stuttered.
“need help?” he murmured, voice low, mouth near your ear.
you shook your head, but your body leaned slightly into him anyway. traitorously.
his hands didn’t move—not yet—but his presence surrounded you, a quiet pressure that built with every second. you turned your head slightly to glance at him, and the proximity was enough to make you both pause. your lips weren’t touching, but they could’ve. your noses almost brushed.
and then he reached for the cup beside you, taking it slowly, deliberately, his fingers brushing yours. your breath caught again.
“thanks,” he said, voice still low.
you watched him walk away, your hands trembling under the water, and you knew—tonight, you wouldn’t be able to pretend this tension didn’t exist. it was burning its way into your bones.
that night, everything felt like it was humming. the silence between you wasn’t really silence—it was full of what hadn’t been said, of what hadn’t been done but nearly was. the ghost of yeonjun’s hand on your thigh still lingered, burned into your skin. your legs still tingled from the pressure, the weight, the heat. and when he brushed past you in the kitchen again after dinner, it felt deliberate. or maybe you just wanted it to be.
your heart hadn’t settled since the drive home.
later, after you’d both changed into your sleep clothes, you met again in the hallway, the light above you casting a golden hue that made his skin look warm and soft. you paused at the same time, eyes locking. your breath caught in your throat, because he wasn’t just looking at you—he was seeing you. seeing the hem of your shirt, the way it clung slightly to your waist. seeing the bare stretch of your legs, your collarbone, the fine line of your neck.
you thought he’d say something.
he didn’t.
he just stepped past you, heading to the shared living room like usual. the storm from earlier had passed, leaving a cool breeze in its wake. you followed, drawn to him like always. you both sat on the couch, feet tucked beneath you, shoulders close but not quite touching. it was dark. the power had gone out temporarily again, only the soft blue emergency lights casting faint shadows across his face.
“you’re quiet,” you said, voice barely above a whisper.
“just thinking,” he replied, his tone low, almost distant.
you turned your head toward him. “about what?”
he hesitated. “about earlier... the car. and how it felt.”
you sucked in a soft breath. “me too.”
silence again.
and then, slowly, as if guided by instinct, he reached over and touched your hand. fingers brushing the back of yours. the contact was small. barely anything. but it was enough to pull the air from your lungs. you turned your palm and laced your fingers with his.
it felt dangerous.
he looked at your joined hands like he didn’t recognize his own, and then back at you—his eyes darker than usual, hooded, like he was holding back a tide. you weren’t sure who moved first. maybe it was him. maybe it was you. but one second you were sitting apart, and the next your bodies were angled toward each other, your knees brushing, your breaths tangled. his hand cupped your jaw gently, fingers trembling against your skin, and he leaned in, close enough that his lips nearly grazed yours.
your pulse roared in your ears.
his mouth touched yours like a whisper—featherlight, testing.
you responded before you could think, lips parting for him, heat blooming low in your stomach like wildfire. the kiss deepened slowly, wet and slow and dizzying. his tongue brushed yours, cautious at first, then more certain, like he needed to taste you, like he was starved. your hand curled into his shirt, tugging him closer, and he groaned softly into your mouth, deep and breathless.
his hand slid down your side, fingers skating over the thin fabric of your sleep shirt, and you gasped when they reached your hip. he pulled you into his lap, your thighs straddling him, bodies pressed together too close to ignore. the heat between you crackled—your hips shifted without thinking, and you felt the hardness of him, solid and hot beneath you.
his lips broke from yours for a second, his breathing rough. “fuck... y/n...”
his hands gripped your thighs, sliding up, thumbs brushing the edge of your underwear. you whimpered, pressing closer, grinding down gently. it was heady. dizzying. perfect.
and then—
his phone rang.
the sound shattered the moment like glass.
you both froze.
you were on his lap, panting, trembling, your lips swollen from the kiss, your heart pounding like a war drum. he didn’t move for a second. then he cursed under his breath and gently lifted you off him, muttering a strained apology as he reached for the phone. his voice cracked when he answered, trying to sound normal.
you stood there, stunned, breathing hard, still tasting him on your tongue.
after the call, which only lasted a few seconds, he didn’t look at you.
“i think... i’ll sleep in my room tonight,” he said quietly.
you blinked. “oh.”
he didn’t explain.
he just walked away.
and something cold settled in your chest.
you crawled into your bed alone, wrapping the blanket around yourself tightly, but you couldn’t sleep. not when you still felt the ghost of his hands on your body. not when your lips were still tingling from the kiss. not when he had looked at you like he needed you, and then walked away without a word.
you turned over. again. again. and again. your heart ached with confusion. was it too much? did he regret it? had you done something wrong?
you couldn’t take it anymore.
you got up, padded down the hall to his room, and raised your fist to knock.
but then you froze.
because you heard it.
soft, muffled sounds, irregular breathing. your eyes widened.
a low groan, deep and drawn out.
then a quiet, wet sound—rhythmic, unmistakable.
your breath caught.
you didn’t mean to listen. but you couldn’t move.
then, you heard it.
“y/n...”
your name, moaned out—quiet but desperate. raw. like a confession.
your knees weakened.
another moan, louder this time, almost a whimper.
and then—your name again, breathless, almost broken, followed by the sound of skin slapping softly against skin, faster now.
he was close.
he was touching himself.
thinking of you.
you pressed your palm to your mouth, trying not to make a sound, cheeks burning, body trembling. you shouldn’t be here. you shouldn’t hear this. but your legs wouldn’t move. your breath came in shaky gasps, your heart thundering as heat rushed between your thighs, pooling heavy and hot.
you didn’t know what this meant.
but you knew one thing.
he wanted you.
and now, you didn’t think you could ever look at him the same again.
you didn’t mean to lean closer.
you didn’t mean to press your ear too tightly against the door.
but your balance faltered—just a second too long standing on your toes, your weight shifting, your breath too shallow—and suddenly your foot slipped on the edge of the smooth hallway floor. a soft, startled sound escaped your throat as your body tilted sideways, your hand fumbling for the wall, failing.
and then—thud.
a soft crash, your hip hitting the floor, your palms slapping down just in time to soften the fall. you gasped and quickly clamped your hand over your mouth, praying he hadn’t heard, that you hadn’t been loud enough—but inside, panic bloomed like fire. your chest heaved as you tried to stay perfectly still, your cheeks on fire, the oversized t-shirt—his t-shirt—riding high around your waist from the fall.
then you heard the shuffle. footsteps. hurried. a sudden rush from the other side.
“y/n?” his voice was sharp. worried. confused.
before you could react, the door swung open.
and there he was.
yeonjun.
bare-chested, sweat clinging to his collarbones, his hair disheveled, lips swollen and flushed, his hand still adjusting the waistband of his boxers as if he hadn’t had time to fix himself. and then he saw you.
on the floor.
his shirt up around your waist.
your bare thighs. your panties exposed.
your hand covering your mouth, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights.
time froze.
he stared at you, blinking once, then again. his mouth parted, but no words came out. his gaze dropped—just for a heartbeat—but you saw it. the flicker. the hunger. the tension that snapped into existence like a spark to gasoline.
you scrambled to tug the shirt down, cheeks burning, breath caught.
“i—i slipped, i wasn’t—i mean—”
“were you listening?” his voice came out low. rough.
you opened your mouth, then shut it. your throat tightened. your heart was pounding so violently you felt it behind your eyes.
“y/n…” he whispered, stepping closer.
your breath hitched.
“i heard you,” he said, his voice strained now. “outside the door. you… you heard me too, didn’t you?”
you nodded slowly, like it was all you could manage.
he knelt beside you without thinking, his hands hovering for a moment before one slid to the small of your back, the other cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing your skin gently, eyes searching yours. “you heard me… say your name.”
you couldn’t speak.
“fuck,” he whispered. “i didn’t mean for you to know. i tried to walk away because i couldn’t control it. i thought... if i gave us space—”
“why?” your voice cracked. “why did you walk away after kissing me like that?”
his jaw clenched. “because i wanted more. i wanted too much.”
your lips trembled. “me too.”
something inside him snapped.
he surged forward, his lips crashing into yours with a hunger that was no longer restrained. this wasn’t careful. this wasn’t gentle. this was weeks of stolen glances and soft touches and building need exploding all at once. his mouth was hot, possessive, his hand slipping to your thigh, then gripping, pulling you into him as you moaned against his lips.
you tasted everything—desperation, desire, the salt on his skin from sweat, the sound of his breath ragged and wild. you clung to him, your fingers digging into his bare shoulders as he leaned you back slowly onto the hallway floor, his body covering yours, fitting against you perfectly. your thighs opened for him without thought, welcoming the pressure of his hips between them, the hardness of him pressing directly against the wet heat soaking your panties.
“fuck, y/n,” he groaned against your mouth, “you have no idea what you do to me.”
his hand slid beneath the hem of the shirt—his shirt—the one you wore to sleep every night, the one that smelled like him. his palm caressed your waist, your ribs, then cupped your breast softly over the fabric of your bra, his thumb teasing the sensitive peak until you whimpered, arching up into him.
“you shouldn’t be here,” he rasped, but didn’t stop. “i’m trying so hard to do this right. to be careful.”
“then don’t,” you whispered back, your voice broken, needful. “don’t be careful.”
his eyes burned into yours.
his lips kissed down your jaw, your neck, biting softly at the tender skin just below your ear. “you’re gonna make me lose it,” he growled.
“maybe i want you to.”
his hand slipped lower, over your stomach, fingers grazing the band of your panties—when suddenly—
a sharp knock on the front door shattered the moment.
you both froze.
his chest rose and fell against yours, his forehead dropping to your shoulder.
another knock. then a voice from outside.
“government delivery. lights restored. system check.”
“fuck,” he hissed.
he helped you sit up, both of you breathing like you’d just run miles.
you looked at each other.
your lips swollen. your skin flushed. your bodies aching.
you wanted to scream.
but instead you swallowed it down, tugged the shirt over your thighs, stood on shaky legs. he followed you in silence, running a hand through his messy hair, still visibly hard, still clearly affected.
“i’m sorry,” he whispered.
you didn’t respond.
because you weren’t sure you wanted him to be.
you weren’t sure what you expected when you whispered, maybe i want you to. maybe you thought he would pull away, maybe he’d laugh and tell you to go to bed, that you were just talking nonsense, caught up in the tension of it all. but he didn’t. instead, the room stayed still, save for the thrum of the rain against the windows and the sound of his breathing, which was slow, deep, heavier now, as he looked down at you with something dark and burning in his eyes.
his voice was low, but not soft. "do you know what you're saying?" he asked, barely above a whisper. you nodded, your throat too tight to speak. you could feel his body, warm and solid, pressed against yours as he leaned in again, and this time the kiss wasn’t tentative. it was hungry, deeper, drawn out, and you could taste the restraint in him, the way he held himself back even as his hand gripped your waist tighter.
you barely noticed how he guided you back onto the mattress until your head hit the pillow. your fingers curled around the fabric of his shirt, the same one you'd stolen from him to sleep in, and now it was twisted between your hands as he kissed you again and again, lips trailing down the line of your jaw, the hollow of your throat, your pulse fluttering under his mouth.
every touch was slow, deliberate. when his hands slid under the hem of the shirt you wore, it wasn’t rushed—it was reverent. he looked at you like you were something sacred, something he’d been aching for, something forbidden and now finally his. his fingers traced the line of your hip, the soft skin just beneath your navel, pausing just above the waistband of your panties. you shivered beneath him, your body responding before your mind could catch up.
"tell me if you want me to stop," he murmured, his forehead pressed against yours. you shook your head immediately, a breathy no escaping your lips before you could second guess it. and something in him broke. or maybe it snapped into place. he kissed you like it was the only thing keeping him alive, his hands roaming, learning the shape of you, the softness of your thighs, the arch of your back as you gasped under his touch.
he took his time. he whispered how beautiful you were, how long he had wanted you like this, how the thought of you in his bed had driven him insane since that first night the storm pushed you into his arms. every kiss lower was met with a pause, a glance, asking, confirming, cherishing. his hands didn’t fumble; they explored, gentle and firm, his mouth hot against your skin.
you had never felt like this before. it was more than arousal—it was a kind of unraveling, a melting of all the fear and restraint you had carried for so long. the rules, the systems, the cold logic of the world outside—none of it existed here. here, in his arms, you were just a girl wanting a boy. no laws. no assignments. no duties.
just him. just you.
and when he finally touched you, really touched you, the moan that escaped you was soft, stunned, your fingers digging into his shoulder as he kissed the side of your neck. you were wet, aching, needy in a way you hadn’t even known your body could feel, and yeonjun seemed to know exactly how to handle you—teasing, stroking, whispering your name like it was a prayer.
his own self-control was fraying at the edges. you could feel it in the way his breath hitched, the way his voice broke when he groaned your name against your collarbone, the way his hips rocked against your thigh without even realizing it.
"you make me crazy," he whispered, biting gently at your shoulder. "since that kiss. since that first night. fuck—i think about you all the time. you wearing my shirt, you laughing in the kitchen, you sleeping next to me—"
"yeonjun," you gasped, your back arching as his fingers slid beneath your panties, finally, finally touching you where you needed him most. he cursed under his breath, kissing you again as your legs parted naturally for him.
he kept you on the edge, slow, patient, as if he was memorizing every sound you made, every breath you took. he didn’t rush to have you—not yet. this was still the prelude, the first taste, the careful unraveling. but you were close. too close.
and then.
he leaned over you again, lips brushing your ear, his voice hoarse. "can i make love to you?"
you nodded, heart pounding. "yes. please."
every movement after that was reverent, every sigh swallowed into a kiss, every tremble in your limbs steadied by his hands. he helped you out of your panties, gently, and shed his own clothes with a kind of urgency that was quiet, controlled, but full of need. when he settled between your legs, he paused, eyes meeting yours with a question so full of tenderness it made your chest ache.
his hand wrapped around himself, and your breath caught in your throat. he was thick, long—too much. your eyes widened without meaning to, and he noticed, chuckling softly as he kissed the corner of your mouth.
“it’s okay,” he whispered, but your voice came out shaky when you murmured. “it won’t fit…” he hushed you gently, his palm stroking down your thigh.
“we’ll go slow,” he promised, though the way his jaw clenched told you even he was struggling to hold back.
the stretch was new, unfamiliar, but he moved slowly, letting you adjust, kissing you through the discomfort, murmuring praises against your lips. he held you like you were fragile, like the world would stop spinning if he hurt you, and when you finally relaxed around him, he moved with a rhythm that spoke of restraint and reverence, yet underneath it burned a fire he could barely contain.
it was gentle, yes, but not shy. it was soft, but not without heat. the way he groaned when your nails scraped down his back, the way he whispered your name like it anchored him—it was everything. his hands never stopped touching you, his mouth never far from yours, and the way he looked at you made you feel like you were the center of the universe.
the pace picked up only slightly, but the angle shifted when he gently maneuvered your body, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder before whispering, “turn around for me, baby.” your heart skipped as you obeyed, rolling onto your stomach, your cheek resting against his pillow, flushed and dazed, breath hot against the fabric. he settled behind you, large hands caressing the curve of your hips, his voice low and rough against your ear. “you look so good like this… fuck, i could lose my mind.”
you felt him guide himself back in, slower this time, deeper, and the gasp that left you was nothing short of a whimper, your back arching instinctively. the new position had him hitting that spot—the spot—with a precision that made your eyes roll back, your mouth dropping open against the pillow. “yeonjun—oh my god—” you choked, voice muffled, and he groaned above you, one hand gripping your waist as the other gently turned your face just enough so he could kiss your parted lips. “look at you,” he breathed, panting, watching your blissed-out expression with dark, desperate eyes. “you feel so fucking good—so tight around me… you were made for me, weren’t you?”
your voice came out broken, shaking. “it feels s-so good… i can’t—yeonjun, i—” but you didn’t need to finish. he could feel it. your body clenching around him with every slow, deep thrust. he bent over you, chest pressed to your back, skin to skin, and whispered filth in your ear in between kisses down your spine. “such a good girl,” he rasped, “taking me so well… fuck, i’m close. i can’t—i need to pull out…”
you nodded weakly, barely able to breathe, trembling as he gave one more thrust, then another—and with a strangled moan of your name, he pulled out and spilled his release onto the dip of your lower back, hot and heavy against your skin, dripping down to your ass. he groaned, his forehead against your shoulder, panting hard as he tried to come down from the high. “fuck, you’re perfect,” he murmured, voice ragged. “so fucking perfect.”
when he collapsed beside you, he didn’t pull away. his arms wrapped around you, pulling you into his chest, both of you still catching your breath. the rain still tapped gently against the windows, the room now full of the scent of sweat and skin, of something new, something sacred.
"i’ve wanted you for so long," he murmured against your hair.
"i know," you whispered back, curling into him.
and for once, you didn’t feel cold. you didn’t feel alone. you didn’t feel like someone forced into something by a cruel system. you felt wanted. chosen.
his.
yours.
the morning came too quickly, the sun bleeding gently through the curtains, casting a golden warmth across the tangled sheets. your body still ached in the most delicious ways, and your skin was marked with soft reminders of his mouth, his hands, the way he held you like you were breakable and wanted all at once. you hadn’t said much when you woke. yeonjun had only kissed your forehead, helped you get dressed, and now you were sitting in the waiting room of the ministry’s planning clinic, the air sterile and overly bright.
the doctor, a warm-looking woman with gentle eyes and an enthusiastic tone, greeted you both like old friends. “ah! newlyweds,” she smiled, scanning her clipboard. “i see you’ve finally started your sexual life together. that’s wonderful news!”
your cheeks flamed immediately, and beside you, yeonjun coughed, suddenly fascinated by a poster about prenatal vitamins on the wall. “uh, yeah,” you mumbled, barely able to meet her gaze.
“good, good,” she said brightly, motioning for you to follow her behind a curtain for a quick checkup. “we need to make sure everything’s healthy and progressing normally. it’s still early, but we want to optimize for fertility, yes?”
you nodded, letting her guide you onto the examination table. her hands were professional, but the whole thing still made your stomach twist. you were sore—still a little tender—and she noticed, humming under her breath.
“you’re fine,” she reassured you, adjusting her gloves. “some sensitivity is natural after a first experience. but you’re healthy, everything looks good.” she smiled. “do you track your cycle, darling?”
you nodded slowly, fingers tightening on the edge of the table. “yes… i keep a calendar.”
“perfect. when was your last period?”
you told her, and she did some quick math on her tablet before her smile brightened. “then your most fertile window should be starting in about four days. if you’re trying to conceive—and you should be, of course—it’s best to be active every other day during that period. that increases the chances significantly.”
you wanted to sink into the floor. “o-oh.”
“don’t be shy. this is natural.” she patted your knee, then stood. “you’re young and healthy. your compatibility score is ideal. You just need to be consistent now. and relaxed. it should be something enjoyable.”
you weren’t sure what your face looked like when you stepped out, but yeonjun blinked and stood instantly. the doctor gave him a little wink and whispered something about keeping the environment fun, and you could practically feel the tension coil between your ribs as you exited the building together.
the ride home was quiet for a while. the hum of the engine, the soft buzz of traffic, the way your thighs were pressed together beneath your dress. he tapped the wheel with his fingers, sneaking glances at you out of the corner of his eye.
finally, you exhaled. “she said i’m entering my fertile window soon.”
his hands stilled on the steering wheel.
“in four days,” you added, your voice too high, too soft.
“oh.”
another silence.
“and she said we should—uh—every other day. during that window. for higher chances.”
“right.” he adjusted his grip again. “makes sense.”
but neither of you looked at each other. because the thing was, last night hadn’t felt like a scheduled duty. it hadn’t felt like a requirement, or a step in a plan designed by the state. it had felt messy, desperate, slow, sweet, and hungry. it had felt human.
and now the idea of doing it again, like you were just checking off boxes on a clinical list, felt… weird.
“does it feel weird?” you blurted, staring out the window.
yeonjun looked at you, startled. “what?”
“this. talking about it. like it’s a chore or something. when last night—” you trailed off, cheeks heating.
he nodded slowly. “it feels weird because it wasn’t just about the system. it was… about us.” his voice was quiet, unsure, but honest.
you twisted your fingers in your lap, the weight of his words settling between your thighs like the lingering ache from last night. you didn’t know how to act now—how to go from that kind of vulnerability to pretending you were just following instructions.
“i want to do it again,” you admitted, so softly it could’ve been mistaken for a breath. “but not because of the calendar. because… i liked how it felt. with you.”
his knuckles tightened on the wheel, his jaw clenching as he looked at you again. something in his eyes flickered—warm, molten, restrained. “good,” he said roughly. “because i haven’t stopped thinking about it since i woke up.”
your breath caught.
the red light ahead turned green, but neither of you were breathing normally anymore.
this wasn’t just about reproduction.
not anymore.
and neither of you knew how to navigate that yet—but the thought of exploring it again?
set your blood on fire.
you didn’t even make it past the front door.
as soon as it clicked shut behind you, he turned to you like something had snapped loose inside him—like the silence in the car, the weight of what had been said at the clinic, the image of you squirming in your seat all flushed and embarrassed, had pushed him past the edge. his hand cupped the back of your neck, pulling you in with a force that made your breath stutter, his lips crashing into yours with none of the hesitation from the night before. it was need—pure, undiluted need—and you melted into it like you’d been waiting all day.
your back hit the wall, your fingers clawing at the hem of his shirt, dragging it up over his abs while he kissed you like it was the only thing keeping him alive. his hands found your thighs, lifted you slightly, pressing your hips together in a rhythm already too hungry for the softness of conversation.
you moaned into his mouth, and that was it—he growled low in his throat, carrying you the few messy steps to the living room, collapsing with you onto the couch in a tangle of limbs and breathless gasps. you straddled him instinctively, the dress you wore bunching at your hips, and the way you ground down against him made him curse under his breath, hands tightening on your waist.
"fuck, baby, you're driving me insane," he muttered, kissing down your jaw, your neck, your collarbone, dragging the straps of your dress off your shoulders as his thumbs traced soft, dizzying circles into your skin.
"then do something about it," you whispered, breathless, rocking your hips again just to feel him buck up into you, so hard already it made your mouth go dry.
he didn't need more encouragement.
he kissed down your chest, taking his time, pulling down the top of your dress to reveal more skin, his mouth hot and greedy as he licked and sucked at your breasts, tongue flicking over your nipple until you were gasping his name. his fingers pushed the fabric higher, baring your panties and the damp patch growing darker by the second, and he groaned, burying his face between your thighs like he needed to taste you just to stay sane.
you cried out, your hands tangled in his hair, legs shaking as his tongue worked slow, devastating circles against your clit, sucking gently, teasing you with the edge of release only to pull away. “so wet for me already,” he whispered, voice thick, lips glistening. “you’ve been thinking about this since the car, haven’t you?”
you nodded, eyes fluttering shut, and he rewarded you by sucking harder, his fingers slipping inside to stretch you just right, his other hand holding your hips down while you rode the edge again and again until you whimpered, begging, thighs trembling.
“please, yeonjun… i need you, now.”
he didn’t make you ask twice.
he pulled you onto his lap again, kissing you deep, letting you taste yourself on his lips. and then he stood, shifting you onto the couch, turning your body gently, hands guiding your knees onto the cushions, your chest pressed to the armrest, your ass up for him—offered, exposed, throbbing.
"you’re so fucking perfect like this," he whispered, one hand sliding up your spine, the other gripping your hip as he positioned himself behind you, dragging the tip of his cock along your slit, teasing, wet and hot.
you whimpered, pushing back slightly, and when he slid in, inch by inch, you gasped—eyes rolling back, the stretch sharp and addictive all over again.
“fuck, you feel even tighter like this,” he groaned, sinking in all the way until your ass met his hips. “you’re gonna ruin me.”
he started to move slowly, the position letting him hit deeper, every thrust punching little moans from your lips. the slap of skin against skin echoed through the room, his hands gripping your waist, your thighs, your hair. and still, he kissed your spine, leaned over you, whispered filth against your neck.
“you like this, baby? you like being fucked like this?”
“yes—yes, fuck, yeonjun—it feels so good—”
he reached around, rubbed slow circles against your clit as he fucked into you deeper, faster, making you cry out into the pillow, your body arching under him, thighs shaking again.
"let me see your face," he panted, one hand turning your head slightly so he could kiss you, so he could see your expression—your flushed cheeks, your lips parted, eyes unfocused.
“you’re so fucking beautiful like this,” he growled. “you’re gonna make me come just looking at you.”
you felt it building again, heat coiling low in your belly, your body tightening, trembling, your moans turning desperate as he kept you right on the edge, hitting that perfect spot inside you over and over.
“yeonjun—i’m gonna—”
“me too—fuck—i need to pull out—”
but you reached back, grabbing his hand, voice shaking. “don’t. please. come inside.”
he choked on a moan, hips stuttering, and then he was spilling into you with a groan so deep it made your toes curl, holding you tight as he filled you completely, shaking from the force of it. your own climax hit just seconds later, white-hot and blinding, and you collapsed onto the couch, boneless, his body draped over yours, both of you gasping for air.
his come dripped slowly down your thighs, warmth spreading between them, and he didn’t move—just pressed gentle kisses to your shoulder, your back, your spine, whispering your name like it was the only word he knew.
neither of you said anything for a long time.
but you both knew.
there was no going back.
the following days slipped into a blur of aching need and restless nights. you both tried to keep the doctor’s advice in mind, to space out your moments, to give your bodies time to recover, but desire doesn’t listen to calendars or rules. every morning, before you left for university, you found yourselves tangled together, breathless and desperate, fingers tracing familiar curves as if memorizing every inch again and again. afternoons after classes weren’t any different; the moment you closed the door behind you, yeonjun’s hands were already on your waist, pulling you close, his lips claiming yours with the same fierce hunger that never dulled.
the days were a patchwork of stolen touches and whispered promises, of quick, heated moments before rushing to your part-time jobs—him with the university’s cultural center, tutoring students in language and literature, and you at a small café nearby, pouring coffee and smiling through the haze of exhaustion and longing. you came home exhausted but your body still hummed with anticipation, the ache of missing him settling low and deep, urging you back into his arms. your skin grew sensitive, your senses sharper; even the smallest brush of fingers sparked a fire beneath your skin.
and every time he pulled you close, you let him come inside you—every time—forgetting the cautious rhythm the doctor had suggested, letting your bodies rewrite the rules in the heat of the moment. the cool logic of planning was swallowed whole by your hunger, your need to be closer, to feel him deeper, to lose yourselves entirely in the mess and sweetness of this forbidden, stolen intimacy.
sometimes you’d catch yourself wondering if the doctor would be surprised—or scandalized—to know how little control you really had, how much your hearts raced and how your bodies begged for more. but in those moments, all that mattered was yeonjun’s warm breath against your neck, the way his hands shaped you like a secret only he was meant to know, and the way your own voice trembled when you whispered his name.
it was messy, it was frantic, but it was yours. and for the first time since everything began, it felt like freedom.
you were wiping down the counter when one of your coworkers, a woman named hana, leaned over with a gentle smile. she was older than you, maybe 35, and had a quiet confidence about her that made people listen. she lowered her voice just a little, as if sharing a secret.
“you know, i was assigned a husband too. i thought it would be awful, honestly. i was scared. but it turned out to be the best thing that ever happened to me. at first, i wasn’t sure if i could love him, or if he even cared. but slowly, i saw who he really was. and now, i’m so happy. we have two kids, and we’re thinking about a third. it’s scary, getting older, but i go to family planning a lot, trying to make sure it’s possible. the government even recognized me for wanting to keep repopulating. it’s strange, isn’t it? how these arrangements can lead to something real.”
you nodded, the thought settling deep inside your chest. could yeonjun and you be like that someday? sure, you cared for him. he was your husband, your partner in this harsh world. you pictured mornings waking up next to him, the soft light catching his face, the two of you building a life, maybe even raising children together. but love — real love? you had never felt it before, not like this. the feeling was foreign, like a story you’d read but never lived. still, yeonjun was everything to you, and that was enough for now.
later that day, when your shift ended, yeonjun was waiting by the door like always, leaning casually against his car. you slipped inside and immediately started talking about your day, the small victories, the tiring moments. he listened, eyes bright, then shared his own stories, laughter in his voice. the rhythm of your lives syncing quietly, comfortably.
and then, on a quiet street, just as the light ahead turned red, you suddenly blurted out, “do you love me?”
the car jerked slightly as yeonjun slammed on the brakes, both of you moving forward with the momentum. the question hung between you, heavy and unexpected.
he was silent for a moment, gaze fixed on the road ahead, and you could almost see the weight of the thought pressing on him. love was a strange word, loaded with promises and fears. but then his eyes met yours in the rearview mirror, steady and sure.
“i do,” he said slowly, voice low but certain. “maybe not like the stories you hear — wild and all-consuming — but i love you. from the moment i saw you, from that first kiss in the storm, from every day since. every laugh, every touch, every quiet moment. it’s real. and it will only grow.”
your heart fluttered in a way that was both new and familiar, and when the light turned green, he eased forward, hands gripping the wheel a little tighter.
back at the apartment, the world outside disappeared as yeonjun pulled you close. the night was gentle but full of fire, his hands exploring with a tenderness that spoke of trust and deep desire. lips brushed your skin with reverence, soft whispers mingling with quiet moans. you traced the curve of his neck, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips. every touch was a promise, every kiss a new discovery.
he took his time, patient and caring, making sure you felt cherished, safe. the moments stretched between you, slow and delicious, as if the world had paused just for this — for the two of you, tangled in sheets and warmth, sharing something sacred.
and as you finally melted into him, the love he had spoken of filled the space between your bodies, unspoken but undeniable.
“congratulations,” the doctor said, her voice warm, glowing even, as if she had just handed you the entire sky. “you’re pregnant.”
the world stilled.
you blinked, lips parting, heartbeat stuttering in your chest. yeonjun, who had just stepped inside the room after waiting anxiously outside, froze beside you. his eyes darted from your stunned face to the doctor and back again, like he was trying to make sure he’d heard correctly.
“what?” you breathed, voice barely there.
the doctor smiled, gentle and knowing, like this was her favorite kind of moment to deliver. “you’re about six weeks along. everything looks good so far. the symptoms you’ve been experiencing — the nausea, the cravings, the mood swings — they all point to a healthy early pregnancy. we’ll begin prenatal care from today.”
you felt yeonjun’s fingers slip into yours, holding tight, like he needed to anchor himself. like you were both floating. he didn’t say anything right away — his throat worked around words he couldn’t seem to find — but his hand trembled slightly in yours.
the tears came slowly, not from fear or sadness, but from something else entirely. wonder. disbelief. awe.
a baby.
your baby.
with him.
“i…” you started, then shook your head with a small, breathless laugh. “i thought it was just stress. i didn’t want to hope.”
“and yet, here we are,” the doctor said kindly. “your next steps will be regular checkups, nutrition monitoring, and continued intimacy when you feel comfortable. you’re doing great already.”
you could hardly focus after that — her voice faded to a background hum as your eyes lifted to meet yeonjun’s. he was already looking at you, completely undone. his gaze was soft, watery, reverent. like you were something holy.
he squeezed your hand. “we’re going to be parents,” he whispered, like saying it out loud would make it real.
and it did.
you nodded, blinking away fresh tears. “we’re going to be a family.”
the drive home was quiet, but not empty. yeonjun kept stealing glances at you at every stoplight, like he couldn’t quite believe you were real — like he couldn’t believe the little life beginning inside you was real. his hand never left yours on the console between you, thumb tracing absent-minded circles over your knuckles.
when you stepped into the apartment, he didn’t let go. he guided you gently to the couch, like you might break if he wasn’t careful. and then he was kneeling in front of you, both hands now on your stomach, even though there was nothing visible yet — just warmth. just possibility.
“thank you,” he whispered. “for this. for you. for everything.”
you touched his hair, carding your fingers through the soft strands, heart swelling. “i didn’t do this alone, junnie.”
he leaned forward, lips brushing your still-flat belly, and then rested his forehead there, breathing slow and deep. “i’m gonna do everything i can to be good to you. to them. we didn’t choose this world, but i’ll choose you every day in it.”
you’d never felt more seen. more loved.
later that night, he held you closer than ever in bed, your back to his chest, one hand cradling your stomach, the other tangled with yours. the rain tapped gently against the window again, just like it had the night everything between you shifted.
and now it had shifted again.
you weren’t just husband and wife anymore.
you were parents.
you were a beginning.
and wrapped in his arms, with his heartbeat pressed against your spine, you let yourself dream — not of what the government wanted, not of duty or numbers, but of soft mornings and tiny fingers, of lullabies and laughter echoing through the walls.
of a future you hadn’t dared imagine.
but now, it was here.
growing inside you.
growing between you.
and it was love.
the apartment smelled of cake and laughter. pink balloons were tied to every chair, streamers hung slightly lopsided from the ceiling, and tiny frosting handprints decorated the corners of the tablecloth. your baby girl — chaeyeon — had turned one.
she was currently asleep in your arms, a little drool soaking into your blouse, her tiny chest rising and falling in perfect rhythm. you'd never seen her smile so much in one day, or so determined to wobble around on her chubby legs while everyone clapped for her.
your parents had cried. yeonjun’s mother had brought enough food to feed an entire village. your brother had looked absolutely horrified when asked to hold chaeyeon and had instead stood frozen like she was made of glass. yeonjun’s older brothers had been more relaxed — juggling their own kids, swapping parenting tips with you and yeonjun, their wives giggling over how much yeonjun had softened in just a year.
it was a blur of love. of family. of a happiness you never expected from a life that had once felt forced upon you.
now it felt like the most natural thing in the world.
when the door closed behind the last guest, you let out a long breath and leaned against it. yeonjun was on his knees collecting bits of wrapping paper and cupcake crumbs, his sleeves rolled up and his hair a bit messy from carrying hana all afternoon.
“i think i have frosting in places i didn’t know were possible,” he muttered.
you giggled and padded over, gently placing a hand on his head. “she’s finally asleep. like… deep asleep. miracle of miracles.”
he looked up at you and smiled, slow and soft. “we survived our first birthday party.”
“barely.”
you both laughed, exhausted but giddy, and after tidying up the last of the chaos, you shuffled into your shared bedroom — the one that now held a rocking chair, a baby monitor, and the scent of lavender oil and baby lotion.
you sat on the bed, back against the headboard, and looked at yeonjun as he pulled off his shirt and tossed it aside. his skin glowed faintly from the sweat of the day, and his eyes were crinkled with something tender when he looked at you.
“hard to believe we’ve made it here,” you murmured.
“i know.” he crawled onto the bed beside you, resting his head against your shoulder. “long time ago we were just trying to figure out how to be in the same room without losing our minds.”
“or jumping each other.”
he snorted, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “that too.”
you fell quiet for a moment, fingers brushing through his hair. “when they told me we were being assigned… i hated it. the system felt so cruel. mechanical. like love didn’t matter.”
“me too,” he admitted, voice low. “i kept wondering who you’d be. if you’d hate me. if i’d hate you.”
“and now… i can’t imagine waking up without you next to me.” you turned your face into his hair, breathing him in. “you’ve become everything.”
he lifted his head, eyes dark with something more than just love. “you gave me a family. you gave me her.”
“we gave her to each other,” you whispered, lips brushing his.
he kissed you then — slow, deep, familiar in a way that made your toes curl. and when he pulled back, eyes half-lidded, he murmured, “i need you.”
“then take me,” you breathed.
you barely finished speaking before he was on you, lips claiming yours again, more urgent this time, tongue teasing, his hands slipping beneath your shirt to cup your breasts. you gasped, arching into his touch as he rolled a thumb over your nipple.
“fuck, i love how sensitive you still are,” he muttered against your neck, biting softly before soothing the skin with kisses. “you get wet the second i touch you, don’t you?”
you nodded, already trembling as he dragged your panties down your thighs, fingers grazing your slick folds. “you make me like this… only you.”
he groaned, dipping two fingers inside you, curling them just right, his thumb circling your clit until your hips were grinding against his hand.
“look at you,” he said, voice rough, “needy little wife. always so eager for me. i could fuck you for hours and it still wouldn’t be enough, would it?”
“never enough,” you panted, nails digging into his shoulders. “please, junnie—”
he flipped you onto your stomach, lifting your hips until you were on all fours, head turned into the pillow. “you know what this does to me, seeing you like this,” he growled, running the head of his cock through your folds before slowly pushing in. “fuck, still so tight for me.”
you moaned, face burying into the pillow as he filled you to the hilt, rocking his hips with slow, brutal precision. his hands gripped your waist, pulling you back to meet each thrust, hitting that perfect spot that made your vision blur.
“tell me how good i make you feel,” he said through gritted teeth, fucking you deeper.
“so good—oh god, junnie—right there,” you whimpered. “you fuck me like you own me.”
“because i do,” he hissed. “you’re mine. every inch. every breath. and this pussy? fuck—this was made for me.”
your cries were muffled into the pillow, tears prickling at your eyes from the pleasure building impossibly fast. he bent over you, pressing kisses to your back, your shoulder, your neck, never stopping his rhythm.
“gonna come, baby?” he whispered in your ear. “cream on my cock like you always do?”
you nodded desperately, clenching around him, your orgasm ripping through you with a strangled moan.
he followed right after, cursing low and dark, emptying himself inside you with a final thrust. “fuck—gonna fill you up again. maybe give chaeyeon a little sibling.”
you both collapsed onto the bed, boneless and breathless, his arms wrapping tight around you from behind.
and in that moment, as the warmth of him settled over your back and your heartbeat steadied with his, you smiled.
because this was the life you never asked for — and yet, it was everything.
and now, there was no one else you’d rather be loved by.
꒰🗝️꒱ Your apartment’s being renovated, leaving you without a place to stay for the night. Your childhood friend says you can crash at his place and the catch is he shares it with a flatmate. You weren’t planning on saying yes but it’s the safest and the most reasonable option you have.
⤷ ゛ This story is part of the One Bed Series .ᐟ.ᐟ
⊹ wc .ᐟ 16.8k
pairing: childhood friend!Choi Yeonjun x afab!reader
tags: friends to lovers, mutual pining, sexual tension, original character, attempt humour, fluff, suggestive jokes, drunk!yeonjun, drunken confession [probably missed some]
[MDNI] smut warning: explicit sexual content, dry humping, nipple play, mild dirty talk, heavy petting, big dick!yeonjun, panty fucking, fingering, handjob, mututal masturbation, multiple positions, lotus position, missionary, prone bone, unprotected sex (not huzzah!), creampie (please don't), biting and marking, sweet aftercare [definitely missed some]
first fic of 2026! and also my first yeonjun fic <3 kinda nervous ngl. i have proof read it but there still might be mistakes scattered here and there so i'm really sorry for that ^^ the reference to yeonjun's outfit in the fic was this <3
Reblogs and feedbacks are appreciated!
It occurred to you a second too late that this was going to cost you more than you’d planned for. You had always been good at anticipating consequences. This time, you’d misjudged the timing.
Well — doomed might have been an exaggerated way to phrase it, but it certainly felt that way when you were standing in the middle of what used to be your bedroom. Renovating your apartment didn’t necessarily mean you were knee deep into damnation, sure, but it was definitely up there with the list of inconveniences that made you rethink every decision you’d supposedly made with confidence.
You started out in this place four years ago, back when splitting rent with a flatmate was the only way to survive college without selling your organs on the internet. You moved out of your parents’ house with a cardboard box of belongings and a stubborn idea that you could do everything on your own. You subsisted on project work, internships, weekend shifts, tutoring jobs that paid in both cash and headaches. Thankfully, you had the scholarship money that kept your tuition from eating your rent alive.
Crazy thing is, that somehow landed you a well-paying job the moment graduation ended, and because you had the good sense your friends often accused you of weaponizing, you saved every extra penny you could. You were socking away paychecks the way other people hoarded takeout receipts.
That frugality paid off in the most unexpected way when your landlord announced he was getting married, moving abroad, and— oh, right — selling the apartment! And as if the universe wanted to make the choice painfully convenient, your flatmate had moved out just two weeks prior to your landlord's news without so much as a goodbye party. You had waved while thinking of managing the extra rent money and how nice it would be to have the place under your name.
You were served the choice on a silver fucking platter.
The apartment was Pinterest perfect and it was everything you had ever wanted — light that fell the way soft film light does in pictures, a ten-minute commute to your office, a block of quiet shops where you’d learned the barista by name. And the price was not a fantasy number.
So naturally, you bought it. Papers signed, small celebratory drinks taken, and spent the next few days internally screaming at the idea that you now owned property. You — who once didn’t know how to cook rice without Googling it — now legally possessed a piece of real estate. It made you feel simultaneously grown-up and like an imposter in someone else’s adult life.
It should have been the high point of a long series of sensible choices; the problem, however, was that you had never owned a place before and therefore had no earthly idea that buying an apartment sometimes meant getting a call from the building manager about structural inspections and code compliance. You called your mother later asking for directions, and she laughed at your face before ending the call. How fun!
Not to mention, you had overlooked the single most vital part of the process that you wouldn’t be allowed to live there during the particularly loud, dusty parts of the work; you had overlooked the two-week window of demo and piping and men in fluorescent vests; you had overlooked, most catastrophically, the implication that you needed somewhere to sleep until the hammering stopped.
So yes, doomed was performative, but not untrue.
But see, you had wanted this and you’d earned it. You were also suddenly, gloriously, alarmingly unprepared for the practicalities of owning a place, which was its own kind of chaotic humility. The next logical step was obvious, of course, find a roof for a few nights. Preferably one that didn’t come with the word “hotel.” Preferably one that involved fewer fluorescent vests.
And that, by the mercy of a long-standing friendship who always returned your favors, is how the idea of crashing at Yeonjun’s — because he insisted, and because it was safe, and because your floors were about to sound like the inside of a drum — suddenly stopped being a Plan B and became the only plan you could live with.
Your lord and saviour — Choi Yeonjun — rolled up in his car on the morning of the renovation day. This dude knew when to flaunt style, stepping out of the car like some movie hero wearing sunglasses as he spotted you. A smirk and a cock of his eyebrows as he waved at you, to which your smile painfully twitched at the edges, threatened to snap into an actual scowl, while your brain did the rapid-fire calculation of whether your neighbors had the misfortune of witnessing his stupid ass and embarrassing actions.
“Do I carry your baby first?” he called, pointing finger guns at the potted plant in your hands before pivoting one finger toward you. “Or do I carry my baby first—oomf!”
Whatever punchy line he had prepared died in a strangled squeak as you shoved the plant into his chest to make him stumble backward, his sunglasses sliding down his nose. A perfectly orchestrated disaster in slow motion. You spun away before he could weaponize his cheshire grin.
“Less talking, more helping,” you said over your shoulder. “Handle her gently. She’s seen things.”
Ushering your friend to carefully place the plant at the back of his car, you punctuated all your words and actions with a grateful, charming smile. If he was going to give you a roof over your head until your apartment came back to life, you had to be nice to him, right?
Of course, you knew deep down you didn’t have to act nice. Yeonjun had always been that friend who would show up at your door the moment you even hinted at a problem. Hard times, awkward situations, you name it — he’d be there. There was no hesitation, no ‘let me see if I can help’, no calculating pause to gauge if you deserved it. Sure, you poked fun at each other relentlessly, a constant volley of teasing and one-upmanship that made your friendship a delicate dance of ego and affection but beyond the teasing, beyond the sarcasm, beyond all the jabs that left you both laughing or wanting to rip each other’s head off, Yeonjun had seamlessly morphed into something more permanent than a childhood friend — he was family.
Still, him being so unnervingly well-behaved, so obedient and agreeable, without the faintest attempt at pissing you off was… suspicious. You told yourself to give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he was just in a good mood! But the longer it went one, the more unsettling it became. He didn't let you lift a single thing, intercepting every bag before your hand even reached for them. He even opened the car door for you, palm resting on the roof like a gentleman so you wouldn’t bump your head. Strike two.
Then, when he mentioned taking you out for breakfast before heading to his place, it was the third streak of suspicious behavior that made your internal skeptic raise a fist. Now as a person he was polite, yes. He held doors open for strangers, tipped generously, helped aunties carry groceries without being asked. Yeonjun was a lot of things but being a gentleman with you? He had never once been this much of a gentleman around you, not in the entire twenty-plus years you’d known him.
When he pulled your chair out for you at the cafe, you stopped pretending it wasn’t weird. This was either a setup or a prank.
You cut into your croissant sandwich, flakes scattering across the plate, you threw him a look that could slice steel.
“Yeonjun.” your tone was deceptively light.
He hummed, eyes flicking toward you over the rim of his cup.
“What the fuck aren’t you telling me?”
He inhaled and choked immediately, coffee spraying into the wrong pipe, eyes watering as he grabbed for a napkin. You watched, smiling unbothered as he coughed and wheezed across from you. Someone a table over glanced at him with concern. You smiled at them too.
“God,” he rasped, dabbing at his chin, “can you be a little civil when you speak?”
“Can you noy lie by omission?” you countered, pointing your fork at him. “That face you've been making since you picked me up, and the way you’re acting, all these tell me that you did some shit and expected me to not notice.”
He pressed his lips together, debating whether to deflect or confess. But he deflated real quick under the way you were looking at him. “Okay. It's nothing bad, really.”
“I’ll decide after I hear it.”
“There’s… uh, my cousin. He’s staying over at my place for a bit.”
You paused mid-chew. Ah. That cousin. The name didn't even need to be spoken; you knew exactly which cousin he meant. The same one who used to show up at every family dinner when you and Yeonjun were kids. He was someone you found either tolerable or exhausting depending on the year. You didn’t mind him — but it did mean one thing.
“He’s in your guest room,” you said, not accusing so much as confirming it out loud.
“Yeah,” Yeonjun replied, exhaling through his nose. He pushed his cup aside and scrubbed a hand over his mouth like he was rewinding the morning to find a better entry point. “The spare’s his for now but he’s leaving in three days. I should’ve told you earlier, I know, but—” He cut himself off, rubbing his face. “I didn’t want you stressing more. And I didn’t want you trying to figure out somewhere else and ending up somewhere sketchy because you didn’t want to inconvenience me.”
You ran through the alternatives you already knew would fail. It was nearly Christmas; most of your friends were out of town for the holidays, parents were too far to make daily check-ins on the renovation feasible, and hotels were a financial joke you weren’t in the mood to entertain.
Inconvenient as it was, he had a point.
You sighed, shaking your head once, eyes lifting back to him. “No, you’re right,” you said finally, tone even, “that this is genuinely the least terrible option I have.”
The relief that crossed his face was immediate and, frankly, humiliating. “I’ll make it up to you.” He paused, frowned, then added, “I already am, technically. Breakfast. Transportation. Emotional support. I feel like those are solid offerings.”
“Don’t push it,” you muttered, snorting as you reached back for your food, nudging a fallen flake of pastry aside with your fingertip before taking another bite. You chewed slowly, watching him as you half-expected another shoe to drop. Thank god he didn’t let it.
Instead, he straightened in his chair, suddenly looking earnest in a way that made you wary.
“Seriously, though,” he said, clasping his hands together on the table. “You won’t feel uncomfortable, I promise. You will take my room. I’ll crash on the couch. It’s fine. I’ve slept on worse. Floors. Airport chairs. That one time in the back of a van or—” he paused, lifting a finger as a better idea struck him mid-sentence, “—I can even stay in my cousin’s room. He owes me. For, like, several things. Some of them are crimes.”
“Yeah, I don't wanna know about the last one,” you spoke solemnly, giving him a long look. Still, you were surprised by how carefully he was laying it out, as though he were afraid one wrong word might tip the balance. “Also, no, that won't be necessary,” you said, shaking your head as you felt bad when he mentioned giving up his bed. “I trust you, Yeonjun. And I’m grateful you even thought this far ahead for me.”
He nodded quickly, like he’d expected resistance. “I know. I just—listen, I don’t want you lying awake wondering if you’re being a problem. You’re not, and you’ll never be.” He reached across the table then, nudging your plate closer when he noticed you’d drifted away from it.
A funny sort of silence dawned upon you two. You gave him another long look. He returned it to you.
“Yeonjun,” you whispered, leaning forward with your nose scrunching as if you’d just bitten into something unexpectedly sour. “This whole formality thing is getting weird. Like, physically uncomfortable.”
He gave a long sigh of relief then leaned in too. “Right? I thought I was losing my mind, but no. No, this is wrong,” he whispered back, eyes comically wide. He dragged a hand down his arm, shivering. “It’s like my body knows this isn’t how we talk and it’s protesting.” He paused, then added scandalously, “I hate it.”
“See, this is why I like you, Jjunie. We’re always on the same page. Always,” you said in a sing-song voice. You nudged his foot lightly with your shoe under the table, not bothering to look down. “Besides, I would've kicked your ass if you hadn’t given me your place to crash.”
“Please,” he scoffed, lifting his cup for a sip. “You wouldn’t have gotten the chance. My mom would’ve beaten you to it the moment she found out.” He shook his head, setting the cup down with a soft clink. “I can hear it already. ‘You had space and you let her struggle?’ Best believe I’d be dead.”
You resumed eating as you said, “I love your mom, Jun.”
Too focused on the sudden call from one of your leading renovating workers, you failed to notice the soft smile playing on his face. And somewhere in that moment, Yeonjun raised his mug, hiding whatever had crossed his face before you could catch it.
You barely made it past the threshold before Joonho’s arms banded around your shoulders with zero regard for physics, personal space, or the fact that you were well into your late twenties and not, in fact, a long-lost child returning from war.
The air left your lungs in a sharp rush as he squeezed, voice booming against the side of your head as he marvelled loudly at how much you’d grown, how long it had been, how he couldn’t believe you were standing here now. You returned the enthusiasm in theory only, patting his back and waiting it out as you knew resistance would only prolong the ordeal.
Oxygen was becoming a fond memory when your mental plea was answered not by Joonho, but by Yeonjun, who caught the back of his cousin’s shirt and hauled him away in one smooth motion until Yeonjun deposited him a respectable distance away. His palm still fisted in cotton like he was restraining an overexcited dog.
“Hands to yourself,” Yeonjun said mildly.
“I was welcoming her.”
“There are better ways to do that. You’re in her space, dipshit.”
Yeonjun released him, then turned to you without missing a beat, eyes flicking over your face once. He reached down, plucked your bag from beside your feet before you could argue, and slung it over his shoulder. “Come on.”
As you were about to follow him down the short hall, you paused only when Joonho snickered behind you.
“Big fan of whatever this is,” he said, gesturing vaguely between the two of you.
You glanced back at him, then at Yeonjun’s retreating figure, and decided not to make an effort to investigate. Joonho had always lived on a frequency you never quite tuned into, always spoken in sideways implications, even when you were younger. And you’d learned long ago that dissecting his words rarely led anywhere useful. Whatever he thought he was observing could remain his own private entertainment.
Yeonjun kept his promise and then some; fresh sheets stretched tight across the bed, pillowcases crisp and smooth beneath your fingers, the whole space scrubbed of any trace that it had been occupied the night before. It did not look like a guest setup hastily arranged out of obligation.
He had opened the wardrobe as well, sliding hangers aside and clearing a section that was conspicuously empty for you to keep your clothes. Yeonjun stepped back for you and leaned against the wardrobe, folding his arms as he watched you unzip your bag and begin sorting through its contents.
“You didn’t need to bring clothes, though,” he mentioned offhandedly, glancing toward the open bag as you reached for another sweater. “You could’ve just worn mine.”
You snorted, crouching lower to fish out a pair of folded jeans, smoothing them over your thigh before placing them away. “Have you ever heard the phrase ‘feeling comfortable in your own skin’?” you asked, tipping your head to look at him. “Hmm?”
He shifted his stance, one heel tapping lightly against the floor as his mouth curved and he caught his bottom lip between his teeth. “I’m fairly certain that phrase is meant to imply a totally different thing, but—”
“What I mean,” you cut in, rising to your feet with the drawer sliding shut under your palm, “is that you’ve already done more than enough.” You turned fully toward him then, hand still resting on it as if to brace the point. “You don’t need to keep adding to it or be stressed on my behalf.”
“Not stressed,” he murmured, pushing off the wardrobe and reaching past you to close the doors. The motion boxing you in for a second too long to ignore before he stepped back again. “And it’s not really extra effort.”
The evidence of his earlier feline grin was long gone. What replaced it didn’t look like seriousness so much as absence, a rare unreadable look that felt oddly out of character.
“I just like seeing you in my clothes.”
The startling absence of empty flirtiness in his voice made your heart do a bewildered lurch. These words and antics from Yeonjun were not new to you. You had heard variations of that line before, over the years, reshaped and repackaged into jokes you both knew how to handle. This time, there was no such padding.
Scoffing, you stepped into his space planting both hands on his shoulders and turning him bodily toward the door. “Why, because they look better on me than on you?” you said lightly, nudging him forward as you laughed, giving him a final push toward the hallway. “Careful, might steal your fame as the best dressed person in every room.”
“Going ahead of yourself is, unfortunately, a flaw you should really work on—hey, ouch,” he cut himself off with a sharp hiss when you pinched the back of his arm in retaliation, turning back to glare at you over his shoulder. He tried to maintain dignity while rubbing at the spot, but the effect was ruined by the way his mouth pulled into a sulk. “That was uncalled for. Absolutely unprovoked.”
“That’s for the slander,” you said, unrepentant.
“Unbelievable,” he muttered, holding his arm with pursed lips. “I open my home, my wardrobe, my heart—”
“Door,” you calmly corrected, pointing.
Thankfully whatever foreign feeling that had momentarily settled in your heart got promptly flattened by the delight you got from his reaction. With a sulking and pouting yeonjun finally leaving you alone, you unpacked taking your time. The rest of the day dissolved into motion with trips back and forth from your apartment, calls with the renovation team, photos sent, questions answered, decisions made until your head felt heavy. By the time night settled in properly, exhaustion had worked its way into your bones.
The boys floated the idea of a movie night. You declined without much thought. Yeonjun caught on immediately with just one look at you, shut Joonho off before he could protest himself hoarse, shooing you toward the hallway with an insistence that you rest. You mumbled goodnight to both of them and retreated into his room.
Sleeping anywhere other than your own bed usually left you staring at the ceiling, counting phantom shadows and waiting for rest that never quite came. You expected the same here. But despite the unfamiliarity of the space, the familiarity of his scent clinging to the subspaces clouded your senses and soon enough, lulled you into a gentle, dreamless sleep.
You woke to the smell before you were fully awake. Hunger nudged you down the hall and into the kitchen, where roasted beef and coffee welcomed you all at once. Yeonjun stood at the counter with a paper bag torn open, unpacking takeout containers one by one. He lined them up with his sleeves pushed to his elbows, hair still flattened in odd directions from sleep. He glanced over when you shuffled in, his mouth curving into a soft acknowledgment.
“Morning,” he said, nudging a coffee cup closer to the machine. “You sleep all right?”
You answered with a nod and stepped closer, close enough that your arm brushed his. Closer still, until you leaned into him and let your cheek rest against the solid warmth of his bicep, your eyes half-closing as you watched his hands work. You thought you felt him stiffen for a nano moment, not really putting much thought behind it when he resumed his flow of work. He was humming under his breath.
“Smells… insane,” you murmured, the words arriving late and dragged out of sleep as you reached for a fry before nibbling on it with little care for manners.
He glanced down at you, then at the fry between your fingers, and nudged the plate an inch farther from the counter’s edge with his knuckle. “You’re going to tip over,” he said, not stopping what he was doing.
“Mm,” you answered, voice muffled where it pressed into his shirt as you shifted closer instead of backing off. “Food’s taking too long. I’m supervising. Very hands-on position.”
“Ahh, important role,” he humoured you dryly. “If I mess this up, I assume there’s a formal complaint process?”
“Immediate termination,” you said, reaching for another fry and bumping his forearm in the process. “Start over. New kitchen. New cook.”
Footsteps approached, heavier and less considerate than yours had been. Joonho filled the doorway with a stretch and a yawn, pausing mid-motion when his eyes landed on the picture you made leaning into Yeonjun’s side.
“Wow,” he said, blinking once as if his brain needed a second pass. “Good morning to… this,” he added.
You didn’t bother lifting your head. “Morning to you too,” you said, reaching blindly for a fork and tapping it against the counter in his direction. “If you’re going to stare, at least make yourself useful.”
Yeonjun took the opportunity to gently step away, sliding a plate into your hands in the same motion. “Sit down,” he told you, gesturing toward the chair. “I’ll get you your coffee.”
Joonho snorted, grabbing a sandwich and already taking a bite. “Funny to see you two play house in your grown age.”
You dropped into the chair, blinking up at them both. “I’ve been here less than twenty-four hours. Calm down.”
“Twenty-four hours is plenty,” Joonho replied, reaching for the napkins and dragging the whole stack toward himself. “People have made worse life decisions faster.”
Yeonjun clicked his tongue under his breath as he poured the coffee, before sliding it across the counter toward you without looking. “Like how you once agreed to a group trip after knowing people for twelve hours, Joonho? Should I remind you that financial recovery took months?” he said, giving his cousin a flat look.
You wrapped both hands around the mug the second it reached you. The heat pressed into your palms as you leaned back in the chair. Your eyes drifted between them while the kitchen filled with their cacophonies of back-and-forth jabs. You smiled to yourself because some things truly never change.
That noon found you folded into the corner of the couch with your laptop balanced on your thighs as you sorted through your work emails. Joonho had left the house an hour ago, and Yeonjun had mentioned — almost in passing — that he’d shower before heading out to work. You reached for your phone to cross-check a note and came up empty-handed, the absence registering slowly and you frowned after patting the cushion beside you, then the coffee table, then the pocket of your cardigan. You then remembered that you’d set it down on Yeonjun’s bed earlier, right before you wandered back out to the living room with your coffee.
You could still hear the water running so you figured announcing yourself wasn't necessary as you nudged his door open with your shoulder, eyes already sweeping the bed in search of your phone. Spotting it near the pillow you crossed the room quickly, you grabbed it just as the bathroom door opened behind you.
Yeonjun stepped out with a towel thrown over one shoulder, skin still dewy and sweatpants riding low on his hips, droplets tracing idle paths down his chest as he scrubbed at his hair with the towel. His movements were thoughtless until his gaze lifted and landed on you, stalling mid-rub.
“Oh—” The word left you only after you looked up from the bed and actually took him in, phone clutched loosely in your hand. “Sorry. I was just grabbing my phone. I didn’t think you’d be out yet.”
He scrambled to make a sound that sounded like it had been meant as a laugh and didn’t quite make it. Shifting his stance he hooked his thumb into the waistband of his sweatpants and tugged them a fraction higher. He turned away a little like he was giving you space.
“No, it’s—yeah. You’re fine,” he replied.
Now, the only sensible option would have been to retrieve your phone and retreat, to give your friend of over two decades space to finish getting dressed, right? You were about to do it, you swear. Yet, your feet stalled where they were and your attention stayed anchored on him in a way that felt mildly inconvenient because while Yeonjun shirtless was hardly a new visual in the long archive of your shared history (memories stacked with sunburnt afternoons and public pools, shared vacations involving Yeonjun shirtless in some capacity, borrowed shirts tossed at your face) — none of that had ever felt strange. The version of him standing there now carried angles and proportions your memory lagged behind on.
You knew he worked out; you’d heard him complain about sore muscles, had teased him about protein shakes crowding the fridge, endured the commentary about macros and sleep cycles with the indulgence reserved for habits that had always been his. None of this was new. But, what was new was the geometry of him now. Your brain took an extra second to update its internal file on him around the fact that his body no longer matched the version it had filed away a few months ago — definition etched where there used to be softness, shoulders carrying a broader span, and that he looked… bigger, in a way that demanded attention.
“Did you—” you began, then paused, redirecting mid-thought as your gaze traced the shallow grooves along his stomach while he shifted to face you. “Have you been working out lately? Because —” you gestured at him, gaze openly evaluative in a way that had never felt off-limits between you. “— holy shit. You look big.”
His mouth curved before he could stop it, teeth flashing in a brief, reflexive grin as he glanced down at himself, then back at you. “Yeah,” he said, bracing one hip against the edge of the dresser, the motion pulling a subtle flex through his torso. “I’ve been more consistent. Work’s been a lot lately, so I figured I’d channel it somewhere useful.”
“Makes sense,” you murmured, already closing the remaining space, your curiosity steering you forward with no sense of consequence, fingers pressing into his upper arm. You squeezed once, then again, brows knitting with genuine interest. Even when he wasn't flexing, his muscles were so well defined that it almost resembled a sculpture, so tenderly pleasing to the eye. “Damn,” you added softly to yourself. “This couldn’t have been easy to get.”
You were standing so close that the residual warmth from the shower still rolling off him reached you without effort, bleeding into the small space between you. He drew a breath through his nose, shoulders lifting and lowering with it as he adjusted his footing again, fingers regripping the towel. “It wasn’t,” there was pure honesty in the way he spoke. “It did take a while, almost gave up halfway through. Hasn't been easy, yeah.”
“The hard work definitely paid off, Jun. You look incredible.” You hummed, still distracted and testing the muscle under your thumb, then gave a small nod like you’d reached a satisfying conclusion. “I mean, you could probably pick me up and toss me across the room if you wanted.”
You looked up only after the sentence cleared your mouth, catching the way he cocked a brow as his gaze dropped to your hand and then climbed back to your face. The flush at his ears looked deeper up close, spreading across his cheekbones that made you briefly wonder if the water had been hotter than usual, because surely that had to be it. A corner of his mouth slowly tipped upward, and he leaned in just enough for heat to register.
“You’d like that, huh?”
There was a sudden flip that rippled through your stomach as your fingers flexed around his muscle, and you were acutely aware of how close he was now — you could count the faint freckles at his shoulder, close enough that your gaze traced down his chest before you caught yourself and brought it back up, a strange recalibration happening as your mind still struggled to place this version of him into a category that made sense.
It wasn’t that he looked different so much as the fact that you were seeing him differently… again. Noticing proportions, noticing presence, noticing how little distance there actually was between you, and the awareness made your breath hitch to be baffling and — oh, god. You must've been crazy.
Whatever this moment was, it stretched past its welcome before he was the one to break it, stepping away with a quick motion. That sent a ripple of cooler air across your skin as he reached for the shirt draped over the chair, pulling it on with brisk efficiency. You let air fill your lungs once more.
“Anyway,” he said, already moving past you toward the hall, grabbing his wallet from the counter as he glanced in the direction of the kitchen. “I’ve gotta head out and do the grocery run. Joonho’s dead set on cooking tonight, so I can’t bail out.”
And by the time you could come up with a properly formed sentence, the main door’s closing sound echoed through the house. You stood there in the middle of the room, phone clutched between your fingers as you frowned and shook your head once, then again, like that might settle whatever had been stirred loose. But it didn't shake off the jittery feelings still infesting your insides.
Joonho came back not long after Yeonjun left. Tossing his keys lazily onto the counter he announced that his boss had apparently decided that becoming a new father was reason enough to let everyone clock out early, which you accepted with polite skepticism until he held up a paper bag sagging with baked goods. He unloaded the story between bites of custard-filled bread and sips of tea. That is until the sugar crash nudged you back toward responsibility and your laptop, relocating yourself on the dining table while Joonho occupied the sofa.
You’d barely settled back into work when your phone buzzed, Yeonjun’s name lighting up the screen. You answered, shoulder tilting to pin the phone there as you scanned a line of text on your screen.
“Hey,” you said absently, typing.
“Okay, quick question,” he started, and there was a gravity to his tone that made you squint, “I need you to tell me if this sounds right.”
That alone was concerning.
“Okay,” you encouraged. “Go on.”
“There’s this packet of red chillies,” he continued, voice careful, “five pieces. Thirty thousand won per pound. That’s… normal, right?”
Your fingers stopped moving. Your brain, for a brief and merciful second, did too.
Thirty thousand for five fucking chillies.
The neurons in your head cycled through the numbers once, twice, like a buffering screen, searching desperately for context that would make this sentence make sense. Because surely this was a joke, or he had misread the tag, or Yeonjun was annoying you on purpose. Yes. That had to be it.
Choi Yeonjun could not possibly be standing in a grocery store, contemplating financial ruin over five sad little chillies. He was a grown man with a job and a functioning life. He could not possibly be asking you, with sincerity, whether five chillies were worth that much money.
“You—” you began, then stopped, unable to form a proper speech, “where did you even find five chillies for thirty thousand?”
From the couch, Joonho muted the television without looking at you, his attention suddenly razor-focused on the conversation.
On the other end, you heard the rustle of plastic. “It’s this stall near the entrance. Oh, they’re imported,” Yeonjun said, as if that explained everything.“They look good. Like, actually good. Not wrinkly. And the guy says they’re fresh.”
You closed your eyes and pinched the bridge of your nose, exhaling through your mouth. Fresh. That was his defense. Okay, so maybe the frontal lobe development had, in fact, skipped a step.
“Yeonjun,” you said, voice still level. “Why are you even standing there.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean why are you considering it?” You were now rising from your chair and beginning to pace. “Yeonjun, please listen to me. This is how people get scammed. Put them back.”
“You sure?” he asked, genuine concern threading his voice. “Because they look really—”
“No, no, no. Why are you still standing there? I’m begging you to use your brain for two seconds and put that back,” you cut in, stopping short by the window before beginning to pace again.
There was a beat of silence on the other end, followed by a faint shuffle.
“Are you freaking out about the price?” he asked, trying to soothe you. “It’s okay, I can afford it.”
You stopped walking. You were about to need more patience than this.
“That’s not the point!” you snapped, words tumbling out faster now. “The point is that just because you can afford to get scammed doesn’t mean you should. Do you know how much chilli powder you could buy with that? Paste! An entire plant! You could grow your own for that money.”
“Okay, but these are whole—”
“No!” you cried out with an exasperated sigh. “No, don’t ‘whole’ me. This is not about whole versus powdered. This is about you standing in a market, looking at five vegetables, and thinking, yeah, this seems reasonable.”
“Alright, alright.” He laughed softly, the sound carrying through the line. It felt funny in your chest. “No need to panic.”
“I’m being practical,” you shot back, dragging a hand through your hair. “There’s a difference. Please. I’m asking you. Step away from the chillies.”
“I’ll then get some paste.”
“Yes,” you said immediately, collapsing back into your chair. “Or powder. Or nothing. Honestly, nothing is preferable to this.”
The call ended not long after, Yeonjun promising to text you before buying anything else, and you let your phone drop into your lap, staring at the ceiling for a moment as the leftover headache ebbed. If the universe had decided that you were meant to orbit a man who could be trusted with big things but not small, overpriced ones, then so be it. You’d known him long enough to accept that trade-off. Someone whose nonsense still brought a reluctant fondness out of you even as it shaved years off your lifespan.
“You should marry him.”
Whisplashed, you gawked at Joonho. He had said it without looking over, eyes still on the muted television as his fingers reached into the paper bag on the table, fishing for another pastry.
“Then he wouldn’t be doing stupid shit like this,” he added, sounding pragmatic rather than provocative.
“Dude—what?” You barked out a sound that might have been a laugh if it hadn’t caught awkwardly in your throat. “Where did that even come from?”
He glanced up then, brows lifting just a notch as if he were surprised you hadn’t already arrived there yourself. “I’m serious,” he said then added, “I’m surprised, actually.”
“Surprised about what?” you still couldn’t conceal the bewilderment.
“Now, why do you sound surprised?” he pointed a finger at you. You figured he might have guessed you’d stay quiet until he gave you a proper explanation. Luckily, he gave you one. “Think about it. You’ve known him forever. You already manage his life half the time.”
“Okay,” you said slowly. “So?”
“From watching the two of you for most of my life,” he said, waving his hand. “I’m honestly surprised you two never dated. Not in high school, not in university. People with half your history usually screw it up at least once just to get it out of their system.”
You let out a frustrated snort as you crossed your arms, shaking your head. “Absolutely not. That is not how that works. That’s not how anything works.”
Joonho watched you for a beat before inquiring, tone unchanged. “You’ve really never thought about marrying him? Like, not even once?”
You were ready with rebuttals you’d used a hundred times. Timing had never lined up — that was always the first excuse. Friendship was safer, the second. And there were lines that once crossed couldn’t be redrawn, which was reason enough to stop before anything began.
But nothing came out. Because instead, your mind slid sideways into territory it had always avoided, and suddenly there he was not as your childhood friend calling from a grocery aisle, but as a constant presence folded into the mundane architecture of your life.
You imagined waking up in the muted light of early morning, the fragrance of brewed coffee curling through the kitchen as Yeonjun shuffled around in one of his beloved tank tops; the mundane comfort of scrambled eggs and toast punctuated by lazy smiles exchanged over mismatched mugs. You saw yourself bundled in his jacket for grocery runs that ended with impulse snacks tossed into the cart. The shared fatigue of evenings where you came home at different times but always ended up in the same place, and the nights blurred into soft, whispered conversations before sleep.
And in every scenario, there was the brief yet startling intimacy of sharing a kiss. It didn’t leave you shaken, rather it left a sweet aftertaste in the palate of your thoughts. Despite how much you denied, you knew it wasn’t just a sweeping vision. It was nothing cinematic nor inflated because it arrived in pieces, ordinary enough to feel borrowed from a life you could plausibly live.
“Ah, there it is!” Joonho snapped his fingers and leaned back against the couch. “That faraway look. It’s a nice picture, isn’t it?” A pause, then a crooked smile. “You’re picturing it right now. I can tell. Wild that you two never did the whole childhood‑promise nonsense. Pinky swears, wedding vows at seven years old, not even a ‘if we’re still single at thirty’ deal. Feels like a missed cliché, honestly.”
“Yeah, well,” you replied too quickly, reaching for your mug and lifting it to your lips before realizing it was empty, the ceramic knocking lightly against your teeth. You set it down gently. “That stuff exists in movies for a reason.”
Joonho remained silent then began folding the top of the paper bag shut. “I’m not trying to push you, but you really never thought about it?” then he stole a quick glance at you. “Because you didn’t say no.”
You seriously cannot be thinking about Yeonjun this way after all these years.
Again.
The lack of speech from you wasn’t making the space empty; it was getting full of all the unsaid and unexpressed feelings you had harboured for your childhood friend years ago in your younger days. Yes, you had thought about it. No, you had never acted on it, because cowardice had been easier than loss. You had decided, over and over, that wanting him was a risk you couldn’t afford, that Yeonjun mattered too much to gamble on a crush you’d once dismissed as juvenile and temporary, even when it wasn’t. You couldn’t risk altering the shape of your life with him. So you learned how to live alongside it until it dulled into background noise.
You had dated men who were good, men who listened and showed up and treated you with respect, men who looked good beside you and fit neatly into your life. You had done everything to replace the habit of thinking about Yeonjun.
But none of them were Yeonjun, and none of them ever would be. His ghost was bound to forever haunt you.
Even more now that Joonho brought up the topic and awakened latent emotions. The thought, once placed, refused to leave.
“I…” You exhaled, the word thinning into nothing. You still couldn’t say the truth, so you reached for the closest thing that sounded acceptable. “I don’t know.”
So, as it turned out, letting your feelings crawl back to the surface and sit there had consequences, chief among them the fact that you were now painfully alert to Yeonjun’s presence in a way you hadn’t been in years.
That was exactly what you had been dealing with since your last talk with Joonho. Now, you were even more knee deep into this war with yourself as you stared down at your phone, the college batch group chat hollering with enthusiasm about a pre‑Christmas gathering tonight. Names you knew too well kept chiming in with zeal and inside jokes resurfaced that felt almost contagious. You had never been a difficult person to exist around; you didn’t collect grudges, didn’t leave messes behind you in the form of unresolved conflicts. There was no reason not to go and the longer you scrolled, the harder it became to justify sitting this one out without sounding evasive, even to yourself.
Except there was still one very real problem you kept circling back to.
The couch dipped beside you as Yeonjun dropped down with his thigh brushing your knee. The scent of his shampoo crowded your senses.
“Did you check the chat?” Yeonjun asked, already craning his neck closer, his arm stretching out behind you along the backrest.
“That’s literally what I’m looking at,” you replied, tilting the phone slightly so he could see, even as your awareness narrowed to the point of contact between you.
“Oh,” he said, drawn‑out, almost pleased. “Do you want to go?”
You stayed silent a beat too long because you were still unsure if you could squeeze it into your agenda. Yeonjun caught the hesitation immediately. He shifted so he could look at your face instead of the phone.
“You don’t want to?” he asked slowly. Then quicker, before you could answer, “It’s fine if you don’t. I won’t go either. We can stay in, order takeout, talk about how annoying everyone was in college—”
“No, wait,” you cut in, sitting upright. You gestured vaguely with your phone. “It’s just… I don’t know,” you said, which had become a familiar placeholder lately.
Yeonjun raised his brows with a small nod, patient with you as he always is.
“I do want to go. I’m just thinking about the renovation mess. My workload has swelled into something unwieldy with year‑end deadlines looming, and I don’t want to spend the whole night half‑present, and everything feels a little—” You stopped yourself, then glanced at him. “Besides, what do you mean you'd sit out for me if I didn't go? Don’t say things like that.”
He shrugged, too casual for the way his eyes stayed on your face. “I mean exactly what I said.”
You stared back at him, incredulous. “I could never let you do that, idiot. You should go if you want to. Your friends miss you—I’m sure of it.”
There was a beat where he didn’t respond. Instead, he leaned forward with elbows on his knees as he tilted his face to stare up at you. There was a faint crease between his brows.
“You’re more important to me,” he said plainly.
The look in his eyes translated as if the answer was an obvious fact rather than something that sent your thoughts skidding.
“Oh,” you managed, and before you could find your footing again, he reached out and tucked your hair behind your ear.
“But I do think you should come with me,” he said. “We’ll go together. You’ve been running yourself into the ground for weeks. I can help with the rest—your workload, the apartment, whatever you need, you know that, right? You deserve to have fun.”
“Yeah,” you said finally, a small smile breaking through. “Yeah. That’d be good.”
You had to stop by your apartment first. Everything you’d brought to Yeonjun’s place had been chosen for convenience and nothing meant to be seen outside of errands and long days. Tonight called for winter-appropriate and a presentable version of yourself. You registered what Yeonjun had worn. Faded gray jeans, a white shirt pulled neat beneath a red tie and above it a black jacket.
Yeonjun lingered in your living room while you changed. When you stepped back out, his attention followed you and stayed there.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Yeah,” you answered, shrugging into your coat while you checked that you hadn’t forgotten anything obvious.
“You look beautiful,” he said, grabbing the keys from the table and tossing them once into his palm, “you’re about to make people regret not seeing you more often.”
You scoffed, though heat crept up your neck as you stepped past him toward the door. “Save it. Sweet talk isn’t getting you out of driving tonight,” you said, toeing off your shoes to trade them for boots.
“Please.” He laughed, holding the door open as you stepped into the cold, breath fogging between you. “Wouldn’t even dream of it, pretty.”
The car sealed you both inside against the cold the moment you shut the door, and you exhaled a shiver in comfort as the heater kicked on under Yeonjun’s quick adjustment of the controls. You fiddled with the music player while he drove to your destination. At a red light, he pointed out a bakery you both used to skip classes for. You told him it still sucked. He said you were lying. Neither of you followed it up.
By the time you arrived the voices and music had swallowed the night whole. Faces you hadn’t seen in years surfaced all at once, hugs exchanged, names called across the room as people stepped forward to participate in the greeting. Yeonjun barely made it three steps before someone clapped a hand against his back and dragged him away, then another voice called his name, then another, leaving you standing with your own circle as he was absorbed into his. He turned back to look for you instinctively as if to check you’d found your footing, and you gave him a small nod, a wordless assurance that you were fine.
“I’ll find you,” he promised, raising his voice slightly over the noise.
You laughed, waving him off. “Go. You’re clearly in demand.”
Much later, across the room when you were done with dinner, your eyes met. He had a drink in hand now, jacket gone, hair no longer sitting quite the way it had earlier, and you lifted your brows in a silent check-in. He smiled back in all teeth before someone leaned into his space again and pulled his attention elsewhere.
“Are you seeing anyone these days, or is work still your tragic soulmate?”
You were sharing a table with three other women you hadn’t seen properly since graduation. It was Mina who sent the question your way while nudging your elbow with hers, eyes bright with wine and curiosity.
You huffed a laugh as you reached for your drink. “Work’s winning by a humiliating margin,” you said, taking a sip before setting it back down and wiping a thumb along the rim. “I don’t even think I’m putting up a fight.”
“That tracks,” Hana chimed in. Her tone carried a dry affection as she was someone who’d watched you live like this for years. “You were always like that. We thought you’d mellow out after uni, but somehow you got worse.”
“N-no, she dated,” Jieun cut in far too eagerly (and drunkenly) before you could respond. The wine in her glass dangerously sloshed as she lifted her hand in defense of your reputation. “I saw pictures. Ni—ce pictures. She had—had a boyfriend. The last one. What was his name?” She squinted at you as though the answer might be written on your face. You smiled unhelpfully at her. “Joohyuk? Joohyuk, right? Yeah. Him. Shame you broke up. I liked him.”
Mina groaned and reached over to push Jieun back into her seat. “You sound like you were dating him yourself. Use your words properly before you get yourself in trouble.”
You had to stifle a laugh as you watched Jieun’s eyes comically widen followed by a disgruntled Mina giving her an earful and Hana’s atrocious cackle. Oh, how you missed this.
“No—no, I didn’t mean it like that!” Jieun protested, waving both hands, then stopping to grip the edge of the table for balance. “I meant he was good. For her. As a person. I’m not stealing anyone’s man,” she rushed, then looked at you with genuine concern. “You know what I mean, right?”
“I know,” you said, laughing as you slid Jieun’s glass a little farther from the table’s edge before it could become a casualty. “You’re safe, Jieun. Don’t worry. But please sit properly, you're going to give me a heart attack if you fall off.”
The clatter of surrounding voices bled into the gaps as someone nearby laughed too loudly. You took your time before speaking again, fingers resting loosely around your glass as your gaze met Mina’s before drifting to Hana.
“It wasn’t a bad breakup. We talked it through instead of letting it rot, and we both knew whatever we had wasn’t taking us anywhere we wanted to go.” You smiled and sipped on your drink as you told them. “He’s a good man. Just not the right one for me, and I think he knew that too.”
Mina listened with her chin propped on her knuckles, then nodded once, thoughtful. “Honestly, it feels like everyone either married their first serious partner or walked away from dating entirely and hasn’t recovered since.”
Hana’s attention snagged on something past your shoulder. She tracked movement across the room before returning her focus to you.
“Speaking of nothing sticking,” she said, lowering her voice slightly, “have you noticed Yeonjun’s pattern?”
His name cut clean through the pleasant haze of wine you’d settled into. “What pattern?” you asked with the same smile, curiosity worn lightly rather than forced.
“Oh my god,” Mina said at once, scooting her chair closer with a scrape that drew the table tighter together, her forearm sliding across the wood as she leaned in. “I forgot how popular he is. Didn’t he date, like… a lot?” She rolled her wrist vaguely, as though quantity mattered less than the impression it left.
“Not a lot,” Hana countered, brow pinching as she tried to sort memory from hearsay. “Just— often, I guess? It never lasted though. A month, maybe less. You’d blink and suddenly he was single again.” She shrugged.
“I’ve heard that too,” Mina added, lips pursing as she considered her wording, eyes flicking briefly toward the crowd before returning to you. “He’s kind of… how do I say this nicely.” She paused, eyes narrowing in thought before she gave a small, apologetic smile. “A bit of a heartbreaker.”
You listened without interrupting, watching the condensation trail down the side of your glass before you brushed it away with your thumb. In that pause you recognized how little the conversation stirred you. A strange sense of distance was all you felt because what they were trading wasn’t Yeonjun so much as a shorthand version of him, assembled from overheard endings and retold assumptions.
Aside from feeling distant, there was also relief in understanding that distinction, in knowing that the version of him they were dissecting had never belonged to you in the first place.
They liked Choi Yeonjun as a name that moved through rooms. They liked the idea of him by talking about him as if he were a concept instead of a person you’d shared scraped knees, late-night calls, and entire versions of your life with. They didn’t know him as the one whose first relationship faded because they were barely old enough to know what they were asking of each other, and whose second ended because trust was broken on the other side, not his. Nothing beyond that except him trying, stepping back when it didn’t fit, never keeping anyone where they didn’t want to stay.
You knew he wouldn’t care about being reduced to rumor, because he’d said it more than once that people would talk anyway and he didn’t want anyone bleeding on his behalf. Still, childhood loyalty had its own habits. There were lines you wouldn’t let be crossed, even casually, even here.
“I think people confuse brevity with carelessness,” you said, reaching for another snack and nudging the bowl toward Hana as you did. “If a relationship isn’t working, ending it sooner can look messy from the outside, especially when no one’s around for the conversations that come before or after.”
You glanced around the table. Resting your cheek on your palm, your smile widened when you saw Hana looking at you with an apologetic look. The look carried both acknowledgement and embarrassment, the subtle admission that she had overstepped in speaking of someone she didn’t fully know, someone who had meant enough to you to warrant respect.
“And it’s interesting,” you added, tilting your head slightly, “how easy it is to talk about someone when you haven’t actually bothered to see them beyond the image everyone else paints. You can repeat labels and summaries and assume you know the whole story, but it rarely reflects the truth of the person themselves.”
Mina lowered her eyes, biting the inside of her cheek before shaking her head. “God, you’re right. I went ahead of myself with the rush of this conversation… I shouldn’t have said that. Honestly, I wouldn’t feel good if anyone talked about me like that, so I should be more careful.”
“Yeonjun’s always been pretty upfront with people. That tends to get mistaken for a lot of things it isn’t,” you spoke lightly, glancing at Jieun, who had succumbed to slumber halfway through the discussion due to her drunken state.
You didn't feel the necessity to stretch this conversation further. They admitted their fault and you defended your friend. The win was yours. With that settled, you steered the banter back toward lighter topics. Time slipped past unnoticed until the sudden glance at your watch made you realize that midnight was nearly upon you, and Yeonjun was nowhere within your line of sight. His absence tugged at your attention with a strange urgency. You excused yourself, sliding out of the chair and weaving toward the terrace.
Your shoulder bumped lightly against someone. You looked up to find Beomgyu, one of Yeonjun’s old friends, grinning at you. You exchanged a few light pleasantries before you asked with a small furrow of your brow if he had seen Yeonjun, noting that your calls had gone unanswered. Beomgyu’s expression shifted with a slight frown as he recounted that Yeonjun had been at the bar earlier, that he’d seemed fine then, maybe a little too enthusiastic about refills. You thanked him before letting him go to his own circle. Your gaze swept across the room before it landed on the bar tucked along the far wall.
He was there exactly as Beomgyu had said, hunched over the counter with a half-finished glass beside him. The sight nudged a fond exhale out of you as you crossed the remaining distance and took the stool beside him.
“You’re really dead set on making me drive us back, huh?” you asked, observing his reaction.
Yeonjun’s head lifted, his gaze hazy yet catching yours with a slow widening of eyes as though he just realized you were there. The spark in them was dulled by drink but somehow still present, like embers beneath ash
“Oh,” he breathed, the word soft and warm as he leaned closer without thinking, his elbow slipping on the polished surface before he caught himself, “there you are,” then he folded again, cheek pressed to his forearm.
“So much for saying you’d find me,” you mused, eyes glinting as you mirrored his action and let the side of your head rest on your folded arm over the bar.
“Hi, love,” he sweetly drawled, voice thick with the haze of intoxication. He smiled dazedly at you, shifting his head only slightly so he could keep looking at you.
You couldn’t help the small coo of exasperation that slipped out, sitting upright and reaching to rake your fingers through the strands of his hair. “Hi,” you said softly, allowing your tone to mirror the warmth and care threaded through your touch, noting how his eyelids fluttered closed at the contact.
He hummed with the same stupid smile. How much did he drink to be this wasted? You were already counting the ways this night was ending with you behind the wheel. Good thing you had only one glass of wine.
He cracked one eye open, watching you from beneath his lashes before he frowned slightly, squinting at the space between you. “Too far,” he murmured, voice slurring. “Need you closer.”
He reached out, fingers wrapping around the side of your stool and with an easy pull he brought you closer until your knees brushed the edge of the counter and your hip pressed into his side. The lopsided smile returned on his plush, pink lips.
“Mhhm. Better.”
The strength was casual yet intimate that it pulled a catch from your chest you hadn’t anticipated. It occurred to you a second later just how attractive that was. It was messing with your head.
“Jun, let’s go home.” You caressed his cheek. “Yeah?”
But he didn’t seem like he was registering your words.
"Hey," he slurred, but somehow still gentle. "You… you're, uh, you’re so pretty," he continued, blinking at you as though it was the most profound revelation of the night. "Like, you’re so beautiful, you know that?"
You stifled a laugh, amused but also slightly worried as you reached out to straighten the collar of his shirt. You had seen him like this before, but tonight, there was something more raw about it.
“I know,” you teased with a hint of tenderness in your words. “I’m pretty sure you’ve told me before.”
He shook his head, a goofy grin spreading across his face as he sat up again, and leaned toward you, almost tripping over his own feet from the tool. You had to suppress another laugh, but your heart was full watching him act so carefree and so uninhibited.
“No, no,” he argued, shaking his head. “I mean like, really pretty. You’re… you're so pretty, it’s like…” He paused, his brow furrowing as though searching for the right words, but only the most basic thoughts slipped out. “It’s like you’re glowing. Like… an angel or something. I don’t know how anyone can look at you and not… not, like, fall in love with you.”
Your smile locked in place, then faltered, and then slipped away altogether as his words echoed back at you in pieces that refused to arrange themselves into anything sensible. Could he possibly be mistaking you for someone else? Seeing through you instead of at you, that somewhere in the crowd there was another woman he’d confused you for after too many drinks?
But his attention didn’t drift, didn’t waver, didn’t go looking for anyone else. It stayed locked on you.
“You’re drunk.” You aimed for reason, though the end of the sentence softened despite your effort. “You don’t mean that.”
He frowned at you as if you’d spoken a language he didn’t recognize. You watched his expression go pliant, noticed the slight stagger in the way his shoulders adjusted as he tried to keep himself upright on the stool but still gazed at you with such intensity that it made your heart race. His eyes were glossy like he was tearing up at the way you spoke to him.
“No,” he said firmly. “I do mean it. I’m, like… so in love with you, you don’t even know. Like— right here.” He pressed his palm clumsily to his chest, missing the mark and correcting himself with a breathless laugh. “I’m so in love with you, it makes my chest hurt, but in a good way. I can’t even explain it, it’s like… every time I see you, I feel like I’m falling all over again, over and over. It’s so much. I can’t keep it in anymore.”
“You—” you tried, leaning forward instinctively as his balance tipped toward you. Yuo could see the earnestness in his eyes even as they were clouded with alcohol. His breathing was stuttered, bottom lip plush and glistening as his tongue swept across it absentmindedly.
He reached out, clumsily touching your cheek first before finding its place properly. “I don’t care if it sounds stupid,” he muttered, the sentence breaking when he swallowed. “I’m so in love with you. I just... I just want you to know that. I need you to know.”
You had always thought drunken confessions were a convenient excuse for honesty rather than proof of it, because it seemed impossible that anyone could loosen their guard so completely that every carefully tucked-away feeling spilled out all at once, raw and unfiltered and beyond retrieval. You were so wrong. It was unfathomable that your childhood friend, the boy who knew every phase of you and whom you had loved far longer than you ever admitted even to yourself, just laid his heart out to you.
You took a deep breath trying to keep your composure and to remind yourself where you were and who you were being in this moment. But your heart was racing, your stomach doing flips.
“You’re going to regret this in the morning,” you said softly, as you guided his hand away from your face, not pushing it aside but redirecting it to rest against the bar. Your thumb brushed over his knuckles in a gesture meant to steady him more than anything else.
He shook his head like a child. “No. I won’t. I can’t.”
You weren’t going to take advantage of this. This was a topic reserved for when you are both sober and can make decisions for yourselves.
“Well, aren’t you a charmer,” you teased, brushing a stray lock of hair back from his forehead when it slipped into his eyes again. “But I don’t think you’re going to remember a single word of this in the morning. Tell me again when you’re sober, okay?”
He grinned, nodding far too eagerly in agreement. “No way I’ll forget. I’ll tell you again tomorrow, I promise.”
In that moment, you knew that no matter how silly the situation was, it didn’t matter. Because in his eyes, in the vulnerable honesty of his words, you could see the truth. And you would hold onto that, even if it was a little messy, a little imperfect. Even if it was drunk.
By the time you pulled into the driveway, Yeonjun had gone pliant in the passenger seat with his head tipped awkwardly toward the window. It told you sleep had already taken him halfway. You killed the engine, sat for a moment to let the silence settle, then reached for your phone and called Joonho downstairs.
Getting him inside took coordination more than strength. You wondered how Joonho carried him on his back because the latter was much bigger than him. You were grateful he still managed to do it. You followed close behind, peeling off Yeonjun’s shoes and tugging his socks loose, gathering what you could before they became obstacles. Once you were thoroughly satisfied that he was comfortable in his bed, you allowed yourself a final glance at his face before gently closing the door behind you. You decided to take the couch for tonight.
When Joonho was about to leave for his room, you called his name. “About me and Yeonjun… well,” you started, faltering as you searched for a clean way through the mess in your head.
Joonho turned slowly, watching you with far too much patience. “Did he…?” he prompted, leaving the rest open for you to fill in.
You narrowed your eyes at him, exhaustion sharpening your voice. “You knew?”
His grin was unapologetic, wide, and entirely too pleased. It answered everything.
In a way you were glad you didn’t have to explain everything from the beginning. Turned out, Joonho had always been watching the two of you dancing around each other in ways that weren’t only just visible to the two of you. His satisfaction at finally hearing you admit it was truly a sight to see. Over a bottle of wine, the two of you talked.
You went to sleep that night feeling oddly settled, your doubts dulled by Joonho’s reassurance and the simple relief of having said it to someone out loud. You couldn't say the same thing for Yeonjun though. Because early in the morning, you had to leave for your place to oversee the renovation work in person, trusting Joonho to handle Yeonjun’s inevitable hangover.
You wouldn’t be meeting Yeonjun until night. The knowledge followed you through the latter half of the day like a tenacious hum in your mind, growing louder with every passing hour of the year-end closing shift. By the time you finally clocked out and stepped into the evening air, the nervous energy had settled so deeply into you that it felt almost juvenile, a jittery awareness that made you scoff at yourself for feeling like a teenager again when you had lived so much more life than that.
The text from Joonho arrived just as you were merging onto the road home, announcing he wouldn’t be back until morning, capped with a teasing line about doing whatever you two wanted in the empty house. Having the place to yourselves should not have made your pulse kick the way it did (yet it did) and you exhaled through a short laugh that did nothing to calm the way your fingers tightened briefly around the steering wheel.
The apartment lights were on when you arrived. You toed off your shoes and followed the sounds of movement into the kitchen, where Yeonjun stood by the counter as he reheated dinner he clearly hadn’t eaten. He startled when he noticed you, bumping against the counter and reaching too quickly for a glass.
“Oh—you’re home,” he stuttered as he filled it with water before setting it down between you without lifting his eyes. “You must be starving! I, um—I didn’t know what you’d want, so I just—there’s food, if you’re hungry. Or we can—you don’t have to eat now. I mean. Later is fine too.”
He glanced toward you, then immediately back to what he was doing. The counter between you a narrow barrier that felt intentional even if neither of you had named it. You reached for the glass he’d offered, watching how his gaze fixed stubbornly on the microwave timer instead of your face.
“You’re awfully bad at keeping promises,” you said lightly as you took a sip.
It was meant as an airy remark to gauge his reaction. You smiled into the rim of the glass because you were already certain, from the way his shoulders tightened, that he remembered last night in full.
The silence was punctuated by the low hum of the microwave which suddenly felt too loud. Yeonjun exhaled hard as he rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, finally glancing your way before dropping his eyes again.
“Sorry, I, uh—” he started at once, turning the apology over itself before it could land properly. “I drank way too much. I shouldn’t have disappeared like that, and you had to come find me, and then you drove us back when it should’ve been me—I swear I didn’t plan to—” He stopped, swallowing, voice lowering as if he were afraid of the next part even existing out loud. “I… must’ve said something. Last night.”
You nodded slowly, appearing composed on the surface but inside you were folding in on yourself because there was no artifice in him at all — just this tall, capable man suddenly reduced to nervous hands and a voice that kept tripping over itself.
His restlessness mellowed out the jitter buzzing under your skin, smoothed it down into something more daring. You felt the urge to poke at him gently, to test how much space there was for play between the two of you now. You almost did, but you held yourself back when you noticed the way he still kept refusing to meet your eyes.
“I didn’t mean to put that on you,” he said, shaking his head as if he was disappointed in himself. “I know it wasn’t fair, especially like that. If I crossed a line—”
“You didn’t,” you cut in gently. “You didn’t do anything wrong. But I’m not going to talk about it unless you’re sure you want to.”
You had waited before. You could wait again. You would not chase what hadn’t been chosen — even if every part of you hoped he would turn around on his own.
The smile you offered him was soft and open, assuring him that you meant what you said, and with that you moved around the island. You intended to give him space, to let him breathe, to let the moment pass if it needed to.
You barely made it a step past him before his hand closed around your wrist.
“I meant every single word I said.”
He didn’t face you.
A shiver ran across you at the sound of his voice pitched lower like that, starting at your shoulders and spreading down your arms. Your breath left you in a controlled exhale though your heart had started misbehaving entirely.
“Then look at me,” you said gently.
A soft instruction rather than a demand — one he ignored by keeping his gaze fixed ahead and his shoulders only lifted with a shallow breath. You stepped closer, lifting your free hand to his face, your fingers fitting along his jaw. You guided him toward you without force, your thumb brushing his cheekbone.
“Do you remember,” you began, keeping your voice light as your fingers slipped into his hair, “how I told you last night that you’d have to say it again when you were sober?” You traced the shell of his ear as you spoke, basking in the small hitches of breath he gave you at the contact.
His hand slid to the small arch of your spine, drawing you closer until the space between you narrowed and the sudden proximity sent a sharp jolt through you that you refused to retreat from. You tipped your chin up, meeting him with a calm smile that took effort you didn’t show, even as your pulse skittered under his touch.
Yeonjun let himself look at you properly instead of just fleeting glances. Your heart soared because the same earnest intensity you had seen the night before was there again swirling in his orbs — and this time — stripped of any alcohol. His hands settled at your waist, thumbs pressing in as he closed his eyes for a brief second.
“I love you,” he said, voice gravelly from raw honesty. “It’s been so long since I started loving you that I don’t even remember when it began. All I can tell is that I’ve never stopped loving you.”
Damn his foolish heart for betraying him so openly by letting his gaze be drawn again and again to the soft curvature of your mouth. Fractured thoughts scattering in every direction at once, his mind cycled through each possibility and tallied the ways he could have misunderstood the way you looked at him tonight. Every glance from years past suddenly rushed forward to stand trial alongside this one.
Regardless, your words of assurance came back to him. You had asked him to say it again when he wasn’t drunk, had asked him to stand by it with a clear head and an even voice, and that had to count for something, didn’t it? There was no sense in punishing himself for finally doing the one thing he had always done too late. If all you were asking for was truth, and if all he could offer was himself, then he would do that much at least, even if the thought of losing you after this frightened him more than silence ever had.
Maybe honesty, once finally spoken, deserves to stand without apology.
You, meanwhile, felt warmth spreading through your limbs until it left you lightheaded, buoyed by a feeling that bordered on giddy. A soft laugh escaped as you let your forehead fall against his chest, your hands abandoning his face to curl around his neck instead. You felt Yeonjun shudder above you as he quietly said your name. That made you stare up at him.
“What took you so long, hm?” you said at last with a rueful smile, before you shook your head at yourself and corrected course mid‑thought, your fingers flexing lightly at the nape of his neck. “No—no, that’s not fair. I shouldn’t say that to you. This isn’t on you. If anything, I should’ve been honest sooner. Maybe then we wouldn’t be standing here now, years late to our own conversation. I chose not to want you. I was—”
“Scared,” Yeonjun softly finished your sentence, speaking for the both of you.
You nodded. “But I was wrong.”
You fought the urge to playfully jab him in the ribs when you saw his signature sly smirk appearing slowly in his lips. His eyes, once pouring with so much rawness, narrowed slightly but nonetheless still held the rawness. There was just a spark of heat in them now.
“‘Wrong’ how?” he leaned in until the space between you thinned to breath and heat, his words brushing your mouth more than reaching your ears. “I need you to be more honest with me here, love,” he added, gaze flicking once to your lips before lifting again.
You let out a short scoff and tipped your head back a fraction, denying him the closeness while keeping his attention exactly where it already was. “I wouldn’t be here with you if I didn’t want this too,” you replied. “And I wouldn’t have asked you to tell me you loved me when you were sober if I hadn’t meant it.”
His chest gave a quick thrum — a reminder that it had never learned restraint where you were concerned. Yeonjun followed to fill the gap you created, stepping forward until the counter met the back of your hips. He set both palms against the surface on either side of you, lowering his head to be eye level with you. His presence eclipsed everything else.
“Please, tell me before I lose my mind,” he rasped. “Because—oh God—I’ve been holding myself back for so long.”
Your teeth caught your lower lip as you considered just how much more you could push before it became unfair. You had tortured him enough. Your hands — one slid down his chest, fingers spreading over his sternum, the other finding its way back to his face and cupping his cheek as you guided him closer.
“I love you, Yeonjun,” you said, every word chosen and owned. “I always have.”
His lips were softer than anything you've ever known. It's soft like the first snow, like biting into cotton candy, like melting and floating and being weightless in water. It was sweet, so devastatingly sweet and it bloomed until your senses were overwhelmed.
He pulled back sooner than you were ready for and you chased the space without thinking. Your fingers curled into the fabric at his shoulders as a small sound slipped from you, breathless and needy in a way that made him shudder as if he’d felt it in his bones.
“You have no idea how many times I talked myself out of this,” he said, voice low and rough as his forehead brushed yours, his thumb tracing along your jaw before slipping beneath your chin, tilting your face up again because he needed to see your eyes while saying it.
You laughed breathlessly and tugged him closer, forcing him to feel how little space there was left to negotiate. “You don’t look like someone who’s been holding back,” you replied, tipping your head just enough to brush your nose against his, stealing the air he’d been breathing.
He chuckled, the sound barely there before you pulled him back in and this time there was nothing cautious about it. You had never gotten so lost in a kiss before. Your heart kept tripping over itself as your fingers dragged him closer, closer, still not close enough. You had loved before but it didn’t feel like this. You had kissed before but it didn’t burn you alive. It left you flushed and dizzy and wanting more.
Yeonjun’s hand slid into your hair, fingers spreading at your scalp as he tipped your head back, deepening the kiss until your breath caught. His other arm wrapped around you and lifted you without warning, setting you on the counter as he stepped in between your thighs. You hooked your legs around his hips, pulling him closer as his mouth worked yours with growing insistence. You found yourself gasping for breath, whimpering when he bit your bottom lip as his other hand braced beside you.
The haze of sensation left your vision swimming, every nerve alive as his fingers slipped under your shirt, tracing the heated planes of your skin, teasing, exploring, igniting sparks that sent heat skittering through you. He pulled back only slightly before pressing a chaste kiss to your lips.
"Sometimes, all I can think about is this—us like this, you in my arms. Underneath me, too." His lips brushed yours again, then he exhaled. “No—forget that. You deserve more respect than that. I just… I haven’t been able to stop myself from wanting it.”
You smiled at that, resting one arm across his shoulder while your other raked through his hair. You tilted your head and hummed.
“What else do you wanna do?” you asked, voice dipping.
He pretended to ponder as he narrowed his eyes, gaze flicking away before returning to you with a smirk. “Take you to dinner after this,” he said, hand shifting on your waist, drawing you closer. “Do things in the proper order for once.”
“Mmm,” you replied, rolling your hips forward just enough to press yourself against him, watching the way his breath hitched. “And then?”
He straightened slightly, lips curving as he leaned in to press a brief kiss to your forehead. “Then we get dessert.”
“We’ve never waited for dinner to get dessert,” you murmured, the challenge clear as you grinded against him again, smiling when his inhale went sharp and his hand slid down to your thigh, fingers pressing into your skin.
“You’re going to ruin me,” he said, a rough laugh in his voice as his grip tightened. “I had a very stable life before you moved in.”
“Ah,” you sighed, feigning a forlorn expression as your hand slid across his chest. “Then maybe we should stop. Let you go back to that stable life while I go to slee—waoh!”
Laughter erupted from you when he deftly lifted you up and carried you to his room. His mouth never straying from yours even as you both fell onto the bed in a disordered sprawl, the frame creaking softly beneath the sudden movement while his lips slipped from yours only to trail wet kisses down your jaw and throat, sucking and biting until your skin was a canvas of his marks. It sent shivers shooting down your whole body, your hips bucking. He settled between your legs and you felt the solid presence of him there pinning you to the mattress.
His hands slid up your thighs and under your skirt. You moaned against his lips when he massaged the flesh there as he pulled back to stare down into your face while lifting the material, leaving a trail of goosebumps all the way up your thighs. You felt yourself clench around air, a sharp pulse of need in your core. Your hunger stripped everything down to sensation, and it felt dangerously good to stop resisting it.
His lips were swollen and damp when he paused. “You want this, right?”
Your breath came uneven as you swallowed. You had never been more sure of anything in your life. With a shaky laugh you nod, unbuttoning your dress shirt with a wolfish smile.
He tongued his cheek at the sight of your black lacy bra and your expression, hands already reaching for his own clothes. He pulled his shirt over his head in one motion, muscle shifting under skin as he tossed it aside. You were on him immediately which he happily complied, wasting no time clashing his mouth against yours. Your hands were all over his torrid naked skin, touching and grabbing every inch of skin they could access.
Your back arched as you broke the kiss with a moan when he slipped one hand underneath your bra and kneaded the mound of your breast. The barrier was making him impatient so he quickly worked with the clasp of your bra and flung it somewhere over his shoulder before greedily taking one perky nipple in his mouth.
Your hand tangled in his hair as he sucked and nipped on your skin, the other hand busy where it rolled and pinched the other nipple in between his fingers. You felt like you could cum alone from nipple stimulation because holy shit he was so good at whatever he was doing. His growing hardness pressed insistently in between you, and you sought friction by trying to grind up against him.
“Please, Yeonjun,” you breathed, the plea tugged loose as your hands tightened in his hair, pulling him closer even as your back arched toward him.
He looked up at you through his lashes, releasing your nipple with a pop and grinned deviously. “I know, baby.” A quiet laugh brushed against your skin as he shifted, one knee nudging your thighs apart, his hand sliding lower to cup you through the thin barrier of fabric. His mouth returned to your throat as he spoke, words punctuated by the drag of his lips. “Need me here badly? I can feel how bad you want me.”
If you were in the right mind right now and not overcome by lust, you would have swiped that smirk off his face with a punch or some snarky remarks to reclaim a little pride. But all you could do was nod and do whatever to make him give you what you wanted. You tugged your skirt down your legs which had hiked up your waist earlier, and was about to tug your panties down too. You didn’t get far. His hand closed around your wrist and stilled you.
“Not yet.” His tone dimmed as he sat back on his heels. Gaze tracked you in a way that made you squirm like he’d decided to take his time and wanted you to feel every second of it.
Goosebumps travelled up your skin as you raised your eyebrows at him, wondering what he was waiting for. You bit your lip with hitched breaths when he thumbed your cunt over your panties, tracing over the slick dampness. He worked on his pants with the other hand, pulling out his hardened cock. Your body felt another rush of heat roll over when you took him in — long and veiny, a pool of pre cum already gathering at the tip. He gave himself a few lazy pumps with the same rhythm as he stroked you, brows furrowed with the sensation as a low groan slipped out.
“Didn't know you were a tease in bed, Jun,” you breathed out with a laugh, feeling yourself getting wetter as more slick gushed out.
He let out a throaty chuckle before kicking his pants off and climbing back over you, eager to kiss you again. “You have no idea,” he whispered against your mouth.
He greedily took in your moans when he pressed his leaking tip against your clothed cunt — a delicious friction that sent shockwaves of pleasure through your core. Each grind pushed the tip, the soaked cotton yielding just enough to let him tease the entrance of your aching pussy, but not enough to grant full access — leaving you teetering on the edge of frustration and ecstasy.
"God, you're so fucking hot," he teasingly groaned against your ear that sent shivers down your spine.
Whimpering, you looked down at the place but he held your jaw and made your face tilt back up to kiss you again. Your body arched instinctively to press harder against him, the subtle drag of the panties creating a tantalizing burn that heightened every nerve. Yeonjun's grip on your jaw softened, his thumb brushing tenderly over your lower lip.
You bit your lip, the words tumbling out in a breathless rush, "I want you inside me, Yeonjun—please, I need it so bad."
At your unabashed confession, Yeonjun gave one little cheeky grin before finally hooking a finger into the edge of your panties to pull them off. The sudden exposure sent a rush of cool air over your swollen, dripping pussy, making you gasp as his cock slid fully against your bare entrance, the tip teasing your opening and agonizingly bumping into your clit.
You got up, pushing him back to sit down as you climbed on his lap and claimed his mouth in a searing kiss. You nipped at his lower lip, sucking it gently between your teeth before plunging back in, the filthy slide of saliva mingling as you lost yourself in the sensation of his taste.
"Fuck, you're dripping for me," he let out a prolonged groan, his fingers sliding through your sopping folds.
He pushed two digits inside of you with ease and you sighed at the stretch. His fingers curled inside you with a slow rhythm, each thrust sending waves of pleasure that made your inner walls clench around him. You rocked your hips, grinding against his hand as his thumb brushed over your swollen clit, drawing out gasps that echoed in the dim room. Every breath you took was ragged, your skin flushed and slick with a light sheen of sweat.
Yeonjun's dark eyes locked onto yours, his free hand sliding up your back to tangle in your hair, pulling you closer until your foreheads pressed together. "That's it, love," he murmured against your lips, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through you, heightening the delicious friction as his fingers stretched and stroked your depths.
Through the haze of heady ecstasy, you looked down at him only to have your chest warm up. There was so much awe and love in his eyes. His devotion ran deeper for you than you could imagine.
You reached down to wrap your hand around his cock, pumping him. Yeonjun's breath hitched, a deep groan escaping his lips that mingled with your own soft whimpers. As the intensity built, your free hand clutched at his shoulder, nails digging in just enough to elicit another low growl from him. His cock twitched in your hand as he thrusted harder against you. The veins on his shaft stood out prominently against the backdrop of smooth skin slicked with precum and sweat. You could feel every ridge and pulse as you worked him with increasing fervor.
But you didn’t want to cum just yet like this and neither did you want him to finish so soon, despite already dying to taste him. You released him before pushing his hand away from inside you.
You gave a breathless laugh when Yeonjun put his fingers in his mouth, pinning you with his gaze as he licked them clean. You lifted yourself up, knees sinking into the soft mattress on either side of his hips and aligned his cock with your slit. The thick, rigid length of him slid into you with a wet squelch, stretching your swollen folds wide as you sank down.
“Oh, fuck, y-you’re going to have to help me. Too, too tight,” you hissed, feeling waves of warmth travelling all over your body.
Yeonjun grunted as his hands found purchase on your hips, his grip tight and it felt so fucking good. You knew they’d be leaving bruises. Despite all the nudging and the rampant lubrication of your pussy, it still took a full minute, probably longer, to work his entire length inside of your tightness that made your thighs tremble, but you didn't stop there.
With a shared, heated glance, you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer and giving him easy access to thrust up on you, making you let out a high pitched whimper. Once Yeonjun was finally seated deep inside you, a shared sigh of relief and laughter escaped your lips, the stretch bordering on overwhelming but laced with a delicious ache that made your toes curl.
“My angel,” Yeonjun choked on his words as he ran his hands over your back, soothing you. “I love you so, so much—and I don’t know how I went this long without saying it out loud.”
You closed your eyes shut, head falling on his shoulders as countless tremors went through your body at his size. “Hah, it really did take you being drunk to finally say it,” you said between breaths.
He grinned, but it was a little lopsided, like he couldn’t quite hold himself together. "Yeah, but I'm glad I finally did. And I promise, I’m not gonna screw this up. I won’t. I’ll take care of you. I’ll always take care of you. No matter what."
You lifted your head up to return his smile, before leaning in to a kiss. His lips moved languidly with yours, tongue poking out to lick against yours. His hands wrapped over your back, drawing you flush against his chest, your breasts pressing into the firm planes of his chest. Your hands clutched at his broad shoulders, nails digging into the warm, sweat-slicked skin as you whimpered into his mouth, the kiss deepening with a raw hunger that mirrored the way his body claimed yours.
"You alright?" he whispered, his voice a husky mix of concern and desire that sent a shiver down your spine. You nodded, biting your lip to stifle a moan, and he added softly, "I got you."
His hands gripped your ass firmly then, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he began to guide your hips in a slow pace, lifting and lowering you with effortless strength. Each upward thrust drove him deeper, the friction building into a fiery crescendo that had you both groaning — his low, guttural sounds vibrating through your joined bodies, while yours escaped as breathless gasps.
You could feel the veins of his cock pulsing and the heat of him seeping into you, making your inner walls clench in desperation for more. His breath was hot against your neck, a ragged rhythm that matched the frantic beat of your heart as he continued his torturous grind.
With a low growl, he eased you backward, his strong arms supporting you as he laid you down on the bed. Yeonjun paused for a heartbeat, savoring the sight of you laid out before him — body flushed with sweat, boobs lightly swaying with every rise and fall of your breath, eyes half lidded and glossy that matched your glistening pussy. His hands slid up to cup your breasts, thumbs teasing your nipples as he began to move again, thrusts growing more purposeful. You were so lost in the blissful haze of pleasure coursing through you that the sudden wave of coldness and emptiness startled you; Yeonjun pulling out his entirety out of you, making you whine to get back the feeling of his warmth.
Without warning, Yeonjun's strong hands gripped your waist, flipping you over, rolling you off your back and onto your stomach. The sudden shift left you disoriented, a jolt of surprise flashing across your face as you glanced back at him over your shoulder.
Gripping himself, he swiped the head of himself through your sticky folds, bumping your clit to slide back down to your center and it once again made you whine. The cool sheets pressed against your heated skin, a stark contrast to the warmth of his body hovering above you, his knees straddling your thighs to pin you in place. You felt his hard cock sliding along the curve of your ass before he positioned himself, the tip nudging at your slick entrance once more.
“Yeonj—hnngf!”
With one easy thrust he entered you again, deeper this time, the angle pressing him against your most sensitive spots in a way that had you seeing stars. Yeonjun let out a low whine, his body collapsing slightly as he rested his head between your shoulder blades, his hot breath fanning across your skin like a branding iron.
"Fuck, you're gonna make me cum already," he choked out.
You tried to respond, but all that escaped was a breathy moan.
The prone position amplified every sensation, his body molding to yours as he lay partially over you, his chest brushing against your back with each shallow thrust. Your pussy clenched around him, the tight confines of your body gripping his thick length as he drove in and out, the friction building with an exquisite pressure that bordered on overwhelming.
He was so fucking deep inside you, rubbing against all of your deepest nerves. His moans and whines were music to your ears, his hot breaths came in ragged huffs tickling the nape of your neck, while his hands roamed possessively — one sliding under your hips to tilt them just right, the other threading through your hair to expose more of your skin to his lips.
Yeonjun's thrusts grew more urgent but they carried a tenderness too. His lips pressing soft kisses along your shoulder, whispering praises that made you feel cherished amidst the raw desire — how perfectly you fit him, how your body responded to his like it was made for him. Your fingers clawed at the sheets, the building pressure inside you coiling tighter with every deep pump of his hips.
You croaked out his name—"Yeonjun"—as your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, your walls spasming wildly around him, milking his length with uncontrollable pulses. He faltered then, his pace stuttering into erratic thrusts, a guttural groan escaping him as he buried his face deeper into the nape of your neck. Your gasps and moans fell like waterfall into the mattress as he drove you into it.
Sensing his restraint crumbling, he managed to gasp out, "Can't hold it back, love." His voice breaking with the effort, his hands trembling on your waist.
The plea in his words ignited a final surge of desire in you. "Come inside." The command breathlessly slipped from your lips as you craned your neck to look at him.
Perhaps it was the aphrodisiac and fucked out look in your eyes that made him surrender, his cock pulsing as he emptied himself deep into you, hot ropes of cum flooding your sensitive pussy. You felt every twitch, every warm rush, as it mingled with your own lingering aftershocks, leaving you both shuddering in the quiet aftermath.
Both of you stayed unmoving for a few seconds before Yeonjun eased himself out of you, his breath still coming in ragged gasps that matched the rise and fall of your back beneath him. Your spent pussy clenched slightly as he withdrew, a warm gush of his cum leaking out, glistening on your flushed skin and soaking into the fabric below.
He rolled onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow to gaze at you. The moment rolled strangely after, breath still uneven between you as your eyes met in startled disbelief, and then whatever tension remained cracked open into soft, breathless laughter that shook through both of you. He reached out, pulling you into his arms as you nestled against him. Your lips met in a deep, lingering kiss, tasting the salt of your exertion, your tongue brushing his with a tenderness that made his heart swell.
You pulled back slightly, your cheeks flushed, and began to whisper, "That was so—" but the words dissolved into another fit of giggles, your head shaking as if the sheer intensity defied description, your fingers tracing lazy circles on his back.
Yeonjun silenced your laughter with another soft kiss, his hand cradling the nape of your neck, feeling the rapid beat of your pulse under his thumb. "Let's take a bath," he murmured against your lips, his voice low and soothing. "I'll clean you up."
The lukewarmness of the water wrapped around you both later. You guided him to sit on the edge of the tub while the water warmed, steam climbing the air and settling against your skin until the aches in your body began to loosen. He watched you with damp lashes and a softened smile, palms braced behind him as you tested the water, then turned the tap down a fraction and nodded to yourself.
When he reached for the shampoo you caught his wrist and shook your head with a small smile as you took the bottle from him. “Sit,” you said, guiding him back with a press to his shoulder, and he let you without question. You worked the lather through his hair, thumbs circling his scalp until his eyes slid shut and his shoulders dropped.
You followed with soap, careful hands moving over his back and arms, rinsing him clean while water splashed against porcelain. Your fingers combed through his hair again and again, traced paths along his back and chest, kissing warm skin whenever the impulse struck. You spent long minutes on motions that served no purpose other than letting him feel held.
By the time you were done, his breathing had slowed, but his chest rose sharply once as he laughed under it, sounding close to tears instead. You frowned, kneeling immediately in between his knees to look at him. He pressed his forehead to yours, eyes glassy as he blinked hard.
“I’ve never had anyone treat me like this,” he said, one hand cupping your face. “You know that I’m… not used to feeling like this, right? The people I’ve been with before were distant, and for the longest time I thought that was just how it was supposed to be. Until I started loving you.”
Your arms slipped around his middle, cheek resting on his shoulder letting the water run while you held him there. “I know,” you said softly, squeezing him just a little tighter. “And I promise you’re not going to feel like that with me. You deserve to be loved properly, Yeonjun, and I mean it when I say I’m all in—starting with making sure you never spend thirty thousand on five chillies again.”
His laughter broke through the tenderness as his smile softened into something fond and open. “Yeah,” he said, brushing his thumb along your cheek, eyes bright as he nodded. “Yeah, I think I’d like that.”
True that there had never been any childhood pinky promises between the two of you, no naive vows whispered under desks to look back on. But as you stayed there together, you couldn’t bring yourself to regret the time it had taken to arrive here because the absence of those clichés hadn’t taken him away from you. Some stories didn’t need an early beginning to arrive where they belonged.
And god, you were never going to let Yeonjun feel alone or unloved again — not after everything he had already given to people who never knew how to hold him.
sadness, anger, happiness, that boy sure knows how to make your senses tingle, and it’s been that way since you were introduced as the final member of ateez. the only girl of ateez. you sure do have a favorite, don’t you?
idol!wooyoung x idol!fem!reader, 9th member reader, members/best friends to potential lovers?, 18+, unprotected p in v, oral f receiving, semi public sex? (they’re in a dressing room), mr. and mrs. giggleshits, set during work era —> adrenaline era, a little awk, dirty talk, breeding kink ?, pet names (baby, slut, good girl, etc.), cheating, breakup, slight comfort, reader is dating jaehyun (nct), smut with plot, fluff, mmm i think that’s about it
── wc. 8.5k
── omg this is my first ever post on here and it turned out to be waaaay longer than i had intended, honestly. i’ve had this idea in my head for a while and knew nobody else was gonna do it so i had to take matters into my own hands. i’d like to mention that this is NOT proofread. if you see any typos pls lmk !! i really hope u enjoy it, byeeeee >ᴗ<
inhale.
exhale.
everything is fine, you’re okay. it’s not like you’re about to walk into a room full of people you’ve never met before or anything. oh! and even better, you’ll be with them for the rest of your life. how perfect. it’s not a huge change, i mean, you’ve been working for this since you were what, sixteen? or was it fifteen? hell, who knows? all you know is you’re an eighteen year old girl ready to change her life forever.
“come in!” that pulls you out of it. the rough voice coming from the other side of the frosted glass door has just enough power to make your hand rest on the handle.
you want this. you need this.
one more inhale, another exhale. you push the door open and immediate chaos floods all five of your senses.
boys. eight boys are seen on the couch in the corner of the room, some goofing off with one another and some staying to themselves.
loud, it’s so loud in here, why? oh, that might be due to the four boys practically screaming over each other as they argue about whatever the fuck the current topic is.
cologne. it reeks of testosterone in here. woody, fresh, warm, musky. wait, it kind of smells really good. not important.
oh god, here comes the cotton mouth. your mouth tastes bitter and your whole body has run cold, or hot. are you sweating? fuck if you know. you reach up to touch your forehead. no, yeah, definitely sweating. why are you so cold? oh no, no, no.
consider your world completely and utterly fucking. rocked.
boys? why would i ever want to be surrounded by boys all day, every day?
i thought i would be with a group of girls.
they didn’t specify this in the papers.
god, please save me, tell me this is a dream. i can’t live a life like this. i’m gonna pass out. there is entirely too much going on in this room. is the room spinning?
you exhausted all of the possibilities in your head long before opening the door. but this? this was not one of them.
one of the eight boys looks up at you. he has sharp features. asymmetrical eyes, you clock that almost immediately as they pierce through you. he’s clad in a red bape and ape hoodie and black adidas sweatpants. brown hair, tanned skin, big, perfect nose. he nods towards you and goes right back to his phone. the smirk on his face certainly not going unnoticed by you.
you know what? okay, yeah.
“wooyoung, please, not right now,” you breathe out. you guys have just wrapped up practice for your latest comeback; work. and boy, oh boy, are you fucking working.
“pleaseeeee,” he begs, “it’ll only take a minute.”
“okay, then you can wait for just a minute,” you pant. keep in mind, currently laying on the floor here. dropped dead. limbs numb. sweating from your scalp to your little piggies. what does wooyoung want? glad you asked! tiktok. he wants to make a fucking tiktok fresh after practice. “how do you have the energy to even want to make a tiktok right now, dude?”
“um, because the choreo isn’t as draining as you’re making it seem? and even then, you’ve been stumbling over your feet all day,” he sits next to you on the floor, holding himself up with his arms as he cocks his head at you. at this point, the rest of the boys have exited the room for water, food, or their beds.
you chew on the inside of your cheek as you figure out what to say. honestly? you haven’t eaten in two days, certain parts of the choreo aren’t sticking with you like they usually would, you’re distracted, dissociated, not all there with the rest of the world. your boyfriend is currently on tour, and you’ve had this gut wrenching feeling eating away at you ever since he left. i love you baby, you know that, right? he had said. weird, but also, not weird? you say you love each other every time you’re going to be separated for a while, so why did it feel different this time?
“hello?” wooyoungs fingers snap in front of your face, “are you still with me, darling?” you blink.
“did you just snap at me?”
“well, yes.”
a moment of silence.
you spring forward and drag him onto the floor with you, punching his sides, “do. you. want. to. die?” you grunt between punches as he laughs, pleading with you. after a moment you both sit up, “i’m fine, wooyoung, don’t worry. i do have to go to my dorm though, so, have fun!” you squeak as you jump up onto your feet, almost losing your balance.
wooyoungs face scrunches up, “what are you in such a rush for? gotta call your boytoy?”
“he’s my boyfriend, not boytoy. get it right. but since you’re so curious, no, actually, i’m just ready to strip naked and wash my ass.”
“yeah whatever, didn’t need to know all that,” it’s silent as he watches you pack up your belongings from the floor. his feet wiggle in place, fighting the urge to help you pack up. he can hear it now, i am an independent woman, why the fuck would i need you to do that for me? he chuckles to himself before noticing a bruise on the back of your arm, immediately perking up, “what happened there?”
“huh?” you turn to look at him, then to the back of your arm where he was gesturing, “oh, mingi happened. i slammed into him earlier, remember? turns out he’s made of stone instead of skin and bones.”
“ah, right. make sure you take care of that.”
your eyebrows furrow as you chuckle and turn to face him again, “it’s a bruise wooyoung, not a stab wound. it’ll take care of itself.”
“still, don’t put pressure on it when you sleep tonight,” he states as he finally gets up and makes his way towards the door with you, “it could make it worse, or something.” he shrugs.
“sir yes sir, dr. jung,” you salute as you turn to walk your separate ways. wooyoung slings his already-packed-bag over his shoulder and watches you turn the corridor. with a sigh, he turns and makes his way over to his dorm.
perk number one of being the only girl in ateez: you get your own dorm. it gives you a break from boys in your fully furnished, cozy, warm, space. now, yunho and yeosangs dorm? a literal cardboard box. you couldn’t be paid enough to live in that.
you let out a sigh upon entering your dorm, sliding off your shoes and into your slippers. dropping your bag and keys off at the door, you beeline to your room and rip your drawers open.
underwear, shirt, what else, what else… oh!
you throw the clothes on your king sized bed, moving towards your vanity where you keep your self care. you snatch your favorite scents off the shelves and toss them on the bed with your clothes. it’s go time, baby.
the bathroom is humid and smells like the gingerbread man drowned in the tub, just how you like it. bubbles are engulfing your body, music is playing on the speaker beside you, you’ve got your wine glass in your hand, vanilla candle lit. what else could you possibly need?
…
why did your music stop..?
ring ring ring
your eyes snap open. you have got to be kidding me.
the growl that escapes your throat is beastly, leaning over the wall of the bathtub to grab your phone.
incoming call: my baby <3
the smile that appears on your face is bright enough to light millions of galaxies. of course, you answer with much enthusiasm. “hi baby! i miss you so much. how’s tour?”
“i miss you too, what’re you doing?” okay fuck me and my question then. from the looks of it, he’s laying in his hotel bed. all you can see is the top of his head though, strange?
“i’m taking a nice relaxing bath, soaking in the peace while i have some. today’s practice was so tiring.”
“mm,” he groans out. it’s silent for a beat before he speaks again, “fuck- i miss you, baby,” he sounds breathless.
um. “i miss you too… are you feeling okay?” your eyebrows furrow with concern. his camera moved down a bit more, you can see his whole face now. his eyes are closed, his bottom lip squeezed between his teeth, eyebrows pinched together. it seems he has no shirt on also, which is pretty normal for him.
“y-yeah, i’m just tired,” his eyes open to look at you now, droopy.
“oh- well, i’ll let you go then. get some rest, okay?”
“alright. b-bye,” he stutters. right before he hangs up the phone, yes, he hangs up, you hear a moan. well, no not a moan. a groan? squeak? whatever the fuck it was, it didn’t come from him. it was high pitched, feminine.
the fuck?
your thumbs move faster than your brain.
you: what the fuck was that?
12:28am
you: hello?
12:46am
you: jaehyun r u srs
you: did u fall asleep
1:13am
you: annyeonghaseyo what the fuck ????
now here you are, laying in your bed. restless, stressed, sad. you have pretty damn good ears, there’s no chance that they could be deceiving you right now. it’s been almost two hours since he hung up and you bolted out of the bathroom. you don’t understand, everything was fine before he left. what could’ve happened within the span of a few days?
you didn’t get a wink of sleep. maybe an hour — no, that’s a reach. you slept for thirty minutes before your alarm clock began screaming at you to wake up. ten seconds later, here comes the banging on the door.
“what, literally what?” you yelled as you stomped towards the door, swinging it open harshly.
“oh- good morning to you, too,” wooyoung waves before pushing past you and into your living room. “you look like shit, by the way.”
you’re surprised your eyes didn’t get stuck in the back of your head with the force you rolled them with. “we don’t have practice for another three hours wooyoung, why are you here?”
“i’m here to chill and eat your snacks beforehand, duh. call it practice pregame,” he says matter-of-factly.
“the whole point of me having my own dorm was so that none of you could be in here with me. get out,” you deadpanned as you made your way to the kitchen for a glass of water.
“well that’s kind of hard to avoid, i’m only a building away. plus, san, mingi, and seonghwa literally live a door down.”
“yeah, a door down, not in my guest bedroom.”
wooyoung scoffs and turns his body away from the tv, really watching you now, “what’s up with you today? you’re awfully snappy”
you place your glass on the island counter and stare at him for second. he’s serious, isn’t he? “gee, i don’t know, maybe because i only got thirty minutes of sleep before i was woken up by a psychotic alarm clock at seven in the fucking morning! then an even more psychotic man—who is currently sitting on my couch, barged into my home, chose to bother me on a morning that wouldn’t have been any better anyways but at least i wouldn’t have to worry about being disturbed by you—” you ramble, your hands flailing all over the place as you go on and on.
wooyoung? he listens. he could tell something has been bothering you these past few days, he knows it’s best for you to let it all out now than later. in the midst of your breakdown he rises from the couch and moves to sit across from where you stand instead.
“i tried to have a relaxing night last night before my fucking boyfriend called me—”
“i thought you were excited to talk to him?”
“oh, just you fucking wait. so, he ended up calling me while i was in the bath. when i answered he sounded very… tired? i guess, i have no idea anymore. i’m so fucking confused,” you hold your head in your hands as you recall what happened last night, “he fucking called me, okay? i knew something was off when i answered and the only thing i could see was his stupid fucking forehead for the first two minutes.”
“two minutes? but th—”
“it was a short conversation,” you cut wooyoung off, holding your hand up, “i tried to talk to him about my day, you know, normal couple things. told him about practice, all that good shit. what’d he say? mm. fucking mm?!” you exclaimed, “and it didn’t even sound like an mm of acknowledgement, it sounded horny as fuck! he was all like—mm fuck, baby i miss you, like, get out of my face.”
wooyoung rolled his eyes, not at you—never at you, but at what he was hearing. he was simply distraught at the fact that anyone could be so vague and passive with you, one of the most charismatic people he knows. although he can’t blame him if he was in fact horny.
“that’s not even it, wooyoung. he starts… moaning? groaning? i don’t know, he sounded out of breath and like he was trying to hold stuff in. eventually, the camera moved down. i don’t think he meant for it to though. he was biting his lip and shit, it looked freaky as hell, and trust me, i know his sex faces.”
wooyoung grimaces at the thought of you doing the deed with someone, “alright maybe i didn’t need to know that.” retract previous statement. he can blame him.
“no you definitely did, it’s crucial to the plot. anyways, i asked him if he felt okay, to which he replied y-yeah, i’m just tired,” you mocked him in your ‘man voice’, “i told him to just get some rest—now keep in mind, he called me, okay? right before he hung up i heard a weird noise. i don’t wanna say it was a woman, but it sounded very feminine.”
“what the fuck?”
“yeah, what the fuck. i texted him for an hour straight last night, still no response to this very moment,” you sigh, now looking down at your glass of water. “i don’t want to accuse him of cheating but like,” you look back up at wooyoung, “ive had this gut feeling something bad was happening behind my back ever since he left for tour. that’s why ive been acting strange, and i know i shouldn’t have held it in but i just-” you sigh.
wooyoung is absolutely fuming, even if he didn’t show it. he is a man after all, he understands exactly what is going on—granted he’d never participate in such devious activities if he had a parter, especially not if he had someone like you. he walked around the counter and engulfed you in his arms. your body began to tremble, finally releasing all the pent up emotions you’ve been holding on to.
“i’m sorry i was mean,” your muffled voice fills his ears.
“it’s okay honey, i’d be mean too if i were you,” he pulled back to look at your face. your had tears streaming down your cheeks as you looked up at him. it tore him into pieces to see you like this. his hands reached up to wipe your face, “go get cleaned up, we’re going out.”
you frown, “out where?”
“out,” he shoves you towards your room, “go.”
“ooh look at this,” san chirps as he poses with the girliest purse you’ve ever seen. wooyoung decided to gather almost everyone to go out and shop together after your breakdown? rant? rant. you don’t have breakdowns over men. either way, it’s definitely cheering you up.
“wait, what about this one?” mingi walks up behind you with a more sleek purse. oh, here comes seonghwa strutting down with wooyoung hand-in-hand, holding matching coach bags. you can’t help but laugh at how ridiculous they look.
“so if i say i love them all you guys will buy them for me?” you lift your eyebrow with a smirk on your face.
“yes,” they say in unison.
chuckling and shaking your head, “guys you don’t have to do this, i’m seriously fine with just walking around. you don’t have to shove all these things in my face and beg to buy them for me,” wooyoung looks at you with a knowing look, cocking his head to the side. he can always tell when you’re bluffing, “okay fine, sugar baby me.”
and sugar baby you they sure fucking did. the boys walk in tandem with you back to your dorm, all of their arms covered with bags of things they bought you. you know when that one kid in school walked down the hallway and you just knew they were coming because of their keychains? yeah, that’s basically them but with shopping bags right now.
“fuck, why did you let me do this,” seonghwa pants as you guys exit the elevator.
“you wouldn’t leave me alone, don’t complain now,” you shrug as you unlock your door and let them in. the bags are immediately dropped to the floor, grunts and groans of relief coming from the men. “you guys are dramatic. hey—don’t break my shit!”
“anything you say, girly. now let’s go, we have to be at practice in thirty minutes. hongjoong will kill us if we’re late… again.” san says.
you giggle as they walk ahead of you and out of your dorm. as you’re locking your door you feel your phone vibrating in your pocket, frowning, you pull it out.
oh.
jaehyun.
you begrudgingly put the phone to your ear, “yes, jaehyun?” wooyoung turns to look at you at the mention of his name, a concerned look on his face. you shake your head at him and motion for him to go ahead, which he reluctantly obeys.
“hey baby, how are you?”
“uh, i’m good. could be better, actually. what’s up?” you begin walking a few feet behind the boys, closer to wooyoung than the rest of them. of course, he purposefully walked slower than the rest to pick up on your conversation. call him nosy, shame him for eavesdropping, he couldn’t care less.
“oh, um- i was just wondering. what happened last night?”
your heart stopped for a moment. he’s serious?
“what do you mean?”
“well i saw i had called you last night but i don’t remember it at all, haha,” haha. “i drank with the guys so i was pretty drunk.”
“oh, i see… were you too drunk to answer my texts as well or was that because you were busy doing something else—or should i say—someone else?” your irritation is evident in your voice at this point. the other side of the line does quiet for a beat too long, so you take the initiative, “you know what, jaehyun? until you manage to use all the brain power you have left to tell me exactly what you were doing last night; don’t message me, don’t call me, don’t even think of me. got it?”
“wait- baby, i-”
beep beep beep.
shut up.
you rolled your eyes and tucked your phone back into your pocket. the peace was nice for the two hours it lasted.
“get out. my. face.” sans voice booms through the practice room as he calls out the phrases that helps you all remember the choreo. today is the last day of practice, which is very stressful for you this time around. usuallly you’d have every movement nailed down by now, but you’re falling behind.
you keep fucking bumping into mingi during the stupid ass line formation you have to do. you’re sweating, your clothes are sticking to your body, hair falling out of your ponytail, bruises beginning to form from your countless failures.
“take 5 guys,” hongjoong calls out as he exits the room.
“are you doing okay?” jongho crouched down beside where you’re sprawled out on the floor.
“oh my fucking lord, yes, i’m fucking peachy. i am perfectly fine. why is everyone asking me this? actually, no, you know what, jongho? no, i’m not fucking okay because i’m pretty sure my boyfriend is cheating on me with some random bitch while i’m here stuck in this muggy practice room and failing at everything i do. is that a better answer for you guys? i’m not okay,” is what you wish you could scream out at the top of your lungs. unfortunately, what you say is, “i’m okay jjong, thank you,” don’t forget to top it off with a smile and nod!
thankfully, he drops it, deciding to not push you further. unlike someone, what’s his name?
“yeah right, what’d that asshole have to say to you earlier?” wooyoung plops himself on the ground on your other side. oh right, wooyoung.
“wouldn’t you like to know.”
“yeah i would, that’s kind of why i asked,” he shoves your shoulder, “come on, tell me. i promise i wont hunt him down, even though i should,” he murmurs the last part.
“what was that?” he shakes his head and motions for you to speak, sigh. “he basically just told me he didn’t remember anything from last night.”
“mm, and what’d you say?”
“you know what i said wooyoung, i know you were listening.”
“well tell me again, it was kind of hot,” he smirks, that makes you roll your eyes as you laugh.
hongjoong comes back and everything is set in motion once again, you swear that five minute break felt more like five seconds. after two more hours the work day has ended, you’re back in your bed, and suddenly it’s almost a month later. you pulled countless all-nighters practicing the choreography by yourself, pushing your body to its limit. jaehyun? not a word from him, and that’s perfectly fine with you. the music video released a few days ago, and now it’s s performance day. you have bigger things to worry about.
to say you’re nervous is an understatement. the anxiety of repeating the same mistakes you had worked so hard to fix comes creeping up your neck, sending shivers down your spine. or was it the hand that’s now laying against your lower back that did that?
“you ready, popstar?” wooyoung whispers into your ear from behind. you can’t see him, but you can feel him. hear him, smell him. it’s overwhelming to say the least, but also provides you a sense of comfort. you turn your head to the side and smile at him with a nod.
you all get into position in the stage, waiting patiently for the music to start, fans are cheering. what’s going in your head, you wonder?
anytime now…
oh! that scared me, oh my it’s really loud.
these lights are blinding me…
don’t mess up, don’t fuck it up. wait—yes, fuck it up. fuck it up so good, girl.
get out. my. face.
please don’t bump into him, please don’t bump into him.
oh thank fuck. thank you, lord.
okay jongho sing itttt.
voice please don’t crack, it’s my turn.
gotta make that money make—
it’s nothing but heavy breathing and stripping of clothing once you get backstage. you had been itching to get this heavy ass jacket off your frame for over an hour now, the relief of shredding it from your body an overwhelming sensation.
“you did so good, im so proud of you.” wooyoung jogs towards you and squeezes you so tight you can barely breathe.
“thank you, youngie, but i’m really sweaty and i kinda can’t breathe… move. please.” he pulls away with a breathless smile.
“you ready to do it all over again in two days?” he winks at you, the guttural groan you let out probably echoed down the halls. “i’ll take that as a no,” he laughs.
later that night after you’ve returned home and showered, you hear a knock at your door. who the fuck? you open the door to see none other than jung fucking wooyoung standing there in his full pajama set.
a giggle escapes your lip as you quirk a brow at him, “and what do you think you’re doing?”
“uh, sleepover?” he says, or asks, it’s hard to tell which one it was. once you see the container of brownies in his hands though? it was an immediate yes anyway. he cooks you dinner, you serve him wine, it all felt very domestic but also… just friendly? there was no tension, nothing dramatic. it was almost as if he were one of your girlfriends. you gossiped, laughed, watched movies, things that you’d do with your best friend.
while you guys are in the middle of watching the second hunger games movie, there’s another knock at the door.
“did you invite san or yeosang over?” you question, to which he shakes his head just as confused as you are. you get up and go open the door, freezing in place once you see who’s behind your door.
jaehyun.
all you can do is stare at him through the crack of the door, all the emotions you had forgotten about a month ago suddenly crashing down on you.
“who is it?” you hear wooyoung shout from the couch. nobody answered him.
“hey,” jaehyun started. no.
“don’t,” you hold your hand up, “are you fucking kidding me right now?”
“look, i know i messed up—”
“messed up? messed up?! we haven’t spoken in a fucking month, jaehyun!” you snatch your phone from the pocket of your pajama pants and open the messages between you guys, “12:28am, what the fuck was that? 12:46am, hello? jaehyun are you serious? did you fall asleep? 1:13am, hello, what the fuck?” your eyes are open so wide they’re damn near bulging out of your head. behind you, wooyoung creeps up around the corner.
“baby, please just let me in so we can talk—”
“about what? about fucking what, jaehyun? have you finally remembered what happened that night or what?” silence. “well, i’m waiting. what happened? please, do tell.”
silence, again. fine.
“i thought you were on tour, why are you here?”
“i- i am- i was i- i’m back just for the week. i-“ he sighs, searching for the words he wants to say, “i- i cheated on you,” he said under his breath as he looked at his feet.
“hm? what?”
“i fucking cheated! okay? are you happy now? i cheated on you!”
your five senses have been infiltrated once again.
blurry. everything is blurry, you can’t see who you’re talking to anymore. nothing is clear, you’ve spent two years of your life with this man. the man you thought you would marry, the man who wrote songs about you, the man who was your first everything.
your ears are ringing, what did he say? you knew it, you had a feeling deep down inside. but for him to just flat out scream it out like it means nothing? like you mean nothing?
you can smell the alcohol on his breath as he speaks to you. oh, he’s been drinking. again. go figure.
just seeing him leaves a bitter taste on your tongue.
tears. red, hot, angry tears are streaming down your face. you feel your hands touch your face, are you moving your arms? you can’t feel them. everything feels numb, you’re numb.
“y-you need to go,” you whimper, looking right through him as more and more tears cascade down your cheeks.
“jagiya, i-”
“don’t,” you feel a hand on the small of your back. your lip starts quivering, you start breathing faster, you’re panicking. you don’t understand anything that’s going on right now. “you heard her, you need to go,” he doesn’t. “leave before i fucking make you leave, and trust me, you don’t want that.” wooyoung threatens, causing you to jump slightly at the sudden outburst. his hand rubs circles against your spine.
jaehyun looks between the two of you, then at the floor, ultimately deciding to leave the premise. your numb hand slowly moves to shut the door, and all you can do is stare at it. you feel your body slide down the door as your sobs finally break free.
you knew it.
you fucking knew it.
why were you in denial for so long? why did you allow this to happen to yourself? this is all your fault, if you knew, then why didn’t you end it before now? do you still love him? were you hoping that it wasn’t true? god, it would’ve been much better if you were just making thing up in your head.
you sob, and you sob even more. wooyoung drops down next to you and pulls you into his arms. “what’s wrong with me?” you cry out.
“nothing is wrong with you, honey. nothing at all, okay?” he hears his chin on top of your head as he rubs your back, “he has no idea what he just lost. you’re the smartest, most amazing, beautiful, kind, courageous person i know. you’ll find the one who’s best for you.”
“promise?” you whimper.
wooyoungs heart is torn. all he wants in this moment is for you to be okay, happy, and in his arms. “i promise, i really do.”
it’s been a long time since that night. a really long time, actually. you’ve had three comebacks since then and are currently working on your fourth; golden hour: part 4. now sitting in the studio, wooyoung and yourself are bundled up on the couch together scrolling on pinterest.
“i’ll do it if you do it,” he smiles and turns his head to look at you, showing you a picture of cherry red hair.
“you want me to dye my hair red?” he nods. “you’re not gonna chicken out last second and have me running around like strawberry shortcake, will you?” wooyoung damn near dies. why? because it’s you. it wasn’t nearly half as funny as he made it out to be, but you just tickle him so good.
“of course not, i’ve already dyed my hair red before, remember?” oh you remember all too well. that red hair looked spectacular on him. it was during that time when you had a crush on him—or was it before then? scratch that, it was when you first met. you had a huge crush on wooyoung when you first met, and it lasted up until you met jaehyun for the first time. when was that? 2021? you broke up in… 2024?
gosh, it’s been so long since you’ve even thought about jaehyun. it’s now 2026 and you all have moved on to bigger and better things. last you checked, he was doing his military service.
haha, you lost your hair. loser.
you know who hasn’t lost his hair? wooyoung. where were we? oh right, back to the crush thing. yeah, you had the fattest crush on him, just cute puppy love at first. he didn’t know, you tried to hold it in, it ate away at you for years, and eventually the crush faded. but now? something has changed, you can’t tell if it’s the way he looks at you or if the plates in your brain shifted the night he comforted you during one of the most heartbreaking moments in your life. all you know is right now, he is taking your breath away all over again.
“do you know how to dye hair?” you ask.
“i mean… not really, but i can try.” he smiles down at you, oh god.
“alright, i’ll dye your hair tonight. come over with the stuff so i can get to business, and make sure you get enough!”
“how much is enough?”
“the whole store baby, the whole store.” you rest your head on his shoulder and continue scrolling on your phone.
baby? did she just call me baby? she’s never done that before. what does that mean? uh, my heart is kind of freaking out. oh my god, does she hear it?
so yeah, wooyoung may or may not have never gotten over his crush on you. fuck that, he never did. it’s definite. when you were with jaehyun he had to tone down the his touching, flirting, all the things that makes him, well, him. but it’s been two years since jaehyun has been out of the picture. guess what that means? it’s his turn.
he’s had a crush on you ever since you graced his eyes, though he never allowed himself to show it. which, even if he did, he’s pretty sure you’d only just think it’s him being the same old flirty wooyoung when that wouldn’t have been the case at all. i mean, yes, he has flirted with you, and yes it has been serious on his end. does he think you got the hint though? pfft, how could you? you were too far up jaehyuns ass to pay him any mind.
knock knock knock
“yay, yay, yay, yay, yay, yay, yayyyyy!” you squeal as you make your way over to your door. you love when it’s time to get your hair done, just as much as you love doing others’ hair. you yank the door open with a big smile, and as expected, wooyoung is standing there with a boyish grin and a bag full of hair supplies.
“are you ready to stain your entire bathroom?”
“yes!”
here’s the current situation; you currently have your hair soaked in red dye under a shower cap. wooyoung? he’s sitting on the toilet while you stand in front of him and work the dye into his hair.
“you should’ve put gloves on,” he says as he watches you work your magic above him. he’s extremely aware of how close you are to one another right now, you between his legs while he struggles to figure out where the fuck he should put his hands.
“well you didn’t either. if you get in trouble then i’ll get in trouble too,” you smile down at him with the most beautiful smile he’s ever seen. he takes this moment to really look at you. you have a beauty mark right under your lip, how has he never noticed that before? you smell amazing, don’t get him wrong, you always smell good, but right now? oh my god. vanilla and everything gourmand. wooyoung swears he’s become addicted to it.
you know he’s staring, you’re extremely aware of it actually. that’s what makes this all the more fun. you’ve noticed he’s been extra clingy lately. always sitting with you during practice breaks, going to get food with you, getting food for you, he’s even been walking you home some nights. you’re not sure why, but your hopes are most certainly high.
“what’re you looking at?” you question with an anxious laugh.
“your beauty mark,” he replies, reaching up to rub his finger against it. okay, that took you off guard completely. your entire body froze for a second before getting back to work on his hair, reaching to gather more of the dye. wooyoung noticed the effect he had on you.
“you’re just now noticing it?”
“yeah, i don’t know why though…” he says softly, almost mesmerized. “it’s pretty,” the room is silent for a moment after that, the only sound coming from your hands working on his head. “you’re pretty.”
you freeze.
what did he just say?
your eyes fall to his, he’s already looking at you. you both stare at each other for a moment, no words being said but somehow it’s so loud in this bathroom. you notice him leaning up, an attempt to get closer to your face. you find yourself also inching closer to him, so close yet so far.
your lips are inches away from each other at this point, his breath tickling your face. his hands slide up the backs of your legs and that’s what snaps you out of it. you quickly pull away, clearing your throat. wooyoung jumps from shock and does the same, nervously rubbing his hands on his thighs.
“um- your hair should be good now. we just have to leave it in for thirty minutes,” you quickly say as your hands move just as fast to grab all the trash.
wooyoung clears his throat, “yeah, alright. okay,” he stands and grabs a shower cap, putting it over his hair. you’re out of the bathroom in a flash, speeding to your trash can and onto the couch. fuck. what just happened.
you turn a show on, no idea what it is but it provides you a distraction from whatever the hell you almost did in there. wooyoung makes himself known by sinking into the couch next to you. you don’t look at him, don’t acknowledge his presence, you don’t even speak. all you can do is stare straight ahead at the tv and pray the timer on your phone goes off any minute now.
wooyoung is the same. this fucking timer can’t go off any faster. he takes his chances and looks over at you, but you pay him no mind. ouch. it’s stays exactly like that until thirty minutes are up, the both of you springing off the couch and heading for the bathroom.
“we should wash your hair out first since it’s been sitting longer,” he points out. yeah, i guess we should. you grab a towel and wrap it around your shoulders while wooyoung takes your shower cap off. god this is awkward. you get on your knees and lean over the tub while wooyoung begins massaging your head under the water.
“holy fucking shit it’s been almost ten minutes why is the water not clear yet?” you yell out. you back is aching and your sure wooyoungs is too.
“i don’t know, do you think it’s good enough? i mean, it’s pink water and not red water so…”
“it’s good. it’s good, it’s good. oh my god, my back hurts please let me get up,” you groan as wooyoung helps you up and wraps the towel over your head. you just stare at each other for a minute before letting out tiny laughs. “you’re next.”
wooyoung stares at your pink-stained bathtub, “yeah, i guess i am.” and then you repeat the process once more, except it’s much louder and way more annoying this time.
“ouch! don’t rip my hair out, damn it!”
“i’m sorry, im not trying to!”
“my back hurts, oh my god.”
“i’m never letting you dye my hair again.”
wah, wah, wah! crybaby, crybaby, crybaby!
eventually, the torture is over and it’s time to dry the hair. great.
“do you want me to dry your hair or do you have it?” you ask.
wooyoung smiles, “you can do it.” oh, of course. don’t be mistaken, the situation is still very much awkward, but somehow a bit of the tension has been released. that’s just how you guys are. while you dry his hair there’s nothing to be said, as if you would even be able to with how loud the damn thing is.
once you finish his hair you switch roles, but instead of you sitting on the toilet he stands behind you in front of the sink. perks of being taller, i guess. you watch him very carefully through the mirror as he runs his fingers through your hair, making sure to dry every piece without tangles. he’s so pretty, you can’t help but to think.
just then, he looks up at you. you’ve been caught. his smirk grows wide, “whatcha looking at, huh?” he yells over the blow dryer.
“mm, nothing,” you say innocently with the faintest smile.
he turns the blow dryer off, “huh? what was that?” he teases.
you roll your eyes, “i said nothing.” he places the blow dryer on the counter and traps you from behind, both arms resting on either side of your body.
“doesn’t look like nothing,” he whispers in your ear whilst maintaining eye contact in the mirror. is the window open? it’s very cold in here, no, it’s hot. it’s so fucking hot.
wooyoungs hands move to your waist and spin you around to face him, “you won’t run from me this time, will you?” he whispers, eyes flicking to your lips for a split second.
you can’t help but to notice how close you both are in this moment, his hips keeping you grounded against counter, the tips of your noses brushing. you shake your head as you both lean in, lips finally locking. his arms wrap around your waist and pull you impossibly closer, your arms lock around his neck, fingers pulling at his freshly dyed hair.
you open your eyes for a split second, seeing the cherry red hair you worked oh so hard on.
you hear wooyoungs groans as you pull his soft hair, and you can smell the strawberry chapstick he must’ve put on right before this.
your tongues mix together, now finally, you taste the strawberry chapstick.
his hands are roaming all over your body now, and you reciprocate. your hands glide down his back, feeling the muscles as they flex beneath your hands.
wooyoung groans into your mouth once more, feeding you with all of his beautiful sounds. yours mouths move in tandem with one another, barely coming up for air, but when you finally do? oh, it is so, so sweet.
your breaths mingle as you pull apart, staring into each others eyes. “so,” you squeak.
“so.”
“what now?” he hums as he rests his forehead on yours.
“hmm, round two?” you both giggle as you lock your lips for a second time that night, the both of you having no idea what you’ve just started.
it’s officially comeback day. you’ve got adrenaline flushing through your veins. no, seriously. you’re all backstage getting your make up and hair done. wooyoung is sitting beside you with his assigned make up artist while you get your hair done, scrolling through your phone and seeing what atiny thinks about the music video.
“wooyoung, atiny said they like our matching hair.” you giggle and show him the comments under the video.
“they have good taste,” he winks. after about fifteen minutes your hair is done and wooyoung has his make up on, it’s time to rotate with the other members. you walk out the room and to your dressing room to make any adjustments to your make up and hair. what? god forbid a girl has preferences.
“now why are you ruining what our lovely stylists worked so hard on?” the oh, so, familiar voice booms through your dressing room, causing you to jump and accidentally smear lipstick on your chin.
“wooyoung!” you whined, pouting at him through the mirror. he’s smirking, leaning against the doorframe. “it wasn’t ruined until you did that shit!” you groan, not noticing him close the door and lock it behind him. you’re too focused on trying to fix your make up that you don’t realize how close he is now.
“aww baby, it’s okay. here, let me see,” he leans down from behind and holds your face in his hand. oh. licking his lips, he kisses up from the smeared lipstick to your lips, stealing your breath away. you relax immediately, releasing the breath you didn’t know you were holding in all this time.
he pulls away with a frown, “mm. that didn’t work, hold on.” he moves his thumb to your chin, carefully wiping the lipstick off. his bottom lip is tucked between his teeth as he pulls your bottom lip down with his thumb. feeling a bit naughty, you take advantage of this moment. you open your mouth and let him thumb glide against your tongue, maintaining eye contact with the cherry-haired man. “oh, baby…” he groans, “you shouldn’t do that.”
that only encourages you to suck his thumb harder. “oh, i see. you wanna be a little slut, huh?” your eyes gloss over at that, pupils dilated. he pushes his thumb further back before sliding it out your mouth, holding the side of your head as you lean into his touch.
“please,” you beg.
“please what?” he presses, sinking down to his knees and turning your chair to face him. your legs spread willingly, your body moving before you can even think. his hands smooth over your thighs, trialing up your skirt, “you gotta tell me what you want or i can’t help you, my love.”
your breath hitches as he pulls down the shorts you’re wearing underneath your skirt. “p-please, touch me.”
“touch you?” he cocks his head to the side, “touch you where, huh?” wooyoung leaves a trail of kisses up your inner thighs and pushes up your skirt to reveal your panties. his thumb grazes the wet spot shining through them, “here?” your legs try to close but oh, oh no, he’s not having that. he keeps your legs spread with his hands, “keep these pretty legs open or you won’t be getting a damn thing from me, got it?”
you’ve never nodded your head so quick in your life.
he hooks his thumb on your panties and pushes them aside, mouth watering at the sight. “oh, look at this pretty pussy,” he damn near moans as he blows cool air against your heat, making your hips jerk forward. he smirks before sinking inbetween your thighs, flattening his tongue against you to test the waters. you lay your head back against the chair, a content sigh escaping your lips.
his tongue swirled around your clit once, twice, three times before he began to suck, eliciting a loud moan from you. then comes his fingers, and boy does he waste no time. he dives two fingers into your heat, curling and twisting while you encourage him with your moans.
“oh- fuck, youngie.” you cry out. he chuckles against your clit before picking up the pace, “please- don’t stop, please.”
“mm, yeah? don’t stop?”
“please-”
“tell me how good it feels baby, tell your youngie how good he’s treating your pussy.”
you’ve completely lost your mind at this point, the coil in your stomach is getting tighter and tighter by the second. not a single word is coming to mind. you can’t speak, you can hardly think, only thing you know is him. with another flick of his tongue you’re releasing all over his fingers, crying out for god knows who as you rock your hips with the movement of his fingers still inside of you.
“yeah baby, let it all out for me. cum all over my fingers.” he coos. he helps you ride out your orgasm with a couple kisses to your now swollen clit, kissing up your body to your mouth. you can taste yourself on his tongue, his fingers still pumping in and out of your at a slow pace. after another minute or two he finally pulls them out of you, sucking his fingers dry and pulling you into another sloppy, wet, kiss.
when he pulls away a string of saliva is left behind, keeping the two of you connected. “bend over the vanity for me, doll.” he says as he unbuckles his belt and works to get his pants off. you do as he says and watch in the mirror as he pulls his cock out. you bite your lip once you see his red, hot, angry tip is leaking with precum, mouth immediately watering. “it’s impolite to stare.” he teases, pushing your head further down as he lines up behind you.
he pushes your skirt over your hips and pulls your panties to the side again, rubbing the tip of his cock against your clit, your mouth falls open as a silent moan tears through you. wooyoung bites his lip as he watches through the mirror. “that feel good baby? you feel me?” you nod. all you can do is nod at this point, you’re so insanely fucked out and he’s barely even done anything. “i need you to be quieter this time, okay? we gotta go on in five minutes.” he whispers in your ear.
his hands hold your hips steady against the vanity as he pushes in, holding back his own moan as he sinks into your heat. “fuckkk, baby.” he groans, his head falling back before he slides out and then slams back into you.
his whole body is leaning over you now as his hips piston into your gummy walls, your mouth has fallen open once again and your eyes roll to the back of your head. “oh, fuck!” your cry out, causing wooyoung to shove two fingers into your mouth to shut you the fuck up.
“what did i say?” he groans breathlessly into your ear, “be a good girl for me, shhh, shh, it’s okay.” he has to bite into your shoulder himself just to stay quiet, his own orgasm creeping up on him. the coil in your stomach is tightening again, your hands grabbing out for anything to keep you stable.
your orgasm tears through you once more, tears running down your face. “i feel you, baby. i’m here.” his hips are moving at an impossible speed by now, chasing his orgasm along with yours. once he feels your walls fluttering around him he knows it’s time. “cum again, baby. cum all over my cock, please- cum for me.” his whines drive you over the edge.
your entire body trembles underneath his as you release for the third time, all over his now softening cock. he pumps a few more times, making sure every last drop is gone before removing his fingers from your mouth and leaning back, looking down at the beautiful sight. once he slides out of you, his thumb replaces his cock. bending down to be face to face with your pussy, he pumps his thumb in and out of you a few times. “gotta make sure you don’t leak all over the stage, huh?” he smirks, removing his thumb and sliding your panties back into place.
“hey, where are my shorts?” you ask once you’ve both cleaned each other up. wooyoung smirks at you for what feels like the hundredth time today.
“oh, you mean these?” he holds them up on his pointer finger, waving them around in your face before shoving them in his pocket. “you won’t be needing them.”
staff knocks on your door, “thirty seconds, let’s go!” you both look at the door and then at each other.
wooyoung leans towards you, “like i said, don’t leak all over the stage.” and with that, he leaves a smack on your ass before walking out of the dressing room, leaving both you and your five senses going haywire.
synopsis: Yoongi, the quiet and awkward finance guy of your company, has a crush on you.
warnings: mdni, 18+, nerd! Yoongi, lowkey loser! Yoongi, dirty talk, riding, teasing, praise, unprotected, oral (m rec), kitty! Tang, office romance, Yoongi lowkey perv, cowgirl position, a little dumbification, multiple orgasms, a little rough, creampie, Yoongi big, Yoongi cocky behind closed doors, both are down bad, mentions of m-st-rb-t--n, mention of semi-public smuttiness, etc.
shout out to @catiekayy for being my soundboard and reader as I wrote this
wc: 4.7 k+
[BE VERY AWARE, SMUT BELOW THE 'KEEP READING' TAG]
If someone were to ask Yoongi, he would say he's exactly where he wants to be, and that's under you.
His head falls back into the cushion of the couch, and his pupils dilate, focusing solely on you as you keep him pinned to the sofa with a hand to his chest.
You're absolutely gorgeous with glossy lips, half-hooded eyes, and a flush in your cheeks. Sweet little moans keep slipping from your mouth each time you lift your hips before slamming them back down, taking Yoongi's cock to the hilt over and over again.
You didn't plan for the night to go like this - bouncing on Yoongi's cock too far gone on how good it felt when his fat tip hit the back of your drooling cunt, but Yoongi did. Yoongi had been in love with you since the moment he saw you across the office. You were all sweet smiles and polite bows of introduction to your new co-workers, cheering a little, "happy to be on the team!" You were too cute.
You always worked in little heels with a pencil skirt, making Yoongi watch as you passed his cubicle, heading to lunch with one of your friends in the same department - Jimin was it? Your eyes sparkled as you yapped to the younger man, something about a project you were excited to be a part of. You were so new, so eager, and Yoongi's cock twitched, hardening before you even rounded the corner.
It was right there, in that office, that he formed his little crush on you. He looked forward to seeing you in the office from afar, watching you bend over to pick up a pile of papers that fell from your desk when you accidentally bumped into them. Or the way you seemed to become friends with everyone in less than three minutes.
You were so pretty, so nice, it was almost too much to bear. He'd have to close his eyes, take a deep breath, and then excuse himself to the bathroom to lock himself in a stall, fumbling with his zipper before he could finally free his aching cock.
His eyes would close again just as he gave his cock the first stroke, squeezing his hand around his shaft, jerking his cock to the image of you. He would daydream about bending you over his desk, or sneaking you into the supply closet so he could have a taste of you, wondering if your pussy was just as sweet as you were. But he never acted on it; he was in finance, you were in sales, the only time your two departments came together was either in the quarterly meetings or an office party.
Plus, he didn't stand a chance. You were gorgeous, beautiful, and charming, while he wore black-rimmed glasses and had photos of his black cat framed at his desk. He knew society had a hierarchy, and he knew his place in it. So, he kept his head down, his eyes focused on the computer until the day you hummed behind him, unsure of yourself, leaning on his cubicle wall as your eyes flickered from him to the photo of Tang, his cat. "Can you help me?"
Yoongi blinked, and blinked again, taking a moment to process that you were talking to him before he jolted up, stumbling to stand from his rolling chair, and nearly knocking over the photo of Tang in the process. "Y-yeah! I mean, yes, sure, yes."
It took Yoongi less than two minutes to realize you had mistaken him for IT support. You seemed to be having some issues with your laptop, your teeth nibbling into your bottom lip as you waved your hands at the monitor vaguely. "I'm not really good with this thing." You confessed with a soft blush to your cheeks.
Luckily for you, Yoongi was adept enough to be in IT if he wanted. He nodded his head softly, and with a quiet, "May I?" He leaned over you, his chest warming up your back as he reached for the keyboard. He never imagined being this close to you while you were sitting in your chair, but now with him so close, he was wrapped up in your pretty smile and sweet perfume, and he knew he was down bad for you.
It took a few taps here and a few clicks there before Yoongi was able to get your monitor screen where you needed it. And he was caught off guard by your happy squeal in delight, your arms wrapping around him in a celebratory hug as you thanked him over and over again.
It made Yoongi flush, awkwardly clearing his throat and waving his hand in dismissal as he felt your soft body move back, already turning around to click on a few tabs to verify it truly was fixed. Yoongi figured his need was done, and he'd slip back to his desk when you quickly turned around and grasped his wrist to stop him. His world flipped when you flashed him a dazzling grin, your eyes sparkling as you asked, "Hey, do you want to grab lunch sometime?"
From then on, you made a point of saying hello to Yoongi. It was always accompanied by a soft touch on his shoulder or arm, squeezing his bicep as you called his name. And with the more interactions he had with you, the more his crush developed, and the more he couldn't get you off his mind.
At one point, it was early morning, the skies still dark, as he stepped into the elevator to head to the office. No one was around, the city was still half-asleep, and he expected to be one of the few earlier ones in the office when you slipped into the elevator just before the doors closed. You flashed him a beaming smile, standing close to him in the small space, and Yoongi was still sleepy enough that his mind immediately went to the gutter.
You were standing in your heels, your tight skirt, and your perfume that made his mouth water - and for a moment, he wondered what you would do if he pinned you to the elevator wall. If you'd be wet when he brushes his hand up your inner thigh, bunching the skirt up higher so he could see the pretty panties you wore today. If you'd say his name with a breathy moan or whine when he placed a knee between your thighs to keep your legs open for him.
When the elevator dings to announce the arrival of landing on the twentieth floor, you're stepping out none the wiser to Yoongi's perverted thoughts, and he's covering his lap with his briefcase as he walks the walk of shame to his desk.
Something had to give, and it did when three weeks later, Yoongi found himself working late one night, finishing up some reports he'd present the following Monday. It was late, really late, late enough to need to call a cab to get home late, and he was tired.
He packed up his stuff, turned off his light for his cubicle, and started to head to the elevators. He had made a habit of looking over at the sales department to get a glimpse of your desk, even if you weren't there, before heading home. But tonight, you were there.
The yellow glow of the light for your desk even made you more beautiful in Yoongi's eyes, which is saying something because they were cheap lights. You were running a hand through your hair, mumbling to yourself as you went from looking back and forth between your two monitors, and Yoongi didn't even think about it. His feet moved on their own accord, bee-lining straight to you before he could mentally talk himself out of it. And you didn't even know he was there until he spoke up softly, "You're here late."
You jumped a little in your seat, whirling around to meet Yoongi's gaze, and both Yoongi and you sported soft pink cheeks towards one another. "I- yeah." You let out a tired laugh before you nodded your head towards him, "but I could say the same for you. Are you heading out?" You looked up at him expectantly, and Yoongi knew he should leave, grab some takeout, and head home, but he couldn't bring himself to move. He wanted to spend time with you, anyway he could.
"No, I uh, I'm waiting for an email to come in." His lie is barely believable. I mean, he had his coat over his arm and his briefcase in his hand, but you don't say that. Instead, you nod, an amused smile on your lips, as Yoongi stands there awkwardly.
"Well, instead of sitting alone at your desk, you could just sit with me while I finish some work on my computer." You offer, nodding to the rolling chair next to you, it's from the cubicle next to yours, and he takes it before he says something stupid, like I love you or something.
And that's how the rest of the night goes, you working, him sitting fiddling on his phone waiting for an imaginary email as you two fill up the space with small talk and getting to know each other better. When you wrap things up, you turn to him with a cute little stretch and ask if he wants to grab some food, and Yoongi could never deny you.
Over late-night ramen, he finds out you are staying late the entire next week of work, and by the time he convinces you to share a cab with him, claiming he doesn't live far from you (you're across town from him), he plans to find an excuse to keep you company that entire week you need to stay late.
The first excuse he comes up with is that he forgot a report that is due soon. He stays at his desk, clicking on things randomly, and peeking over his cubicle to see if you're still there. And when he thinks it's a good time to come over, he does so with a drink from the vending machine as a peace offering.
By the third night, when Yoongi finishes up work, he just walks right up to your desk and takes a seat next to you - forgoing making up excuses. He's armed with your favorite drink from the vending machines and a soft smile that you return as he sits on the empty rolling chair next to you. Neither of you commented on the new closeness you two have, your knees bumping into his every once and while as you typed away on your keyboard. Yoongi does his best to hide his smile behind his phone, refusing to acknowledge that he bumps his knees into yours in response, making his heart flutter in his chest.
And like the past three times you two stayed late at the office, you two share a cab ride home. Yoongi has the taxi driver stop at your place first and refuses to take your half of the money for the shared ride, waving it off with a shake of his head even when you try to insist. He only gives you a flash of a grin, claiming, "See you tomorrow."
So when Friday comes around, it seems like Yoongi isn't the only one finding themselves looking over at the other from across the office. You had become close to Yoongi in the time you two spent together, and it showed in the way you found yourself gravitating towards him with any flimsy excuse you could come up with. During a break, you saw Yoongi at the copier machine, and you couldn't help yourself. You walked up to him, your shoulder brushing his bicep as you hummed a little, "having a good day, Mr Min?" Your smile teasing as you batted your eyelashes up at him.
At lunch, you wave at Jimin, asking for a rain check. You were going to eat alone today, or that's what you told the man before making your way to the spot you had seen Yoongi liked to eat at. It was outside, more secluded, and a lot quieter than the cafe in the lobby. It was exactly where you found him, too, and you couldn't stop the smile from forming on your face. "Fancy seeing you here," you teased as you sat next to him on the bench. He was balancing his lunch on his lap as he quickly looked over at you.
His glasses were on the tip of his nose, his cheeks a soft pink, and the urge to kiss him caught you by surprise. You had liked Yoongi the moment he saved your computer from whatever you did to it months ago, and you were happy that this friendship had evolved from then on. You found comfort being near him, and you weren't blind; he was handsome with his warm eyes and gummy smile, which you seemed to pull from him easily. You just never really realized how much you liked him until now.
And maybe that's why, on your last night of staying late at the office for this project, you're a little jittery. Without fail, Yoongi is sitting beside you, reading something on his phone, and you can't concentrate. You had been in your head all day, mulling over Yoongi and your newly discovered feelings. You hadn't meant to form a crush on him, but how could you not?
It's why you decide to jump, take a leap, and tell the cab driver when you and Yoongi get in, to head to Yoongi's place. You turned to your co-worker expectantly, your cheeks flushed at being possibly too forward, but smiling nevertheless as you nudged Yoongi to tell the cab driver his address.
You didn't really plan how you wanted this night to go. It was the weekend, and you figured maybe Yoongi and you could hang out in a more intimate setting, but nothing prepares you when seconds after his apartment door closes behind him, he's pulling you into a kiss.
Yoongi had always given shy and awkward vibes around you, something that internally made you want to push his buttons just to see his blush sneak up to his ears, but this Yoongi wasn't like that now. He didn't kiss you like he had never done it before; in fact, he kissed you as if it were your last. His warm hands are pulling you in close, one hand sliding up your back and up to the back of your neck as the other holds onto your hip, like you might disappear otherwise.
It made your head spin from the contrast of him, your moan eagerly swallowed by him as his lips slotted with yours, and your back met his front door as he caged you in. He pressed his hips against yours, keeping you pinned, and his tongue caressed your bottom lip, coaxing you to open up for him. When you do, he groan soft and low, one of his hands slipping down your thigh and hooking your knee over his hip to press closer to you.
And that's when you feel something soft brush your calf, followed by a chirpy, "me-ow!"
Both of you are still; your mind is still reeling as Yoongi takes a second to pull his head back. You immediately miss his lips on yours, and you notice how plump his lips look as he looks down at the ground to see the black void brushing against both of your legs as it lets out another meow, demanding acknowledgement.
Yoongi's fingers squeeze the underside of your thigh that he still has hooked on his hip, and he takes a moment to take you in. Your lips are darker from the kissing, and your eyes are a little hazy, which makes him grin, and all he wants is to keep going. And he will, but another meow from Tang has him mumbling, "one second," before he's taking a step back, giving you space to breathe. "Make yourself at home," he smiles, and you finally process that you're inside his apartment.
Yoongi heads to the kitchen after stealing another quick kiss from you, and Tang circles you like a mini shark, chirping another greeting that makes you squat so you can pet his soft coat as he headbutts your hand with soft purrs. You grinned and scratched Tang's head until he heard Yoongi open a cabinet door. It must be Tang's designated cabinet for his food because the black cat flies to the kitchen, and you head deeper into the apartment with a curious gaze.
The apartment is cozy. A loft with one wall filled with floor-to-ceiling windows that looks over the city. It's breathtaking, and his apartment is high enough to still feel private until you are on his balcony, but you decide to stay in the living room, softly touching the books on his bookshelf as Yoongi leaves Tang to eat alone. "Anything catch your eye?" He asks, and you spin around to see him flash you another smile as you join him on the couch.
"Maybe," your answer is coy, but it's because your heart is fluttering and your eyes keep looking down at his lips, thinking back to your kiss by the front door. You're sitting closer to him, watching him in a new light that makes your stomach flutter. The tension is humming, soft under your skin, and when Yoongi's eyes flicker down to your lips, you move without hesitation when he asks you to come here.
Your thighs straddle his hips, and your weight settles over his lap as he slides his hands up your thighs. He's gorgeous, his hair tousled, his glasses magnifying his dark eyes as he tilts his head back to look at you. He doesn't even speak before he's pulling you in for another kiss, this one slower than the first. One of his hands stays on your hip, squeezing and stroking as his other hand cups the side of your jaw, quickly reducing you back to a soft, whimpering mess.
You don't know when you start rolling your hips during the kiss, but you moan when you feel him twitch underneath you. He feels big, and the thought alone has you pulling back with stars in your eyes, while his smile turns into a knowing smirk. "You okay, baby?"
Baby, your teeth sink into your bottom lip, liking the little pet name, and your hips roll forward to feel him again.
Oh.
Yeah.
He's big.
"Can I?" Your words slip out before you can even process them, and Yoongi's leaning back on the couch with flushed cheeks as your hands map their way down his chest.
"Can you what?" His hips press upwards, and the gasp leaves your mouth in awe, jumbling your thoughts further as your arousal seeps onto your panties. "What do you want, baby? Use your words," his laugh is a little teasing as his fingers caress your thighs, "or you could use your mouth."
Your mouth waters, and your eyes glaze over just a bit, thinking about it. And it isn't much longer before you're sliding off his lap and onto your knees between his legs, reaching for his belt.
Yoongi's heart leaps, watching your eyes glimmer with a hunger he seems to always have for you, and he's helping you unbuckle his belt and push his slacks down with his boxers until his aching cock is freed.
His cock is big, slapping up to reach just under his belly button, and it's pretty too. His tip is a darker shade of red, flushed with need, and drooling with precum that makes you lick your lips, hungry. Just the look of him makes your jaw ache, and you're already reaching for him - guiding him to your mouth as he lets out a breathless curse.
Your fingers wrap around his length, feeling the veins that throb down his shaft, and the moment your mouth swallows the tip, you both groan at the feeling. He's warm and big, and you can only take him halfway before you bob your head back up, swirling your tongue around his tip to collect the precum. He tastes a little salty, and it only makes you moan more as you try to take him deeper with each wet slurp.
You suck his cock until he's nudging the back of your mouth, and you can feel another wave of your arousal drench your panties as you do it again and again, losing yourself in the feeling of him filling your mouth so deliciously. Your eyes flutter shut, and the hand that's not pumping the rest of his length that doesn't fit in your mouth moves to his balls, squeezing them in your palm as you moan around his cock filthily.
"Fuck, baby, you feel so good." Yoongi groans, and his hand rests on the back of your head, putting a little pressure each time your head moves down, making you take him deeper and deeper. "Does it feel good when I hit the back of your mouth? I bet your mouth isn't the only thing wet, huh?" The whimper you make in response makes Yoongi smirk, his thighs spreading as he lifts his hips towards your warm mouth.
He holds you still, fucking up into your mouth as you slobber on his cock, using your drool to slide in deeper. You're doing so well for him, looking so pretty as his cock stretches your mouth open, and then he triggers your gag reflex - sinking his cock down your throat and making your throat squeeze around his shaft as he groans low from his chest.
"Yeah, just like that. Your mouth feels so good, Baby." He praises, and when he guides your mouth off his cock to give you a moment to breathe, a string of saliva connects your lips to his tip, making his eyes roll back as he pushes you back down onto his cock. "Just a little more - yeah, that's it - always knew your mouth was made to take my cock."
Heat flushes from your cheeks and down your neck from his words, your nails digging into his thighs, and it's almost embarrassing how turned on it makes you. When your nose hits his pelvis, his cock pulses down your throat, and your pussy clenches pathetically in need. All of your thoughts are of him. On the way, his head falls back, his pretty neck exposed as he lets out little pants when your tongue licks up the underside of his cock. The way his thighs tense when you play with his balls, he has to be close, and he proves it's true when he pulls you off his cock again when you suck on his tip like you're trying to make him cum too quickly.
"I'm not cumming down your throat," he huffs, pulling you up until you're back on his lap, "If I cum, it'll be in your pretty pussy, okay?"
He pushes your skirt up around your waist, exposing your panties glued to your wet folds, and your face burns as his fingers drag up the laced material, feeling just how wet you were for him.
"You don't know how long I've wanted to do this," he murmurs, and when he pulls your panties to the side to tease the tip of his cock around your puffy clit, you whine.
"Please," your hips twitch, and Yoongi's eyes sparkle as he taps your clit with the head of his cock again and again.
"What was that?" He hummed and notched his cock to your entrance, putting only a bit of pressure so you could feel what was to come. "Please, what? Tell me what you want, and I'll give it to you." His thumb is tucked between your wet folds, finding your clit with ease, and short-circuiting your brain with the little swirls he gives it.
Your eyes roll back, and your hips move on their own, sinking yourself onto his cock with a broken whine. Taking what you want instead, as your hands rest on his chest, and your thighs tremble from the stretch of him. You move halfway down before moving back up, letting his cock split you open with each movement you make.
If you thought he felt good in your mouth, nothing compares to when he's bullying his way inside your pretty pussy. His thick shaft stretches your gummy walls apart, carving him a path deeper until your ass meets his thighs, and your mouth drops open stupidly.
When he moves his hand from your clit to push on your lower stomach, your cunt throbs, feeling his fat tip rub on a spot you didn't even know existed. Your eyes water, your toes curl, and Yoongi's grabbing a handful of your ass to swirl your hips around, keeping pressure on your stomach to truly make you see white. "Yeah, does that feel good? Do you feel me nice and deep inside?"
He's going to ruin you, you just know it, because your tongue feels too heavy to reply, so you lift your hips, leaving just the tip of his pretty cock inside before your sliding back down, picking up the pace so you can feel him hit the back of your cunt over and over again.
And Yoongi lets you. He gives you the control to set the pace, enjoying the way you bounce on his cock like he was your toy to use. He thinks you're so pretty looking fucked out, and whimpering like it too. And he tells you so, murmuring, "Yeah, show me how well you take my cock." "Got your pussy and mouth drooling, you needed this, didn't you?" "Yeah, take what you want, Baby. I'll take care of you."
It's not a surprise when not long after, your pussy squeezes his cock tighter, and your body tenses up as you have your first orgasm of the night. You fall forward, quivering in his lap, and he coos as he tilts your hips up, fucking up into you to make your orgasm drag out longer. He relishes in the way your face tucks into his neck, and how sloppy your pussy sounds as it gushes wet and hot on his cock.
He takes care in prolonging your high, praising you, as he moves you up and down his cock. He makes your brain shut off, building your second orgasm right after the first as the wet sounds of your pussy resonate louder in the apartment with each thrust his hips give. And you don't even realize you're meeting each of his movements until he teases you. "Such a needy thing, aren't you? Already fucking yourself back onto my cock - heh - you want to cum again, Baby? Let me see you make a mess."
His arms wrap around your back, keeping your chest against his as he bucks his hips forward, smacking the tip of his cock into the sweet spot that makes you see stars behind closed eyelids. He abuses it, and you're thrown into your second orgasm with a wail, crying his name as you clutch onto his shoulder and the couch as you cum hard.
Your cunt spasms, milking his cock, and he groans as he keeps you seated on his lap, his cock swelling at the tip as he cums moments after you. His cock twitches, filling your pussy with his warm cum, and your moan is broken as you feel it overstuff your pussy, forming a creamy ring around his base as you two try to catch your breath.
The reality of what you two have done begins to form as you start to think about it. You two are coworkers, and an office relationship wasn't unheard of, but wasn't really encouraged either. Did Yoongi even want a relationship? Or was this just tension relief after surviving a long week in the office?
Before you can properly spiral while sitting on his cock, he hums, caressing your back with mindless swirls from his fingertips. "I must have done something wrong," he muses, and that's when you feel his cock, it's still hard, and twitching against your velvety walls. "I can feel you thinking too hard when you should have been fucked stupid by now." He teases, and your pussy clenches wantonly, making him groan as he moves his hands back down to your ass. "Yeah, I think I need to fill your pussy up again. I don't need you thinking about anything other than how your pussy was made for me. And I'll prove it, all weekend if I need to."
대박 - you made it to the end!
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➥ SUMMARY: In each of these universes, you find yourself consuming what is known as the pink pill. This pill is essentially a drug that enhances your libido to the max and you’ll quite literally never experience arousal like you do when you’ve taken this pill. Thankfully, in each universe, there’s a man that’s ready to help you explore and reach your peak of sexual euphoria.
➥ GENRE: smut ⋆ porn with plot ⋆ exes
➥ CATEGORY: one-shot [part of the pink pill series]
➥ WARNINGS: explicit sexual content, angst, exes but also idiots, degradation kink, unprotected sex (dont be like them), rough sex but also love-making??, did i mention a bit of angst, multiple positions guys yoongi is catching up for missing u all those times likeee, spankingggg, making out w tongue, overstimulation, claiming/possessiveness, multiple orgasms for reader, extremelyhorny!reader, cocky exboyfriend!yoongi…. yeah., hes a sick son of a bitch but thats why we like him besides he’s pretty tame in this i have worse yoongi’s up my sleeve this is nothin, neither of you have moved on, mutual pining but mutual STUBBORNNESSSSS for fucks sake, filthy words, creampie, oral sex (f. rec), embarrassingly quick climaxes likeee, minors DNI
➥ WORDCOUNT: 9.8k
a/n: and at last, yoongi’s ver of the pink pill is finally out!!! thank you for loving jk’s version! i hope you enjoy yoongi’s. beware of a bit of angst and complicated feelings<33
⋆ TAGLIST ⋆
⋆ MASTERLIST & CONCEPT VIDEO ⋆
Your trembling thumb hovers over the blue arrow next to your unsent message, eyes scanning over the message over and over again. Your heart might implode in your chest the moment you hit send, which is why you’ve been staring at the message that would cause more cons than pros for the past 5 minutes.
Well, would it, though? It’s just a favor. You need a favor.
It’s like your brain is talking directly to your heart. Your brain is telling you how bad of an idea this is whilst your heart is just rolling its non-existent eyes at the nagging, as if your heart isn’t about to slide up your airways into your esophagus, travel straight up your burning throat and launch out of your mouth. You need to calm down.
The aggravating lump in your throat doesn’t let up.
And that’s when the pad of your thumb impulsively hits the damn blue arrow that’s been mockingly staring at you for the past few minutes.
[11:12PM]
from: You
to: Ignore
can you come over
Once the small letters that say ‘delivered’ pop up under your blue message, you internally scream into the void. Your eyes stay glued to your phone, the back of your phone is becoming slimy in your grasp due to the sweat your palms are rapidly producing.
You barely blink as you stare at the screen, your lips twitching as you wait and attempt to ignore the anxiety bubbling in your chest.
Your gaze slowly shifts upwards on the conversation, rereading old messages. The last you heard from him was 4 months ago. The two of you broke up around 9 months ago but still slept together for a good 2-3 months after.
The last message between you two from 4 months ago was you asking him when he could come pick up the rest of his shit. He came, picked up his shit and that’s when you last saw him. You barely exchanged any words. You had anticipated having sex one last time but he just wordlessly collected his stuff and left.
So, it’s understandable why you’d be so worried about asking him to come over and… well, ask him if he can fuck the shit out of you.
Your heart plummets into the pit of the earth when you notice the ‘delivered’ has turned into ‘read 11:13PM’.
Fuck. Fuck. FUCK.
He’s not responding.
Why is he not responding?
One minute passes. Two minutes pass. Three minutes. Four.
You’ve been staring at your phone the entire time and not once did the bubble that indicates he’s typing pop up.
What if he doesn’t even want to talk to you?
Fuck.
What the fuck were you even thinking?
⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆
After cleaning up the coffee table that was covered in snacks and empty cans that you used to take your mind off the excruciating arousal pooling in your core, you start heading into your once-shared bedroom with your head held down. It’s been 12 minutes since you sent that message and you haven’t gotten a response.
You’re a damn loser.
You plan to start slipping out of your plain shirt and shorts, cringing when you realize you’ve completely soaked through your cotton shorts. How fucking embarrassing. What the hell is in that pill?
Right as your fingers tuck under the hem of your shorts to pull them down your legs, you hear a rhythmic knock on your front door.
What? Who could…
Wait.
It possibly couldn’t be.
The lump returns to your throat at lightning speed as you start heading down your corridor, sluggishly dragging your feet across the floor.
You press your hand flat against the door in an attempt to gather your thoughts and collect your breath before you slowly start opening up, his familiar feline eyes staring at you with an agitated look pooling in them.
“What do you want?” He doesn’t even have the decency to greet you, he just stands there with his hands shoved into the pockets of his sweatpants.
You quietly swallow as you cross your arms over your chest, stepping to the side to wordlessly invite him in. When he gives you a raised eyebrow in confusion, you say, “I don’t need my neighbors hearing my business.”
The exasperated sigh he lets out slightly stings but he walks in nonetheless. You close the door behind him but he’s showing no intentions or moves to take his shoes off. He just stands in front of the door, annoyance draped over his features.
You silently stare up at him, hoping he doesn’t notice your strange demeanor.
“So? Are you gonna tell me what you want or are you just gonna stare at me and continue to waste my time?” His words are blunt and brutal—the bitterness that he still holds in his heart for you hasn’t left him, it seems.
You finally find the courage to speak up and quietly say, “I need a favor, Yoongi.”
He blankly stares at you for a few moments. Humorlessly laughs at your request. Drops his head. Shakes it from side to side in disbelief.
You can’t help but glare at his reaction, fighting the urge to roll your eyes and spew insulting words at him. This is kind of selfish of you.
“Why would I do you a favor?” he asks once he’s stopped laughing, staring you down with hooded eyelids and no traces of mock amusement left on his face.
“I’ll owe you,” you say, failing to hide the clear annoyance in your tone. You want to strangle him.
“You already owe me.” His response is almost immediate, leaving you speechless for a few seconds as you stare up at him with a frown etched onto your brows.
“Excuse me? What the fuck do I owe you?”
He tilts his head to the side with an irritated look on his face before he says, “I don’t know, you wasted 3 years of my fucking life?”
You exaggeratedly roll your eyes at his words, shaking your head in exasperation. “I could quite literally say the same to you.”
He takes a moment to gather his thoughts, his intense stare down never letting up.
He decides to ignore your remark and repeats, “What do you want, Y/N?”
You swallow again, looking to the side to avoid his penetrating gaze as you think about how the fuck you’re going to ask him what you want to ask him.
How do you even begin to ask?
Hey, you haven’t heard from me in months but could you fuck me real quick?
“What? Do you need money?” he asks in a neutral tone, although you can sense the concern tinged in his words.
“No,” you mumble, the collar of your shirt is starting to feel like it’s closing in around the perimeter of your neck with the goal of suffocating you.
He continues, “Then what? An alibi?”
You throw your head back in exasperation as you groan, “Don’t be ridiculous.”
It’s quiet for a moment and it makes you look at him. You notice he’s staring straight at you like he’s trying to figure out what’s going on and what you aren’t telling him.
“Need some lovin’?” he asks with a certain humorous tone, the joke causing you to glance up at him through your lashes with big eyes.
It seems like only then that he takes notice of your swollen lips, your dilated pupils, the thin layer of sweat on your forehead and the quickened breathing with the way his eyes scan your entire face and the frown on his brows slowly disappearing when the realization dawns on him.
He narrows his eyes at you and his hands leave his pockets, swiftly moving to cross over his chest as his lips twitch, something you can only describe as him trying to stifle a smirk. “You actually asked me to come over so I could come fuck you?”
Your mind travels at incomprehensible speed to come up with an answer, leaving you scrambled and almost stuttering. You blurt out, “It’s your fault.”
This makes his brows pinch together in utter confusion. “How the hell is it my fault?”
A deep sigh pushes past your lips as you drop your arms from your chest, hands resting on your hips as you look at the floor in shame. “I was cleaning shit up and I came across that dumb pink pill you bought that you wanted me to try but never got the chance to,” you explain, peeking up at him through your lashes momentarily before averting your gaze again.
“Pill? What pink pill?” he repeats, the frown on his face deepening further as the word leaves his mouth.
“Yes, that stupid pink pussycat pill, Yoongi. We bought it as a joke to try on our anniversary but then we had that stupid fight.” You try to get him to recall the events of a year ago, the quick wince on his face at the mention of your anniversary fight doesn’t go unnoticed by you. “Anyway, I didn’t want it to go to waste and I was wondering what it might feel like or if it even works. So, I took it earlier today, for shits and giggles.”
He slowly nods to your words as the memories come back to him, seemingly remembering how excited he was for you to take that pill. “So, I reckon the pill is doing what it said it would?”
You merely grunt in response.
He’s silent for a few seconds before quietly chuckling, shaking his head. His chuckle is so deep and sultry, it shoots a tingle right down your soaked panties.
You huff, “What’s so amusing, you dickhead?”
He glances at you through his brows for a moment before averting his gaze, his eyes roaming his surroundings as he looks around your once-shared home. “I’m just flattered, is all.”
“Flattered?” you repeat, a disapproving frown on your features. He’s turning this entire thing into a compliment for himself.
You really can’t fucking stand him.
“You could’ve flaunted that pretty face out at some bar and gotten someone to fuck you without needing to offer any favors,” he explains, giving you a glimpse of his thought process, those words making your body heat up all over again.
Damn him.
You know Yoongi has always found you insanely attractive but him so nonchalantly reminding you has set your insides aflame.
“You know I don’t do that stuff,” you mumble with a shake to your head.
His bitter, humorless chuckle booms in your ears. Why does it sound like he’s literally inside your head? “That’s exactly how we met, you dirty liar.” He reminds you of how his hips were slamming into yours an hour after you met him and no rebuttal comes to your mind.
You silently stare at him, bringing your hand up to wipe some of the sweat off your hairline with the back of your index finger.
“Yeah, you know what? I don’t know why I even texted you. You can leave,” you say, a surge of anger coursing through your veins as you reach for the door handle but Yoongi is quicker than you.
His hand quickly reaches for yours, fingers wrapping tightly around your wrist. “I can tell you why you did,” he quips, cockily.
You glare up at him but make no effort to remove his hand from your skin, the single touch of his skin against yours sends lava down all your veins and every single one of your nerve-endings. Fuck, you wish you could pounce him right fucking now. You finally gather your thoughts and say, “Oh, please, do enlighten me.”
“You asked me here because you don’t want all that arousal to go to waste on someone that doesn’t know your body like I do.” He starts closing the gap between you two, face closing in on yours. “They won’t do the things you like.”
Your throat tightens at his proximity and his words, your lungs seconds away from imploding in between your ribcage.
“And you’re too shy to tell them because you know you like filthy things.” He moves his other hand up to trace the shell of your ear with the tip of his index finger, his eyes glued to how his finger glides down your skin.
If he noticed his touch instantly awoke the goosebumps on your skin, he doesn’t comment on it and continues to play with your ear, fingers coming down to rub your earlobe in between the pads of his thumb and index finger.
“No one knows your body like I do, no one else.” He drops his hand from your ear to trace the collar of your shirt, the tip of his finger occasionally grazing your neck. “No one knows how filthy you are. How needy you are. How you like to be touched and kissed. That’s how I know,” he concludes.
He adds, “You clearly haven’t moved on.”
He was doing so well, too.
Haven’t moved on? Son of a bitch.
“Yeah, well, what about you?” you blurt out. You watch as his thick eyebrows scrunch together in smug mockery.
“What about me? Don’t turn this on me, sweetheart. You’re the one asking me to come fuck you.” He starts to take off his shoes, kicking them aside like he used to do.
Cocky asshole.
“You showed up 10 minutes after a simple ‘come over’ text, no questions asked.” You remind him of tonight’s events and his face slowly turns into a scowl, his usual quick witty comebacks suddenly nonexistent.
“So what?” he mumbles, not in the mood to fight you for this any longer because he knows he’ll lose.
“Just admit you want this as bad as I do instead of being smart about it,” you say, rolling your eyes as you take a step back to create some more distance between you two. You hadn’t realized he’d gotten that close.
He shrugs his shoulders with an air of nonchalance, rolling his tongue against the inside of his cheek. “I wouldn’t say as bad as you.”
Right, because you took that pill and your arousal is off the charts.
He must think he’s sooooooo funny.
“You’re a lia–”
Before you can even finish speaking, he takes a step closer and it inevitably traps you in between his body and the wall behind you. He arrogantly adds, “Want me to push my fingers into your panties and check?”
Fuck.
He shouldn’t still have the ability to knock the oxygen right out of your lungs with just silly words. He shouldn’t.
You stare up at him with a furrow in your brows, eyes wide and lips almost quivering, simply at the thought of him touching you. Damn him.
And he knows.
Because his gaze drops to your lips before back to your eyes, the corners of his own lips curling up at something he’s thinking about.
“What?” you grumble, your voice barely coming out and leaving you for dead in your time of need.
“Nothing.” He shakes his head and adds a shrug to his shoulders for extra nonchalance. “I just think after you ran your mouth like this, it’d be more fun to make you beg for it.”
Your hands come up to his chest, pressing flat against him to push him back but he doesn’t budge an inch because there’s no real strength behind the push and he knows it.
“I hate you,” you quietly say, hands still pressed up against his chest with the tiniest bit of pressure to make it seem like you don’t want him.
Unfortunately, Yoongi knows you too well.
“That’s fine, as long as you’re good to me.” The words leave his mouth in a breathy chuckle that drapes over your lips as his face closes in on yours, plump lips grazing the skin of your jaw. “You were always so good to me.”
“Why did you leave me, then?” Your voice comes out a bit choked, a big gulp following your question and it’s almost like you’re attempting to swallow the words back down. You can’t believe you just blurted that out. Is one of the side effects of that dumb pink pill being emotional as hell?
He freezes for a few seconds before pulling away and searching for your eyes. His expression is decorated by a frown and his pretty lips are pressed into a thin line.
He doesn’t say anything for a while, just lets the deafening silence settle around you. Stares at you as if one of the world’s greatest unsolved mysteries is being revealed to him and the answer is in your irises. Watches as you idly blink at him and it makes his lips twitch. Seems to be in deep thought and you can’t figure out what’s going through his mind for the life of you.
Then, he speaks.
“Why didn’t you stop me?”
His words paired with his intense gaze sends a jolt of electricity down your spine, leaving your legs to wobble like they’re made of jelly.
You both stare at each other for a while in complete silence. His familiar, black, feline eyes staring into yours so intimately summon a vine that wraps around your heart, digging its sharp thorns into your most beloved organ until it bleeds out all over your insides.
He’s right.
You clearly haven’t moved on.
“Let’s just,” you pause and shake your head free of those thoughts. You don’t bother to finish your sentence as you wrap your fingers around his wrist, leading him toward your once-shared bedroom and he simply lets you.
As soon as you walk in, you let go of his hand and reach for the hem of your shirt. You yank it off your body without a second of hesitation before tossing it somewhere on the floor and it makes him chuckle for some reason.
You turn to glare at him. “Something funny?” you snark, arms crossing over your chest like a child that wanted the purple lollipop instead of the yellow one.
He stares at you from the entrance of your room, an amused smile still on his pretty lips. His eyes scan the walls and the furniture as he slowly makes his way in, shoving his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants. “I see that you’ve changed the entire room.”
Your eyes follow the direction of his gaze, scanning around the room as if you’d forgotten what you changed about the place. “Yeah.”
He struts toward you, getting so close that he’s practically pressed up against you. His onyx eyes stare you down, one of his infamous unreadable expressions plastered on his face. “Trying to act like I never existed?” he asks, hands still buried in his pockets and fuck, how you wish he would just give in and touch you.
You simply blink up at him, your eyes pingpong-ing between his eyes from left to right continuously as you try to think of a way to answer.
Should you lie? Should you just be honest?
As if on cue, your question is answered when he lazily places his right hand on your hip, pulling you even closer to him.
Be honest.
“No.” You shake your head slightly, never breaking eye contact with the enticing man in front of you. “I was never going to forget about you if everywhere I looked just reminded me of you.”
His hand tenses on your hip, a muscle in his jaw tenses up and your eyes are just in time to catch the way his Adam’s apple bounces up and down.
You shift your eyes back up to his, blinking your eyelids at him so innocently yet so full of temptation. He slowly starts nodding his head as if he just had an epiphany and then moves his hand from your hip to your waist.
“Can I kiss you?” he asks, thumb rubbing circles onto your bare skin.
You shrug your shoulders smugly. “Thought you’d never ask.”
He doesn’t need anything else. His lips are on top of yours the moment the words leave your mouth, teeth clashing at how quickly he lunges at you.
His mouth devours you like a man starved as his other hand grips the back of your head to keep you in his grasp, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth.
Several soft moans resound in your throat that he simply swallows, hand balling into a fist on the back of your head, gripping your hair at the root.
You mewl, your hands coming up to squeeze his biceps as you try to grind your hips into his. Fuck, you’re like a fucking animal in heat.
“Fuck, I’m barely touching you and you’re this needy,” he whispers against your open mouth before shoving his tongue back in.
Your insides are set ablaze when he starts pushing you backwards with his own body until your calves hit the mattress and automatically makes you fall backwards, dropping onto your bed.
He wastes no time climbing on top of you, lips leaving a trail of wet kisses down the column of your throat to the strap of your bra as he gently starts tugging them off your shoulders.
You automatically arch your back off the mattress, encouraging him to unclasp your bra and he does.
Whilst he unclasps your bra, he coats your collarbones in soft kisses and absentmindedly throws your bra to the side as he brings his hand back up to fondle your breast in his large hand.
“Fuck,” you whisper, every single inch of his touch electrifies your body and sets your soul alight. Damn, you’ve missed this.
His thumb gently teases your erect nipple, rolling it around whilst he continues to nibble on the skin of your neck.
Your hips involuntarily buck upwards into nothing and you almost flinch at the way his breath grazes your neck when Yoongi softly chuckles, clearly finding your extreme level of arousal amusing.
“Can you just stop teasing me?” you whine, legs spreading wider and wider without a second thought.
“You’re gonna have to ask a lot nicer if you want me to do that, sugar.” He lifts his head off your shoulder and closes in on your other breast, wrapping his lips around it whilst his hand slowly travels down your stomach to your clothed sex. He starts sucking on your nipple and the effects of that pill makes it so it feels like he’s touching you all over, on every part of your body, on every inch of your skin. Causes you to squirm and moan under him like a fish separated from a body of water.
“Fuck,” he chuckles, “I should’ve made you take that pill so fucking long ago. Look at you.”
You simply grumble, “Fuck you.”
He lifts his head off your breast to stare at you directly in the eyes and you instantly regret running your mouth. “Yoongi, I just want–”
Smack!
“Ow!” you cry out, the warmth of the slap on your pussy spreading through your skin like wildfire. You instantly whimper, “I’m sorry.”
The apology means nothing to him, though.
He shakes his head. “Always running that fucking mouth of yours.” His fingers tuck under the hem of your shorts and he slides them down your legs before tossing them aside like he has personal beef with the article of clothing.
“Holy shit,” he whispers as he glances at the massive wet patch on your panties and all the slick smeared around your inner thighs, eyes practically bulging out of his eye sockets.
You can’t help but frown, though. “What?”
“No wonder,” he says, seemingly answering his own unspoken question. “You are completely soaked. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this fucking horny.”
You whine, tucking your thumbs under the hem of your panties to drag them down your legs and he doesn’t even try to stop you, just simply stares at you in awe but your panties don’t budge an inch when you stop and decide to just give in, in hopes he’ll fall for your tricks.
“Please, just,” you yelp, “fuck me. Please. I think I’ll die if you don’t.”
He throws his head back as he laughs, his gorgeous neck on full display for you. “Don’t be so dramatic.”
“Yoongi,” you pause, “I’m so fucking serious. I’ve been thinking about you fucking me all day. I need you to. Please.”
He searches your face and seemingly takes note of the desperation and earnestness in your eyes. Shortly after, he drags his gaze down your exposed body, simply staring at your naked figure.
Sprawled out on your bed, lips swollen, a thin layer of sweat coating your skin, pupils dilated, breasts bare with nipples standing at attention and your arousal that has already started dripping onto your sheets.
He slowly starts to nod his head and in the blink of an eye, he yanks his own shirt off.
The view of his bare chest brings back so many memories, all the times he fucked you good come rushing back to you and it isn’t fucking helping your case.
A persistent lump forms in your throat that refuses to disappear but that’s when you realize that it’s not just a lump but words. The words ‘I miss you’ are forcing their way to the tip of your tongue, threatening to spill.
But you absolutely refuse to let that happen.
Just bite your tongue.
“All day, huh?” he muses, talking more to himself. He quickly ditches his sweatpants in the meantime and tosses them off the bed. “What took you so long to text me?”
You silently watch as he crawls back over to you in just his black boxers, settling right next to your body and supporting his own weight with his elbow while his other hand returns to your panties. Teasingly plays with the hem. Presses his lips against your neck. Inhales your scent.
You stay quiet for a few moments, eyes shut tightly at the tip of his fingers brushing against your pelvis. So close yet so far. “My pride,” you finally reply.
He simply chuckles at your words and slowly tucks his fingers under the hem of your panties, groaning when the back of his knuckles brush against the sticky patch of your arousal on the inside of your panties. “I don’t think I’ve seen this amount of wetness. Not even in porn.”
His skin finally makes contact with your sex, running right up your wet slit and collecting all of your arousal on the tip of his finger. “Holy fucking shit, Y/N.”
You mewl, hips already thrusting up into his hand but he simply uses his palm to press down on your pelvis.
“Stay still.” The demand makes your insides twist into a wringed out shirt and makes your pussy clench around nothing.
“I can’t,” you whimper, legs shaking at the simple touch of his fingers smearing your arousal all over your sex. “I’m trying to but I can’t.”
It’s like you have no control over your body whatsoever. You just want to be fucked.
“Why can’t you?” he quips as he plunges two fingers right into you, groaning when your slick walls tightly hug his fingers. He already knows, he just likes to push your buttons.
“Because I want you,” you breathe out, moaning at the sensation of his fingers slowly pumping into you. Your sensitivity is off the fucking charts, just his fingers being buried in your pussy without any movement whatsoever could have you cumming in no time.
“I can tell,” he cockily chuckles. His sultry laugh is so full of mockery, the type that would usually piss you the fuck off but in this moment turns you the fuck on. “I just need to prep you, baby. Can’t be hurting you simply because you’re writhing like an animal in heat.”
You quickly shake your head. “I don’t need any fucking prep,” you moan as his hand picks up in pace. “Please, just fuck me. I’m already wetter than I’ve ever been. You literally just said it yourself.”
He lifts his head off your collarbones and searches your eyes for a moment, a stern frown on his brows. “Are you sure?”
Yoongi’s always been into manhandling you and being rough but only when it’s pleasurable for you. He’d usually go down on you or work you towards an orgasm using just his fingers, in hopes it’d have you ready to take him.
So, no, he’s not used to just jumping in and fucking you.
You quickly nod your head. “Never been more sure.”
He stares at you for a moment longer but the sincerity in your eyes is prominent. He then simply spreads your folds with his sticky fingers, smearing your arousal all over your sex before pulling his fingers out of your pussy, the sounds leaving your sex almost embarrassing you.
He slides his hand out of your panties and glances at his hand, eyes scanning his fingers coated in your pussy slick.
“Fuck, look at that,” he whispers but doesn’t even grant you the time to look when he immediately shoves his fingers into his mouth, sucking all your arousal off his digits.
“Yoongi,” you whine, clenching around nothing as you watch him.
“Fuck, princess,” he grunts as he pulls his fingers out of his mouth. “It’s been too long. I’m gonna need to eat that.”
You want to protest but he’s already pulling you toward him by your thighs, settling in between them as he’s now face to face with your slick-covered panties.
“I want to be fucked,” you whine, staring down at him between your legs but his eyes are just focused on your panties.
He replies, “And I want to fucking eat you out so you’re gonna have to be patient, you little brat.”
You don’t have the time to whine any more when he pushes your panties to the side and the single action could have you coming undone, right here, right now.
He idly stares at your glistening pussy like he’s Monkey D. fucking Luffy and he found the One Piece after years of venturing the seas.
“Why are you staring like that?” you quietly ask, unfortunately not possessing enough strength to close your thighs out of self-consciousness.
With a simple shake of his head, his face closes in on your sex and he licks a long stripe up your pussy, collecting a great amount of your arousal in a single swipe of his hungry tongue.
But you’re oozing so much wetness that he simply keeps going, licking all around your sex before focusing on your swollen, angry clit. He wraps his lips around your sensitive pleasure nub and starts sucking, coating his entire chin in your juices.
“Fuck!” you cry, reaching over to pull on his roots, fingers tangled in his soft black locks.
The sensitivity you’re experiencing is too much. “I’m gonna fucking cum, Yoongi.” You’re not even joking.
“Already?” he hums in mockery before wrapping his lips around your clit again and sucks some more with no regard of overstimulating you.
You quickly nod your head and within the next few seconds, you’re cumming all over his tongue and around his mouth. A cry rips through your throat and you’re sobbing at this point, pulling so hard on his roots that it causes him to hiss in pain.
Grinding your hips up into his face, into his nose, into his mouth. You can’t believe how quickly that stupid pink pill has you levitating off the bed, it’s like you don’t even belong on Earth anymore.
The orgasm hits you like none ever before, leaving you even more sensitive. You came within barely, what? A minute of stimulation? Two? Oh, you’re so done for.
You push against Yoongi’s head in hopes he’ll stop and he does—after giving your swollen clit one last slurp.
“Holy shit.” You can’t believe that just happened.
“That was really fast. What was that? A minute? A minute and 30 seconds?” he laughs as he sits up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“It’s that fucking pill,” you mumble defensively, trying to catch your breath.
A low chuckle leaves his mouth before he glances down at the bulge in his boxers. “Well,” he pauses, “you should take that pill more often.”
You roll your eyes with all the brattiness you can muster, hoping it annoys him as much as he annoys you. “This is the last time I’m even letting you in here, I hope you know that.”
His eyes shift back up to yours and he tilts his head to the side in question, blinking at you with a glimmer in his eyes that you can’t quite describe.
You stare back, trying your best not to look fucked out right now but you know you’re failing horribly at it when he simply shakes his head and lets out a bitter chuckle.
“You just wanted to use me one last time, hm?” he scoffs as his fingers tuck under the hem of his boxers, sliding them down his thighs and tossing them off the bed.
A surge of guilt spreads through your chest when you realize how that must’ve sounded to him. “You know that’s not what I meant, Yoongi.”
“No?” he muses, placing his hands on the back of your thighs before pushing them all the way against the mattress on each side of your body. You know your body isn’t supposed to be able to do this, apparent by the strain in your inner thighs but for some reason, it doesn’t bother you as much.
“No,” you whimper as he uses his own weight to keep your thighs spread, sliding his rock hard dick in between your folds handsfree, but not entering you just yet. It has you squeezing your eyelids shut, trying to focus on the feeling of his rock hard cock—all the ridges and veins on his dick—rubbing so good against your swollen clit.
“I don’t believe you,” he says, watching as you squirm from the slightest bit of friction that he has full control over. It makes you want to smack that grin right off his face.
“I swear,” you sniff, not even being able to thrust your hips up for more friction because Yoongi’s weight and strength keeps you restrained.
He simply hums in response, continuing to slide his dick over your slit, completely coating his shaft in your slick. “If you want me to believe you,” he pauses as his eyes shift up to yours, “you’re going to have to beg and convince me. Tell me how what you just said isn’t true.”
“Please,” you say, no hesitation. “Please, I didn’t mean that. I–just fuck me. I swear I don’t want anyone else to be in your position right now, I only want you. No one else knows me like you, no one.”
He continues to simply watch your face twist in borderline agony from the lack of friction, the sensation you so desperately crave.
“That so?” His tone is filled with so much arrogance that it makes your veins burn with lava.
You merely hum in response and finally crack your eyelids open, just to see him staring into your eyes with that familiar glint in his. Fuck.
“Ready?” he whispers, lining his tip up with your hole and cockily chuckles when you eagerly nod your head.
He abruptly freezes. “Ah, fuck, wait.” His dick is not on your slit anymore and it makes you frown at him.
“What?”
He groans, “I have no condoms.”
For fuck’s sake.
“I mean,” you start, “you’re the last person I had sex with. Did you have sex with anyone after me?”
You’re not sure you even want to hear about it but in this moment you’d do anything to just have him finally fuck the shit out of you.
He avoids your gaze as he keeps it glued to his dick sliding up and down your slit. “I have.”
Oh.
“But it was protected, always,” he adds with a quickness, tone calculated and quiet.
Oh.
Okay.
That’s good but it doesn’t make you feel any better.
You have to swallow your emotions at this moment because your pussy is basically screaming at you to just swallow your pride. “Okay, then just do it without.”
He peers up at you through his thick brows with a frown. “Are you sure?”
You mumble, “For fuck’s sake.” Your hand quickly reaches for his shaft but he slaps it away just as quickly.
“I know you’re horny as fuck but I need you to be 100%,” he pauses when he sees you glaring at his dick. “Look at me, dammit.”
Your eyes shift to his and you childishly groan. “Yes, Yoongi, I 100% consent to letting you fuck me raw. Now, will you please just–”
He doesn’t even let you finish talking as he slides his dick right into you, bottoming out completely. You yelp at the intrusion, your slick walls stretching around his shaft so well, like it always has.
“Holy shit,” he whispers with closed eyes, the disgusting squelching coming from your sexes is proof of your arousal and the moans falling from his lips as your pussy tightly hugs him sounds like a choir of angels sustaining a high C.
You try to keep quiet, you try not to squirm, you try not to say the craziest things right now. Like ‘I love you’, or ‘I’ve missed you so much’ because you’re just horny and dumb.
“Move,” you whimper, needing more than he’s giving you right now. He hears you loud and clear, sliding out of you and right back in. The disgusting squelching reaches your ears but you can’t bring yourself to care at the moment, not when Yoongi finds it hot and throws in occasional ‘fuck, listen to that’s and ‘you’re so fucking wet’s.
You cuss, eyes rolling to the back of your head when your sensitivity reaches its peak. A few more thrusts will already have you cumming, you’re sure of it.
He continues to thrust, slowly starting to pick up his pace and he finally cracks his eyelids open. His eyes find yours as he stares at you—scanning your pretty face that he loves to look at—especially when it’s twisted in pleasure like that.
Brows furrowed, lips swollen, pupils dilated, mouth agape, a thin layer of sweat draped over your forehead and building up in your hairline.
Somewhere along the line, the eye contact becomes too intense for you. Your hand snakes around the back of his head, closing the distances between you two by pulling him closer to you, licking and sucking on the honey tinted skin of his neck.
After a while of sucking and nipping at his neck and his thrusts never coming to a halt, your orgasm starts approaching you rapidly again. “I’m gonna cum,” you cry, tears pricking in your eyes from the pure pleasure that’s setting all your insides ablaze.
“Already?” he murmurs as he leans down, kissing away the tears that have subtly started rolling down your temples. “But I have yet to ruin you.”
Fuck.
“Whatever, though. I guess you’re just going to lose count of the amount of orgasms I’ll fuck you through.” He states it so nonchalantly because he knows only he could ever make you feel like this, make you desperate like this, make you a needy mess like this.
His hips continue to harshly snap into yours, the indescribable sensation of being fucked at this angle and pace has your thighs clenching. Unsurprisingly not long after, your orgasm hits you full force once again.
A sob rips through your throat, your trembling hands grab at his shoulders, nails painfully digging into his skin as he fucks you through your high. His low chuckle rings in your ear, breath hitting your throat as he lowers his face into the crook of your neck.
“Cumming all over my dick and sucking marks on my neck. Are you trying to claim me again?” he whispers, knowing how possessiveness was big a turn on for the both of you back in your relationship.
You simply cry under him, the orgasm lasting longer than any you’ve ever had before. His dick kisses your cervix repeatedly, your breasts bounce continuously from the momentum of his thrusts and the sound of his skin slapping yours only increases in volume the longer he fucks you.
“I asked you something,” he says, lifting his head off your shoulder to stare down at you. “Where’d that bratty mouth that I love so much go?”
You simply grunt in response, teary eyes glaring at him as you slowly come down from your high. The corners of his lips curl up in a twisted smirk at the sight in front of him, you know he enjoys seeing you in this state and him being the sole cause of it pleases him greatly.
The overstimulation is starting to catch up to you. Your hand basically moves on its own, pressing flat into his lower abdomen in order to get him to slow down.
However, it means nothing to him. He simply continues to thrust into you like he’s got something to prove. “Answer me, Y/N. Do you want to claim me again?” he repeats.
You mewl, sinking your cranium further into your soft pillows, exposing more of your throat and neck to him as tears continue to pour out of your eyes.
“Fuck you,” you whimper, digging your nails into the skin around his belly button but it doesn’t elicit a single reaction from him.
He simply chuckles at your snarky comment as he lowers his lips onto your throat, sucking and nipping at it. You know he expected you to say that. No one else knows you like the back of their hand like he does.
“There’s my girl,” he mumbles against your skin. His words paired with the simple act of kissing your neck has all your insides clenching and twisting with something you can’t quite describe.
Butterflies?
Something you’re not going to admit out loud.
“I don’t appreciate you talking to me like that, though.” With one more thrust, he pulls out of you and harshly flips you onto your stomach. You don’t even have the time to react when he gently grabs your hips yet roughly hoists your ass up off the mattress.
A sharp sting spreads through your asscheek and that’s when you realize his rough hand came down on your bum, spanking you hard.
“Ow!” you screech in pain yet pleasure, every vein in your body pumping blood faster and faster as you anticipate exactly why, of all people, you called Yoongi over.
He doesn’t even give you the time to come down from that spanking before he gives you another one. And another one. And another one.
“You ask me to come over after not talking to me for months, then beg me to fuck you. I give you what you want and you still have the audacity to be so rude to me?” He clicks his tongue loudly and immediately after the scolding, spanks you yet again. “Biting the hand that feeds you. Tsk. I should cum in that filthy mouth of yours for talking to me like this.”
He shoves his dick back inside without a warning and continues to assault your poor asscheeks, rough palms continuously coming down to your ass in loud smacks.
You hoarsely cry out under him, most likely from the embarrassment because thanks to that damn pill you might cum from just being spanked at this point.
As if he heard your thoughts, the spanking comes to an end and his hands are now flat on your back, keeping you pressed into the mattress with his weight while he starts fucking into you again. “You like getting fucked from the back, right?”
Your ass bounces back against his hips with each thrust, adding more and more sensations to your body. You’re not going to last for very much longer.
He mumbles, “No, that’s not it.” He leans forwards, pressing his chest into your back, lips grazing the shell of your ear and he places his hands against the mattress on each side of your waist, supporting his own weight. “You just love being fucked like a slut.”
Fuck.
“Isn’t that right? You don’t care in what position you get fucked in, as long as you’re getting fucked, hm? Like the horny slut you are.” He remembers exactly what you like and it’s embarrassing. “My slut, though. No one else’s.”
And you admit that yes, you wouldn't just want any stranger to talk to you like this.
It only works with Yoongi because he knows you. Because he understands you. Because he loves you.
Or he did once, at least.
But him showing up at your front door, no questions asked, 10 minutes after you asked him to, might be proof of something you both are trying to deny. Not like it matters.
“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you moan. You’ve already lost count but it doesn’t matter, not when he’s fucking you so good.
“Cumming so quickly from just being talked to like this. I bet you’ve missed my filthy mouth just as much as I missed yours,” he whispers into your ear, pressing soft kisses to your skin in a way only a lover should. “I fucking love it.”
The soft kissing and the low volume of his voice are a stark contrast to the rough pounding of his hips and the degrading words leaving his lips.
And you can’t help but love it.
“Tell me I’m right,” he demands as he picks up the pace, snaking one hand around to wrap around your throat and pull you up until the back of your head collides with his shoulder. “Tell me it’s true.”
Now with your orgasm approaching, he knows you’d do anything to get there.
He knows you too well.
“Fuck, I love it!” you cry as your nth orgasm washes over you, your body violently jerking under him from the overstimulation you’re experiencing.
“I know you do,” he chuckles as he fucks you through your orgasm. “That’s my girl. My fuckin’ girl.”
Fuck.
He has no idea what those words do to you.
Well, it’s Yoongi. He definitely knows what it’s doing to you.
Because you are not his girl. Not anymore.
But you don’t have the energy to correct him nor do you want to. Because at this moment, it feels like the two of you never separated. Like you never spent a day apart. All of the nostalgia, love and hate comes rushing back to you. Surely it’s that stupid pink pill’s fault.
He pulls out in a swift motion and turns you onto your side before he lies down behind you on his side as well, chest pressed into your back as he pulls you closer.
Fuck, how many positions is he going to fuck you in? Is he making up for all the time you spent apart?
Now that you’re in spooning position, he gently places his hand under your thigh and lifts it up to spread your legs. His hand leaves your thigh as he uses the same hand to guide his dick to your pussy again.
Your thigh almost wants to give out and drop, your chest still dramatically rising and falling as you chase your breath.
Another cocky chuckle rumbles in his chest at how you struggle to even move now, his hot breath draping over your neck and his hand returning to the same spot on your inner thigh as he lifts your leg again and pushes into you.
Your head falls back, falling deeper into his embrace and he welcomes that by pressing soft kisses to your shoulder. “I don’t know how I survived all those months without y–” he pauses, “your pussy.”
Hmph. He’s the pussy if he doesn’t want to admit he misses you.
But then again, he was never that type. Yoongi was never the type to show his love through words but rather through actions and services, he had difficulties expressing his affection with words.
Like when it took him a year to say ‘I love you’ yet everyday after he came home from an exhausting day at work, he’d pull your feet into his lap and massage them in hopes of offering you some kind of relief.
Or when the topic of wedding vows came up and he said he finds them useless yet he’d buy you a fresh set of bouquets every week until down to the very week you broke up.
Or when he’d place a glass of water on your nightstand everyday when he left for work, whether he fucked the shit out of you the night before or not.
Yoongi always just showed you.
And now that he’s balls deep in your pussy, now that the effects of that pill are clouding your mind, now that his proximity is distorting your mind and setting all your nerve-endings alight again, you have to consciously stop yourself from asking him to come back home—back to you.
Your mind is so distorted that you don’t even recall the bad moments or the reason for your break up right now. You just miss him.
“How are you feeling?” he whispers in your ear, thrusting his hips into you at a considerably slower pace but by no means lacking in strength and passion.
“Like I’m fucking floating on a cloud,” you mumble back, body almost falling limp at his proximity and his dick rubbing your walls so deliciously.
He simply chuckles, “That’s what I like to hear.”
He continues to fuck into you, occasionally groaning and fondling your breast. “Fuck,” he mumbles, pressing another kiss to the back of your neck.
“Yoongi, I–”
“I know.”
You don’t even know.
You don’t even know what you were going to say.
But his confident ‘I know’ proves to you that he knows.
Thanks to his slow pace, it takes your orgasm a little longer to approach and thank fuck for that.
“I’m gonna cum soon,” he tells you, rubbing your tummy from the back. “Where do you want it?”
“I don’t care where you cum as long as you kiss me during it.”
Damn. Why the fuck would you say that?
Great. He just abruptly stopped thrusting. You’re such a fucking idiot.
You would have never been able to admit this if you didn’t take that stupid pill or even if you weren’t facing him with your back.
He swiftly pulls out and wraps his fingers around your bicep to turn you around, making you face him now. Still in spooning position but this time facing each other, he pulls you close, lifting your leg onto his hip as he guides his dick back into you and propping your head up on his bicep.
His hand finds its way back to your asscheek and squeezes the soft skin in his rough hand as he pulls you even closer, pressing your chest right into his.
“Cum with me, baby. You’re doing so good.”
He’s so mean for doing this. So mean for the things he says, so mean for fucking you exactly as you like it, so mean for making you feel like you still belong to him. Like he belongs to you.
He thrusts his hips into you faster and sure enough, the effects of the pill get to work because your stomach starts twisting from the inside immediately after the change of pace and his request of cumming together.
Your fucked out eyes meet his determined ones, staring into those black bottomless pits of his as he chases his own release.
He simply stares back, eyes occasionally dropping to your lips. In this moment, his eyes are everywhere you look, his breath hits every inch of your skin, his hand on your hip holds you so tightly that you think be might crack your hipbone. He’s inside your head. He’s everywhere. He’s everything.
It seems like he wants to say something but his attention gets disrupted by the sound of something buzzing on the nightstand behind you.
It’s his phone.
He tears his eyes away from yours, reaching for it whilst still being inside of you and by the guilty look on his face, it doesn’t take a genius to decipher it must be someone whose arms and bed he found comfort in after separating from you.
When he thinks you must’ve realized, he tosses his phone off the bed and returns his attention to you.
But he doesn’t owe you anything. Not an explanation. Not an apology. Not even love.
It’s quiet for a few moments, just your occasional soft moaning and his heavy breathing as you close your eyes to avoid his gaze.
Until you crack your eyelids open again and find out he’s been staring at you the entire time. Your walls tightly clench around him again, indicating your orgasm is close. “Just call me your girl again,” you whisper, allowing the vulnerability to escape your system once again.
Dumb bitch.
“You are. You are my girl,” is all he says before pressing his lips against yours as promised, grabbing a handful of your asscheek as he snaps his hips into yours and forces his tongue into your mouth.
You let his tongue force itself past your swollen lips, crying into his mouth as another orgasm sends electricity down all your limbs, making your brain explode with ridiculous amounts of dopamine and launching you straight to your Utopia.
You murmur some shit into his mouth that even you don’t understand, voice coming and going whenever it pleases, more and more slick gushing out of your completely drenched pussy. Tears continue to escape and roll down your temples, your nose is runny, your voice is hoarse.
A soft moan resounds in Yoongi’s throat when his own orgasm hits him, thrusts getting inconsistent and rough as he starts painting your walls with his warm cum, groaning loudly into your mouth which you happily welcome.
This is otherworldly.
Nothing will ever feel like this moment right here and you’re not sure whether you’ve accepted that yet.
He fucks both of you through your orgasms, pumping his load into you like it belongs inside of you and fuck, have you missed the feeling.
With a few more sloppy thrusts, creating a mess everywhere, his thrusting comes to a halt yet he never stops kissing you.
He curls his arm so your head shifts on his bicep even closer towards his face, keeping his dick buried in you, eliciting a simple sigh in content from the ex-girlfriend in his arms.
After an extra few minutes of nonstop making out with a man that was once yours, you’re the one that pulls away. Your stomach clenches with something you can’t describe when you watch him still chase your lips until he realizes you’ve pulled away, making him slowly open his eyes.
Is it guilt? Is it desire? Is it regret?
Fuck. Fuck. This whole idea just wasn’t smart.
You did your best to rid yourself of the stain he planted on you, closing the mark where he sunk his fangs so deeply into your skin, into your soul. You’re letting him reopen it and you’re so damn fucking stupid for it.
And you don’t understand why he’s the only one you want. No one else.
He stares at you for a moment before pressing his forehead against yours, still trying to catch his breath.
You stay unmoved for a few more moments before he delicately pecks your lips again and gently pulls his softening dick out of you, your nose scrunching when his load starts to leak out of you and onto your sheets.
He doesn’t say much else as he gets up from your bed, eyes searching the floor for something before he hunches over and slides his boxers back up his legs.
He leaves your bedroom without another word, making you simply frown at the ceiling but he quickly reappears with a glass of water and a damp towel.
He hasn’t changed a bit.
He takes care of you like nothing’s changed, cleaning your body up, changing the sheets while you don’t move a muscle, tucking you under the fresh covers and making sure you drink your water before opening the windows in an attempt to get some fresh air after you’ve fogged up the windows in the room.
He sits at the edge of your bed, gently tracing your hairline with the tip of his finger. “How are you feeling?”
If only he knew.
Your mouth slightly curls at the corners, a lazy smile plastered on your lips. “I feel amazing.”
Another sultry chuckle leaves his mouth as he nods his head in agreement.
This is nice.
But your mind changes when you silently watch him rising to his feet and slowly reaching for his clothes.
Ugh.
You’ve been vulnerable enough.
You asked him to come do one thing and he did it. You can’t ask much more of him.
But your heart works faster than your brain.
“Can you stay the night?” you quietly ask, fidgeting with your fingers under the sheets, relieved that he can’t see.
He glances at you over his shoulder, a frown on his brows. It seems like he thinks about it for a moment before parting pretty his lips to say, “What?”
Fuck.
Your voice goes even quieter, thinking of a way to reformulate the question. “Do you want to stay the night?”
He idly blinks at you, eyes staring straight into your soul as if you just asked him the most absurd question that you could’ve asked him. “Do you want me to?”
The neutral tone of his voice simply makes you shrug your shoulders in response, avoiding his intense gaze that always makes you feel like no one else exists in his mind but you.
Stupid.
“Y/N,” says Yoongi, quietly. Your eyes twinkle up at him, the clear look of a dilemma plastered on your face. He closes the distance between you two, hovering over your body before repeating his question with a bit more bluntness. “Do you want me to?”
Your swollen bottom lip is trapped between your teeth, veins pumping with anxiety and anticipation.
You sniffle a bit in hopes that it makes the tension and silence less awkward. “Yeah.”
Your eyes trail his features, remembering how gorgeous he actually is. How could you ever forget? His thick brows, his sharp eyes, his plump lips, his soft nose, his beautiful hair.
The next few words that leave his mouth rip you right out of your thoughts.
“Then I’ll stay,” he pauses, “for however long you want me to.”
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⋆ MASTERLIST & CONCEPT VIDEO ⋆
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I’m casually scrolling Pinterest looking for inspo for my class photo tomorrow when a stock photo with freaking BUMJOONG in it pops up… & the fact that I knew it was Hongjoong’s brother means I need to go touch grass.
genre: swapped sexes, supernatural, smut, crack, college au
pairings: sub bp ! YouTuber student! beomgyu x gn dom ! student ! reader
synopsis: You wake up with a dick. Beomgyu wakes up with a vagina. This could possibly have something to do with the dodgy ouija board beomgyu got for free from a sex shop…
warnings: beomgyu has a pussy !! reader has a dick !!, ghosts, mentions of death, ouija board, this isn’t meant to make any sense, pretty taboo, the consent could be considered a tiny bit blurry, piv sex, fingering, eating out, pussy slapping, crying, squirting, creampie, rough sex, calling beomgyu a girl, spanking
word count: 10k
“Yo, I’m coming over right now.”
“Like, right now?” You were just in the middle of cleaning up your desk with your antibacterial wipes and all the rest of the mess that had piled up from the start of the week - some uncleaned dishes, empty ramen cups, all of your clothes that were thrown on your chair, the small bin that was pretty full by now. You’d managed to neglect tidying and doing the house chores right up until the weekend when you really couldn’t ignore it for any longer.
“You’re being in my youtube video.” Beomgyu states matter-of-factly over the phone. You can hear his footsteps, the sounds of cars and the outside winds from his end, which means he quite literally was coming over to yours right this moment.
You tiredly sigh, pulling out another wipe from the packet with aggression, your phone on speaker. “Why do I need to be in it?”
“Your building’s the haunted one right?”
“Supposedly.”
“Thennnn it’s perfect! I’ll be there in ten.” He hangs up.
You close your eyes briefly and shake your head, one hand on your hip, then, opening your eyes to survey your half cleaned room. Dealing with beomgyu, however, was an even greater effort than cleaning your entire messy student accom times ten.
He’s not exactly your best friend. That title belongs to taehyun. Taehyun is unfortunately both of your best friends which is how you met beomgyu. And even more unfortunately, taehyun is traitorously abroad for the semester at the moment, so now beomgyu has redirected his full energy and badgering onto you, because ‘you’re the next best thing’ apparently, beomgyu’s words.
You won’t lie, you were apprehensive of beomgyu at first, didnt quite like him. Taehyun was your childhood best friend. It was only ever you and him from the beginning. Taehyun has always just got you. He thought in the same way as you, a mutual understanding ever since you were four, when everyone else on the playground was wailing over the smallest of things like getting their knee a little scraped and missing their mothers after forty minutes of being in school, both of you unimpressed by the dramatics of the other four year olds, and you’ve been stuck together like gorilla glue ever since. He’s been with you from primary school, the same secondary school, all the way up until you were applying to university together. You’d ended up naturally picking the same one, the same subject, both of you inevitably stem based people.
You’d falsely assumed it would simply be just the two of you once more, navigating adulthood together. But, when you started university, he suddenly got super close to this one dude named Choi beomgyu. To be honest, you had hated his guts. Whenever taehyun talked about him, mentioned him in passing, you gained an overwhelming amount of ugly jealousy at hearing his name.
“Oh, beomgyu this, oh, beomgyu that.”
“Oh, I can’t, I already made plans with beomgyu.”
“Oh, beomgyu says blah, blah, blah.
“Oh, I’m too busy making out with beomgyu that day.”
Alright, he didn’t exactly say that last part, but he may as well have. It was like he was in love with him or some shit. They even had their own inside jokes that you weren’t a part of already.
Now, you’re a pretty good people reader, priding yourself in being a good judge of character. You like to think you can mostly already tell whether you’ll like someone’s vibe and whether they were cool and nice and genuine from first meeting them. In your head, you’d already made up in your mind that this choi beomgyu guy was some slimy bitch trying to steal your close friend away from you. You just thought taehyun had terrible perception and couldn’t see how much of a snake this beomgyu guy really was. So, you were already adamant that once you met him, it’d only validate all the feelings you had towards him and then, you could tell taehyun he was evil and not to be trusted and taehyun would realise you were right and stop being friends with him. Balance restored.
Because, well, you were terrified. Terrified that you could lose the sole person who had always been there and understood you without translation, afraid of having to go through the rest of this scary adult life with that being taken away. This had never happened before. Beomgyu threatened all of that for you.
And then, you finally actually met beomgyu on the campus cafe one day. And you do admit, it was hard not to like him even when you absolutely didn’t want to at all. He wasn’t slimy or snakey or fake. He was alas, very likeable. Annoyingly, infuriatingly so. Warm and friendly and all unadulterated smiles.
He was genuinely delighted to meet you, like you were some kind of micro celebrity. “So you’re the famous childhood friend. Taehyun talks about you all the time. It’s so nice to finally meet you!” Beomgyu's eyes were shining.
You soon realised it was all one sided, all the territorial resentment was of your own invention, that he wasn’t trying to steal your best friend away from you, that taehyun wouldn’t replace you, and that you were being totally, completely childish. Beomgyu always greeted you kindly if he ever saw you on campus alone, he went out of his way to become friends with you too, whenever it was the three of you, he made sure to never exclude you, having this habit of always checking your expression mid conversation to see what you were thinking, and he remembered the smallest things you mentioned only once in passing. He soon wormed his way into your life too. You got it. You guess you liked this choi beomgyu guy as well now.
You concluded it wasn’t the case of taehyun being taken away from you, but that there was now one more person who loved taehyun unconditionally just as much as you did. And you definitely wouldn’t hate that person, because taehyun deserves an abundance of love. ‘Sharing is caring’ or whatever shit they say. In short, you got over it. You embraced choi beomgyu in your life too. But there’s still a limit to just how much choi beomgyu doses you can take in one go.
There’s loud banging on your door nine minutes later.
You open it and unsurprisingly, it’s beomgyu, a little breathless from the flight of stairs he had to go up, hair windswept and cheeks and nose slightly tinted pink from the cold, but he's clearly very excited. He breezes past you and throws his dirty backpack onto your desk, which you had just sanitised, and immediately starts pulling objects out of it, a tripod, a small camera, a ring light. Then, he pulls something else out of his bag with dramatic flair, some kind of obnoxious, glittery, pink box, holding it up proudly in front of you.
“Ouija board.” Beomgyu grins, breathing still heavy, wiggling his eyebrows.
Your gaze travels from the box to his face and back again. “And where’d you get that from?”
“I was at that shop on Croft Street.” He’s entirely pleased with himself.
You furrow your brows, trying to place what he’s talking about in your head, and then you nod. “Ohh,” you think you can picture it now, “the vintage antique place?”
Beomgyu hesitates for the tiniest second, rubbing at the back of his neck, gaze flicking away just briefly. “Erm, no. The one next to it.”
“There’s only the…-Wait, the sex shop??” Your voice jumps an octave. “What? I thought it closed down.”
Beomgyu shrugs, trying to maintain his facade of confidence. “Well anyway, the lady, she gave it to me free with my purchase! Isn’t that so nice?”
“You bought something from there?”
He tilts his chin up in defence and puffs out his chest, expression shifting into a look of totally exaggerated dignity and defensiveness. “I can if I want to. I’m an adult. None of your business.”
Alright, fair. You shrug. “Why the hell would they be giving out ouija boards though? And why would you take it?”
“Beats me. But what’s free is free! Look how cool it looks!” He shoves it more into your face, beaming, waiting for you to agree too.
To be honest, nothing beomgyu does can surprise you that much anymore.
You let out the biggest melancholic sigh. “I miss taehyun.”
“So do I. At least he’d be giving me way better reactions than you are right now.” Beomgyu points a brow at you, disappointed with your lack of enthusiasm, but then his grin creeps back. “Anyway, this is going to be such a good video for my channel.”
Yes, his channel. A new interest of beomgyu’s, his most recent endeavour. He was now an aspiring youtuber. He'd already gained ten thousand subscribers actually, which he mentions a lot, but it was pretty impressive. People thought he was handsome, apparently, he also mentions that a lot. His goal though has been to get more followers and take the crown of the campus youtuber which currently resided to some other choi. Yeonjun, is his name you think. Truthfully, beomgyu is pretty good at making entertaining content, you've watched a few (all of them. You wouldn't tell him that though.) he was naturally so very hilarious and quick witted, you wondered how he managed to come up with such funny things to say at the right moment unscripted.
“What’s that gonna be?” You already had an inkling, you just wanted to hear it from his dumb mouth.
He’s pulling out his camera, setting it on the tripod and adjusting its height. “I’m holding a seance in your room. Okay the title,” he turns around to you, continuing excitedly with his hands in the air like he was presenting the headline right there. “We Contacted a Real Ghost in the Most HAUNTED Uni Accommodation Building. NOT clickbait. What d’you think?”
“It’s not actually haunted.” You snort.
“Didn’t some guy die like, years ago?” Beomgyu counters, “some fratboy going up the stairs drunk, slipped, and fell all the way down. Dead. That’s why everyone’s always scared to take the stairs after a night out.”
That is how the story goes. You’re pretty sure it’s fake. An urban legend recycled every year by the first years to scare each other. There’s no real news or evidence for it. “Yeah, but those are just rumours though.”
“Well, we’ll find out for sure today.” Beomgyu declares. “Now, do you have any candles?”
Both of you now sit cross-legged on your carpet floor with a circle of all the candles you own, the strong scents of all of them, mixing together and making your room have a strange amalgamation of smells that doesn’t really go well, the glittery pink ouija board placed in the middle of it and your room dimly lit, lights off, curtains drawn too for the aesthetic.
Beomgyu approves, satisfied and picks up the camera, shoving it into both of your faces. “Okay, make your most scared face. It’s for the thumbnail.” You comply, both of you making theatrical frightened faces, beomgyu fully committed to it, his features entirely contorting and making a silly face like he was crying, which you can’t help but giggle at a little.
He mounts the camera back onto the tripod, adjusting the lens with careful precision and then checks himself out, running a hand through his hair, content with how he looks. “Let us begin.” Beomgyu says in a weird, deep voice. He deviously smirks and presses play.
“Hey guys!” Beomgyu starts, switching into that slightly agitating content creator voice, his demeanour shifting. “Today we are investigating a real haunted university accommodation building! The legend goes that a student was walking up the stairs drunk after partying, slipped, fell all the way down and unfortunately died. Now they haunt the stairwell and all the students ever since…Today we’re here with one of the victims who has to endure all these hauntings on a daily basis. Tell me, how often is it that you hear strange noises and sounds? See figures?”
“Oh, uh, never.” You reply, staring blankly.
Beomgyu sighs exasperatedly at you, shoulders sagging, whispering. “You can’t just say that. This is content. Make some shit up!”
“Right, sorry.” You try again, clearing your throat and straightening your posture. “All the time. I’m so terrified.” You say gravely into the camera with widened eyes. “I can never fall asleep. I can hear their footsteps and breathing outside my door every single night.” You lean closer to the camera with a crazed face.
“oohh that’s good,” beomgyu says, delighted by your performance, clapping. “You’re actually a better actor than taehyun.” Beomgyu slowly pans the camera across your room. “Guys, just look at this place,” he whispers, “This room is definitely haunted. Look how old and musty it is. Woahh.”
You narrow your eyes at him, crossing your arms. “It’s not musty…” You mutter bitterly, taking offence. You just spent a long while trying to clean it too.
After beomgyu is done with his talking and grand introduction, briefly reading the rules it came with before tossing it away carelessly, you both stare at the ouija board, placing both your fingers on the planchette.
“If we get possessed, make sure to like and subscribe! Oh, and comment down below right now in five, four, three, two, one!” Beomgyu then turns to face you. “I’ve never used an ouija board before. Have you?”
You shake your head. “No.”
“Remember when it was trending back in the day? My mum never let me. I missed out big time.” he says faux solemnly, shaking his head, “but I’m reclaiming what was denied to me,” You have no idea what he’s going on about. “Okay,” he begins theatrically. “Spirits of this building. If you are here, please give us a sign.”
For a moment, nothing happens. You tilt your head despite yourself, trying to listen out, if you can hear anything abnormal, anything out of the blue.
“Is anyone here with us?” Beomgyu asks hopefully.
More silence. It stretches for long enough. The planchette remains perfectly still and the red recording light from the camera is still naively blinking like it was hoping to catch something too. You raise a brow unimpressed, but knowing this would obviously happen. You feel ridiculous, this whole thing is. You sigh, ready to give up already, not sure why you agreed in the first place-
But then, you feel a force, moving the planchette, dragging it beneath your fingers. Beomgyu gasps. As do you. The small triangular piece glides and stops over two simple letters.
H
I
Beomgyu’s jaw drops. “Oh my god! Guys, there’s someone with us! Hello! Thank you for joining us. Who are we speaking to?” The planchette moves again, dragging both your fingers along with it.
C
H
A
D
It spells out. You blink. Beomgyu blinks.
“Chad…” beomgyu says slowly. “Woah. Nice to meet you, chad.”
“How did you pass away?” You ask, sceptical, furrowing your brows and leaning forwards to the board.
S
T
A
I
R
S
Beomgyu slaps a hand to his mouth. “Holy shit, guys! It’s true. This is chad the fratboy! He really did slip and fall going up the stairs oh my god! This is crazy! We’re speaking to a fratboy ghost!” Beomgyu’s eyes sparkle with excitement, looking into the camera.
It slides once again, something else supposedly pushing the planchette.
U
2
S
I
N
G
L
E
?
You stare at him flatly, warning, “Beomgyu.”
“What? I’m not doing it.” Beomgyu then laughs awkwardly. “That’s a pretty weird thing to ask, chad. Haha…”
No, it’s obviously beomgyu doing this for the views. You narrow your eyes at him suspiciously, untrusting, but he’s looking down at the board with those pure glittering eyes of his with genuine fascination and awe. It’s not the first time you’ve assumed the worst of him when he’s been anything but. Still, maybe he’s just a good actor.
Chad, the ‘ghost’ tugs the triangular piece and moves across letters for another time.
I
M
H
O
R
N
Y
…
You pull your hands back immediately with a scoff, getting up from the floor in sheer disgust. “That’s it. You’re absolutely moving it.” This whole thing was ridiculous. You don’t know why you almost even believed it for a split second. Damn that boy with his sparkly eyes that almost fooled you.
“I swear it’s not me!”
“It’s literally you.” You grab a pillow from your bed, throwing it at beomgyu. He’s definitely messing with you.
He collapses onto the floor, cackling, throwing the pillow back at you. “Why the hell would I deliberately move it to ‘I’m horny’ ?”
“I don’t know. Maybe because you’re a very strange, very weird person?”
All of your candle flames in the circle suddenly flicker violently, causing both of you to snap your head back and look at the scene of the abandoned seance. The planchette begins to move, but on its own, erratically.
I
D
I
O
T
S
It feels as though there’s an immediate gust of chilling, cold wind in your room, but your window is firmly closed shut. The candles go all out, vanishing. It is all pitch black.
You scramble blindly for your light switch near you, flipping it on, the sudden flood of brightness stinging your eyes but relieving. You tremble, genuinely frightened and creeped out by whatever just happened.
Beomgyu swallows slowly. “….okay see?” He raises his hands in surrender. “It was not me.”
You reach over and flip the board upside down, absolutely done with it. “Seance over. Goodbye, chad.”
“That was…so sick!” Beomgyu blurts out, eyes wide. “I can’t believe we got that on video!”
You bite your nails, unsure what to do, freaking out, trying to process. That was weird. Super weird. Beomgyu, in comparison, seems pretty fine about it, just shocked and very thrilled at the prospect of catching a real ghost on camera, probably thinking that he’s definitely going to go viral with this.
The ghost didn’t seem that particularly threatening, it was just a fratboy, and some ghosts don’t have to be evil. But still, you’re pretty spooked out. Even more so since you’ve never believed in the supernatural. It never made sense to you, no actual proof, no logic to it. But you’d just seen that board move by itself with your own eyes. And even though you’ve never believed in it, you still never loved the horror genre, never a fan. You remember the first time you ever watched a horror film with taehyun at the age of ten. Both of you were scared shitless, deciding to sleep together with the lights on all night in the same bed because neither of you wanted to be alone. And you didn’t really want to be alone in your room now, knowing there was some spirit floating around in your building. You don’t think you’d be able to sleep at all. There’s no taehyun. But asking beomgyu to stay would be too humiliating for you.
It seems beomgyu notices your expression though, studying and checking you carefully. That attentive, perceptive, annoying habit of his where he can tell what you are thinking. He softens at the sight of you. “You know,” beomgyu says slowly, thoughtfully, “I’m…pretty creeped out right now.”
You look at him, surprised. “You are?”
“Totally.” Beomgyu scratches his head. “So uh…is it alright if I stay the night with you? I don’t really wanna go back by myself.”
“Yeah,” You nod instantly, without question, alleviated, the reply coming out of your mouth far too quickly. You clear your throat, trying to salvage some kind of dignity, “I have an air mattress.”
Beomgyu presses his lips together, trying not to smile. You really are so similar to taehyun in certain ways.
You lie in bed, flat on your back, restless, looking up towards the ceiling, still scared and paranoid.
Beomgyu is lying on the air mattress that you had inflated. It’s been three hours now. You still can’t sleep. You’re grateful that beomgyu is in the same room as you but you can’t see him at all since he’s below you, your bed frame raised higher. You still feel slightly alone. You kind of want him on the same bed as you. It would be a lot more comforting. But, you definitely cannot ask that.
An hour passes of you contemplating whether to ask beomgyu but it’s way too embarrassing.
Another half an hour passes by painfully slow, still not being able to sleep and thinking whether you should just ask beomgyu. You huff. You’ll just have to do it. Nobody else is going to do it for you. You cannot continue lying here all night having an internal debate with yourself, you think you might go crazy. You’ll just have to swallow your pride and simply say something.
“Beomgyu.” You call out lowly.
There’s a faint shift from the floor. “Hm?” You hear his response coming down from below, his voice deep.
“Are you awake?”
“I wouldn’t have replied if I was asleep now, would I?”
You roll your eyes even in the dark. “Shut up.”
Beomgyu quietly chuckles. “What do you want?”
You brace yourself. You hate this. “Will you…will you…sleep on the bed with me?” Ew. You recoil and immediately consider wrapping yourself in your blanket and throwing yourself out the window.
There’s a pause. Then rustling as beomgyu gets up. “Okay.”
Surprisingly, he doesn’t make fun of you. But, it’s not like your scared behaviour is unreasonable. The ghost was real. Not the most intimidating, a weird one named Chad, but still. It was creepy. Especially since you had never believed in them before.
Beomgyu just quietly lifts the covers up and lays beside you once you scoot towards the edge near the wall, making space for him. Your bed isn’t the biggest, so his shoulders bump gently against yours. You feel his warm presence and body immediately, feeling better and less jumpy.
“Thanks,” you mumble, a little sheepishly.
Beomgyu shifts slightly beside you, getting comfortable under the covers. “It’s alright,” he whispers gently.
You manage to get the littlest of sleep, a sliver of sleep, but at least it was something. You wake up in the morning to the faint sound of your bathroom door opening and closing, beomgyu had just gone in, space beside you empty, you feel the absence of his body on your mattress instantly. It’s colder.
You yawn and stretch your limbs from how cramped you were last night, but you immediately sense something strange. You feel some kind of weird…weight between your legs. It must be something from your shelf that fell off onto your bed and made its way under your covers, or something. You reach down, grabbing to pick it up, but it doesn’t move. It’s attached to you almost. You’re still tired and drowsy, eyes still bleary. You don’t know what the hell is going on and why this weird feeling object won’t move. You sit up, still confused. You try to pull it again, harder. It’s somehow attached to your skin? With a frown and a growing sense of unease, you move the covers off you and lift the waistband of your pyjama bottoms. You think you see something.
WHAT
THE
HOLY FUCK?!
You scream out in pure terror at what you see. At the exact same time, beomgyu screams from the bathroom, high pitched and shrill-like. The both of you screaming simultaneously for a very, very prolonged time.
This isn’t real. This can’t be real. You’re definitely still dreaming. This is not real. It can’t be. There’s no way in hell this is real. It’s impossible!
Beomgyu slams the bathroom door open with a bang, running out. His face is pale, disbelieving, mortified. “MY DICK. IT’S…I-IT’S GONE!” He looks like he’s seen a ghost, but that was yesterday and this is far worse somehow.
“I HAVE A DICK!”
You stare at each other dumbfounded, eyes wide and mouths dropping to the floor.
“WHAT?!” Both of you say at the same time again.
“I woke up with a penis!” You tell him, gesturing downwards, seeing if any of this exchange of information would help and make this make sense.
“I went to go piss and…a-and there was nothing there! I-i I have a-a vagina!” Beomgyu’s voice cracks, he looks like he’s about to weep.
“Right.” You rub your temples, trying to digest any of this, inhaling deeply, seeing you had to step in as the calm one, “Okay. Okay. We have to think about this…logically.”
Beomgyu gapes at you like you’ve lost your mind, “there’s NOTHING logical about this! At all!” He lets out an anguished cry.
You pace around your room, trying to think hard. “What did we do? What have we done that’s different?”
“The ouija board…”
Oh, right. That is really the only thing both of you have done that is different. And if ghosts existed now, you’re not that surprised if any of this can happen too. This has to be connected to it. “Do you think Chad cursed us or some shit?”
Beomgyu also frowns, deep in thought with a pout. “Nah, it can’t be. Why would he do that to us? He seemed nice.”
“He called us idiots.”
“As a term of endearment!” Beomgyu defends passionately for some reason. “I really don’t think we did anything to anger him. Maybe because I got it from a sex shop, it’s like a sex ouija board. It’s...freaky? Freaky…magic? Maybe it’s not actually chad. Chad seemed pretty nice. Just a horny guy. But hey, he hasn’t been able to have sex in years.”
You groan and flop back onto your bed in a crisis. “Shit, man. What should we do?”
Beomgyu ignores you. He’s too busy clasping both his hands together, eyes shut and whispering hysterically near your window. “I have a dick I have a dick I have my dick back I have a dick. I have my dick back I have my dick back I have a dickihaveadickihave a dickihave a dick.”
You sit up slightly to watch him, eyebrow raised. “What the fuck are you doing?”
He shoots you a glare, “I’m manifesting my precious organ back,” then he returns back to his desperate affirmations, repeating the words so intensely like a mad man.
“I don’t think that’s how it works.”
“I say we call taehyun.” Beomgyu suggests, crazed, turning around to your already defeated form, laying spread out on the bed.
“Uh, why?” That sounds like a terrible idea.
He shrugs. “He’s good at magic tricks and all that magic shit. He’ll know what to do.”
“WHAT the fuck, no. He’s not going to know. I’m not asking him. He wouldn’t even know. We are not telling him any of this.”
“He might!”
You give beomgyu an incredulous look. “He does card tricks, bro. That shit’s not going to help.”
You knit your brows and grab your phone, frantically typing into the search bar different variations of your situation. Seeing it written out is beyond absurd and unsurprisingly, no matter how many ways you try to word it, there’s just nothing there. There’s no explanation and this has never happened to anyone else online ever.
From time to time you glance down at it, checking to see if it is still really there and not just both you and beomgyu experiencing some mass hallucination. It is always still there. Your anatomy is still switched.
Beomgyu also taught you how to piss standing up in the meantime, which was a lot harder than it looks to be honest.
The two of you sit on your bed in stunned silence in the aftermath of the discovery and shock, staring off, lost in doomed thought. Because, genuinely what were you supposed to do? What if this is permanent?
“Here.” You snap out of it, refusing to spiral, reaching into your drawer and pulling out one of your lacy, pink frilly panties, handing it to beomgyu.
Beomgyu raises a brow at you, staring at them like they’re going to blow up in his face.
You roll your eyes. “Oh my god, just take them. They’ll be more comfortable.”
He slowly reaches out and hesitantly takes them. Beomgyu’s entire face heats up, turning the colour of a ripe tomato, it’s almost impressive how quickly it happens. He clears his throat. “Do you want my boxers?”
You glance down at him and then back up. “The one’s you’re wearing?”
He nods.
You gag. “Eugh. No, that’s disgusting.”
“What? Why not?”
“Because you’re wearing them!”
He opens his mouth to argue but stops and sighs. “Ugh. Fine, i’ll get you new ones…”
Beomgyu rushes back to his place, running out with his hands covering in between his legs as if anyone would notice and quickly gets some boxers for you, returning swiftly. They’re much more comfortable and they fit better for your new organ at least, but were you supposed to just accept this now? No, you’re just adapting. You’ve always been an adaptable person. You just have to adapt to this situation for now, yes. It’s the best way to react.
Beomgyu comes back from using the bathroom, cheeks dusted pink. “Peeing is still super weird…” he mumbles.
He pulls up his jeans, tugging and wriggling them into place with a small frown, but from the way your underwear is resting on his hips, they’re still so visible, the lacey fabric being seen.
You get distracted by the sight. The way the soft pink fabric sits against his hips, delicate and out of place against his usual style. It does something weird to you. A flicker of something passes through your mind, uninviting, you sharply look away, swallowing. But, you form some kind of sick idea, gears turning in your brain. It’s not a good idea, you know it isn’t.
“Okay, I’m going to be honest. And you need to hear me out…” You start slowly, testing, cautious.
“What?” Beomgyu asks, curious, but very suspicious.
You shift awkwardly on the bed, trying to think of a way to say this out loud that sounds less insane than it currently does in your head.
You take a breath, hesitating. “I think…”
Beomgyu watches you with narrowed eyes, waiting for you to continue saying whatever it is you have to say, “Go on.”
“…We should fuck.”
There is a long silence where he just stares at you blankly as if he didn’t quite hear you right, then his face twists into absolute bafflement.
“Excuse me?! Are you mental?!” Beomgyu squawks.
You hold your hands up in defence at his reaction. “Not because I want to!”
His eyes widen. “That’s not much of a reassuring clarification!”
“I-i mean-not that I don’t want to—!”
“WHAT?”
Fuck. You grasp at straws, trying to defend yourself. It made sense in your head! “Maybe it will be reversed like that! You said it yourself, maybe this is like…freaky magic!”
“What if it makes it permanent?!” Beomgyu shoots back instantly, making a horrified expression at the thought.
You pause. It’s not a possibility you had considered. Your eyes flicker around your room in thought, falling down to the pink glittery board still on your carpet floor. “Wait, we can ask chad! He has to know something.”
You pull out the ouija board and the two of you impatiently set up everything for it, sitting crosslegged once again. You place both your fingers onto the planchette and ask for the frat ghost once more.
“Are you with us, chad?” Beomgyu asks.
There’s a few minutes of silence, finally, he appears.
Y
E
S
You exhale slowly through your nose. “Did you curse us, chad?”
N
A
H
“Then who did?” You turn to beomgyu’s face with an exasperated sigh. “Do you know how to reverse it?” The planchette drags slowly across the board, almost playfully if that were possible.
M
A
Y
B
E
It’s not entirely an answer. You and beomgyu exchange an irritated look, trying not lose your temper over this dead frat boy. “If we…” you clear your throat awkwardly, “fuck, could we possibly go back to normal?” It moves immediately over the letters this time, almost enthusiastically.
Y
E
S
You take your fingers off with resignation. “There’s our answer…”
The planchette suddenly starts moving on its own again, something chad clearly likes doing. Both of you flinch.
F
U
C
K
“Oh my god…I hate this chad guy.” You mutter.
Beomgyu folds his arms across his chest with a grimace. “I’m beginning to hate him too now.”
You fold the board up and shove it into one of your drawers on your desk, wanting it out of your sight. The room falls uncomfortably quiet and heavy. Beomgyu does not make eye contact with you as he fiddles with the sleeve of his hoodie. You can tell he’s thinking about it though and you’re thinking about it more too. You bite your nails, turning to look at beomgyu, at the soft pink sitting across his cheeks, at the strips of lace still visible above the waistband of his jeans, resting high over his hips. Honestly, you are curious. And apparently it will work if you both do it so…it’s worth a try. There’s nothing else you can do. This seems logical to you, or as logical as it can get in this situation.
“I’ve lowkey always wondered what it would be like to have a dick.” You cut through the silence.
Beomgyu finally looks up at you, scandalised.
“What? I have.” You shrug. “Come on,” you continue, sitting up straighter. “You’ve never been curious to what it feels like? What sex feels like from the other side?”
He looks deeply conflicted. “This is the weirdest shit…” beomgyu murmurs.
“Well, yes, but no one has ever had this opportunity before.”
Beomgyu chews the inside of his cheek as he contemplates. You leave him to it. Because, whilst you are sort of strangely game to this, you know beomgyu is not. It’s his call.
You wait for a while to see what beomgyu will decide as he still chews the inside of his cheek, staring down at his lap. Then finally, he gives a tiny, nervous nod. “Fuck it. Let’s just do it. Let’s have sex,” he’s looking at you now with a strange mix of embarrassment and determination.
“Okay,” you reply, exhaling a breath you didn’t realise you were holding. You sit up a bit straighter, like that might make you seem more composed than you feel. “Okay.”
Beomgyu nods again, slower this time. “Okay,” he echoes, though it sounds less confident.
“Maybe we should…kiss?” You suggest, wincing almost.
“Why?”
“To…get us going?” you offer, even less certain now, your voice trailing slightly at the end. You clear your throat.
“Oh, uh, okay.”
“Okay.”
The two of you move onto the bed awkwardly, sitting opposite one another on top of the duvet. And suddenly everything feels much stranger and worse. Because it was one thing when it was all hypothetical, but now, actually sitting here, knees nearly touching, looking at each other like this and so close, is different. You don’t think either of you have ever really looked at each other like this before. You’ve never looked at beomgyu this up close and so intimately before, close enough to see the pretty mole near his mouth. The pair of you sit there for a few seconds in unbearable silence doing absolutely nothing, both of you too scared to actually start anything.
You eventually make a move first, mostly because if you do not, you think the two of you might actually stay frozen here forever. Your hand lifts awkwardly to his heated cheek, fingers brushing lightly against his skin. Beomgyu goes very still. You stare down at his lips and he does the same, nervously wetting them and then swallowing.
Awkwardly, hesitantly, you press your lips with his, brief, testing. Your lips barely brush before both of you pull back a little too quickly, recoiling. You try to kiss again before you can overthink it. It is so awkward, obviously, in the way that comes with clearly crossing a line between the both of you. But his lips are soft, very soft, perfectly soft. Yet, it’s not that surprising, they’d always seemed like it whenever you’d watched beomgyu’s lips move in a pout when he talked passionately or argued back about something, fascinated by it. His lips had an annoyingly pretty shape to them.
Gradually, some of the awkwardness thins out, dissolving and melting somewhere between some kisses and the next kisses. Until you’re not really thinking about it anymore, starting to get a little lost in beomgyu’s soft lips, your mouth caught between kissing his plush bottom lip, deeper, becoming much easier. Now, you’re making out with Choi beomgyu. Making out with your best friend’s other best friend. Never would you have thought this would happen, but maybe kissing beomgyu wasn’t the weirdest thing right now. Seriously, how did the most unlikely events manage to happen to you in the span of less than twenty four hours?
It’s getting to the both of you now, all the messy kissing, your faces tilting and moving in opposite directions continuously as you move your lips against each other, both of you kiss-drugged. It’s certainly getting you worked up, increasingly harder to think through, more fervent, your hands are in his hair, beomgyu is pulling you in closer by the back of your neck, then his hands go to your waist, gripping. You can feel the warmth of his breath between every kiss and the way he exhales shakily whenever you kiss him with more intensity. Making out with beomgyu is surprisingly very, very pleasant.
And when your mouth drifts from his lips, down to his jaw, brushing softly against the side of his neck, you feel him shiver. You start kissing his neck instead, sucking, leaving sloppy open mouthed kisses, beomgyu tips his head back, very into it, all of it going to his pretty little head, letting out little whimpers as you suck more and more, kissing the same sensitive spots on his pretty neck over and over.
His fogged up brain allows you to unbutton his jeans, unzipping them and letting you put your hand down them, slightly, slowly rubbing at his pussy through the lace underwear he's wearing, still focused on completely attacking his neck too. The effect is immediate, beomgyu positively squirms and lets out a shy little noise, grabbing to hold onto you more, hiding his face in your shoulder as he continues to whimper shakily the more you rub his folds through the panties. It doesn't take long at all until you can feel the material completely soaked, even catching on your fingers.
You pull away to tug beomgyu's jeans completely off him, leaving him only in your pink panties and his grey hoodie. The second he realises how exposed he is, he shuts his legs closed, his entire face completely red, his neck and ears too.
"Are you gonna let me see? Please?" You ask and tilt your head, cooing softly at how embarrassed beomgyu is. "I'm sure it's pretty." That doesn't really help, beomgyu just lets out an annoyed whine at you and his face somehow becomes even more red.
You place your hands onto his milky, smooth thighs instead, moving back and forth over them. "Come onn, gyu. I'll play with your pussy right. I’m the one who’ll know better. Don't you wanna know what it feels like? Your vagina needs me. She's drenched. She wants me." You can't help but burst out laughing.
"Oh, shut up.” Beomgyu rolls his eyes despite how embarrassed he is, voice going all high and whiny, playfully kicking you away. But after a moment, he quietly speaks up, “f-fine…touch me.” He brings his hands to his face to hide.
“You’re okay with it?”
Beomgyu nods slowly, still hiding his face. “Feels like I-i need it, need something…” he mumbles quietly, confused. It’s so cute.
“Okay,” you gently part beomgyu’s legs, he covers his face even more in his hands at this, slightly closing his legs on instinct but you push them wider. And you’re right, he’s completely soaked your panties, they’re so wet that you can see the outline of his folds through them, they’re basically transparent now.
You suck a breath at the sight, desperate to see fully. You push the cloth to the side, beomgyu’s newly attained pussy on display and you’re almost in awe, because it’s the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen, with delicate folds and a small clit peeking out from under it’s hood. It’s glistening, almost shining with slick too. You can’t take your eyes off beomgyu’s pussy. You swallow hard, mouth watering like you’ve just stepped into a forest clearing with a beautiful, sparkling, waterfall before you. It’s so pretty just like the rest of him.
“So perfect…” You gently trace his pussy lips with your fingers, grazing the entrance and then circling his clit but not touching it directly. Beomgyu takes in a breath, trembling at the light touching, horrified with shame, trying and failing not to react so strongly. He feels a throb inside, at the bottom of his tummy, some kind of itch he knows he himself can’t scratch, he feels this overwhelming kind of feeling, needing it to be taken care of. He peeks just to look a little at you through his fingers, stomach heaving erratically, his body reacting so needily.
You watch him as he does this. “Are you going to keep hiding?”
“It’s embarrassing.” Beomgyu groans dramatically and drops his head back against the wall behind him.
“It’s not that embarrassing. Take your hands away.” He does actually take them away from his face with a grumble, unsure what to do with his hands now, keeping them balled up on the mattress.
You tug the panties off him. As much as they do look good on him, they were irritating you now. You wanted to see more of him, all of him. Once they’re finally off, you trace gently once more and beomgyu exasperatedly sighs.
“Do something more!” Beomgyu complains, bucking his pelvis into your hand, whining.
“Chill, dude. I’m just trying to get you used to the feeling of having a vagina. It could be too much.”
“Well I’m used to it now.” Beomgyu snaps back.
You sneer at him, mouth twitching but slightly amused by how he can talk back even with how embarrassed he seems. “Tch, you’re annoying as hell.”
“So are you.”
“I’m just helping you.”
“Helping me? We need to fuck to be normal again! It’s not like I want this.”
“I don’t know, kinda seems like you want it.”
“I-i don’t.”
You raise me a brow. “Your pussy says different.” You lightly give it a slap and then rub the folds soothingly. Beomgyu yelps, wide eyed, shuddering, but it’s clear it arouses him. You see his hole clenching and unclenching at that.
You can’t help but grin a little. Mangled, startled mewls slipping out from beomgyu as you continue to lightly slap at his wet pussy over and over again until his clit is fully throbbing and his folds are so puffy and pink. He looks absolutely wrecked already, despite how little you have actually done. His cheeks are flushed a deep pink, chest rising and falling in uneven little breaths beneath the oversized hoodie, slipping off one shoulder and exposing the tank top he’s wearing underneath.
“Please. Need something in it. Please.” Beomgyu gasps, a singular tear falling slowly, elegantly down one of his cheeks. Maybe you are being a bit too harsh with the teasing. With your thumb, you brush the tear away looking up at beomgyu’s teary, simmering, gorgeous doe brown eyes, some of his lashes clumped with unshed tears. You feel almost sorry.
“Aww, sorry. Just can’t help but play with the pretty doll.”
“Y/nnnn.” Beomgyu whines out heavily at you, pleadingly, brows scrunching up frustratedly. So finally, you bring the pads of your fingers to circle his hole, dipping one finger slowly into him, moving the littlest in and out. Beomgyu lets out a soft whimper and when you’re bored of just one, you add a second finger inside him. It slides easily in with an audible squelch, beomgyu winces, embarrassed at sounds he didn’t think his body would produce. You carry on pumping your fingers in at a pleasant pace, watching beomgyu’s reactions intently, loving how sensitive and reactive and new he is to all of this. It’s a lot for him already. But you’re also curious to taste his magical pussy. So bad.
“Why’d you do that—ahhhh!”
You remove your fingers completely out of him in one go, grabbing under his thighs and shoving your face into him instead, taking in the scent of his sweet, magical pussy and then sticking your tongue flat out, licking a sudden stripe on his slit, lapping at the stickiness. It’s like honey. Beomgyu tastes so good, you want to eat and eat and lick until you physically can’t, until your teeth rots from how sweet and yummy and addictive he tastes.
You tongue fuck him too, twisting, trying to reach deep. Every time your tongue drags over him, his body jerks. You decide to pay attention to beomgyu’s currently neglected clit, flicking your tongue over and over rabidly. Beomgyu nearly jumps out of his skin at this, not anticipating the raw nerves there and it is so intense, more than anything he’s ever experienced.
You decide to wrap your entire lips around the bundle of nerves instead, harshly sucking until they’re even more swollen.
“O-oh my godd- !” Beomgyu cries, flustered, taking a sharp intake of breath, screwing his eyes shut at the overwhelming sensation, his hands immediately flying to cover his face yet again. You bring the two sticky fingers back, stuffing them back into beomgyu’s cunt, pistoning them in and out and continuing to suck on beomgyu’s overly sensitive clit. His full lips are parted in an ‘o’ shape, mouth agape, prettiest choked up cries coming out of them, brows knitted together, head reeling back as well as his eyes. Beomgyu is sopping, you feel the new wave of slick every single time you push your fingers back in him. Every slight curl of your fingers making his thighs twitch. You also start a scissoring motion with the two fingers inside, spreading him open, making him squirm so much, he doesn’t know what to do with himself. There’s something almost helpless about him now.
Beomgyu shifts restlessly against the bed, shaking, clearly trying to deal with the strange, feeling building inside him. “I-I I think I’m gonna come!” You’re obsessed. You drag beomgyu down even more to eat him out at a closer, better angle, feasting on his pretty cunt, hungrily, mouth, tongue moving frantically, making your own muffled groans against his flesh that no doubt send vibrations through his already overwhelmed body, going out of his mind with need.
Beomgyu falls apart easily with a strangled cry, tears spilling over his red apple cheeks, fighting against your hold. His hips buck so much into your face as he orgasms, you think he nearly breaks your nose, but you don’t care, his legs trembling and clenching at the sides of your face, a slush of juices gushing and flooding out of his already drenched cunt. You’re genuinely mesmerised by it all, lapping all the juices up, slurping it all clean.
“T-too muchh!” Beomgyu shakes at the overstimulation, squealing and whining slightly painfully. Reluctantly, you pull your face out from in between his legs.
The sheer intensity of it leaves beomgyu breathless and in shock, utterly undone as he pants, and pants in a daze, red in the face, having never felt like that before. “Jesus fucking christ. People with vaginas have orgasms like this?”
You huff out a quiet laugh. “Yeah lol. Why? It’s much more different?”
Beomgyu nods, still panting, trying to breathe regularly. “Uh huh.”
You push your soaked fingers out of his cunt, tapping them together to watch the thick strings connect like webs.
You bring them to beomgyu’s pretty mouth. “Wanna taste your pretty pussy?” Beomgyu does so without a fight, wrapping his swollen, plump, glossed and round lips to them, sucking your fingers dry, looking up at you with those pure sparkling eyes through his doll-like lashes, fluttering his eyelids like a slut. You don’t know if it’s purposeful.
It’s only now you notice the rush of blood to your dick. You’re hard as hell, you were too focused on beomgyu to think of anything else. But it feels even heavier, aching, straining. You need to fuck him so bad.
“Can we fuck?” You ask him.
“A-alright.” Beomgyu gulps, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.
You rid yourself of your own clothes, taking ahold of your length in your hands, bringing yourself closer to beomgyu’s body. You close your eyes and inhale and exhale a number of times, trying to calm yourself, firstly, slapping the length lightly on his folds. Beomgyu seems to be in the same predicament, trying to calm himself down too, he’s staring down at the scene carefully, feeling his face heat up, cheeks burning.
You start to rub your cock on beomgyu’s cunt, rubbing the slitted tip from his entrance and up to his clit, focused more on the friction with the head and clit together. The tip now stuck with strings of beomgyu’s sweet slick, is much more sensitive than the rest of it and you shiver at the feeling, both you and beomgyu gasping at them rubbing and sliding slippery against each other.
“Okay…I’m gonna put it in. Is that okay?” You brace yourself, mentally preparing for it. Suddenly, you’re reminded that this is actually a one of a kind, very awkward situation to be in.
Beomgyu nods, bottom lip caught between his teeth, he’s bracing himself too. “Yeah, okay.”
Slowly, you bring the head of the cock to his wet, eager hole, pushing it in, stretching out the delicate ring of skin at the entrance until it pops completely in with a small, moist, squelching noise, both of you gutturally groaning out. You wait a little until attempting to push in the rest of the girth inside, inch by inch, watching his face attentively as you carefully ease the rest in. You stop once you do this, allowing him and you to get used to it.
“You okay?” You brush the strands of messy hair away from beomgyu’s eyes.
Beomgyu is stuffed. He nods, blushing so hard and face flushed so much he practically looks feverish, whole face somehow going even redder, which just shouldn’t be physically possible at this point at all.
It’s so warm and soft and slippery, the length being fully tucked inside.
“You can move.” Beomgyu breathes out eventually.
So, apprehensively, you begin to test the waters. You pull all the way back out and then sheath it all the way back in the tight but softly delicate space, the searing friction at this causing you to shudder, lips parting at the feeling. “Oh…”
“Fffuu.” Beomgyu dulcetly whimpers too, it’s hard to get used to, stretched out so much, feeling everything side, every ridge of the length.
You begin a pace of leisurely rocking in and out of beomgyu’s cunt, watching the way the pretty pussy swallows your new dick whole, enveloping it each time, the motion of pushing and pulling creating more intense feelings for you.
“You’re taking it so well,” you murmur lowly and strained, trying not lose yourself in the pleasure of fucking slow into beomgyu’s goopy, gorgeous, spongey pussy.
He’s still quietly whimpering and you can practically see him trying to make sense of what he is feeling until his expression changes as he realises just how good it feels, allowing himself to relax and succumb to it.
It’s a new sensation. Being the one to fuck into rather than fucked into. You try to hit further, deeper inside beomgyu at a different angle, giving an experimental thrust. He instantly moans out loud and pretty to your ears, his toes curling.
“How does it feel, gyu?”
“Weird. I-i feel so full. Feels good.” Beomgyu barely squeaks out. His pouted lips stay parted, the prettiest little sounds spilling out every few seconds with each push in no matter how much he tries to hold them back, spreading his legs thoughtlessly even wider, both of his hands now coming to rest underneath his thighs, holding them apart for you.
“H-how does it feel for you?” Beomgyu looks up at you, curiously, thick eyelashes fluttering every time you move just right, voice trembling.
“Mm. Feels really good too.” You nod, knitting your brows, lips pressed together in concentration, gritting your teeth, fucking into his gummy walls, deeper, harder, staring down where your bodies connect, his ripe pussy just sucking you in, seeing how deep it goes every time, so greedy and hungry, growing more wet and sticky between you both.
You start to move more confidently without realising it, hips snapping into his with sticky sounds that follow. You’re sweating, it’s tiring, but it feels so good. It’s so hard to think about anything else anymore, it’s just alll consuming. You can see it on beomgyu’s pretty little face too, so debauched, glistening with sweat too, mellifluously whining continuously.
“Fuck, y/nn!-ughhhgh!”
You lift one of beomgyu’s legs up by his dainty ankle, holding it straight against you, the new angle allowing you to bury yourself even deeper in his mystical cunt, against his cervix, sickeningly enjoying the way he cries out at this. The position is far more vulnerable for him and beomgyu looks so hot like this, flustered, body jolting and bouncing along with every ram into him, your dick splitting him open. You love it.
Beomgyu is so fucked out, eyes hooded in ecstasy, dumbly drooling, soft long hair messy and splayed, red, sweaty, button nose scrunched up, biting his glossed full lips raw, you can feel the one leg you have up, shaking, like a pretty fawn. He makes another helpless sound.
“Such a—mhmm-pretty girl…” Fucking beomgyu like this is getting to you, your brain is so pussydrunk, you’re just murmuring any shit as you pound beomgyu’s obscenely puffy, glistening pussy. It’s taking everything in you not to cum so soon.
Beomgyu whines with furrowed brows and a tremor. “I’m not a girl!”
“Come on. You already look like a—hahhh-girl, beomgyu. Maybe you should have a pussy all the time, keep you fucked all the time. I wouldn’t mind.” You meanly laugh.
Beomgyu cries, embarrassed, shaking his head, but he’s quite literally moaning out like a girl right now, so incredibly loud and high pitched and airy compared to his usual deep voice.
You grin suspiciously wide at him, and then you grab a hold of his other leg, folding them both over his chest to plow into him even more, your dick carving and curving up inside of him beyond deeper, hitting such a sweet spot for him, tearing a sudden, alarmed moan to rip out from beomgyu’s mouth.
“Look at you…you love this, beomgyu, being fucked and full like a girl. Don’t you?” You cruelly slap his mushy clit raw and red as you fuck him faster, barely holding off your orgasm. You’re not used to how quickly the sensation builds, immediate. You’re not going to last long. You quickly bring your thumb to beomgyu’s clit, rubbing over it fast, knowing it will do it for him. “You love having a pussy, don’t you?”
Beomgyu’s body arches, writhing, hands twisting in the sheets, full on sobbing, pretty tears streaming down his hot face. “I do, I do! Shitshit-ohhmygod!” Beomgyu completely convulses, spasming, eyes rolling to the back of his head, pussy fluttering and clamping down so hard on your cock, long waves of pleasure completely crashing over him as you watch his pussy give out and squirt all over, juices surging, flowing, cascading out of him gorgeously and wondrously. The sight of beomgyu squirting and clenching around you completely does it for you as you moan out too, cursing, giving one last, hard ram into his cunt until you feel yourself go over the edge too, his magical cunt making you cum so hard you genuinely see stars, filling beomgyu’s hole to the brim, overflowing, stuffed with your cum that you can see a white creamy ring around your dick.
You pull out with a shudder, watching the way your cum oozes and gloops out from his sensitive hole, his pussy completely wrecked. You don’t think his hole can give out anymore cum but it still slowly drips out of him like pearly beads, like pretty pearls from clam shells. You’re so entranced. “Holy fuck…”
Beomgyu completely melts into the sheets, drained, exhausted, boneless, dry tear stains on his pink cheeks. He’s looking up at you so dreamily, so content and satisfied from being fucked.
“I think that was like, the most intense orgasm I’ve had in my entire life. What the actual fuck.” Beomgyu states with very laboured breathing.
You can’t help but kiss his soft lips sweetly again and he kisses you back. “You genuinely did so good, beomgyu. I got a bit carried away, sorry.” You sheepishly tell him.
Beomgyu hides his face in his hands again, tips of his cute ears turning red. “It’s okay. I…liked it.” For a moment, both of you just pant, laying on the bed, but then beomgyu speaks up timidly. “If we go back to normal tomorrow, should we…fuck again?”
Your eyebrows raise in surprise, before you’re grinning again. “Hell yeah,” having absolutely not had your fill of his pussy just yet. You figured you may as well if it will all disappear in the morning.
Now, you’re pushing beomgyu’s face into your pillow, his ass up in the air as you spread his pretty pussy apart, watching the way it’s still dripping, you push your thumb a little in the hole, watching it still twitch and clench, still wanting more, so greedy. Beomgyu’s head is tilted, one side of his cheek smooshed into the pillow to look at you from behind eagerly.
“Come onnnn.” He whines out brattily, so impatient, arching his back even more seductively.
You lightly spank his little ass before digging your nails into his hips and slamming your dick inside once more, pounding into his delicious, succulent, messy cunt once again as beomgyu cries out muffled underneath, drooling onto your pillow, rocking his hips like a whore to meet your thrusts, fucking your cum and his juices back in.
You don’t know how long you guys go at it for but you’re ripping multiple, countless orgasms out of beomgyu, pushing his delicate body into different positions like the pretty doll he is, spurting cum multiple times inside his pussy and all over his pretty body, because you may as well, it’s quite a once in a lifetime thing, savouring how it feels to fuck his cunt and every pretty noise that comes out of his mouth, continuing to fuck the daylights out of him.
Both of you wake up in the morning to your genitalia, thankfully, or perhaps unthankfully, indeed, back to normal. Chad the ghost was actually right.
Both of you go back to Croft Street to return the freaky ouija board to the sex shop beomgyu purchased it from, not wanting to deal with anymore paranormal activity, fine with what experience you have. But, when you stand in front of the sex shop with beomgyu, it has in fact, been closed for months now, boarded up and was definitely not open because you found out the owner had died a while back, hence why it was shut down, even though beomgyu swears down they were the one who served him. Neither of you try to think about that.
Instead, you sell it to the vintage antique place next door, someone else can deal with that. You also make sure not to reapply to that accommodation building next year and to go elsewhere. Beomgyu uploads the YouTube with the salvageable footage he had left and it goes viral. He becomes the number one famous campus youtuber like he wanted and gains many more subscribers. He doesn’t stop talking about it. Not once.
When taehyun finally returns back from his semester abroad, you and beomgyu decide to surprise him at the airport together, running to hug taehyun’s shocked face once he comes out of the arrivals terminal. He’s so touched he nearly cries, but taehyun swears he didn’t even have tears in his eyes.
Now, all three of you are sitting in a cafe at the airport with drinks.
“I watched the video you guys did together. It was super good. It’s a funny skit. Love how you guys managed to make it look so real.” Taehyun says, watching you both.
“Haha! Thanks.” Beomgyu forces a laugh, slurping his milkshake.
“So you guys had some bonding time whilst I was gone then?” Taehyun asks, curiously.
Both you and beomgyu splutter on your straws. Beomgyu starts actually choking so much that you have to hit at his back. “Y-yeah…!” He manages eventually, eyes watering.
You rub at your neck. “You could say that..”
Please actually reblog !!!!!! and leave comments !!!! guys 😭 if you like the fic. It’s really appreciated and so nice tysm !<3🙏💕🌷🌷! It’s incredibly discouraging and disappointing when fics have such little reblogs. At least send an anon in the inbox if you don’t want to rb, don’t just like. Feedback is always appreciated it makes writers want to actually write more :)
A/n: idk how this reads i didnt proof read I’m so sorry if everyone hates this. I wanted to be more creative 😭 it was very interesting to write smut with the reader having a dick since ive never written that before, I’ll admit I had a bit of difficulty trying to write in that pov 😭😭 but it was fun !! upside down kiss - txt is absolutely the song for this fic 😼😼 I recommend. Babygirl let’s get freaky.
