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Mingyu becomes your boyfriend and quickly realizes 3 things about himself:
1. He’s clingy.
2. Patience brings him nowhere.
3. He is not built for a long distance relationship.
mingyu x f!reader
wc: 2.2k
genre: fluff, suggestive, non-idol au, friends to lovers
content: (newly) established relationship, lots of kissing, making out, biting/hickeys, mentions of alcohol and food, terms of endearment (baby, babe, pretty girl, loverboy), some teasing/banter, they're kinda obsessed w each other, honeymoon phase but for ppl who aren't married yet, their friends are dramatic(?)
divider by hyuneskkami!
Patience has always been one of Mingyu’s best qualities.
It shows when his friends tease him endlessly about his habit of stumbling over his words, and his only reaction is to roll his eyes at them. It shows when his sister makes him get up at 5AM to queue for a special edition bag, and he only grumbles out a total of three complaints. It shows when his boss gives him a too short of a notice about a weeklong business trip, and all he can do is pack his luggage like it’s a race.
That’s why he desperately wishes it would show now, as he sneaks a glance at you from across the dinner table while Seungcheol holds him by the shoulder—barraging him with things he missed due to said business trip.
Mingyu clinks his glass of soju against Seungcheol’s and downs it before his eyes find you again.
You, dressed in a top with delicate straps tied into even more delicate bows. You, with your hair in that effortless updo that he always liked. You, sipping your drink with your glossy lips in a soft rosy shade that drives him crazy.
Contrary to Seungcheol’s eager ramblings, the only thing Mingyu missed during his trip was you.
You and Mingyu—along with your other friends Seungcheol, Wonwoo, Seungkwan, and Jihyo—have known each other since your college days. However, things began to change a few months ago when you developed an interest in running—suddenly influenced by numerous tiktok videos. Mingyu had been excited when you first mentioned it in the group chat and deemed himself your new “running partner” since the two of you lived closest to each other.
Since then, your time together slowly extended into the day—turning from a simple morning exercise to getting brunch together afterwards to spending the night at each other’s apartment because “We’re gonna go on a run tomorrow morning anyways. Might as well sleep over to save time.”
On one of those sleepover nights, Mingyu decided he's had enough. Something had shifted since you started spending more time together—charged moments where gazes lingered longer than necessary and quiet nights that encouraged you to share a bigger piece of yourselves with each other.
Although you've been part of the same friend group for years, it was still uncommon for just the two of you to meet frequently like this. Despite everyone’s busy schedules, the group chat managed to stay active and always made time to meet up.
It was normal for Mingyu to see you once a week or so—sometimes in a dirty T-shirt and mismatched socks for movie night at Wonwoo's, sometimes in coordinating outfits with Jihyo for dinner. And sometimes, he’d even play wingman to help you get a cute bartender’s number.
It was, however, not normal to squeeze onto your small couch just so he could wake up to you in the mornings. It wasn’t normal for him to run backwards so he could see the glow in your smile as the early sunlight shined on you. And it definitely wasn’t normal for Mingyu’s heart to race whenever he caught his mind drifting to you at random times in the day.
So when he shows up to your place without his usual bag of running gear and dressed in loose sweats, you give him a questioning look. “Running in sweatpants is definitely new for you.”
“No, it's not that,” he inhales deeply, lingering by the door, “I wanted to tell you something.”
You freeze in your spot, nodding at him to continue.
"I really like you. I want to be more than a friend. I know this will change a lot of things for us but it was driving me crazy not being able to tell you how I feel," he says softly, inching closer to you. His eyes are rounded and full of affection as he takes your hands in his, "I love being with you and spending time with you. You feel it too, right?"
Your eyes well up with tears as your brain catches up with everything you just heard. If you were being honest, your newfound crush on Mingyu had been your biggest worry recently. Mingyu has always been a good friend, but being in close proximity to him and taken care of by him did stir all the butterflies in your stomach. You had spent countless nights staring at your ceiling, trying to make sense of your feelings, and gathering the courage to tell him.
You roll your lips between your teeth, attempting to hide your smile, "Was it because I kept staring at your chest and ass when we run?"
He throws his head back and lets out a hearty laugh, "Well, I can't lie and say I wasn't doing the same thing."
Your smile spreads wider across your face, "Okay, let's call it even then."
Mingyu tugs your body towards his and wraps you in a firm hug. You lean into him, taking the warmth of his body in as he pats your hair tenderly.
"So are we still going on our run tomorrow or what?," you mumble against his chest.
“You wouldn’t happen to have some of my running clothes lying around, would ya?”
—
As it turns out, you did have an extra set of his clothes by your dresser. He did spend the night. You did go on that run together. And like always, Mingyu did buy you brunch afterwards.
But before he could even celebrate his first 24 hours as your boyfriend, an email from his boss showed up—an emergency request for his presence at a conference being held across the country. He had left your apartment begrudgingly as you kissed him goodbye and promised to wait for his call when he landed.
It has been exactly one week since then.
As soon as he landed back home, he had rushed to the restaurant where you were currently having dinner with the rest of your friends. Much to his disappointment, you had been caught in conversation with Seungkwan and Jihyo when he arrived, allowing Seungcheol to drag Mingyu into the seat between him and Wonwoo.
And that was an hour ago.
So if you ask Mingyu, he’d like to think he’s been patient enough. Patiently waiting to see you again, to have a moment with you, to make up the long seven days without you.
The sudden surge of emotions makes him restless. He slumps lower into his chair and shakes his legs, feeling miffed at the entire situation. There's no way Seungcheol has that much to update him on, right? And why have Seungkwan and Jihyo been hogging your attention all night? The last time he checked, you're his girlfriend, not theirs.
“Kim Mingyu. Lighten up a little," Seungkwan chides, yanking him from his cloud of thoughts.
He scowls at Seungkwan then sighs, “I’m going to the restroom.”
Mingyu sends you a weak smile and mouths a discreet “meet me there” before he pulls away from Seungcheol and heads to the restroom, patting cold water onto his face and neck.
When he steps out, he sees you waiting for him in the corner of the small corridor that leads back out to the dining area, tucking your lip gloss and compact mirror back into your bag.
A smile blooms on your face when you notice him.
“Hi.”
Mingyu manages to rasp out a soft hey back before he presses his full weight into you, face buried in your hair and hands snaked around your waist.
You're surrounded by his body heat and the faint woody notes of cologne. You’ve been giddy all day thinking about seeing him again and the feeling of being in his hold after so long makes your stomach flip.
Mingyu finally pulls away to look at you. “Missed me?”
Your stomach does a second flip. He looks devastating. His hair is tousled against his forehead, eyes bright and glassy, small mole dotting his nose perfectly, and lips pulled into a slight pout.
Your hands tighten against his lower back as you interlock your fingers together and whisper against his lips, “So much.”
Mingyu instantly leans forward to close the distance, slotting his lips against yours. His kiss is filled with so much fervor, as if he couldn’t waste any more time not kissing you.
It takes you a second to react; you’ve only kissed Mingyu a handful of times between the night you confessed to each other and him leaving for his work trip—all of which have been short and sweet.
But this kiss is heavy and passionate, his lips moving over yours with intense focus. You’ve never seen him this worked up before but it’s a new side of him that makes your skin tingle with anticipation.
Once you get out of your initial shock, you kiss him back with equal force, hands moving to roam across the broad stretch of his back muscles. You nibble playfully at his bottom lip before giving it a particular harsh suck. He sighs into your mouth as you soothe your tongue over the seam of his lips.
Mingyu reluctantly pulls away first, “I missed you so bad. So so bad.”
You can feel his rough hands absentmindedly toy with the hem of your top, fingertips pressing into your skin.
Your chest heaves against his as you beam up at him, “I can tell.”
Mingyu swears your eyes twinkled when you smiled at him and he has to take a few deep breaths to steady himself. His eyes lazily trace the shape of your lips before coming back to hold your gaze.
“This lip gloss shade is killing me,” he says, tongue darting out to lightly lick at your lips.
Mingyu can only stare as you reach up to thumb away your smudged lipgloss by the corner of his lips and chin. His vision is a little hazy but he manages to focus on your lips. The rosy tint has lost most of its shine and color by now, replaced by a soft kiss-swollen hue (Mingyu has half a mind to boast about him being the cause of it) but it’s still pulling him in with the exact same force it did when he first arrived.
“Baby, please,” he swallows hard, but his voice comes out in a dry whisper, “Last one, I promise.”
He ducks his head to capture your lips in another heated kiss. His hands alternate between your waist and ass, only pausing to knead the plump flesh of your hips once in a while.
You pull away from him, trying to catch your breath. “How was your flight back?”
“You’re asking all the wrong questions.”
He leans in, attempting another kiss but you dodge his lips as your hand comes up to cover them.
Your smirk is playful as you say, “I thought you said that was the last one.”
"I take it back," he muffles into your hand before licking it, causing you to yelp and clutch his shirt.
He cups your face firmly and tilts your head towards him, “You’re so beautiful.” Then a wet kiss on your jaw.
"My pretty girl.” A gentle bite onto the side of your neck.
He trails light kisses down your throat and makes his way to the dip by your collarbone. You can’t help but let out soft moans at the sensation as Mingyu continues to suck slowly at the spot.
His lips travel to the curve of your shoulder, where his fingers start to fiddle with the thin ends of your tie straps.
He pulls at it teasingly before letting out a choked laugh, “How functional is this?”
“It’s cute,” you whine in defense.
You lightly pinch his sides to get his attention before you pull him into a kiss of your own, swiping your tongue against his. Your hands move in between your bodies, one pressed against his chest while the other cups his neck. This time, it’s your turn to suck and lick at it as he groans. You pick a spot right in the middle, just below his adam’s apple and continue to nip lightly.
“Baby,” he warns with low moan.
You hum a distracted response, pressing quick pecks all over his cheeks with a final kiss placed on top of his heart through his shirt.
He slumps against you, pressing his forehead against your shoulder. You can hear his breathing slowly move from a pant to a steady rhythm.
You gently card your fingers through his hair and press your nose into his temple. “You okay?”
His sigh turns into a dry laugh, “Babe. Whatever happens, let’s never do long distance. Look at what one week apart does to us.”
“That’s just because you’re clingy. I was fine.”
He shifts to narrow his eyes up at you, “I must've kissed you so good, your memories ended up getting jumbled.”
Your cheeks redden, as you giggle and lightly shove him away. “Whatever you say, loverboy. We should head back now.”
He grins as he follows you back to your table, in a much lighter mood than before. Wonwoo eyes him carefully as he settles back into his seat and nods at Seungcheol to take a look. Mingyu manages to stuff a piece of pork belly into his mouth before Seungcheol knocks his chopsticks out of his hands and grabs his collar to inspect his neck.
“Bro.”
Before Mingyu can even respond, the entire table's attention is drawn by Seungkwan who has his hands around your neck, as he shrieks, "What is that?!"
a/n: happy mingyu day week! :) let's pretend this was posted on time...
─── HANDLE ME WITH CARE ꕤ⠀ՙ When Yoongi stays quiet every time you’re together, never letting a sound or reaction slip, doubt slowly takes root in your mind, leaving you wondering if he even enjoys being with you at all. The insecurity builds until, the next time, you force yourself into something more performative, but Yoongi notices immediately, and what starts as confusion turns into an honest conversation neither of you expected. ✶﹑
🥣 min yoongi x f ! reader ﹐☆ established relationship ﹐ꕀ miscommunication trope slight angst slight arguing faking an orgasm smut rough sex missionary hickeys grinding hair pulling riding doggystyle ➜﹒minors do not interact
▹ word count ✶﹐11.6k
The room is dim, lit only by the thin sliver of moonlight cutting through the half-drawn curtains. The air feels thick, heavy with the scent of sex and Yoongi’s cologne, something woodsy and cool that always clings to his skin. Your back is pressed into the mattress, sheets already twisted beneath you from how long he’s been moving above you.
Yoongi is buried deep inside you, hips rolling in that slow, deliberate rhythm he always uses when he wants to take his time. Every thrust is precise, angled just right to brush against that spot that usually makes your toes curl and your breath hitch. His hands grip your hips firmly, fingers digging into your skin with just enough pressure to ground you, but never enough to bruise. He knows your body so well— better than anyone ever has.
It feels good. Of course it feels good. It always does with him.
His cock stretches you perfectly, sliding in and out with a wet, obscene sound that fills the quiet bedroom. Each time he pushes forward, the head drags along your walls, sending sparks of pleasure radiating through your core. You can feel the slight tremor in his thighs where they press against the backs of yours, the way his abs tighten against your stomach with every controlled roll of his hips. He’s sweating lightly, a faint sheen glistening on his collarbones and the sharp line of his jaw, but his face… his face stays almost serene.
That’s the part that’s been haunting you lately.
Yoongi is quiet.
Painfully, unnervingly quiet.
While you’re trying to lose yourself in the feeling of him— his thickness, the way he fills you so completely, the heat of his body pressed to yours, you keep getting pulled out of it by the silence. There are no desperate moans spilling from his lips, no broken curses, no rough growls of your name. Just the occasional low grunt when he sinks in particularly deep, or a barely-there groan that vibrates through his chest when his pace picks up for a few strokes. Even his breathing stays measured, controlled, like he’s meditating instead of fucking you senseless.
You bite your lip as another slow thrust drags a real spark of pleasure from you. For a moment, you let your eyes flutter shut and try to focus only on the sensation: the drag, the fullness, the way his pubic bone grinds lightly against your clit with every forward motion. It’s good. So good. Your walls flutter around him involuntarily, and you feel yourself getting wetter, slick sounds growing louder between your bodies.
But then your mind drifts again.
Why doesn’t he make noise? Does it not feel as intense for him as it does for you? Is he holding back because he’s not actually enjoying it that much? Or worse… is he bored?
The thoughts creep in like smoke, curling around the edges of your pleasure and slowly choking it out. Your orgasm, which had been steadily building, starts to slip away. The heat in your belly dulls, turning from a roaring fire into something distant and lukewarm. You clench around him on purpose, trying to chase the feeling back, but it’s already fading.
Yoongi doesn’t falter. His rhythm stays steady, deep, unhurried strokes that should be driving you crazy. One of his hands slides up your side, palm rough and warm as it cups your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple in slow circles. It sends a shiver through you, but it’s not enough to pull you fully back into your body. Your mind is louder than the pleasure now.
You don’t want him to know.
You don’t want him to stop or pull away or ask what’s wrong. So you do the only thing you can think of in the moment.
You start faking it.
A soft, breathy moan slips past your lips— higher and more theatrical than the ones that usually come naturally. You tilt your head back into the pillow, letting your mouth fall open as you force another moan out, longer this time, letting it tremble at the end like you’re right on the edge. Your hands slide up his back, nails digging in just a little harder than before, and you rock your hips up to meet his thrusts with more exaggerated movements, making sure your body moves like you’re lost in it.
“Oh… fuck, Yoongi,” you whimper, voice pitched just a touch too sweet, too performative. You clench around him again, purposefully this time, and add a little gasp at the end for good measure. “Feels so good…”
Your heart is pounding for an entirely different reason now. The lie tastes bitter on your tongue, but you keep going, layering on more moans and whines, letting your breathing come faster and more ragged than it actually is. You arch your back dramatically, pushing your chest up toward him, and let your eyes squeeze shut as if you’re overwhelmed with pleasure.
Inside, the real pleasure has almost completely slipped away, replaced by a tight knot of anxiety in your stomach. But you keep the act going, hips rolling, moans spilling out one after another, all while Yoongi continues to fuck you in that same devastatingly silent, controlled way.
His skin is hot against yours. His cock still feels perfect inside you. But your mind won’t shut up, and now your body is performing instead of feeling.
You just hope he doesn’t notice. You keep the act going, layering moan after moan as Yoongi’s pace stays steady and deep. Your voice sounds foreign to your own ears— too breathy, too eager, too loud in the quiet room. You tighten around him deliberately with every thrust, rolling your hips up to meet him with exaggerated movements, letting your nails rake down his back a little harder than usual.
“Yoongi… oh god, right there,” you gasp, forcing the words out like they’re being torn from you. Your back arches off the bed in a dramatic curve, breasts pressing against his chest as you whimper and whine, building the performance higher and higher. The real pleasure has long since faded into the background, drowned out by the loud buzzing of insecurity in your head, but you push through, faking the climb with everything you have.
Inside, your stomach twists. You hate this. You hate lying to him like this, but the fear of him realizing how disconnected you feel is worse.
You feel his rhythm falter just slightly— only for a fraction of a second, before he drives in deeper, hips snapping forward one last time. A low, guttural grunt escapes his throat, the sound vibrating against your neck as he buries himself to the hilt. His cock pulses inside you, hot and thick, spilling deep as he cums with that single, restrained sound. His body tenses above you, muscles locking up, fingers digging harder into your hips for a moment before he slowly relaxes.
You fake your own release right after him, letting out a long, trembling moan that peaks sharply and then dissolves into shaky little whimpers. Your walls clench around him rhythmically, body shuddering beneath him as if you’re riding out wave after wave. You even let your thighs tremble and your breath hitch dramatically, clutching at his shoulders like you can’t handle how good it feels.
When it’s over, Yoongi stays buried inside you for a few long seconds, breathing steady against your skin. Then he slowly pulls out, the wet slide of his cock leaving you feeling empty and strangely hollow. He presses a soft, almost absent kiss to your collarbone before rolling off you and sitting up on the edge of the bed.
The room feels colder without his weight pressing you down. You stay exactly where you are, flat on your back, staring up at the ceiling. The fan above spins lazily, casting faint shifting shadows across the white paint. Your chest rises and falls with breaths that are still too fast, but not from pleasure anymore. Cum slowly leaks out of you, warm and sticky against your inner thighs, a reminder of what just happened. Your body feels used in the best physical way and yet emotionally distant, like you watched the whole thing from somewhere outside yourself.
Yoongi stands, the mattress dipping and then rising as his weight leaves. You hear the rustle of fabric as he picks up his discarded boxers and sweatpants from the floor, the soft sound of him stepping into them. He doesn’t say anything. He never really does after sex. The silence that felt intimate before now feels like a weight pressing on your chest.
He pads out of the bedroom barefoot, footsteps quiet on the hardwood floor, heading toward the kitchen. You remain motionless, eyes fixed on that spinning fan, the aftershocks of your faked orgasm leaving a sour taste in your mouth. The sheets beneath you are damp with sweat and slick, clinging uncomfortably to your skin. Your heart is still racing, but it’s anxiety now, not desire.
A few minutes later, you hear the faint clink of a glass and the sound of the faucet running. Yoongi returns, the soft glow from the hallway light outlining his silhouette as he steps back into the room. He’s shirtless, sweatpants hanging low on his narrow hips, black hair slightly messy from your fingers earlier. In his hand is a glass of water, condensation already beading on the outside.
He sits on the edge of the bed beside you, the mattress dipping under his weight. The glass is cool as he gently presses it into your hand. “Here,” he murmurs, voice low and a little rough from disuse. His dark eyes search your face in the dim light. “Drink.”
You push yourself up onto your elbows, taking the glass with fingers that feel slightly shaky. The water is cold and refreshing as it slides down your throat, but it does nothing to ease the knot in your stomach. Yoongi watches you quietly, one hand resting on your bare thigh, thumb brushing absentmindedly over your skin.
When you lower the glass, he asks, voice tentative and softer than usual, “You okay?”
You force a small smile, nodding quickly. “Yeah… of course. It felt really good. You always fuck me so good, Yoongi.”
The lie slips out easily enough, but your voice sounds a little too bright, a little too rehearsed. For a split second, you swear something flickers across his face— those sharp eyes narrowing just a fraction, lips parting like he might say more. Your heart stutters. He knows. He has to know.
But he doesn’t push.
Instead, Yoongi lets out a slow, quiet sigh, running his fingers through his damp black hair, pushing it back from his forehead. The motion makes the muscles in his arm flex subtly in the low light. He nods once, almost to himself, then swings his legs onto the bed and lies down beside you.
“Come here,” he says gently, reaching for you. You let him pull you against his chest, your head resting on his shoulder, one of his arms wrapping securely around your waist. His skin is still warm, heart beating steady and slow beneath your cheek. He smells like sex and sweat and that familiar cologne, and for a moment the closeness makes the ache in your chest ease just a little.
“I love you,” he whispers into the darkness, lips brushing the top of your head.
Your throat tightens. “I love you too.”
He reaches over with his free hand and clicks off the bedside lamp. The room plunges into complete darkness, broken only by the faint moonlight seeping through the curtains. Yoongi’s breathing gradually slows, becoming deep and even as sleep claims him. His body relaxes completely against yours, arm heavy and comforting around you.
But sleep doesn’t come for you.
You lie there wide awake, eyes open in the dark, listening to the quiet rhythm of his breaths. The fan continues its lazy spin overhead. Every time you close your eyes, you replay the scene: your fake moans, the way you performed for him, the single low grunt he gave when he came. The insecurity gnaws at you, sharper now in the silence. You feel raw and exposed, even though he’s holding you so tenderly.
Hours seem to pass. The glass of water sits forgotten on the nightstand, condensation pooling beneath it. Your mind races in circles— wondering if he really bought the lie, if he’s truly satisfied, if something is wrong with the way you make him feel. Yoongi sleeps soundly beside you, completely unaware, while you stare at the ceiling again, the weight of your doubts pressing heavier with every passing minute.
The next afternoon, sunlight filters through the large café windows, casting warm golden patches across the wooden table. The scent of fresh coffee and sweet pastries hangs in the air, mingling with the low hum of conversations and the occasional hiss of the espresso machine. You’re seated across from Wonyoung in a cozy corner booth, both of you cradling warm lattes in your hands. She looks effortlessly pretty as always, long hair cascading over one shoulder, a soft pink sweater making her glow in the natural light.
You’ve been stirring your drink absentmindedly for the past ten minutes, the spoon clinking softly against the ceramic mug. The conversation started light, but you finally let it spill, the thing that’s been weighing on your chest since last night.
“So… things with Yoongi have been good, really good,” you say, voice quieter than usual. “But… during sex… he’s just so quiet. Like, almost completely silent. I mean, he’ll give a little grunt here and there, or this low groan when he pushes in deeper, and that’s basically it. Even when he cums, it’s just one low sound. Nothing more.”
You take a small sip of your latte, the warmth doing little to ease the knot in your stomach. “It feels amazing physically, he always makes sure I cum, he knows exactly what he’s doing. But I keep getting stuck in my head about it. Last night… I actually started faking it. The moans, the way I moved, everything. I felt so stupid afterward, lying there while he held me and told me he loved me. I couldn’t even sleep.”
Wonyoung’s eyes widen slightly, her perfectly shaped brows furrowing in concern. She sets her mug down and leans forward, elbows resting on the table. “Oh, honey… that sounds really tough. Have you tried talking to him about it?”
You shake your head quickly, fingers tightening around the handle of your mug. “No… I’m scared. What if I don’t like his answer? What if he tells me he doesn’t find me sexy anymore, or that the spark is gone for him? What if he’s just going through the motions because he feels obligated? I don’t think I could handle hearing that.”
Your voice cracks a little on the last part, and you look down at the foam art slowly dissolving in your coffee. The café suddenly feels too bright, too exposed. You can still feel the ghost of Yoongi’s quiet body against yours from last night, the way he fell asleep so easily while you stared at the ceiling for hours.
Wonyoung reaches across the table and gently squeezes your hand. “I get it. That fear is valid. But bottling it up is only going to make it worse. You two are so good together, communication is important, especially about something this intimate. Maybe there’s a reason he’s quiet. Or maybe he doesn’t even realize how much it’s affecting you.”
You nod slowly, chewing on your bottom lip. “Yeah… maybe. It’s just… Yoongi always been this quiet, from the very beginning. I didn’t really think much of it at first because everything else felt so intense. But then you told me about you and your boyfriend, how vocal he gets, the way he moans your name, how he tells you how good you feel… I don’t know, it made me realize how different it is with Yoongi. I started craving that too. I want to hear him. I want to know I’m making him feel as crazy as he makes me feel.”
Wonyoung gives you a soft, understanding smile, tilting her head slightly. “I remember telling you those stories. And yeah, my boyfriend is loud in bed— it’s hot, it makes me feel desired. But Yoongi… he’s always been a quiet guy overall, right? In everyday life too. He speaks when he has something important to say, but he’s not the type to fill the silence just to fill it. Maybe during sex he’s the same, maybe he just processes pleasure differently. Still… you should talk to him. Even if it’s scary. Tell him how it makes you feel without accusing him. Something like, ‘I love being with you, but I’ve been feeling a little insecure because you’re so quiet, and I want to know if you’re enjoying it as much as I am.’”
You let out a long sigh, shoulders slumping as you trace the rim of your mug with your fingertip. “You’re right… I know you’re right. It’s just terrifying. What if talking about it makes things awkward? Or worse, what if he confirms my fears?”
She squeezes your hand again, her touch warm and reassuring. “And what if he doesn’t? What if he opens up and you both end up even closer because of it? You won’t know until you try. You deserve to feel confident and wanted in every way.”
You manage a small, grateful smile, even though your chest still feels tight with uncertainty. “Thank you for listening. I really needed this.”
The two of you finish your coffees slowly, the conversation drifting to lighter topics— work, a new drama you both started watching, Wonyoung’s latest shopping haul. But your mind keeps circling back to Yoongi, to the quiet of last night, to the conversation you know you probably need to have.
When it’s time to leave, you both stand and gather your things. Outside the café, the spring air is mild and fresh, carrying the faint scent of blooming flowers from the nearby park. You pull Wonyoung into a tight hug, breathing in her familiar perfume.
“Thank you again,” you murmur against her shoulder. “For the advice… and for not making me feel crazy.”
She hugs you back just as tightly, rubbing your back gently. “Anytime. Text me later if you need more pep talks, okay? You’ve got this. Just be honest with him.”
You nod as you pull away, offering her one last smile before turning to head home. The walk back feels longer than usual, your steps slow on the sidewalk as the weight of her words settles over you. The sun is warm on your skin, but inside you’re still torn— part of you wanting to listen to her encouragement, the other part terrified of what Yoongi’s answer might be. By the time you reach your apartment door, your heart is already beating a little faster at the thought of seeing him again tonight.
-
That evening, you chicken out completely.
The conversation with Wonyoung plays on repeat in your head the whole walk home, but the moment you step through the apartment door and see Yoongi already there— barefoot in the kitchen, stirring something that smells like garlic and soy sauce, the words die in your throat. He glances up at you with that soft, small smile he reserves mostly for you, black hair falling slightly into his eyes, and your resolve crumbles. Not tonight. You’ll talk to him tomorrow. Or the day after. Just… not right now.
Instead, you both settle into a quiet movie night.
The living room is dimly lit by the glow of the TV screen and a single lamp in the corner. The couch is piled with soft blankets and pillows, the faint scent of buttered popcorn still lingering in the air from the bowl now sitting empty on the coffee table. Yoongi sits in his usual spot, legs stretched out, one arm draped casually around your shoulders as you curl into his side. Your head rests against his chest, the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath your ear, his body warm and solid through the thin black t-shirt he’s wearing.
For a few blissful hours, the sex issue fades into the background.
You laugh together at the ridiculous comedy on screen, his low chuckle vibrating through his chest whenever something genuinely funny happens. His fingers trace lazy patterns on your arm, occasionally brushing through your hair in that absentminded way that always makes you feel safe. You steal glances at his profile, the sharp line of his jaw, the way his lashes cast faint shadows on his cheeks when he blinks, the subtle curve of his lips when he smirks at a joke. For once, your mind is quiet. No overthinking. No insecurity. Just the simple comfort of being wrapped up in your boyfriend, the two of you tangled together like you belong there.
As the movie credits start to roll and the second film begins autoplaying, the comfortable haze starts to shift. The room feels cozier now, warmer. The blanket draped over both of you traps heat between your bodies. You become hyper-aware of how close you are, his thigh pressed against yours, the faint scent of his cologne mixed with the fabric softener on his shirt. Looking up at his face in the flickering light of the TV, something stirs in your chest. His expression is relaxed, peaceful, those dark eyes reflecting the screen. A sudden, sharp wave of want washes over you. You want him. Not just the quiet, controlled version from last night, but something more. You want to climb into his lap, feel his hands on you, lose yourself in him again— but this time without the doubts.
Maybe you were just being paranoid, you tell yourself. Maybe Wonyoung was right and he’s simply a quiet person in every aspect of life. Maybe last night was a fluke, and if you initiate tonight, it’ll be different. Better. You could make him feel good enough that he finally lets go.
The decision settles in your mind, warm and impulsive.
You shift slightly, turning your body toward him. Your lips find the side of his neck first— soft, slow kisses pressed just below his ear, where you know he’s sensitive. His skin is warm, slightly salty from the long day, and you breathe him in as you trail kisses down the column of his throat. One hand slides up under his shirt, palm gliding over the smooth planes of his chest, feeling the faint ridges of muscle and the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips.
Yoongi’s breath catches for just a second. He turns his head toward you, and a small smile tugs at his lips.
But the smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. There’s something off about it, too tight at the corners, a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze before it smooths out. It’s odd, a tiny detail that nags at the back of your mind, but you push it aside. You’re already too far gone in the moment, desire overriding caution.
Encouraged, you let your hand drift lower, sliding down his stomach until your palm presses over the front of his sweatpants. He’s half-hard already, and you rub him slowly through the fabric, feeling him twitch and thicken under your touch. A few firm strokes, your fingers tracing the outline of him as you continue kissing and gently sucking at his neck, leaving faint marks that will probably fade by morning.
For a moment, it feels promising. His body responds, hips shifting ever so slightly under your hand.
Then he moves.
Yoongi lets out a quiet sigh, long and heavy, the kind that carries weight. He sits up straighter, gently but firmly catching your wrist to stop your movements. His other hand runs through his black hair, pushing it back from his forehead, then drags down over his face, rubbing at his eyes and the bridge of his nose like he’s suddenly exhausted or stressed. The TV light flickers across his features, highlighting the tension in his jaw.
You pull back, staring up at him in confusion, your hand still hovering where he stopped it. The warmth that had been building in your belly cools rapidly. “Yoongi…?” Your voice comes out softer than you intended, laced with uncertainty.
He doesn’t look at you right away. His gaze is fixed somewhere toward the TV, shoulders slightly slumped. The comfortable cocoon of the movie night suddenly feels fragile, like it could crack at any second. The blanket slips down to your laps as the distance between you grows, even though you’re still sitting right next to each other. Your heart starts to pick up speed, that familiar knot of insecurity creeping back in, stronger than before.
The room is quiet except for the low dialogue still playing from the movie, but the easy laughter from earlier is long gone. The silence stretches between you like a taut string, ready to snap.
Yoongi sits there on the couch, still slightly leaned forward, one hand lingering over his face as if he’s trying to wipe away whatever thought just crossed his mind. The TV continues playing in the background, the low murmur of dialogue and soft soundtrack now feeling intrusive instead of comforting. The air in the living room suddenly feels cooler, heavier. Your heart hammers in your chest, the earlier warmth of desire replaced by a sharp, anxious flutter.
You can’t take the quiet anymore. “Do you… not think I’m sexy?” The question slips out in the middle of the silence, small and fragile, barely louder than a whisper. Your voice cracks on the last word, and you hate how vulnerable it sounds.
Yoongi’s head snaps toward you instantly. His dark eyes widen, the relaxed expression from the movie night completely gone. For a second he just stares at you, like the words don’t compute. “What the hell?” he says, voice low but sharp with disbelief. “Why would you even think that?”
The intensity in his gaze makes your stomach twist. You look down at your hands, fingers twisting together in your lap, suddenly unable to meet his eyes. The confession starts pouring out, slow and halting at first, then gaining momentum as the insecurities you’ve been carrying finally break free.
“Because you’re so quiet during sex, Yoongi,” you say, voice trembling slightly. “You barely make any sounds at all. Just… a grunt sometimes, or that one low groan when you cum. That’s it. Nothing else. We never really switch positions much either, you stay on top, controlled, like you’re holding back the whole time. It always feels good physically. Really good. You know exactly what to do and I cum almost every time… but lately I keep getting stuck in my head. I start wondering if there’s something wrong with me. If I’m not doing enough, or if I don’t turn you on the way I used to. If maybe you’re just… going through the motions.”
Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but you blink them back, swallowing hard. The words hang in the air, raw and exposed. You feel stripped bare, sitting there in the dim glow of the TV, the cozy movie night now feeling miles away.
Yoongi lets out a deep, heavy sigh. “Fuck…” he mumbles under his breath, the curse quiet but laced with frustration, not at you, but at the situation. He runs both hands through his hair, messing it up further, then drops them to his lap. For a moment he just sits there, shoulders tense. Then he shifts closer and sits fully beside you again, the couch dipping under his weight. His thigh presses against yours, warm and solid, but he doesn’t reach for you yet. He’s silent for another long second, eyes fixed on the floor in front of him, jaw tight. The pause feels endless, your pulse roaring in your ears.
Then he speaks, voice low and careful. “Was that why you faked it last night?”
Your breath catches. You turn to look at him, eyes wide with shock. “You… you knew?”
Yoongi nods slowly, still not quite looking at you. His expression is unreadable, but there’s a heaviness in it now. “Yeah. I could tell.” He pauses, swallowing. “I know your body. I know the way you sound when it’s real, the little hitch in your breath, the way your thighs shake, how your voice gets all breathy and broken. That wasn’t it. Not even close.”
He finally turns his head to face you fully, those sharp, dark eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your chest tighten. “Why did you do it?”
The question is gentle, but it still lands like a weight. You feel heat rush to your face, a mix of embarrassment and relief that he noticed, that he cared enough to pay attention. Your fingers fidget with the edge of the blanket as you answer, voice barely above a whisper at first.
“Because I go into my head about it… about how silent you are when you’re fucking me. It makes me think I’m not affecting you the way you affect me. That maybe it doesn’t feel as good for you, or that you’re not really lost in it. So last night I just… performed. I faked the moans and the movements because I didn’t want you to know I was doubting. I didn’t want to ruin it.”
The confession leaves you feeling drained, exposed. The room is quieter now, the movie long forgotten in the background. You can hear the faint hum of the refrigerator from the kitchen, the soft ticking of the clock on the wall. Yoongi’s presence beside you is steady, but the air between you crackles with everything unsaid.
He doesn’t interrupt. He just listens, eyes never leaving your face, that deep sigh from earlier still lingering in the way his shoulders remain slightly hunched. Your heart is still racing, cheeks warm with the vulnerability of having finally said it all out loud. You feel raw, like you’ve peeled back a layer of yourself and handed it to him.
Yoongi doesn’t speak right away.
Instead, he leans in slowly, one hand gently cupping the side of your face. His thumb brushes tenderly over your cheek, wiping away a stray tear you hadn’t even realized had fallen. Then his lips meet yours in a slow, gentle kiss. It’s soft at first— barely more than a press of warmth, then deepens just enough to feel reassuring. His mouth moves against yours with quiet care, tasting faintly of the popcorn from earlier and the familiar comfort of him. There’s no rush, no demand, just the steady reassurance of his lips and the way his fingers thread lightly into your hair.
When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests gently against yours, breath mingling warmly between you. His eyes are closed for a moment, silver lashes brushing his cheeks, before they open again, dark and earnest. “I’m so sorry, baby,” he whispers, voice low and rough with emotion. The apology settles over you like a warm blanket, sincere and heavy.
He stays close, forehead still pressed to yours, sharing the same air. “You’re the sexiest fucking woman I’ve ever seen,” he continues, the words coming out quieter than usual, but no less intense. “I’ve never once not been satisfied with you. Not even close. Every single time… you drive me crazy.”
Then he pulls back just enough to look at you properly. A faint blush creeps across his pale cheeks, coloring the tips of his ears pink. He glances away for a second, toward the darkened TV screen, as if the admission costs him something. His fingers twitch where they rest on your thigh, like he’s fighting the urge to hide.
“I’ve been holding myself back,” he admits, voice dropping even lower, almost shy. “Because… I get embarrassed. I don’t know why exactly, but if I fully let go… if I let myself indulge in you the way I want to… I was scared you wouldn’t like it. That you’d think it was too much. Too loud. Too intense. That it would change how you see me.”
The confession hangs between you, surprising in its honesty. Yoongi, usually so composed, so in control, looks almost vulnerable sitting there with that soft blush and averted gaze. It makes your chest tighten with affection and a rush of heat at the same time. You let out a low, soft laugh, the sound gentle and warm in the quiet room. It’s not mocking; it’s full of fondness and relief. You reach up, gently turning his face back toward you with your fingertips on his jaw.
“Yoongi…” you murmur, smiling softly as you look into his eyes. “You are the hottest, sexiest man I’ve ever been with. Seriously. Nothing about you letting go could ever be ‘too much’ for me. I want it. I want to hear you. I want to feel how much I affect you. All of it.”
You take his hand in yours, fingers intertwining slowly. His palm is warm, slightly calloused from years of playing instruments and producing late into the night. You give it a gentle squeeze, thumb brushing over his knuckles.
“Do you want to try?” you ask softly, voice barely above a whisper, but full of quiet hope. “Right now?”
He looks at you for a long moment, eyes searching yours. The blush on his cheeks deepens just a fraction, but then he nods— slow, deliberate, decisive. “Yeah,” he breathes. His voice has shifted, gaining a new edge of determination beneath the softness. “I’m going to show you just how much you affect me.”
The words send a shiver down your spine. There’s a promise in them, dark and heated, wrapped in that familiar low tone of his. The air between you thickens instantly, the earlier tension transforming into something electric and anticipatory. Yoongi’s hand tightens around yours, his thumb stroking once over your skin before he leans in again, closer this time, lips hovering just inches from yours.
The living room feels smaller, warmer, the forgotten movie long irrelevant. All that matters now is the way he’s looking at you— like he’s finally allowing himself to unravel, just for you. He leans in and captures your lips again, but this kiss is different from the gentle one moments ago. It starts slow, almost reverent, his mouth moving against yours with deliberate care. Then it deepens. His hand slides to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair as he tilts his head and kisses you harder, tongue brushing against the seam of your lips, asking for entry.
You open for him instantly.
The kiss turns heavy, hungry. His tongue slides against yours, slow and thorough, tasting you like he’s trying to memorize every inch. A low, barely audible hum vibrates from his chest into your mouth— the first real sound he’s let slip tonight that isn’t guarded. His lips are soft but insistent, sucking gently on your lower lip before diving back in, the wet slide of tongue and shared breath making your head spin.
Your hands come up to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his black t-shirt as you kiss him back with everything you’ve been holding in. The earlier insecurity melts away under the heat of his mouth, replaced by a growing ache low in your belly. He kisses like he’s pouring years of restraint into this one moment— deep, consuming, and just a little desperate. Without breaking the kiss, Yoongi leans back against the couch cushions, pulling you with him. You follow eagerly, shifting until you’re sliding into his lap, knees settling on either side of his thighs. The position brings your bodies flush together, your chest pressed to his, the heat of him radiating through his thin shirt. His hands settle on your hips, gripping firmly as he tugs you closer, encouraging you to settle your weight fully on him.
You can already feel him hardening beneath you, the thick length of his cock pressing up against your core through the layers of fabric. It sends a spark of arousal through you, sharp and insistent.
Your fingers slide up into his black hair, threading through the soft strands. At first you just hold on, but as the kiss grows more heated— tongues tangling, breaths coming faster— you tighten your grip and pull. A low, broken groan escapes Yoongi’s throat. The sound is deep and raspy, vibrating against your lips. It’s not the restrained grunt you’re used to, it’s raw, involuntary, and it shoots straight to your core. You tug again, a little harder this time, nails lightly scraping his scalp, and another groan follows, louder this time, his hips twitching up into you instinctively.
“Fuck…” he breathes against your mouth, the curse muffled but unmistakable. His voice is already rougher, lower, the composure cracking. He kisses you even more desperately now, one hand sliding up your back under your shirt, palm hot against your bare skin, while the other stays anchored on your hip, guiding you to rock slowly against the growing bulge in his sweatpants. The friction is delicious, sending little waves of pleasure through you with every grind.
Yoongi’s breathing has grown heavier, no longer perfectly controlled. Each exhale comes with a quiet, shaky sound, half groan, half sigh as you continue to pull at his hair and roll your hips. His mouth moves from your lips to your jaw, then down to your neck, sucking and biting softly, leaving faint marks that make you shiver.
You can feel the tension in his body, the way his thighs are tight beneath you, the subtle tremor in his hands as he touches you. He’s letting go, piece by piece, and the sounds he’s starting to make— those low, gravelly groans that rumble from deep in his chest are everything you’ve been craving.
He pulls back just enough to look at you, lips swollen and wet, eyes dark with lust and something deeper. His hair is already messy from your fingers, falling into his eyes in a way that makes him look devastatingly attractive. “See what you do to me?” he murmurs, voice husky and strained. Another soft groan slips out when you roll your hips again. “This is just the start, baby.”
You roll your hips again, slower this time, dragging your core along the thick ridge of his cock through his sweatpants. The friction is perfect— hot, teasing, not enough and yet almost too much. A shaky breath leaves Yoongi’s lips, and this time it’s accompanied by a low, rumbling groan that vibrates straight through his chest and into yours. “Shit…” he mutters against your neck, the word barely formed but heavy with need. His hands tighten on your hips, fingers digging in as he guides you into another slow grind. "Feels good."
The praise hits you like a spark. You’ve never heard him talk like this during sex— never heard him say much of anything and it makes heat flood between your legs. You pull harder on his hair, tugging his head back slightly so you can look at his face. His eyes are half-lidded, dark and glossy, lips parted as another quiet groan slips out when you circle your hips just right.
You love it. You love every single sound he’s letting escape. Encouraged, you start moving with more purpose, rolling your hips in deep, deliberate waves, pressing down harder so the seam of your pants rubs right against his length. Each grind makes his cock twitch beneath you, growing fuller and harder until he’s rock-solid and straining against the fabric. The heat of him radiates through the layers, and you can feel yourself getting wetter, slickness starting to soak through your own panties.
Yoongi’s head falls back against the couch cushion, exposing the long line of his throat. Another groan tears from him— deeper, rougher, this time when you drag your clit along his cock again. “Fuck, baby… keep doing that,” he breathes, voice husky and strained. His usual composure is cracking wider with every roll of your hips. “You’re gonna make me lose it right here.”
You whimper at his words, the sound genuine and needy, and grind down harder, chasing the building pressure. Your hands stay buried in his hair, pulling and tugging in time with your movements, and every little yank draws another sound from him— a low curse, a broken groan, a shaky exhale that sounds almost like a whine. He’s talking more now, the words spilling out between heavy breaths as his restraint unravels.
“You have no idea… how much I want you,” he rasps, hips bucking up to meet your grind. “Every time I’m inside you I have to hold back so I don’t sound like a fucking mess…you feel too good.”
His hands slide up under your shirt, palms hot and greedy as they roam over your bare back, then down to squeeze your ass, pulling you even tighter against him. The new angle makes his clothed cock press right against your clit with every roll, sending sharp sparks of pleasure shooting up your spine. You moan softly, real and unrestrained, and Yoongi responds with a deep, guttural sound that makes your walls clench around nothing.
“Yeah… just like that,” he murmurs, voice dropping even lower. “Let me hear you too, baby. Don’t hold back for me.” You grind faster, more desperately, the couch creaking softly beneath you both. The fabric between you is starting to feel like too much, too many layers keeping you from what you really want. Sweat is already beading along Yoongi’s hairline, his hair sticking to his forehead in messy strands. His chest rises and falls quicker now, breaths coming in short, ragged pants punctuated by those beautiful, broken groans every time you drag your hips over him just right.
You lean down and kiss him again, messy, open-mouthed, tongues sliding hotly together. He groans into the kiss, the sound vibrating against your lips as his hips jerk up involuntarily, chasing more friction. One of his hands leaves your ass to slide between your bodies, pressing firmly over your core through your pants, rubbing in tight circles that match your grinding rhythm. “God, you’re so wet already,” he mutters against your mouth, voice thick with awe and lust. “All this just from grinding on me? Fuck… I did this to you?”
You nod frantically, pulling his hair again as another needy sound escapes him. You’re loving every second of it, the way his voice is getting raspier, the way he’s starting to talk dirty in that low, gravelly tone, the way his usual quiet control is shattering because of you. “Yoongi…” you whine, grinding down hard, “I love hearing you like this. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”
He lets out a shaky laugh that turns into a groan when you tug his hair particularly hard. His hips buck up sharply, pressing his cock right against your clit. The grinding has turned desperate, both of you breathing hard and chasing friction like you can’t get close enough. Yoongi’s hands are gripping your hips tightly, guiding every roll of your body against his, his cock rock-hard and throbbing beneath you
Then he pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes dark and glassy with lust. His voice comes out rough, almost pleading. “Ride me,” he says, the words thick and heavy. “Please, baby… I need you to ride me.”
Your heart stutters. You’ve never ridden him before. Almost every time you’ve had sex it’s been missionary— him on top, controlled and steady, quiet and composed. The idea of being on top, of taking him like this, makes nervous butterflies erupt in your stomach. But the way he’s looking at you, the raw need in his voice, the way his hands tremble slightly on your hips… you can’t say no. You nod, voice barely a whisper. “Okay… yeah.”
Relief and hunger flash across his face. Yoongi moves quickly but carefully, helping you peel off your shirt and bra, his hands warm and eager as they slide over your skin. He tugs your pants and panties down your legs, lifting you slightly so he can yank them off completely. You do the same for him, pulling his t-shirt over his head, exposing the lean, toned lines of his chest and stomach, then helping him shove his sweatpants and boxers down his thighs. His cock springs free, thick and flushed, already leaking at the tip, hard and curving slightly upward.
You’re both completely bare now, skin hot and flushed in the dim light of the living room. Yoongi leans back against the couch again, one hand wrapping around the base of his cock, holding it steady for you. His other hand rests on your thigh, thumb stroking soothing circles. You swing one leg over his lap fully, straddling him. Your hands find the back of the couch on either side of his head, gripping the cushions for balance. Slowly, you lower yourself, the head of his cock brushing against your slick folds. You’re so wet from all the grinding that it glides easily at first, but as you start to sink down, the stretch hits you.
Yoongi is big— thicker and longer than you sometimes remember in the heat of the moment. You pause halfway, breathing shakily as you adjust to his size, walls fluttering around him. The fullness is intense, almost overwhelming in this new position. A broken, needy sound escapes Yoongi the moment you start sliding down. “Fuck… oh my god,” he groans, low and guttural, head tipping back against the couch. His eyes squeeze shut for a second, lips parting as another deep moan rumbles from his chest. “You’re so tight… so fucking wet around me.”
He sounds completely gone already— pussy whipped in the best way. The usually quiet, controlled Yoongi is unraveling right beneath you, and you haven’t even taken all of him yet. You sink lower, taking another inch, and his hips twitch up instinctively. “Shit— baby, you feel incredible,” he rasps, voice strained and hoarse. His hands fly to your waist, not pushing, just holding on like he needs the anchor. “So good… taking me so well. Look at you…”
Another long, shaky groan leaves him when you finally bottom out, your ass flush against his thighs, his cock buried to the hilt inside you. His breathing is ragged now, chest rising and falling rapidly. You can feel him throbbing deep inside, hot and heavy, stretching you perfectly. “Fuck… I’ve wanted this,” he confesses, the words tumbling out between heavy breaths. “Wanted to see you on top of me like this… wanted to feel you ride me. You’re so sexy, baby. So fucking sexy.”
You stay still for a moment, hands gripping the back of the couch tightly, adjusting to the new angle and the overwhelming fullness. Every little shift of your hips makes him groan again, loud, unrestrained sounds that go straight to your core. Yoongi looks utterly wrecked already: eyes half-lidded and dark with lust, mouth open as more soft, desperate noises fall from his lips.
He’s never been this vocal, never this lost in it, and the sight of him like this— because of you—makes heat coil tight in your belly. You love it. You love how he can’t hold back the sounds anymore, how every tiny movement from you pulls another moan or curse from him. Yoongi’s hands slide up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts as he looks up at you with pure reverence.
“Whenever you’re ready… babe,” he murmurs, voice husky and pleading again. “Please. I need to feel you move.”
You take a shaky breath, hands gripping the back of the couch tighter as you adjust to the deep, full stretch of him inside you. Yoongi’s cock feels even bigger in this position— thick and hot, pressing against every sensitive spot with no escape. The fullness is overwhelming in the best way, sending little sparks of pleasure radiating through your core with every tiny shift of your hips. Slowly, you begin to move.
You rise up carefully, feeling every inch of him drag along your walls as you lift until only the head remains inside you. The stretch when you sink back down is incredible, slow, deliberate, and devastating. You let yourself fall fully onto his cock, taking him to the hilt in one smooth drop. A soft, breathy moan escapes your own lips at the sensation, but it’s nothing compared to the sound that rips from Yoongi. “Fuuuck…” he groans, long and deep, the word breaking at the end. His head falls back against the couch again, eyes fluttering shut as his fingers dig into your waist. “Baby… just like that. God, you feel so good sliding down on me.”
The praise makes your stomach flutter. You repeat the motion— rising slowly, savoring the drag, then letting gravity pull you back down, impaling yourself on his thick length. Each time you bottom out, his cock nudges deep inside you, pressing right against that spot that makes your thighs tremble. The wet, obscene sound of your bodies meeting fills the quiet living room, mixing with the growing chorus of his sounds.
Yoongi’s hands slide from your waist down to find yours. He laces your fingers together, gripping both of your hands firmly in his. His palms are warm and slightly sweaty, thumbs stroking over the backs of your hands in a grounding rhythm even as his breathing grows more ragged.
You hold onto him like that, hands clasped tightly as you start to find a steady pace. Up and down, rolling your hips in a smooth, sensual rhythm that has pleasure building low in your belly. Every rise lets you feel the thick drag of him leaving you, every fall lets you feel the delicious stretch as he fills you completely again. The angle is perfect; his cock rubs against your front wall with every movement, and when you grind down at the bottom of each stroke, your clit presses against his pubic bone, sending sharp bursts of ecstasy through you. Yoongi’s groans grow louder, less controlled. “Shit… yes,” he rasps, squeezing your hands harder. “Ride me just like that. You’re taking me so deep… fuck, I can feel every inch of you.”
His hips start to buck up gently to meet your downward strokes, not taking over but adding to the rhythm, driving him even deeper. The new pressure makes stars burst behind your eyelids. You both moan together, your sounds mixing with his deeper, rougher ones. He’s completely lost in it now, no longer holding anything back. “Look at you…” he breathes, voice husky and reverent. His eyes are open again, locked on where your bodies connect, watching his cock disappear inside you with every fall.
You squeeze his hands tighter, using the leverage to bounce a little harder, finding a pace that has you both seeing stars. The couch creaks softly beneath you with every movement. Sweat beads on Yoongi’s chest, making his skin glisten in the low light, he looks up at you with dark, blown-out eyes. Every time you sink down, he lets out a broken groan or a whispered curse. “Right there— fuck, baby, right there…” When you rise up slowly, dragging along his length, he whines softly, the sound so needy it makes your walls clench around him. “Don’t stop… please don’t stop.”
You’re both panting now, the pace steady but building— rising and falling, grinding at the bottom of each stroke, hands clasped tightly together like an anchor. Pleasure coils tighter and tighter in your core, the stretch and fullness combined with the new freedom of being on top making everything feel more intense. Yoongi’s sounds keep feeding your own arousal, each groan and rasp pushing you closer to the edge. He squeezes your hands again, thumbs stroking desperately over your skin. “You’re gonna make me cum if you keep going like this,” he admits, voice strained and raw. “But don’t you dare slow down… I want to feel you fall apart on me first.”
You lean down slightly, lips brushing near his ear as you breathe out, voice soft but teasing, “Just like that, baby?” The words have an immediate effect. Yoongi’s eyes snap open wider, a low, guttural growl rumbling from deep in his chest. The sound is primal, nothing like the quiet grunts you’re used to. His fingers tighten around yours for a second before he suddenly releases your hands. Instead, his palms slide down to grip your hips firmly, fingers digging into the soft flesh with clear intent.
“Fuck yes… just like that,” he growls, voice rough and strained.
Before you can react, he plants his feet on the floor and starts thrusting up into you from below. The change is sudden and powerful— his hips snapping upward hard, driving his cock deep inside you with each powerful stroke. The new pace makes you bounce on his lap, breasts jiggling with every impact. The wet slap of skin against skin grows louder, echoing in the living room as he pounds into you relentlessly. You gasp sharply, hands flying to the back of the couch again for balance as he fucks you from below. Each thrust is deep and precise, the head of his cock hitting that perfect spot inside you over and over. The stretch feels even more intense now, your walls clenching around him with every forceful plunge.
Emboldened by his reaction, you keep talking, voice breaking with every hard thrust. “How does my pussy feel?” you ask breathlessly, the dirty words spilling out before you can overthink them. “Tell me, Yoongi… does it feel good?”
Another deep, animalistic growl tears from his throat. His grip on your hips tightens almost bruisingly as he pulls you down to meet his upward thrusts, impaling you harder on his cock. The pace turns punishing— fast, deep, desperate. The couch creaks loudly beneath you both from the force of his movements. “So fucking good,” he snarls, voice low and gravelly, eyes locked on yours with raw hunger. “Your pussy is so tight… so wet… sucking me in like it was made for me. Fuck— I’ve never felt anything this good.”
He punctuates his words with sharper thrusts, hips snapping up brutally. Each powerful stroke makes your head spin, pleasure crashing through you in waves. You can feel how deep he is, how perfectly he fills you, the slick sounds growing wetter and messier as you drip around his cock.
Yoongi’s breathing is ragged, mixed with constant growls and broken moans. “Keep talking to me, baby,” he demands, voice hoarse. “Tell me more… I want to hear you.”
You moan loudly, the sound genuine and unrestrained as he continues pounding into you from below. His hands guide your hips to meet his thrusts, the rhythm relentless. Sweat slicks both of your skins, making your bodies slide together hotly. His hair is completely damp now, sticking to his forehead, and his face is flushed with exertion and lust. You ride the wave of his thrusts, letting him take control from below while you still set the angle. “You’re so deep like this,” you gasp, voice trembling. “I can feel you everywhere… you’re gonna make me cum if you keep fucking me like this.”
Yoongi lets out another feral growl, hips stuttering for a moment before he doubles down, thrusting even harder. One of his hands slides from your hip to your ass, squeezing hard as he pulls you down onto his cock with every upward snap.
“Yeah? You like when I pound into you like this?” he rasps, eyes dark and wild. “My baby talking dirty now… fuck, it’s driving me insane.” The new dynamic has you both spiraling, your words pulling more sounds and filthy confessions from him, his powerful thrusts from below making stars explode behind your eyes. The pleasure is building fast and intense, your walls fluttering around his thick length with every brutal stroke. Yoongi looks completely lost in you, growling and groaning with every thrust, no longer holding back even a single sound.
Yoongi’s grip on your ass is bruising as he uses it for leverage, pulling you down onto his cock with every powerful upward thrust. He’s pounding into you from below with relentless force now, hips snapping up hard and fast, driving his thick length deep inside you over and over. The wet, filthy sound of skin slapping against skin fills the living room, mixing with his low, animalistic growls and your broken moans.
One of his hands stays firmly on your ass, squeezing and spreading you as he fucks up into you, while the other slides up your back, fingers digging into your skin. Every brutal stroke hits that perfect spot inside you, the angle making his cock rub against your front wall relentlessly. Pleasure coils tighter and tighter in your core, winding like a spring ready to snap. “Yoongi—fuck, I’m—” Your voice breaks as the orgasm crashes over you without warning.
Your entire body jolts violently on top of him. Your walls clamp down hard around his cock, pulsing and fluttering as waves of intense pleasure rip through you. Your thighs shake uncontrollably, toes curling, back arching sharply as you cry out. Bright sparks explode behind your eyelids. You grind down desperately against him, riding out every pulse, your slickness gushing around his length as you cum hard on his cock.
Yoongi groans loudly at the feeling, a deep, wrecked sound that vibrates through his chest, but he doesn’t let himself follow you over the edge. His thrusts slow just enough to help you ride it out, but his cock stays rock-hard and throbbing inside you, denying his own release.
The moment your shaking starts to ease, he moves.
In one swift, fluid motion, Yoongi pulls out of you, leaving you feeling devastatingly empty. You barely have time to whimper at the loss before he’s manhandling you with surprising strength. He flips you over the arm of the couch, bending you forward so your chest and stomach press against the soft cushions while your ass is raised high for him. Your knees sink into the seat, legs spread wide.
You gasp sharply as he grabs both of your arms, pulling them behind your back and pinning them there with one strong hand. The position leaves you completely exposed and at his mercy, breasts squished against the couch, cheek resting on the cushion.
Yoongi doesn’t give you a second to adjust.
He slams back into you in one hard, deep thrust, burying his cock to the hilt in your still-spasming pussy. The new angle is even deeper, stretching you wide and making your eyes roll back. A loud, broken moan tears from your throat at the sudden fullness. Then he starts fucking you hard and fast. His hips snap forward with brutal precision, pounding into you from behind like he’s lost all control. The sound of his pelvis slapping against your ass is loud and obscene, echoing through the room. Each powerful thrust rocks your entire body forward, the arm of the couch digging into your stomach as he rails you relentlessly.
“Fuck— yes,” he growls, voice rough and feral. His free hand grips your hip tightly, using it as leverage to pull you back onto his cock with every stroke. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? Me losing control… fucking you like this.”
You love it. You love every second of it.
The way he has your arms pinned behind your back makes you feel deliciously helpless, completely owned by him. Every hard thrust sends fresh sparks of pleasure shooting through you, your sensitive walls still fluttering from your orgasm. The new position hits even deeper, his cock dragging along every sensitive spot inside you. You’re moaning loudly, unrestrained, pushing your ass back to meet his thrusts as much as you can in this trapped position.
Yoongi’s sounds are constant now— deep, guttural growls, broken groans, and filthy words spilling from his lips with every slam of his hips. “God, your pussy is gripping me so tight,” he rasps, pounding harder. “So fucking wet… you came so hard on me and you’re still this greedy for more?”
He leans over you, chest pressing against your back, lips brushing your ear as he fucks you even faster, building another orgasm dangerously quickly. You’re trembling, moaning into the cushion, completely lost in the overwhelming pleasure of being taken so roughly, so desperately by him. Yoongi’s pace never falters— hard, fast, deep, his hand keeping your arms securely pinned while he claims you completely.
Yoongi is fucking you so hard that the entire couch shifts beneath you with every brutal thrust.
Your arms are still pinned behind your back by his strong grip, your body bent helplessly over the arm of the couch as he rails into you from behind. Each powerful snap of his hips drives his thick cock impossibly deep, the wet, obscene slap of skin against skin echoing loudly in the room. Your pussy is soaked, fluttering and clenching around him with every stroke, still sensitive from your first orgasm. The overwhelming pleasure has tipped over into something almost too intense — your moans have turned into broken sobs, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes as your body jolts forward with every thrust.
“Fuck… you’re taking me so well,” Yoongi growls, voice rough and strained, but he doesn’t slow down. His hips piston into you relentlessly, the head of his cock dragging against that perfect spot inside you over and over. “Look at you… sobbing on my cock. So fucking pretty.”
He leans closer, chest pressed hot against your back, lips brushing your ear as he keeps pounding into you. “Tell me, baby… whose pussy is this?”
You can barely form words through the sobs and moans tearing from your throat. Every hard thrust knocks the breath out of you, making your voice come out shaky and wrecked. “It’s yours,” you sob, the words breaking apart. “It’s yours… only yours, Yoongi— ahh!”
The moment the confession leaves your lips, his free hand comes down hard on your ass in a sharp smack. The sting blooms hot across your skin, making you cry out louder. He doesn’t stop there, smack after smack lands on your ass, alternating cheeks, each one timed perfectly with a deep thrust. The pain mixes deliciously with the pleasure, sending sparks shooting straight to your core.
Your ass burns under his palm, but you push back against him desperately, craving more. You’re losing yourself completely— mind hazy, body trembling, tears streaming down your face as he claims you so thoroughly. Yoongi growls in approval, landing one particularly hard smack that makes your whole body jolt. “That’s right. This pussy is mine. Only mine. No one else gets to feel how tight and wet you get.”
Then he releases your arms only to slide his hand up and fist tightly into your hair. He yanks your head back firmly, arching your back deeper as he slams into you over and over and over. The angle is devastating — his cock drives even deeper, pounding that sensitive spot with brutal precision. The pull on your scalp sends fresh waves of pleasure-pain through you, making your sobs turn into high, broken whimpers.
“Fuck—yes, just like that,” he snarls, hips snapping relentlessly. “Take it. Take every fucking inch.”
You’re completely lost now, body shaking violently as another orgasm builds fast and unstoppable. Your walls flutter wildly around his cock, clenching down hard as the pleasure crests.
“I’m— I’m cumming— Yoongi!” you sob loudly, the words dissolving into a broken cry.
Your second orgasm hits you even harder than the first. Your entire body convulses, pussy spasming and gushing around his thick length as waves of intense ecstasy crash through you. Your thighs shake uncontrollably, vision blurring with tears, sobs tearing from your throat as you cum hard on his cock, soaking him and the couch beneath you.
Yoongi follows right behind you.
A deep, trembling groan rips from his chest as his hips stutter. He slams into you one final time, burying himself to the hilt as he cums hard, thick ropes of hot cum spilling deep inside you. His whole body trembles against your back, muscles locking up as he pulses and fills you completely. Low, broken sounds keep falling from his lips— raw, unrestrained groans and shaky curses as he rides out his orgasm, hips grinding shallowly against your ass to push every last drop into you.
For a long moment, the only sounds in the room are your combined heavy breathing and soft, lingering whimpers. Yoongi’s grip on your hair loosens gently, his hand sliding down to stroke your back soothingly even as his cock continues to twitch inside you. His body is still trembling slightly against yours, sweat-slicked chest pressed to your back, heart hammering wildly.
He stays buried deep, both of you panting and shaking in the aftermath, the intensity of what just happened hanging heavy and electric in the air. His chest is still pressed to your back, heart pounding wildly against your skin. Then, slowly and carefully, he pulls out of you with a wet, slick sound. A soft whimper escapes your lips at the sudden emptiness and the gush of his cum that immediately starts leaking down your thighs.
Your body gives out completely.
You slump forward against the arm of the couch, completely spent, limbs heavy and boneless. Your cheek presses into the soft cushion, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. Every muscle feels deliciously used— your thighs still quivering, your ass warm and stinging from his smacks, your pussy pulsing with the aftershocks of two intense orgasms. Tears of overwhelming pleasure still cling to your lashes, and your breathing comes in shaky, ragged gasps.
You hear Yoongi move behind you, his footsteps soft on the floor. He disappears for a moment, then returns with a warm, damp cloth. Gently, almost reverently, he cleans you up — wiping away the mess of your combined releases from between your thighs, along your folds, and down your legs with careful strokes. His touch is soothing now, completely different from the rough way he’d handled you just minutes ago. The warm cloth feels heavenly against your overheated skin.
When he’s done, he helps you shift off the arm of the couch and onto the cushions properly. You curl onto your side, still breathing hard, body limp and glowing. Yoongi grabs the glass of water from earlier (the one that had been forgotten on the coffee table) and refills it in the kitchen before coming back. He sits on the edge of the couch and carefully helps you sit up just enough to take a few slow sips. The cool water slides down your throat, soothing and refreshing.
You look up at him through heavy-lidded eyes as he sets the glass aside. Yoongi’s hair is a complete mess, damp strands sticking to his forehead. His cheeks are still flushed, chest rising and falling with deep breaths, but his expression has softened completely— those sharp eyes now warm and full of affection as he looks at you. “That was…” you start, voice hoarse and wrecked from all the moaning and sobbing. You swallow, a small, tired smile tugging at your lips. “That was the best sex I’ve ever had in my entire life.”
Yoongi lets out a soft, breathless laugh, the sound low and warm. He leans down and presses a tender kiss to your forehead, then to the tip of your nose, and finally to your lips— slow, gentle, and full of love. His hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing away the last traces of tears. “Yeah,” he murmurs against your mouth, voice still a little raspy. “Me too, baby. Best I’ve ever had. Hands down.”
He kisses you again, deeper this time but still so tender, lips moving softly against yours like he’s pouring every ounce of his feelings into it. When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours, eyes closed for a moment as he savors the closeness.
“I love you,” he whispers, the words quiet but heavy with meaning. “So much. And I’m sorry I held back for so long. I never want you to doubt how crazy you make me… how much you affect me.”
You smile tiredly, reaching up to thread your fingers through his messy hair. “I love you too. And I’m glad you finally let go. It was… everything.” Yoongi hums softly in agreement, shifting so he can lie down on the couch and pull you into his arms. He tucks you against his chest, one arm wrapped securely around your waist while his other hand strokes slow, soothing patterns up and down your back. His skin is still warm, heart beating steady beneath your ear now that the intensity has faded.
The living room is quiet again, the TV long forgotten, only the sound of your slowing breaths and the faint hum of the apartment filling the space. You feel safe, cherished, and thoroughly satisfied— the earlier insecurities completely washed away by the way he just proved exactly how much you mean to him. Yoongi presses another soft kiss to the top of your head, holding you close as you both come down together, bodies tangled and hearts even closer.
genre: angst, hurt w/comfort (i'm not a monster cmon), established relationship, nonidol!au
word count: 10.7k
warnings: no use of y/n, mentions of alcohol, miscommunication (again!), possessive!wooyo, soft dom!wooyo, also whiny wooyo, pronebone!!!!!, praise kink, make up sex, unprotected sex (wrap before you tap!), p in v, mating press (kinda), multiple o's, fingering, oral, felching, breath play, spit play/spit as a means for lube, creampie, cockwarming, slight choking (?), mutual masturbation, body worship, breeding kink (mentioned like once tbh), a little bit of edging, emotional sex (he cries, her kitty did too), overstimulation / lmk if i missed any!
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author's note: based on this request! i lowkey went overboard and got carried away with the makeup sex but who's going to complaing if their steak is too juicy and the lobster too buttery, yk? :p i hope you enjoy this my love @moilele <333
permanent taglist: @norixseaweed @f3mboienjoyer @liightlizard @minguxxs @mourninglizzy + if you want to be added to my taglist, let me know :))
The key turns in the lock at 1:47 AM. You’ve been staring at the clock for so long the numbers have burned into your vision, following you even when you close your eyes. The candlelight dinner you prepared hours ago has congealed on the table, the wax from the candles having melted into sad, misshapen puddles.
When Wooyoung stumbles through the door, the smell hits you first—sharp, medicinal, unmistakably alcohol—before you even see his face. He’s loosening his tie with one hand, the other gripping the doorframe for balance. He tries to toe off his shoes and only manages to get one halfway off before giving up. He lets the other one fall with a thud, then drops his battered work bag into the hallway, not caring if it blocks the door or if either of you end up tripping over it later.
“Hey,” he mumbles, not quite meeting your eyes. “What are you doing still awake?”
You don’t answer immediately. You just watch him, this man who hasn’t texted you in nine hours, who left you sitting here with a heart that sank deeper into your chest with each passing minute. The silence stretches between you, taut as a wire.
“You didn’t answer your phone,” you finally say. Your voice comes out steadier than you expected, a calm that doesn’t match the storm inside.
Wooyoung blinks, processing your words through the alcohol fog. “Sorry, we were out at the bar. The project…” He waves his hand vaguely. “It went really well. Everyone was—”
“Celebrating,” you finish for him. Your eyes drift to the table behind you, the two plates still set with the meal you spent three hours preparing. The anniversary cake you ordered sits untouched in its box, the words “One Year” now barely visible through the condensation that’s gathered on the lid.
It hits you then, with a clarity that makes your stomach drop. He doesn’t remember.
“Look, I know I’m sorry that I’m late again,” Wooyoung says, finally noticing your expression. “Things got crazy at the office. You know babe, the promotion, it’s—”
“Do you know what day it is?” you ask quietly.
He frowns, clearly trying to think through his drunken haze. “Uhh Tuesday?”
The silence that follows is deafening. You watch the realization slowly dawn on his face, the way his eyes widen slightly, the way his mouth opens then closes without sound.
“Shit,” he whispers. “Oh fuck…”
“You forgot our anniversary.” It’s not a question.
“I didn’t—”Wooyoung runs a hand through his hair, his movements still uncoordinated. “The project deadline was today. We’ve been working toward this for weeks, you know that. And then everyone wanted to go out, and I couldn’t just—”
“Couldn’t just text me? Couldn’t just call to say you’d be late?” Your voice rises slightly, despite your efforts to keep it steady. “I sat here for hours, Wooyoung. I thought something happened to you. I called your friends, hell I even called your office phone.”
“I’m fine,” he says, and there’s an edge to his voice now, defensive. “I’m right here. Everything’s fine.”
“Everything is not fine.” You stand up, needing the distance between you. “You’ve been working non-stop for weeks. You come home exhausted, barely speaking to me, and now you can’t even remember our anniversary?”
Wooyoung sighs, the sound heavy with exhaustion and frustration. “I’m doing this for us, you know that—”
“Stop,” you cut him off. “Stop saying that. I’m not asking you to quit your job, Wooyoung. I’m asking you to be present. To remember that I exist when you’re not at work.”
He looks at you then, really looks at you, and for a moment you see the man you fell in love with—the one who used to notice when you changed your hair, who used to call just to hear your voice. But then his expression hardens again.
“You don’t understand the pressure I’m under,” he says, his voice tight. “This isn’t just about me. It’s about our future.”
“Our future?” You let out a humourless laugh. “What fucking future? I barely see you anymore. When was the last time we had an actual conversation that wasn’t about how tired you are?”
“I’m trying to build something for us.”
“No, you’re building something for yourself and calling it ‘us’ to make yourself feel better.” The words spill out before you can stop them, raw and honest in a way that makes your chest ache. “I feel like you only love me when it’s convenient for you. When you have the time and energy.”
Wooyoung’s face darkens. “That’s not fair.”
“Isn’t it?” You step closer, needing him to see, to understand. “When was the last time you asked how I was doing? When was the last time you noticed anything about my life that wasn’t directly related to yours?”
“I’m under a lot of stress right now, baby.”
“We’re all under stress, Wooyoung. That’s not an excuse to disappear on your girlfriend.”
The room falls silent. Wooyoung’s shoulders are tense, his jaw clenched. You can see the exhaustion etched into every line of his face, the dark circles under his eyes that have been there for weeks. Part of you wants to reach out, to comfort him, but the hurt is too fresh, too deep.
“I’m doing my best,” he says finally, his voice quieter now. “I’m trying to balance everything.”
“Your best isn’t good enough.” The words hang in the air between you, sharp and painful. “Not when your best means I spend our anniversary wondering if you’re lying dead in a ditch somewhere because you couldn’t be bothered to send a text.”
Wooyoung flinches. “That’s not—”
“Do you have any idea what it’s like?” Your voice breaks. “To sit here, watching the clock, imagining all the worst possible scenarios because the man I love can’t remember I exist?”
“I do remember you exist,” he says, and there’s frustration in his voice now. “I think about you all the time. I’m doing all of this for you.”
“For me?” You laugh, the sound hollow. “This isn’t for me, Wooyoung. I never asked for any of this. I asked for you. Not this stressed-out stranger who comes home at midnight and falls asleep on the couch.”
He’s silent for a long moment, and you can see him struggling, the alcohol and exhaustion making it hard for him to find the right words. When he finally speaks, his voice is strained.
“Maybe this is the real me,” he says. “Maybe this is who I am now and you just don’t like what you see.”
The words hit you like a physical blow. You take a step back, your breath catching in your throat. You shake your head, denying the words that came out of his mouth.
“That’s not true,” you whisper.
“Isn’t it?” Wooyoung’s voice rises, matching your earlier statement, fuelled by frustration and alcohol. “Because it seems like nothing I do is ever good enough for you. I’m either working too much or not making enough money or not paying enough attention—”
“I’ve never said that.”
“You don’t have to say it. I can see it in your face every time I come home late. Every time I’m too tired to talk.” He runs his hand through his hair again, the gesture agitated. “Maybe you should just find someone who can give you what you want, since apparently I can’t.”
The silence that follows is absolute. You stare at him, unable to believe the words that just came out of his mouth. Wooyoung looks just as shocked as you feel, his eyes widening as he realizes what he’s said.
“Wait… shit no that’s not what I meant…” he starts, but you cut him off.
“You want me to leave?” Your voice is barely audible.
“No, I didn’t mean…“ Wooyoung takes a step toward you, but you back away. “I’m sorry, I’m drunk and exhausted and I didn’t—”
“You meant it,” you say. There’s no anger in your voice now, just a deep, bone-weary sadness. “Maybe not all of it, but part of it.”
He doesn’t deny it. The silence stretches between you, filled with everything that’s been left unsaid for weeks.
“I need to be alone,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. The words hang between you, a barrier neither of you has the strength to cross. “I can’t do this right now.”
Wooyoung opens his mouth to respond, but you’re already moving, already turning away from the wreckage of your anniversary night. You don’t look back as you walk down the hallway to your bedroom—the bedroom that was supposed to be shared, not a place of retreat. The door clicks shut behind you with a finality that makes your chest ache.
In the darkness of your room, you press your back against the door and slide down until you’re sitting on the floor. Your shoulders shake with silent sobs you refuse to let him hear. The anniversary card you’d written him earlier sits on your nightstand, the words inside now feeling hollow and foolish.
Time passes. You don’t know how long you sit there, but eventually, you stand on trembling legs and change into your sleep clothes. The bed feels too big, too empty. You lie on your side, staring at the empty space where Wooyoung should be, and wait for sleep that doesn’t come. An hour passes. Maybe two. Your anger has cooled to a dull ache in your chest, but sleep still eludes you. Finally, you slip out of bed, needing water, needing to move.
The living room is dark except for the faint glow of the streetlights filtering through the blinds. And there he is—Wooyoung, slumped on the couch, still in his work clothes, one arm thrown over his eyes. Even in the dim light, you can see the tear tracks on his face, the dark stain on the cushion beneath his cheek.
Your heart constricts. Despite everything—despite the anger, despite the hurt—you still love him. You still care.
You move silently to the kitchen, filling a glass with water and grabbing the bottle of aspirin from the cabinet. Your movements are careful, deliberate, as you place them on the coffee table beside him. You don’t wake him. You don’t say a word.
Instead, you stand there for a moment, watching the rise and fall of his chest. Even in sleep, his face is troubled, his brow furrowed. You want to smooth the lines away, to tell him everything will be okay. But you can’t. Not yet.
So you do the only thing you can. You take care of him, silently, the way you’ve always done. Because even when he forgets, even when he’s lost in his own world of stress and ambition, you remember. You remember the man you fell in love with, the one who’s still in there somewhere, buried under exhaustion and pressure.
You pull the throw blanket from the back of the couch and drape it carefully over him. Your fingers brush against his hair, just once, so lightly he doesn’t stir.
Then you turn and walk away, back to the bedroom that feels emptier than it should. You climb into bed alone, the space beside you cold and untouched. You wonder if this is how relationships begin to break—not through lack of love, but through all the ways people fail to hold onto each other when life becomes too heavy. Sleep comes eventually, but it’s fitful, troubled by dreams of a future that feels increasingly uncertain.
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Wooyoung wakes slowly to the dull throb of a splitting headache and a sharp ache running down his neck. The couch digs painfully into his back, one arm numb from the awkward angle he’d fallen asleep in. For a few disoriented seconds, he just stares at the ceiling, blinking against the pale morning light filtering through the apartment. Then last night hits him all at once. The argument. Your tears. The look on your face when he realized what day it was.
With a quiet groan, he pushes himself upright, rubbing a hand over his face. That’s when he notices the blanket draped carefully over him. The glass of water sitting on the coffee table beside two aspirin. His chest tightens. You took care of him anyway. Even after everything.
Wooyoung stares at the medicine for a long moment before letting out a weak, humourless laugh under his breath. “Fuck,” he mutters hoarsely, guilt crawling up his throat.
He swallows the aspirin dry before forcing himself to stand, exhaustion still heavy in his limbs. The apartment is quiet as he makes his way toward the bedroom, each step slower than the last, like he’s afraid of what he’ll find on the other side of the door. He eases it open carefully. You’re asleep, curled toward his side of the bed even though it stayed empty all night. In the soft morning light, he notices the tear tracks dried against your cheeks immediately, and something inside him caves in at the sight. His own eyes still burn from last night, raw and swollen in a way he knows mirrors yours. For a moment, he just stands there in silence, looking at you. At the woman who still tucked a blanket around him after he forgot about your anniversary. After he hurt you. Wooyoung closes his eyes briefly, jaw tightening.
He closes the door to your shared bedroom and makes his way to the kitchen. He quietly reaches for his phone and silences the alarm for work before typing out a lengthy message to his boss with determined fingers. Nothing at work feels more important than this anymore.
He had to fix this.
══════════════════
Your eyes open to the empty space beside you, the pillow still perfectly fluffed, untouched. Of course he’s already gone. The realization settles in your chest like a stone. You lie there for a moment, the events of last night crashing back with brutal clarity. The forgotten anniversary. The heartbreak that ensued. The fight. The words that can’t be unsaid. You press the heels of your hands against your eyes, forcing the tears to remain at bay.
Then you hear it—the soft clink of dishes from the kitchen.
Your heart stutters. You freeze, listening. There it is again—the unmistakable sound of someone moving around in the kitchen. The one that should be empty right now. Panic rises in your throat. He’s still here. Wooyoung is still here, and you have no idea what to say to him after everything that happened. After everything you both said.
You sit up slowly, your body heavy with emotional exhaustion. The floor is cold beneath your feet as you pad toward the bedroom door. Your hand hesitates on the doorknob. What will you see when you open it? Will he be packing his things? Will he be waiting to tell you it’s over?
The door creaks as you pull it open. The hallway seems longer than usual as you make your way toward the kitchen. With each step, your anxiety grows, a tight knot in your chest that makes it hard to breathe.
And then you see him.
Wooyoung stands at the counter, his back to you. He’s still wearing the same clothes from last night, rumpled and wrinkled. His hair is a mess, sticking up at odd angles. He moves slowly, methodically, as if each action requires immense concentration.
“Aren’t you going to work?” The words slip out before you can stop them, your voice hoarse from crying.
Wooyoung turns, and the sight of him makes your breath catch. His eyes are bloodshot, his face pale. He looks like he hasn’t slept at all, like he’s been carrying the weight of your argument with him through the long night.
“I told them I wasn’t coming in today or for the rest of the week,” he says simply.
The words hang in the air between you. You stare at him, trying to process what this means. Wooyoung never calls in. He’s the type who goes to work with a fever of 102, who works through weekends and holidays without complaint.
“What? Why?” you ask, the question barely audible.
Wooyoung sets down the cup he’s been holding. His knuckles turned white as he gripped onto the glass tighter. “I already lost enough time with you yesterday. I’m not about to just leave you here alone, again.”
The simplicity of his words hits you like a physical blow. You lean against the doorframe, suddenly weak. The kitchen table is set—two plates, two mugs, the breakfast you used to make together on weekend mornings. The silence that follows is thick with everything left unsaid. You watch as he turns back to the counter, his shoulders slumped with exhaustion. There’s a vulnerability in his posture you haven’t seen in months—the confident, ambitious man you’ve been watching slip away replaced by someone unsure, someone hurting.
“I’m sorry,” he says finally, still facing away from you. “For everything I said last night. For making you feel like you don’t matter to me.” He turns to face you, and the raw emotion in his eyes makes your chest ache. “You matter more than anything, and I’ve been acting like you don’t.”
You want to go to him, to bridge the distance between you, but your feet feel rooted to the spot. “And the rest?” you ask. “What you said about me finding someone else?”
Wooyoung’s face crumples. “I didn’t mean any of that stupid shit. I was an idiot and said the most hurtful thing I could think of because I was angry at myself, not at you. What I said to you was inexcusable.” He runs a hand through his hair, the gesture agitated. “I was so terrified of failing you that I ended up failing you anyway.”
The truth of his words settles over you. You step into the kitchen, moving toward him slowly, giving him the chance to retreat if he wants to. He doesn’t.
“I don’t want someone else,” you say quietly. “I want you. Not the version of you that’s so caught up in work he forgets we exist. That I exist.”
Wooyoung’s eyes filled with tears. “I’ve been so focused on building a future for us that I forgot to be present in our now.” He takes a step toward you. “I’m so sorry. I don’t expect you to forgive me right away or ever but—God, I fucked up so bad.”
You look at the breakfast he’s prepared—eggs perfectly set, toast golden, the smell of coffee already doing something to the tension in your shoulders. He’s always been a better cook than you. You’d forgotten that, somehow, in the wreckage of last night.
“Come here,” you say softly.
He crosses the kitchen in three quick strides, and then his arms are around you, holding you so tightly it’s almost painful. You can feel him trembling, feel the way his heart hammers against your cheek. Your face tucks just under his chin, and you feel the warm wetness of tears landing soft in your hair.
“I love you,” he whispers, the words muffled against your hair. “I love you so much, and I’m so sorry I made you doubt that.”
You hold him just as tightly, your own tears spilling over. “I love you too,” you mumble against his chest. “Don’t shut me out like that again, You know I’m always here for you.”
Wooyoung pulls back, his hands coming up to cradle your face. His thumbs brush away your tears with a gentleness that makes your heart ache. “I know,” he says. “I’ll do better for you. For us. Today, tomorrow, and however long as it takes.”
He leans forward and presses his forehead against yours. “Can I show you something?” You nod.
“I got you something,” he says. “I remembered that I had a whole elaborate plan to give this to you.” He exhales, something between a laugh and a sob. “Then I got the promotion news and I just—I let that take over everything. Your gift has been sitting in my bag for two weeks while I was out celebrating myself.” He shakes his head. “I made our anniversary about me. I’m such an idiot.”
“Yeah, the biggest idiot of all time.”
He lets out a small chuckle, a hint of guilt and sadness follow the hollow laugh. A flicker of something hopeful crosses his exhausted face. “Can I still give it to you?”
You look up at him. “Of course.”
Wooyoung’s face lights up with a small, tentative smile. He takes your hand and leads you to the living room. You both sink into the couch where he spent the night, your shoulders touching. His work bag sits on the floor beside it. He reaches down and pulls out a small velvet box.
Your breath catches.
“It’s not what you think,” he says quickly, seeing your expression. “Not yet, anyway.” He opens the box to reveal a delicate silver bracelet, with a small charm hanging from it—a tiny compass.
“It’s so you always find your way back to me,” he explains, his voice soft. “Even when I’m being a complete dumbass.”
You look from the bracelet to his face, seeing the hope and fear mingled in his eyes. This is what you fell in love with—not the ambitious, driven man who works too much, but this man who’s vulnerable enough to admit when he’s wrong, who’s brave enough to try to fix what he’s broken.
“It’s beautiful,” you say, holding out your wrist.
As Wooyoung fastens the bracelet with trembling fingers, you realize that healing won’t happen overnight. There will be more conversations, more difficult moments as you both learn to balance his career with your relationship. But as his hand finds yours, the bracelet cool against your skin, you know you’re willing to try.
Because some things are worth fighting for. Some people are worth the struggle. And this man—flawed and imperfect but trying, always trying—is one of them.
“I should have called,” he says finally, his voice quiet in the morning stillness. “I should have texted. I kept thinking about it, but then someone would pull me into another conversation, and I’d get distracted, and then...” He trails off, shaking his head. “That’s no excuse.”
“No, it’s not,” you agree, but there’s no anger in your voice now. Just bone-deep weariness.
Wooyoung’s shoulders slump. He looks smaller somehow, diminished by his own guilt. “I’ve been so focused on proving myself at work that I forgot to be present here. With you.” His eyes find yours, red-rimmed and sincere. “I’m drowning, and instead of asking for help, I’ve been pulling you under with me.”
Your chest tightens at his words. You’ve been so wrapped up in your own hurt that you haven’t fully considered his perspective. “Why didn’t you tell me you were struggling?” you ask softly.
He lets out a shaky breath. “Because I was supposed to be the strong one. The one who had it all figured out.” His voice cracks. “I didn’t want you to see how overwhelmed I was. How scared I am that I won’t be enough.”
The admission hangs in the air between you. You reach for his hand, your fingers hesitantly brushing against his. He turns his palm up, letting you take it.
“I’m sorry too,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “For being so accusatory last night. For making you doubt that your best wasn’t enough. And for dismissing the fact that you work so immensely hard to provide for us.”
Wooyoung looks up, surprise evident in his eyes.
“I was angry,” you continue, “but I was also terrified. Every time you came home late without calling, I imagined the worst. And then I’d feel so stupid when you finally texted, like I was being dramatic or clingy.”
“You’re not,” he says firmly. “You were right to be worried. I’ve been a completely inconsiderate asshole.”
You squeeze his hand. “And I said things I didn’t mean. About you not loving me.” The words are hard to say, hard to admit. “I know that’s not true. I just... I missed you. I missed us.”
A tear slips down Wooyoung’s cheek. “I’ve missed us too,” he admits. “I’ve been so caught up in work that I forgot how to be a person. How to be your person.”
You shift closer to him on the couch, the gap between you narrowing. Your free hand reaches up to brush away his tear, your touch tentative, questioning. He leans into it, his eyes closing briefly.
“I’m going to do better,” he promises. “I’ve already talked to my boss about setting better boundaries. About leaving work at a reasonable hour, about not checking emails at home.” He opens his eyes, looking at you with such intensity it makes your breath catch. “You deserve more than the scraps of time and attention I’ve been giving you.”
“What if you can’t?” you ask, voicing the fear that’s been haunting you. “What if work pulls you back in?”
Wooyoung’s expression turns determined. “Then I’ll walk away. Find something else. Because nothing is worth losing you over.” He brings your joined hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “Nothing.”
Your vision blurs with fresh tears. “I don’t want you to give up your career for me.”
“I’m not,” he assures you. “I’m choosing our relationship. Choosing you. The career is just a job. I can be replaced at any given moment but you? You’re my whole life. You’re irreplaceable.”
The words wash over you, healing some of the hurt that’s been festering. You move closer still, until your knees are touching, until you can feel the warmth of him beside you.
“I love you,” you say simply. “Even when you’re being an idiot and forgetting our anniversary.”
A watery laugh escapes him. “I love you too. I’m your idiot, though.”
Your hand finds its way to his face, cupping his cheek. His stubble is rough against your palm, grounding you in this moment. He turns his head slightly, pressing a kiss to your palm, his eyes never leaving yours.
“Can I kiss you?” he asks, his voice raw with emotion.
You nod, unable to form words around the lump in your throat.
Wooyoung leans forward slowly, giving you time to pull away if you want to. You don’t. When his lips meet yours, it’s like coming home after a long journey. There’s relief in the touch, and longing, and a deep, abiding affection that transcends the hurt of the past weeks.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers against your lips. “I’m so sorry.”
His kisses move to your cheek, to the corner of your eye where tears still linger. “I’ll do better,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin.
You tilt your head, giving him access to your neck, where he presses soft, apologetic kisses. “I know you will,” you whisper, your fingers tangling in his hair.
Wooyoung pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes searching yours. “I don’t deserve you,” he says. “But I’m going to spend every day trying to be worthy of you.”
You shake your head. “You already are. You just got lost for a while.”
He pulls you into his arms, holding you against his chest. You can hear his heartbeat, steady and strong beneath your ear. His hand strokes your hair, gentle and soothing.
“I was so scared,” you admit, the words muffled against his shirt. “That we were falling apart, and I didn’t know how to stop it.”
His arms tighten around you. “We’re not falling apart,” he promises. “We’re just... learning how to be together in a new way. With new challenges.”
You look up at him, seeing the determination in his eyes. “Together,” you repeat. “That’s the important part.”
Wooyoung nods, pressing another kiss to your forehead. “Together. Always.”
The breakfast he made sits forgotten on the table, growing cold. But you don’t mind. There will be other breakfasts, other mornings. Right now, all that matters is this—the two of you, holding onto each other, finding your way back to what matters most.
“I think,” Wooyoung says after a while, his voice soft with sleepiness and emotion, “that since i took a few days off we could spend more time together. Just us. No work, no distractions.”
You raise an eyebrow. “You? Taking time off? Who are you and what have you done with my workaholic boyfriend?”
He laughs, the sound warming you from the inside out. “I’ve been replaced by someone with better priorities.” His expression turns serious. “I mean it, though. We need this. I need this. To remember that I have a lot of making up to do.”
The idea is tempting. “And how would you do that, hm?”
“I could think of one way right now,” he murmurs, his voice dropping to a low, intimate timbre that sends a shiver down your spine.
Before you can respond, Wooyoung stands and scoops you into his arms, his movements surprisingly fluid despite his exhaustion. You gasp, instinctively wrapping your arms around his neck as he carries you toward your bedroom—your shared bedroom that’s been missing his presence for far too long.
“Wooyoung,” you breathe, your heart racing as he pushes the door open with his foot. “Put me down! I could’ve walked to the bedroom too, idiot.”
“Sorry princess. I couldn't help myself,” he says, his eyes dark with desire as he lays you gently on the bed.
He climbs onto the bed beside you, his weight making the mattress dip. For a moment, he just looks at you, his expression a mixture of reverence and hunger that makes your breath catch.
“Missed you,” he whispers, his hand coming up to trace the line of your jaw. “So much.”
You reach for him, pulling him down into a kiss that’s deeper than before, more urgent. His lips move against yours with a desperation that speaks volumes about the distance that’s grown between you. You can taste the salt of dried tears on his skin, feel the slight tremble in his hands as they slide down to your waist.
You fist your hands in the crisp fabric of his shirt. The buttons press sharp and insistent against your chest, and you tug at them, desperate, fumbling until the first one gives. He groans, shifting so he can help, pulling away just enough to make quick work of the rest. The shirt falls open, exposing him to the morning light, the edges of his collarbone flushed and vulnerable.
Your breath hitches—you’d forgotten, somehow, how beautiful he is like this. His body is lean but not slight, muscle hugging bone and sinew in all the right places. You drag your hand along the inside of his forearm, tracing the thick black lines of the rose inked from his wrist to the curve before his elbow. You glide over the leaves and thorns, half-expecting the tattoo to prickle beneath your touch. He shudders, eyes hooded, drinking in the sight of you devouring him.
You slide your palm up, across his biceps, his shoulder—mapping every inch, reacquainting yourself with the geography of him. His chest heaves, the faint dusting of hair there rising as you scrape your nails down to his abs. You can’t help but smile a little at how his stomach tenses, how he jerks when you reach the sensitive dip above his hips. He grabs your hand, bringing it to his mouth, kissing each knuckle in apology and in thanks. He’s trembling with wanting, with relief, and you want to swallow it whole.
You pull him closer, reaching up to slide the shirt off his shoulders. It pools at his elbows, then falls away, leaving him naked from the waist up. He presses you into the mattress, his lips everywhere at once—your jaw, your neck, the hollow at your collarbone. His hands are greedy, slipping under your shirt, seeking skin, worshipping you as if you’re the only thing in the world that makes sense.
Wooyoung’s fingers curl into the soft cotton of your sleep shirt as though he’s gathering every ounce of courage in his body to peel away not only the fabric but the distance he’s put between you. The morning light filters through gauzy curtains, illuminating the swirl of dust motes in the air and casting a gentle glow over your skin. He pauses, breath catching as he drinks you in—every freckle on your shoulder, every rise and fall of your chest—before tugging the shirt up and over your head in one smooth, practiced motion. The cool air of the room grazes your bare skin, sending a shiver through you as the light catches the gentle pebbling of your nipples and the subtle flex of your stomach muscles.
He chases away the chill, warm palms gliding up your sides, fingertips tracing the lines of your ribs, thumbs circling the soft shadows beneath your breasts as if to reassure himself that you are real—solid and here.
“W-Wooyoung,” you breathe out, barely more than a tremor in the air, but it hits him like a bullet: his gaze snaps up, blown wide and hungry, jaw tensing so hard you can see the cords in his neck stand out.
“Hmm?”
He sounds dazed, already gone for you. He searches your face for a clue, a hint of what you want, even as his hands keep moving—roaming your waist, palming the flare of your hips, stroking reverent up and down your spine. You shudder, skin prickling everywhere he touches. Then, with a slow, deliberate shift, you arch your back and hook your thumbs into the waistband of your underwear—your last layer—and drag them down, inch by inch, teasing yourself as much as him. You kick them off, letting them flutter to the floor, and stretch out on your stomach, arms reaching above your head, pressing your cheek into the pillow. You tilt your hips up, highlighting the bare swell of your ass, lush and expectant, every inch of you primed for him. The effect is instantaneous. He groans, low and feral in the back of his throat, his cock straining visibly against the thin grey of his sweats.
“What are you doing, baby?” he chokes, voice ragged, eyes glued to the sight of you so shamelessly presenting for him.
You glance back lazily over your shoulder, lips parted, smile hazy and filthy. “Lay on top of me.” Your voice drips with need, teasing, coaxing, as your ass shifts again, the jiggle intentional, sinful.
His adam's apple bobs, eyes glued to the way you’re presenting yourself to him, pussy glistening and waiting. He sits frozen for a second, maybe trying to get his breath back, maybe just marvelling at how good you look, spread out and waiting.
“Bet."
Then he’s on you, crawling up the bed with a focused intent that sends another thrill through you. “Up,” he murmurs, tapping your hip. You lift obediently and he slides a pillow beneath you, angling your hips up off the mattress before he kneels behind you, pushes your thighs apart with strong hands, trapping your legs beneath his as he blankets your body. His heat, heavy and suffocating in the best way, seeps into your skin. Your cheek sinks into the sheets; you can smell your own slick in the air, feel the pulse of anticipation between your thighs. He leans in, lips skimming up your spine, worshipping every vertebrae, every goosebump and dimple, before he settles his weight against your back, pinning you down and making you feel tiny beneath him.
You can’t help it: you reach back, grab at the waistband of his slacks, desperate to feel more of him. Your fingers brush the rigid outline of his cock and he shudders, hips jerking, the tip already wetting a dark stain into the fabric. He lets you tug down his pants, lifting his hips just enough to help you get them over his ass, down his thighs, clumsy and urgent. As soon as they’re off, he kicks them away, a brief chill racing up your legs before he covers you again, hotter and needier than before. You’re both trembling—maybe from nerves, maybe from how badly you need each other.
“Please,” he moans, the word nearly a whimper, as you wrap your hand around the bulge beneath his boxers, feeling him throb in your grip. He’s so hard it almost hurts, and when you pull the waistband down and finally set him free, he gasps, forehead dropping onto your shoulder. His cock springs out, thick and flushed, the head angry red and already leaking.
“Jesus,” you hear yourself say, voice thick with awe. “Someone’s a little eager.” He laughs, shaky, like he’ll fall apart if he doesn’t.
“You have no fucking idea.”
His hand traces your thigh, kneading your flesh, fingers digging in with just enough pressure to bruise. You feel how much he needs you in every trembling touch. He cups your ass, squeezing and spreading, and then lets his hand drift lower, fingers ghosting along your slit. You’re soaked—embarrassingly so—and he groans when he feels it, slicking his fingers through you, teasing your entrance with featherlight touches. Your hips buck back, desperate for more, but he holds you firmly in place, taking his time, savoring the way you writhe under him.
“Are you gonna make me beg?” you pant, rutting against his hand.
He presses a kiss to your shoulder blade, voice thick and broken. “I want to hear you say you need me.”
“You already know I do.”
“Say it anyway.” His tongue flicks your earlobe, his words vibrating in your chest.
“I need you, Wooyoung. Please.”
The words tumble out, more desperate than you mean them to, but you don’t care. You want him—need him—so bad it’s physically painful. He lines himself up at your entrance, the heat of his cock a brand against your skin. But he doesn’t push in—not yet. He grinds the tip against your folds, smearing his precum through your wetness, teasing you with shallow thrusts that never quite give you what you want. You sob into the pillow, body arching, entirely at his mercy.
“God, look at you,” he whispers. “You’re so perfect. Fuck, I don’t deserve you.”
“Yes you do.” The words are a gasp, but you mean them. Even after everything, you want to give him this.
You want to give him everything.
He’s shaking, whole body vibrating with the effort of holding back, not just rutting into you like an animal. “Is this okay?” he asks, voice so weighted with emotion it almost makes you cry. “Tell me you want this. Tell me you want me.”
“I want you,” you say, “I always want you. I want you right now, more than anything.”
He lets out a choked breath, as if you’ve released him from a terrible spell. “Fuck, yes.” He buries his face in the curve of your neck, breath hot and ragged. You feel the tip of his cock press against your entrance, stretching you slowly, inch by inch as he slides in.
The stretch is sweet, burning, perfect. You moan, the sound loud and raw, echoing off the walls of your shared bedroom. He fills you up, deeper than you remember, and it feels like coming home after a long, cold exile. You clench around him, savouring the drag, the friction, the pulse of his heartbeat through the thickness of his cock. He starts to move, slow at first, drawing out each withdrawal and thrust so you feel every centimetre, every ridge and vein. His hands on your waist are trembling, sometimes gripping too hard and then letting go, as if he’s afraid to hurt you, afraid to let go of this moment. You arch your back, pushing yourself up into him, greedy for more.
“Harder,” you urge. “Fuck me harder."
He whimpers, hips stuttering, and then sets a punishing pace, hips snapping forward to drive into you with every ounce of pent up longing he’s been carrying. The mattress creaks, the headboard smacks the wall. He’s so big, so deep, so desperate, and you love it.
“Don’t… fuck– say that shit,” he whines, his voice cracking. “Y’feel so good, so fucking tight.”
You arch back, meeting his thrusts, loving the way he loses control. His need for you is unfiltered, all-consuming, and you drink it like oxygen. He sets a rhythm, fast and merciless, hips slamming into you so hard it feels like a punishment, but you crave it, need it, want him to fuck you so hard you forget the argument and only memorise the feeling of him inside you. The slapping sound of skin on skin is obscene, even over the creaking of the bed and your shared moans, but you don’t care, don’t care if the whole apartment building hears you. Wooyoung is not gentle, not now; he’s desperate, driven by weeks of withheld affection, of loneliness and longing. He covers you, bites your shoulder, fucks you like it’s the last time, every thrust a plea for forgiveness and a pledge of eternity.
He leans more of his weight into you, his hand snaking around to your front, fingers seeking your clit. The first touch is electric—you jerk, stars bursting behind your eyes. He circles your clit with the pad of his finger, fast and hard, no finesse, just pure need to make you cum.
In a cruel twist of fate, his hips slow suddenly—the rhythm of his hips bullying yours breaking. You whimper at the loss, your body clenching around him, so desperate for more. But he pulls out completely, leaving you empty, aching.
“Look at me,” he demands, voice rough with need.
You crane your neck back over your shoulder, cheek still pressed into the sheets, and find him watching you with that dark intensity that makes your breath catch. His cock glistens with your combined wetness, the head swollen and flushed as he drags it slowly up and down your entrance, the angle making you feel every torturous inch of the tease—just enough pressure to feel but not enough to satisfy.
“Please,” you gasp, hips tipping higher.
His lips curl into a wicked smile from somewhere above and behind you. “Not yet.” He circles your clit with his slick tip before sliding back down. Your thighs tremble against the pillow he placed under your hips.
“Spit,” he commands, reaching his palm around to your mouth.
You obey without hesitation, gathering saliva that he uses to coat himself again, the wet sound obscene in the quiet room. He returns to his maddening teasing, the new slickness making his cock glide effortlessly against your swollen flesh.
“Good fucking girl,” he groans, the words punched out between ragged breaths. “Look at you—taking everything I give you.”
You’re beyond words now, reduced to desperate sounds as he continues his exquisite torture. When you can’t stand it anymore, you reach behind your body, guiding him back to where you need him most. He lets you, but only for a moment. With a growl that vibrates through your chest, he pushes your hand away and positions himself again, his eyes locked on to the way your body is so responsive to his. Then he leans down, lips pressing soft and slow into your shoulder, and you feel his breath warm against the curve of your neck
“Princess” he whispers, voice cracking open at the edges, his cock still dragging slowly and torturous against your entrance. “You can forgive me right? Shit…You can forgive your Wooyo right?”
“Yes,” you gasp, hips rolling back into him helplessly. “Yes, yess—fuck, I f-forgive you… Wooyoung, I need you so bad, please!"
Something breaks in his expression—all restraint shattering. He thrusts forward in one powerful motion, burying himself to the hilt with a sound that borders on a sob, hands clutching your hips—his grip bruising but full of desperate love. “God, you feel so good,” he croaks. “I missed this. I missed you. I missed you so fucking much.”
The force of it knocks the wind out of you, the fullness so shocking you can only moan, the sound muffled by the pillow but loud enough for him to hear—maybe for the neighbours to hear too. He doesn’t care. Neither do you.
The words degenerate into a string of curses and pleas, all dignity and composure long abandoned. You’re reduced to this: the shudder of your hips, the filthy slickness on your thighs, the way you beg for him with every inch of your body.
He’s lost to it now, rutting into you with a violence born of weeks—months—of wanting, of regret, of all the shit he’s made you both suffer through in his absence. Every motion is a contradiction, a punishment and an apology, as he fucks you harder than he ever has, hips snapping so fast you barely have time to catch your breath between thrusts. His hands are everywhere—gripping your hips, yanking you back onto him, fisting in your hair, ghosting along your ribs and then down to your clit. His fingers rub you with the same desperate rhythm as his cock, no finesse, just pure, animal drive to make you cum first, to make you remember what you are together.
He doesn’t say a word at first, just grunts and breathes your name into your hair like a prayer. But when you look back at him, head turned over your shoulder, you see his face twisted in something rawer than lust. Love. His eyes are wet. He thrusts in, deeper, grinding the head of his cock against the spot inside you that makes your vision white out at the edges.
“God, I missed you,” he whines, the words hitching on the upstroke. “I missed you, princess, I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry—” He laces his apology into every movement, every thrust, trying to convince you with the force of his body how much he means it. “No one else can have you, fuck, never anyone else, not ever, you hear me?” His hips stutter, losing rhythm, and you know he’s close, so close, but he won’t let himself finish until you do.
He snakes his hand around your throat, the gentlest squeeze, just enough to remind you who’s in control. The pressure is perfect; you arch into it, into him, hips rocking back greedily to milk every inch of his cock. He bends over you, mouth against your ear, breath hot and frantic:
“Cum for me, princess. Wanna feel you cum all over me.”
And you do, splintering apart around him, pleasure ripping through you so hard it borders on pain. You scream, you swear, you claw at the sheets, and he fucks you through it, pace relentless, never slowing, never breaking.
He’s shaking above you, groaning your name, his hand still tangled in your hair as he thrusts a few more desperate times and then comes, deep inside you, with a guttural wail. The heat of his release is almost shocking, the way he fills you leaving no doubt that he’s yours, utterly and absolutely. He stays pressed to you, sweat-slicked and trembling, for long, silent seconds, his cock twitching with aftershocks, his breath turning softer, steadier. You can feel his heart thumping against your back, the wild rhythm slowly synchronizing with yours.
He never lets you go, not even as he softens inside you. He just wraps his arms around your waist, burying his face in your neck. You can’t move, can barely breathe, but the only thing you want is to stay like this forever—his weight, his warmth, his love, every bit of him pressed into you until you forget where you end and he begins. He’s the apology and the forgiveness, the punishment and the reward, and you take every last bit of him, all over again, until neither of you has anything left to give.
You’re both gasping, boneless, ruined, but it’s the best kind of ruined—like you’ve been put back together again, better than you were before. He kisses your neck, soft now, lazy, like he can’t help himself, and when he finally pulls out, both of you whimper at the loss.
You shift, rolling onto your side, facing him. His face is damp—sweat, tears, who even knows—but his eyes are clear and bright as he looks at you. He traces your jaw with a shaking finger.
“You’re so fucking perfect,” he breathes, voice hoarse, “and I’m never letting you go, you got that?”
You laugh, delirious, and pull him close, your lips finding his in a kiss that’s slow and deep, the kind that says I forgive you, I want you, I’ll never be done with you. He sighs into it, like he’s waited a lifetime for this, like he’s never tasted anything sweeter.
And then his hand is between your legs again, gentle now, and you realize he’s not done with you yet. Not even close.
But you weren’t done with him either.
“Wait,” you mumble against his lips, pulling back just enough to see his eyes. “Let me watch you.”
Wooyoung’s brow furrows, a question forming in his gaze. You slide your hand down his chest, over the damp skin, until your fingers wrap around his still-sensitive cock. He hisses, body tensing at your touch.
“Wanna see you touch yourself,” you clarify, your voice dropping to a husky whisper.
Understanding dawns across his face, followed by a slow, wicked smile that makes your stomach flip. “Yeah?” he asks, already shifting position. “You want to watch me jerk off, baby? Naughty girl.”
You nod, your own hand moving between your legs as you settle back against the pillows. Wooyoung sits up, kneeling between your spread thighs, his eyes never leaving yours as he wraps his hand around his length. He’s already hardening again, his cock responding eagerly to your gaze. You watch, transfixed, as his fingers begin to move, a slow, deliberate stroke from base to tip that makes his breath catch.
“Fuck,” he groans, his head falling back slightly. “Play with yourself too, princess.”
You’re touching yourself now, circling your clit with teasing pressure, your other hand squeezing your breast. The sight of him pleasuring himself while watching you is intoxicating—his muscles flexing, his lips parted, his eyes dark with desire.
“Show me…shit," you urge, your voice barely audible. “Show me what you think about when I’m not around to suck you dry.”
He moans, his pace quickening. “I’m always thinking about you, ” he admits, his voice rough. “About your pretty mouth, your perfect tits, the way you feel when I’m inside you.” His hand moves faster now, his breathing growing ragged. “I think about making you cum—fuck, l-love thinking about watching you fall apart because of me.”
Your fingers move faster, matching his rhythm, the sight of him pleasuring himself pushing you closer to the edge. The room fills with the wet sounds of your mutual pleasure, your soft gasps mingling with his deeper groans.
“I’m c–close,” you pant, your hips rising off the bed. “Baby, I’m so fucking close.”
“Me too,” he gasps, his hand moving furiously over his cock. “God, the way you’re touching yourself—fuck, I can’t—"
“So fucking good… haah—” you whimper. “Cum with me.”
His eyes lock with yours, and you see the same desperation, the same need reflected back at you. Your fingers move faster, your thumb circling your clit with just the right pressure as you watch his hand fly over his length, his body tense with impending release.
“Wooyoung,” you cry out as the first wave hits you, your body arching off the bed.
“Oh god, yes you’re so hot fuuuck,” he groans, his release spurting hot across your stomach as he watches you come undone.
You’re both panting, chests heaving as sweat trickles down your bodies and Wooyoung’s cum glistens wet and hot across your stomach—but even as you come down, the air between you only grows thicker. His eyes linger on your face, hungry and soft all at once, and you know before he says a word that he isn’t finished with you yet. He swipes his thumb through his mess, smearing it across your skin, and then lifts his hand to your lips.
“Open,” he murmurs, voice already roughening around the edges, and you open obediently, tongue laving over his skin, savouring the salt and the faint sweetness of him.
He watches you, transfixed, and then the hunger snaps back into focus. With a sudden, fluid motion, he grabs you by the hips and guides you onto your back, landing you with a gasp and a bounce that sends aftershocks through your spent body. For a second you just lie there, limp and loose-limbed, but Wooyoung is on you before you have time to recover—his mouth capturing yours in a kiss that’s all teeth and tongue and desperate, greedy possession. He devours you, biting your lower lip so hard you nearly yelp, but then he’s soothing the sting with a velvet-soft lick, fingers already roaming, cupping your jaw, winding into your hair, squeezing the back of your neck until you’re gasping into his mouth.
“Last one baby,” he rasps, voice vibrating right against your teeth. “Need to breed your pretty pussy one last time.”
He’s already sliding down your body, trailing open-mouthed kisses over every inch of skin—your throat, your collarbones, the peak of your tits. He bites down gently on your nipple, then flicks it with his tongue, the sensation sharp and electric and so fucking precise. He lavishes both breasts with attention, sucking bruises in places only he will see, then lets his tongue trace a hot, wet path down your torso.
He stops at your belly, swiping a finger through the sticky mess on your skin. “Look at you,” he says, voice thick with pride and awe, and you feel your cheeks flame even as you spread your legs wider for him.
He dips his head, lapping at where his cum has pooled in your navel, and you shiver at the lewdness of it, the way he worships every part of you. When his mouth finally moves lower, you’re already shaking with anticipation, your core clenching tight, desperate for more even though you should be wrung out.
He dives between your thighs, licks a stripe from your entrance all the way up to your clit, and you nearly come off the bed from the shock of it. He laughs, low and dark, and buries his face in your cunt, eating you like a man starved. His tongue is everywhere. Circling your clit, plunging inside you, mixing slick and spit and the faint metallic taste of his own release. You fist your hands in his hair, grinding your hips against his mouth, shameless in the way you beg, “More, more... please, fuck, don’t stop—” and he doesn’t.
He works you with ruthless precision, two fingers thrusting deep while his tongue flicks rapid-fire at your clit. You feel the pressure build, so much faster than before, your legs trembling, your thighs clamping tight around his head. He holds you open, arms braced under your knees, keeping you spread and helpless as he brings you right to the brink and then eases off, just enough to drive you insane. He does it again, and again, pulling you apart, making you plead for it.
“Woo—” you whimper, your voice thin and shaky. “Please, please—”
He lifts his head, lips glistening, and you see the wild satisfaction in his eyes. “You’re so fucking pretty when you beg,” he says, and the praise sends another rush of heat through your veins.
“Please,” you say again, and this time he relents, sucking your clit into his mouth and moaning around it. The vibration hits you like a lightning strike and you come hard, arching your back, crying out his name so loud you know it will echo in your ears for days. He keeps going, licking you through it, not stopping until you’re sobbing with oversensitivity and shoving at his head to make it end.
He crawls up your body, cock already hard again as he rubs it against your thigh, your stomach, the sticky aftermath on your skin. He lines himself up at your entrance, and you’re so wet, so open for him, that he slides in with barely any resistance. The stretch still hurts—just a little—and he winces with you, kissing your cheek, your ear, whispering, “Shh, you can take it. You’re so good for me.”
You rake your nails down his back, desperate to pull him deeper, and he obliges, ramming into you with a force that makes the whole bed frame rattle. This time, he doesn’t pace himself—he fucks you with abandon, every thrust a fierce apology, a vow, a plea for forgiveness. “Pretty cunt was made for me, wasn't it baby?" he growls, the words muffled against your skin, and you believe him, every time.
He shifts your legs, bends you almost in half putting you into a mean mating press, and the new angle has him thrusting right against your g-spot. You claw helplessly at his arms, nails digging crescent moons into his biceps, and he just grins, sweat beading at his hairline, loving every second of your unravelling.
"'M not going to last... I'm g'na cum holy fuck Wooyoung," you moan out, feeling yourself edging closer to your own climax.
You feel him getting close—his rhythm falters, his hips jerk, his breath comes in ragged gasps. He slides a hand between your bodies, thumb circling your clit, determined to take you with him.
“Oh fuck—Cum f’me princess, make me proud.”
And you do, the orgasm ripping through you so violently that black spots dance at the edge of your vision. You scream, you sob, you babble his name like a prayer, and he follows, spilling inside you with a strangled cry. He shoves in deep, holds you there, and then collapses, pinning you to the mattress with the full weight of his body.
You lie like that for a long, breathless moment, your bodies trembling and tangled, sweat sticking you together, his cock still throbbing inside you as he pants in your ear. For a second you think he’s fallen asleep, but then he props himself up on one elbow and looks down at you, eyes shining, lips parted as if he might start crying all over again.
He rolls you onto your side, still joined, and wraps an arm around your waist, spooning you so tight you can barely move. You reach back and stroke his hair, feeling the way his whole body melts into your touch—the tension draining from his muscles, the way his breath evens out. The world feels impossibly far away, like it’s just the two of you floating in a bed-shaped universe, nothing but heartbeats and skin and the mess you’ve made of each other.
The room falls quiet, your breathing gradually slowing in tandem. Wooyoung’s arm tightens around you, his lips pressing a soft kiss to the nape of your neck. “Don’t move,” he whispers, his voice hoarse from use. “I’ll be right back.”
He pulls out gently, and you whimper at the loss, feeling suddenly empty. But he’s already sliding from the bed, his naked body glistening with sweat as he pads to the bathroom. You hear water running, and then he returns with a warm washcloth in his hand.
“Let's get you cleaned up yeah?” he says, his eyes soft as he kneels beside you.
His touch is reverent as he cleans between your thighs, wiping away the evidence of your passion with gentle, circular motions. The warm cloth feels heavenly against your sensitive skin, and you sigh, your body relaxing into his care.
“Better?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.
You nod, too blissed-out to form words. He disappears again, returning with a glass of water that he holds to your lips. You drink greedily, not realizing how parched you were until the cool liquid slides down your throat.
“More?” he asks, and you shake your head.
Wooyoung sets the glass aside and moves to his dresser, pulling open the bottom drawer. He rummages through it for a moment before pulling out a faded blue t-shirt that you recognize immediately. It’s one of his oldest, the fabric soft from countless washes, the university logo barely visible anymore.
“Arms up,” he murmurs, and you comply, letting him slip the oversized shirt over your head. It falls to mid-thigh, enveloping you in his scent—that familiar mix of his cologne and something uniquely him that makes your chest ache with tenderness. He adjusts the collar, his fingers lingering at your neck, before pressing a kiss to your forehead.
“Perfect,” he whispers, his eyes warm as they take you in.
You watch as he pulls on a pair of boxers and a simple white t-shirt, his movements languid, unhurried. There’s something intimate about watching him dress—the way his muscles flex beneath his skin, the casual grace of his movements. He catches you looking and says nothing, just gives you a small, tired smile before he climbs back into bed, pulling you against him. His fingers begin to trace lazy patterns on your arm, up and down, the touch so light it makes you shiver.
“I love you,” he murmurs into your hair. “I hope you know that I adore you so much.”
You turn in his arms to face him, finding his eyes in the dim light of the bedroom. There’s something raw and vulnerable in his gaze that makes your heart ache.
“I know,” you say, reaching up to brush his hair from his forehead. “I love you too.”
He catches your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm. “I’m going to do better. I promise.”
“I believe you, I know you will,” you whisper, and you do.
He pulls you closer, your bodies fitting together like puzzle pieces. His hand finds yours, fingers intertwining. The bracelet he gave you catches the light, the tiny compass charm glinting. He brings your wrist up to his lips and places a kiss on the charm, a silent reminder for you that’ll he’ll always be your north. No matter where you are, he’ll always be there for you.
“I’ve got you,” he coos, his voice dropping to that impossibly soft register he only uses in these moments. “I’m here, I'm not going anywhere.”
You hum in acknowledgment, too far gone for words. He softly chuckles at your sleepiness. His hand resumes its journey down your spine, each vertebra a landmark he maps with infinite patience. Another yawn overtakes you, your eyes watering at the corners. Wooyoung brushes away the tears with his thumb, his touch reverent.
“My beautiful girl,” he whispers. “My whole heart.”
A melody begins to form beneath his breath—something soft and wordless that you recognize from nights when sleep wouldn’t come, when anxiety gripped your throat. His chest vibrates with the sound, a lullaby composed of nothing but his love for you. Your consciousness begins to drift, the edges of your thoughts blurring like watercolours on wet paper. The scent of him—clean sweat and that cologne he’s worn since the day you met—wraps around you like a second blanket.
“I love you,” he whispers, his lips brushing your temple. “Happy anniversary, my love. I promise to make every one from now on better than the last.”
The words follow you down into darkness, a tether to the world you’re leaving behind. The future for the both of you still holds challenges—his career won’t become less demanding overnight, and you’ll both need to work to maintain the balance you’re rebuilding. But as Wooyoung’s arms tighten around you, as you feel the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear, you know you’ll face those challenges together.
Because love isn’t about never making mistakes. It’s about having the courage to admit when you’re wrong, and the strength to keep trying, even when it’s hard. And as the morning light spills across the tangled sheets and your intertwined bodies, you know that’s exactly what you have—not a perfect love, but a real one.
cowlick a min yoongi one-shot
pairing: idol!min yoongi x wife!f!reader
genre: pwp
rating: explicit content MDNI!!!
summary: you're the reason why your husband’s hair is a mess for the 'hooligan' mv.
warnings/tags: yoongi pov, quickie in a trailer, riding, unprotected sex, they're married and reader wants to get pregnant, his boys make fun of him lol
wc: 1.7k
notes: i say im burnt out from writing smut and then i go and write this. it's just bc yoongi makes me so insane 😩 this was inspired by a convo between myself and aqua (contents of which may or may not be based on real life events) so im dedicating this to her 🫶💜 thank u for betaing last minute!!
Yoongi’s supposed to be on set. But instead he’s sweating under his leather outfit with you spread out on his lap, bouncing on his cock.
It starts off with him just going to his trailer because he forgot his lucky bracelet (the one you gave him on his birthday the first year you celebrated together). The door almost hits him on the ass by the time you jump him, and he barely has time to be surprised before you grab his face and pull him down.
“How’d you sneak in here?” he chuckles between breathless kisses, hands going to your waist like clockwork.
“I’m your wife. Duh,” you snap, fingers ensnaring the heavy chains around his neck.
“I start filming in five minutes.”
“I’ll be quick.” He never argues with you. He lets you push him down on the couch, straddle him, kiss and lick at the base of his neck, knowing you don’t need the reminder not to make marks unless you want a hit put on you by his stylist, and you’re always careful not to touch his face for that same reason. It takes him a second to realize you’re wearing a skirt. He opens his mouth to scold you for coming to see him in clothes like that since it’s so cold out but then you reach under to dip into your bare, sopping pussy. Ah. Easy access. You came with a plan.
In all the years you’ve been together, it’s never taken much for you to get him hard. You walk into a room and bam - he has to adjust himself. And when you touch him - there goes his thoughts for a few minutes. It’s always been like this, and he knows it’ll never change. So when you figure out how to get into his boxers without pushing down too much leather, he’s already stiff and leaking at the tip.
You smear down his precum and he bites his lip when you grab his cock with the fingers you had between your legs, glistening with your slick, making him nice and wet for you.
“Damn, baby. Were you playing with yourself while you waited for me?”
“Mhmm,” you nod, whimpering as you finally let him penetrate your walls. You’re so wet and warm and tight when you sink down on him that he has to hold in a breath to keep himself together. But then he reminds himself that this is a quickie. He knows you could stay here and ride him until his balls are empty, but, unfortunately, he doesn’t have that kind of time. His phone - that he shouldn’t even have on him in the first place (he does though, just for you) - has been vibrating in his pocket for the past few minutes, but the more he’s distracted, the longer it’ll take him to make you both come, so he ignores it.
Your hands grip his shoulders as you wiggle your hips to adjust to his girth that he finds so fucking cute every single time, but he can hardly feel your touch through the thick leather of his jacket. He curses, because his fingerless gloves are preventing him from fully touching the skin on your hip, so he grips you hard enough to bruise. Usually, he’d let you bounce and ride him until you came on him and got too tired to carry on, but to speed things up, he bucks up into you, watching your parted lips spill out moans as he grinds against your spot, grunting as it makes you squeeze him and suck him deeper in. He kisses you, swallowing your sweet sounds, and his balls tighten when your fingers dig into the side of his head, tightly fisting his hair. Telltale sign that you’re close. You must've really worked yourself up while you were waiting for him.
“Come for me,” he whispers against your lips, fingers dropping and finding your clit to press and rub you over the edge. You loudly cry out his name, pulling at his hair so his head tips to the side as he continues fucking up into you and kissing the underside of your jaw. “That’s it, baby. Fuck, you’re squeezing me so good.”
“Come inside," you warble, cheek lolling against his temple, fingers still entangled in his hair, cunt clenching him through your aftershocks.
“Mm.” Eyebrows pinched, his fingers return to flex on your hip, cock twitching at the mere thought of getting to fill you up. “Remember to take your pill.”
You whine, indignant. He sighs, shakes his head. You make that sound when he doesn’t give you what you want.
“I’ll give you a baby when we come back from tour, ‘kay?”
You whine again, louder and borderline disobedient, slamming down on him like it tells him something. Sucking in a hiss because damn that felt good, he slaps your ass and massages out the sting, a silent warning to stop being a brat. This is one thing he’s not going to let you win an argument about.
“Hey, that was the deal, right? I’m not leaving you at home alone and pregnant while I fly around the world for eight months.”
“Yeah, but by the time you’d get back, you’d have a baby. You wouldn’t have to deal with all my pregnancy bullshit,” you try to reason, hips still rolling, eyes glassy and pout pathetic. He frowns. You’ve both had this conversation multiple times before, but that’s the first time you’ve made this point. He doesn’t fucking like it.
Yoongi tugs down on your waist to get you to stop, pelvises pressed together, cock deep inside you. But you know better than to move.
“Look at me.” You refuse, and the leather of his fingerless gloves rubs your cheeks as he grabs them. “I want to deal with all your pregnancy bullshit. I married you, remember? I signed up to put up with all your bullshit for the rest of my life and I don’t plan on missing out on any of it.”
His eyes dart between both of yours, making sure what he said is sticking with you, and when you lean in to sloppily kiss him, he knows the message got through.
“Now, c’mon. You said you were gonna be quick.”
You sit up straighter, and you’re clearly weakened from your orgasm but you put in effort that he’ll worship you for later to bring him to his own peak. Slick sounds of your pussy and slams of your hips fill the trailer, and within seconds of you squeezing him, sucking on his earlobe, and toying with his chains, he’s muttering an incoherent string of curses and spilling deep inside you. His balls just keep pulsing and holyyy shit, he really could get you pregnant right now. (He would love nothing more, but later he’ll text you another reminder to take your pill).
“I love you so fucking much,” he pants into your neck, wishing he had the time to leave his mark. “Even though you’re gonna get me in so much fucking trouble.”
“Love you, too. Don’t forget you married trouble,” You grin, waggling his ring on your finger in his facr, and his hips jerk as you lift off of him. He tips his chin up when you start to lean in for another kiss but your mouth drops and your eyes go wide.
“Oh, fuck, your hair-“ You reach out to try and fix it, but just as you do, a loud pounding on the trailer door startles the both of you.
“Shit, gotta go,” Yoongi mutters, quickly stuffing himself back in this godforsaken leather as his manager starts yelling for him to come out. You try your best to smooth down his hair, but when you keep muttering curses under your breath, he knows it’s not working.
“It’s fine. I’ll see you later.” He kisses you, lingers a second longer than he has time for, and leaves you sitting on the couch, skirt halfway up your waist, fingers playing with his cum dripping out. Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of him. He needs to shoot this music video first.
Yoongi’s manager chews him all the way out onto the set, and his stylist gives him the evilest eye when she catches sight of his hair. He just scurries towards his band because his manager already said there’s no time to fix it.
“Where were you?” Namjoon exclaims as Yoongi walks towards the center of the platform. He shrugs, like he’s not still perspiring and his dick isn’t still hard. Luckily, his leather pants are bulky enough to hide it.
“I had to grab something.”
“Look at his hair! That means his honey came to visit,” Hobi says, waggling his brows. Yoongi shoots him daggers.
“Shut up.”
The maknaes burst into raucous laughter and Taehyung and Jimin mime grabbing at each other, making overexaggerated kissing noises and mimicking the way you cry out Yoongi’s name. Yoongi turns his back on them to go to his spot, just missing Jeongguk thrusting in the air like he’s mid-Baepsae.
“You brought this on yourself,” Namjoon mutters, stepping up next to him, fixing his gloves. Yoongi pretends not to hear. “It’s been, what, four years? And y’all still act like newlyweds.”
“We’re making up for the time we missed while I was in the military.”
Namjoon’s face pulls back, disgusted. “Okay, well, can you not do that on our schedule?”
“Sorry, leader-nim,” Yoongi fake apologizes, pressing his hands together, smirk lopsided and shit-eating. “Maybe if you let her come on tour, she wouldn’t find any downtime I have now to, yknow, make up.”
Namjoon sighs, long and distressed. Yoongi only feels a little bad. You’re his wife. He needs you by his side, and not just to have little quickies whenever there’s minutes to spare. He was enough of a wreck being away from you during his service. He doesn’t want that to happen because of work.
“Fine. I’ll see what I can do.”
Yoongi smiles, lighting up inside and out. “Thanks, bro. You’re the best.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Namjoon waves him off, just in time for the director to call for action.
He doesn’t know how crazy his hair looks until they play the footage back to check for mistakes and potential position adjustments. His band members tease him, but it makes him smile that it’s there because you need to grab onto his hair when he makes you come. No one outside of this set will ever know his cowlick is thanks to his wife, and that makes him like it even more.
He still left his damn bracelet.
.
.
.
thank you for reading!!! ahhhh i cant believe this happened lmao pls let me know what you think with comments and reblogs!! 💜
synopsis: it's been a few months since you and felix separated. you should be over it, move on, and keep living life as it should be. but your heart and soul say otherwise.
cw: MDNI, divorce (duh), rebounds, reader is an emotional wreck (can't blame her tbh), reader lowkey uses alcohol to cope (don’t recommend), both felix and reader have children, just a lot of angst, casual sex, protected sex (yay!), oral (f!receiving), orgasm denial, unprotected sex (don't!), p.i.v, petnames (angel, good girl, just a lot of ‘em), this fic be looooonnggggg
let me know if i'm missing anything!!
wc: 21.2k
a/n: FINALLY this fic is out!! i have been working on this one for months😭 hopefully this one is a real tear-jerker cuz i tried to make it that way. anyways, if you enjoyed this fic, leave a like, comment, and reblog! your support is always appreciated <3333
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———————————・❥・———————————
It has been a few months since you and Felix officially divorced. It wasn’t because you stopped loving each other. It was purely because your lifestyles were clashing against each other, instead of intertwining in harmony. Too many tours, fashion weeks, award shows, dance practices, comeback seasons, and little time for picking the girls up from school, going to soccer matches and ballet rehearsals, and kissing each other at night like it was the last day on Earth. It wasn’t as sustainable as you hoped it would be. But even if you and Felix were separated, he still showed up at your front door, his arms wide open for your two daughters to jump into.
Your hand was clutching onto that yellow, dirtied rag, swiping it across the kitchen counter, clearing all that gross dust and food stains. God, your arm was killing you because of this damn stubborn curry stain. Meanwhile, your little twins Byeol and Nari were changing out of their school uniforms into day clothes fit for the park. Their loud giggles echoed through the house, and they were running to put on their shoes, clearly high on anticipation.
“Girls! Don’t run around so much!” You said.
“Sorry, Mommy!” Byeol said.
“When is Daddy coming?!” Nari asked, her voice all whiny and impatient.
“He said three minutes,” You sighed, feeling the little churn deep in your stomach. You were at least thankful the kitchen provided a good enough distraction.
Knock! Knock!
You immediately raised your head at the sudden sound of the door. Your heart skipped a beat before feeling a bit heavy. You inhaled a deep breath, while your daughters ran to the door without needing to take a breath. Byeol was quick to unlock the door, letting it creak open, revealing a blonde man wearing a white t-shirt, blue jeans, a leather jacket, and his favorite pair of black boots. God, his smile was always the same. Never changed once, even if he lived in a different home. He had the kind of smile that proudly showed his pearly whites and made his eyes smile.
“Daddy!!” The girls hollered out before they jumped into his wide arms.
“There are my little stars!” Felix pulled Byeol and Nari close and planted kisses all over their giddy cheeks. “Ready to go to the park?”
“Yes!” Nari said.
“Can we get ice cream too, Daddy?” Byeol asked.
“Of course, we can,” Felix said, “Come on, you two, get in the car.”
Nari and Byeol left Felix’s arms and walked outside the door to get into his car, leaving him alone with you in the house. The air between you two was tense and awkward. You fiddled with the string of your blue, frilly apron, and all Felix could do was swallow, waiting for his heart to calm down.
“Hi,” he said, an attempt at breaking the tension.
“Hi,” you said back.
“Bring them back by nine?”
“Yeah.”
You couldn’t even look him in the eye. Your gaze was only fixed on your twiddling fingers.
“You look tired,” Felix said, “You should get some rest.”
“I’m fine,” you bit your tongue. “Don’t worry about me. Just take care of the girls, okay?”
Felix took a step forward, but he immediately pulled back, swallowing a lump in his throat.
“Daddy! We’re waaaaiiittttiiinnnggg!!” Nari called out.
“I’m coming, Darlings, no worries!” Felix smiled before turning back to you. “Bye, Y/N. Take care.”
Felix turned away from you and exited the front door. You slowly followed, but stopped at the welcome mat. Your daughters looked at you through the windshield of Felix’s car and rapidly waved their hands at you with wide smiles on their faces. You couldn’t hear it right, but you could tell that they were happily saying “Bye, Mommy!” while Felix started the engine and pulled out of the driveway. Once his silver blue car was out of sight, this heaviness fell over you. Your heart dropped to your swirling stomach, and all the air in your lungs got thinner. You swallowed before closing your door—the sound ringing in the empty walls.
The house was big and empty, and chills ran up and down your spine. Your head spun, and the only way you could calm down was by slumping down on the couch in the living room. Your back landed flat on the green cushions, with your chest feeling tight, even with a deep black hole, and your hand rubbing against your aching head. Suddenly, your phone chimed, and without thinking much, you pulled it out to see a notification from some guy you met at the bar a week ago. Nari and Byeol were at Felix’s home that night, and you were tired of sleeping on a cold mattress. So you went to one of the local bars, hoping to get drunk and let any man bring you home, even if it was just for one night.
Jack: Wanna get a drink, Babe? I can’t get you off my mind.
You didn’t even think he would text you back, and your heart pounded a little. Your instinct was to ignore such an invitation. Why would you accept it when you were already—Right. I’m not married anymore.
It wouldn’t be cheating if you went out with Jack again, so why did you feel such a harsh pull on your heartstrings? Like you were going to commit some grave sin. But was the ail worth sleeping in a cold bed again? You sucked in a breath and typed in a response.
Y/N: sure, but
Y/N: would it be okay if you came over?
And the moment you hit send, you immediately wanted to hit yourself in the face. Was the desperation that bad? The three little flickering dots at the bottom of the screen made your heart race with anticipation. At the bottom of your screen appeared a little text bubble with three dots, and your heartbeat picked up, wondering what Jack would say. His message finally came through.
Jack: Yeah, I’ll come over. I’ll bring the finest wine for you too ;)))
He said yes. Oh God, he’s actually coming over.
Y/N: okay, i’ll see you soon.
Why am I even doing this?
You sent him your address before you dropped your phone and put your head in your hands, now coming to terms with the fact that the man you just wanted casual sex with is going to be in the home you once built with the man you promised forever to. The pit in your stomach was getting wider, and the churns were eating you alive. However, you knew you shouldn’t feel this way. You were the one who invited the man, so you had to get ready. You swallowed the gunk in your throat and got up from the couch to put on something nice. You took off your blue apron and the plain blue jeans with a graphic t-shirt. You then slipped on a simple and slim velvet black dress and applied some light makeup: just some concealer, lip gloss, and mascara. You even sprayed some floral perfume on your neck and wrists.
A couple of minutes after you got ready, there was a knock on the door. You headed to the door, and you were greeted by a tall, handsome brunette. He wore jeans, a white graphic t-shirt, and a red flannel. He immediately scanned your body up and down with his eyes, a little shamelessly. A wide smile crept up his lips, and he didn’t hesitate to step inside your home.
“Hey, Beautiful,” he said.
“Hi, Jack,” you said, feeling a bit of heat rise in your cheeks. Suddenly, you sucked in a sharp breath the moment he kissed your cheek. You rubbed your warm skin, and your heart pounded with rejection. However, you tried to ignore that ache and focus on the man in front of you.
“I got you something,” Jack pulled out a bright pink gift bag with a heart pattern and red tissue inside.
“Really?” You asked, “What did you get?”
“Take me to the kitchen, and I’ll show ya.”
Jack’s grin was so wide and cocky that your heart pounded a little. You bashfully led him to the kitchen, which was completely spotless thanks to your relentless cleaning.
“Woooowwww, that kitchen lookin damn pristine,” Jack said as he put the gift bag on the top of the kitchen island.
“Thanks,” blush crept up your cheeks, and you timidly twiddled with your thumbs. “So what was it that you got me?”
“I mean, I did say I’d bring the finest wine.”
Jack pulled a large wine bottle out of the bag. The label looked super fancy, almost like it was straight out of a royal cellar. And the red glass was vibrant just like the liquid inside. You weren’t really planning on drinking tonight, but honestly, with Jack around it might have been easier to roll with the alcohol and not let your aching heart take over.
“I can get the wine glasses,” you said, as you quickly rushed to one of the kitchen cabinets and grabbed two wine glasses.
You brought them to the kitchen island, and Jack was opening the bottle with ease. He then poured a generous amount of wine into each glass before setting the bottle to the side.
“Here you go, Gorgeous,” Jack said as he handed you your glass.
“Thanks,” you said softly before taking a sip. Your face scrunched at the strong flavor, but there was a hint of sweetness that made the wine a bit bearable.
“How is it?”
“Strong.”
“That means it’s good,” Jack chuckled right before taking a sip from his own glass. He hummed from the taste of his drink and exhaled a satisfied breath. “Well, goddamn.”
Silence was between you both, as you both were taking a moment to enjoy this expensive, lovely wine. To be fair, you and Jack didn’t have much to talk about to begin with. The last time you truly had a conversation with him was just meaningless flirtations that anyone would have at a packed bar on a Saturday evening. Just smooth-brained words that were only meant to get your panties wet enough for a one-night stand.
Jack put down his half-full wine glass on the countertop, making a little clink, and cleared his throat.
“I do wonder…” he started, “For a girl who lives by herself, you do seem to have a lot of space in this house.”
You stopped drinking your wine and pursed your lips. Right. I never told him about the girls.
But honestly, why would you? You only wanted a one-night stand, not anything more. You set your glass down, already feeling the pink tint in your cheeks.
“Well, I have two daughters,” you confessed, trying to get that information out of the way. Might as well say it.
Jack’s eyes widened.
“Really?” he asked. You nodded. “Wow, I didn’t know that.”
“Well, I wasn’t really planning on you knowing.”
“Damn. I assume you’re raising them by yourself, right?”
Your fingers were intertwining with each other, your lungs were gaining heavy air, and your stomach churned. Were you really going to tell this man you had only met a week ago the whole story? You sighed a little.
“Yeah,” you said, “I cook their food, drive them to school, clean the house, and entertain them, on top of going to work. I do all the hard stuff, but…my ex-husband makes sure to show up for them.”
God, you hated that word. Ex-husband. Life was already hard enough, having to deal with everything alone, but having the man you loved for so long be an ex-husband made it all worse. Why did he have to be an ex-husband? You knew why, but that didn’t mean you had to like it. You swallowed heavily, and your heart pounded. Jack couldn’t help but look at you more. Your tired eyes were more obvious, and the blush in your cheeks expanded more with shame. Jack nodded before picking up his wine glass again.
“Good guy?” he asked, before taking a sip. His tone ticked you off, and you didn’t know why. He just asked the question casually. No disgust or jealousy behind it. Just a normal question. So why did his words sound like they weighed a hundred pounds?
“Yeah,” you said, a little quietly.
“How long since you both were separated?”
“Four months.”
Jack nodded.
“Damn. Must’ve been hard. Plus, seeing him sometimes and still sharing the kids.”
For God’s sake, why wasn’t he saying that in a pitiful way? You bit your tongue, and chills ran up and down your spine. Your stomach churned even more. Why was this man being so chill about you being a single mother with a sometimes-present ex-husband?
“Well, I’m not a monster,” you said, matter-of-factly, trying to play it cool again. “My daughters love him a lot, so it wouldn’t be fair to them to keep him away.”
You lifted your wine glass to your lips, sipping a lot more, like it was the only way to get you to stop talking about your past marriage. Meanwhile, Jack just analyzed you more. He didn’t say anything else for a solid minute, only giving out a thoughtful expression for you to overthink. He exhaled and carefully approached you, with his glass in hand, gently swirling the wine.
“Well, at least you don’t resent him,” Jack said, “Most people would hold grudges against their exes.”
You finished your wine, and you felt yourself shrink a little as he inched closer to you.
“Are you jealous?” you asked, your voice a little breathless and slurred.
“No, not at all.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
How are you going to have casual sex now? You weren’t even planning to tell him everything.
“I’m sorry for bringing this all up in front of you,” you said, unable to look him in the eyes. “That wasn’t nice of me.”
“No, no. Don’t apologize,” Jack said gently, “I was the one who asked anyway. Besides, it’s kinda hot.”
You blinked twice. The pink in your cheeks turned into red and spread all over your face. He suddenly wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you close.
“Hot?” you asked.
“Yeah. You’re so hardworking, sweet, and damn, you’re so gorgeous. Your ex-husband fumbled big time.”
You cringed a little at his comment, but you laughed it off anyway—a weak attempt to ease the tension. Plus, the wine really made it impossible for you to control your blush. Jack caressed your face with his free hand, immediately feeling your body heat against his skin.
“Damn, that wine got to you, huh?” Jack asked.
“It’s really strong…” You giggled a little, “I’ll get used to it, maybe.”
Jack softly smiled, and your heart pounded as he pulled you closer to his body.
“I mean, hey,” he said, “I’ll bring over that wine whenever you need it.”
You wrapped your arms around him and melted under his gaze, and the feeling of his hands traveling up and down your waist. He was so stupidly charming when he needed to be, and you wanted him to just kiss your face, even if there was nothing behind it. And as if he read your mind, he did lean in. You sucked in a small breath and closed your eyes, feeling his sweet, wine-flavored lips on yours. You hummed a little after he pulled away slightly.
“You know,” he said, his hot breath fanning against your face. “I was planning to take you to my place, but I kinda like it here.”
“Really? But you’ve only seen two rooms.”
“Maybe, but you in this home got me intrigued. I’m wondering if there’s space for me now.”
Your heart clenched a little, and your hands trembled a little. But before you could do anything, Jack kissed you again. The butterflies in your stomach fluttered a little, and your legs felt like jelly. It’ll be just like last week, you told yourself. Just another night of casual sex and nothing more.
“You’re trembling,” he said, “You okay?”
“It’s probably the wine…” You shook your head.
Jack hummed and smirked.
“Uh-huh,” he kissed you again, "Definitely the wine. You’re cute when you’re nervous, Baby.”
Your lips pressed against each other once more, and his hands found their way to your ass. You eagerly kissed Jack back, making the kiss hotter, more desperate, and full of hunger. Jack easily lifted you from the ground, and you wrapped your legs around his waist. His grip on your ass was tight, and his kisses were rougher than you were used to. You couldn’t help but let out a moan, and Jack felt all the heat rush down to his pants. A whimper escaped your lips as you felt his hard tent.
“Jack…” you moaned.
“Where’s your room, Baby?” Jack’s voice was low and husky, almost a little impatient.
“Down the hall. The last door to the left.”
Jack kissed your neck before he followed your directions and entered the master’s bedroom, which was once full of Jack and love. After kicking the door gently, Jack laid you down on the large queen bed that was in the center of the room before immediately getting on top of you, straddling your hips. You whined again from the feeling of his hard cock against your thigh.
“That bed is too big for one person, Love,” Jack said, “Don’t worry, though. I’m here.”
He leaned in to kiss you again, while his hands traveled up your body and reached for the zipper of your dress. Once he undid the zipper, he pulled down the velvet fabric, slowly revealing your bare body to him. You didn’t wear anything except for black lace panties, and God, all Jack could do was lick his lips and touch you.
You shivered and whined from his touch, all the heat pooling down your thighs, as he slowly took your little garment off.
“So wet, Baby,” he teased, right before he pressed his thumb against your clit, making you moan loudly and clench over nothing. “Need me that bad, huh?”
Meanwhile, with his free hand, Jack quickly grabbed a small packet from his pocket before undoing his pants and freeing his hard, heavy cock. It was just as erect as the last time you both fucked: tall as the Leaning Tower of Pisa. You tried not to let that get in the way. Jack quickly pulled out the condom that was in the small packet and put it over his dick. You were honestly a little thankful he was still using protection, just like the last time.
“Ready?”
You nodded, and Jack slid right into your walls, forcing a gasp out of your lungs. His hands wrapped around your wrists, and Jack began to move his hips, thrusting inside of you. You moaned and whined. He was hitting your sweet spot a couple of times, all his kisses were close to your weak points, and his dirty talk was okay. Maybe it was the wine that made him feel extra good.
“That’s my girl,” Jack moaned, “Feel so good!”
“Jack,” you whimpered, feeling some tight coil in your gut.
“Gonna cum, Baby?”
Were you? You weren’t so sure, but you could tell Jack was. His speed was a little more erratic than seconds ago, and his moans were louder than yours. You wished you had more wine. Jack tightened his grip on your hips, and he thrusted again into you for the last time. His covered tip collided with your sweet spot, and he busted inside his condom. Meanwhile, you only moaned a little louder and a little more forcefully. You threw your head back, as if the waves were actually crashing over you. You panted heavily, and Jack pulled out of you. You watched him quickly search for the trash can in your room.
“Where’s the trash can, Baby?” he asked.
“Oh, right over there,” you pointed at the corner of the room.
Jack turned around and saw a small silver trash can that was right next to your mahogany wardrobe. He took off his condom and threw it in the trash can. He then asked you where the bathroom was, and you pointed at the other door in the room. Once he entered the bathroom, he cleaned himself up. Meanwhile, you were still on the mattress, covered in a sheen of sweat, and your pussy was still a little wet. Your stomach churned, and your body was suddenly getting cold. You swallowed a little heavily, and you just waited for Jack to come out of the bathroom and clean you up. Luckily, he did come back with a warm, damp towel to clean you up. But you still couldn’t help but wonder why this was different than the night you first met Jack? Maybe you weren’t drunk enough?
“You okay?” Jack asked.
“Yeah,” you said.
Jack pulled you close suddenly and nuzzled into the crook of your neck, planting small kisses on your sensitive, flushed skin.
“You were so good, Baby,” he whispered against your skin.
“Yeah?”
“Mmhmm…such a shame that your ex-hubby’s missing out.”
You bit your tongue, and you felt your body cave in a little. Of course, Jack was trying to flirt, but fuck, even in the punchlines, Felix was inescapable. You didn’t even say anything. Because what could you say that wouldn’t make Jack feel jealous or less worthy of being a partner? He kissed your skin more and kept his hands on your waist. His touch was nice. He was good at that, at least. You turned your head to get a peek at the clock on your nightstand. The time was 8:35 PM. Your eyes widened, and your heart pounded. You sat up, your spine fully erect, and Jack’s grin disappeared.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“I’m sorry, Jack,” you said, your voice quiet and reclusive. “But I think you should go.”
“Wait, why?” Jack’s jaw tightened, and you sucked in a breath: a small flame of guilt sparked.
“My daughters are coming back from the park. Their father’s dropping them off at nine.”
Your gaze averted from Jack’s face to the wrinkled and scrunched blue blankets of your bed. Your thumbs were twiddling again, and a deep pit fell into your stomach, straight to your guts. Something heavy formed in your throat, and your eyes were even beginning to burn with salt, as the tears were gradually welling up.
“I’m really sorry I—”
“No…it’s fine,” Jack’s face was completely still. You couldn’t tell if he was angry. He just had the most unassuring neutral face any man could ever have. He abruptly got off the bed and grabbed the clothes he had discarded on the floor. He didn’t even dare to look at you as he put his pants back on, despite just how good he felt without them.
Your heart ached as the heartstrings were grabbed and pulled on like some doll’s hair. Your lips were trembling, and with a surge of panic, you scooted closer to him.
“Are you mad?” you asked, your voice so weak and light.
Jack paused for a moment as he was about to buckle his belt. His hands were clenched tightly, veins protruding from his soft skin. He still didn’t look at you.
“Mad?” He scoffed. You cringed at the sound of his coffee-bitter laugh. “I’m not mad, Sweetheart.”
He then turned to you, finally. His face was still neutral. Calmer this time. But something about his gaze made you want to hide and never step out into the world ever again.
“I just didn’t realize how much space he took up,” Jack finally said.
You quietly hitched a breath, and your head lowered. You tightened your lips into a frown, and more tears threatened their escape. God, your aching heart was making you feel sick. The small flame of guilt only grew, and all you could do was tighten the embrace you gave yourself. How could you even respond to that comment? It’s not like you planned to let Felix be so ever-present after you ended things with him. He wasn’t even trying to get in the way of you trying to move on.
“I…I’ll escort you out,” You said, your voice cracking.
You got off the bed and wrapped a thin blanket around your naked body. Jack’s neutral face somehow softened at the sight of your frown, teary eyes, and trembling wrists.
“Hey…no,” Jack got closer to you and gently cupped your heated pink face. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?” Your eyes widened, and a stray tear rolled down your face.
“I’m not mad at you, Y/N. I’m just…it’s just hitting me. You’re incredible and amazing and so damn beautiful, and yes, this is just the reality. You’re not just some cute girl I picked up from the bar. You’re a mother trying to make the best out of her divorce, especially for her kids. And your ex is just being a good father to them.”
“Yeah…”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you think I was mad.”
“You don’t have to lie to me, Jack…”
“I promise I’m not,” Jack pulled you in for a soft kiss. “I’ll just have to get used to him being around.”
Jack gently rubbed his hand over your head, messing with your hair. He smiled softly, and your heartbeat and breathing eased a little. Just a little. He pulled away from you to grab his shirt and put it back on, and once his clothes and shoes were back on, you—in nothing but your blanket wrapped around you like a burrito—walked him out of the bedroom and down to the front door of your home. You opened the door for him and stepped back a little, giving him way. Before Jack even dared to step outside, he looked at you once more.
“Can I see you again?” he asked, “Not as a hookup, but…ya know? Coffee? Dinner?”
Your eyes widened, and tiny little maggots of regret were eating at your soul.
“Uh, yeah,” you said impulsively. “I’ll…text you.”
Jack nodded and stepped out of the front door. You closed the door behind him, and now you were alone again. You hated the quiet. Even if it’s been four months, it was still unbearable. This house used to be so lively. Nari and Byeol would always be at home after school. They didn’t have to take trips with their father for the weekend. Instead, they’d just run around and play, and when Felix came back from a long, hard day of dance practice and recording music, they would run into his arms and beg him to watch a movie with them in the living room. Felix…
His smile was enough to brighten up the place. Every time he came home, you were in the kitchen preparing dinner as always. He would wrap his arm around you and hug you so tightly it was impossible to breathe. But damn, did you love being breathless. He would sing to you and the girls. He would tell them all about what their sweet uncles were up to, his exciting trips all around the world, and he’d sometimes play video games with them.
And of course, who could forget about the fun, romantic nights you and Felix would have. Nari and Byeol would be fast asleep, blissfully unaware of what Mommy and Daddy were up to. His kisses were soft and tender. His touch was searing, but it felt so right. And God, he felt so damn good, and you would feel so damn good. So good that you would actually cum. And the way he took care of you afterward. He was so gentle. So sweet. So…Felix.
All the tears finally broke out and streamed down your cheeks, and the silence was filled with your cries. Your knees sank to the hardwood floor in front of the door, and your tears soaked up your soft blanket. Your time with Jack wasn’t bad. At least you had some company for the evening. But that look on his face wouldn’t leave your mind. His neutral expression, his scoffs, and his tone when he said that Felix still took up so much space. As if you’re forever chained to this lost love. If only you could find the key to break free from this grief.
You couldn’t cry like this. Not when the girls were about to come home. Oh right. The girls.
You wiped your tears and got up from the floor. You then quickly headed back to your bathroom to wash up your teary face. Nothing but cold water splashed and rubbed into your pores, erasing away all the puffiness and red. Once your face looked decent for a girl who just cried her eyes out, you grabbed a comforting pair of pajama pants and an oversized grey hoodie. It was left behind four months ago. You didn’t have the heart to throw it out. You could faintly smell that spicy-sweet cologne that always made your heart sing, but now, a sob was threatening to escape your throat.
Knock! Knock!
A knock on the door. Your heart leaped out of your chest, and with your shaken legs, you quickly walked towards the front door. Meanwhile, you wiped all the stray tears and kept your expression as calm as possible. As you got closer to the door, you could hear the voices of your daughters. Even their little jumps. Your hand was on the door handle. Inhale. Exhale. Smile. Smile like everything is fine.
You opened the door, and immediately, your two little balls of sunshine were jumping into your arms.
“Mommy!”
“Hi, Darlings,” you smiled warmly and crouched down, as you pulled them close to your chest. You even noticed the little ice cream and sprinkle stains at the corners of their mouths. “I’m guessing you both had a fun time?”
“Oh, Mommy, it was so much fun!” Byeol said with so much glee. Her eyes even sparkled. “Daddy took us to the swings, the riverside, and we met three dogs!”
“And Daddy got us ice cream, Mommy!” Nari giggled, “We wanted to get a cone for you, but it would’ve melted.”
But we always got ice cream together. The fond memory still stung your heart.
“Awww, that’s sweet, my darlings,” you said, “It’s okay, you didn’t need to bring me ice cream.”
You kissed both of your daughters’ cheeks and allowed them to enter the house. Their giggles were always loud when they had fun. As you stood up straight again, your eyes met Felix’s. His body was relaxed, and he had a soft expression. And you could tell that he was staring. A little too intently than you would’ve liked. Maybe you should’ve worn a different hoodie.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Yeah, I’m okay.” A nervous laugh broke out of you, and you ran your hand through your hair, messing it up a bit. “I just…had wine while watching a dog movie.”
Felix blinked twice and raised his eyebrow.
“A dog movie?” His voice was flat, and you wanted to die.
Not that it wasn’t possible for you to watch dog movies, but you were the type to rarely watch them. You, however, nodded, insisting that you did. You knew he could see right through you. You were wearing his hoodie for God’s sake. But you hoped that he wouldn’t push you for the truth. Felix opened his mouth, ready to say something, but Nari came to your rescue. She wrapped her little arms around your waist and nuzzled her cute head into your hip.
“Mommy, Mommy!” she said, “Can Byeol and I watch cartoons?”
Your eyes widened.
“But it’s bedtime,” you said.
“Awwww, but, Mommyyyyyyyyyy, it’s only nine o’clock,” Nari whined, as she clutched onto the fabric of your pajama pants and pulled on them left to right.
“Just let them watch one episode,” Felix cut in gently. His soft voice hasn’t changed either. “They’re pretty energetic already, so some TV can calm them down a little.”
You looked at him, a little dumbfounded. He always took the girls’ side when it came to their TV time. Well, not always, but most of the time. But that was when you both were together. You’d think he’d let you take charge the moment they stepped into your home, yet there he was still making suggestions even if he wasn’t allowed to step in further through the door.
“Okay,” you said, “I’ll give them one episode before bedtime.”
“Daddy! You should watch with us!” Nari said.
You wanted to protest, but you couldn’t. Everything was happening so fast.
“I’m sorry, my Princess, but I have work tomorrow,” Felix said.
“But you always stayed home before you had work…” Nari pouted. The disappointment was so evident in her quiet voice that it made your heart clench. “Come on, Daddy, please?”
Felix sighed, but he still kept that damn smile on. His hand found Nari’s head, and he gently messed with her hair as he gave the most heartfelt of head pats.
“Daddy’s awfully busy,” he said, “But next time you and Byeol come to my dorm, we can watch all the cartoons you want.”
“Okay…” Nari nodded. Felix then pulled the little girl close, and her tiny arms wrapped around his waist. Meanwhile, your heart pounded as it sank to the bottomless pit in your stomach. “Goodbye, Daddy.”
“Bye, my Princess.”
“Wait, is Daddy leaving?” Byeol asked as she dashed to the front door. “Noooo, Daddy, stay with us please??”
Felix laughed lightly.
“I wish I could, my Star, but I have to go,” Felix said before hugging Byeol too. “I love you both.”
“We love you too, Daddy!” The girls said.
“I love you too, my Darlings.”
He then planted gentle kisses on top of their heads. You wondered if cute little sprouts would grow just from his love. Once the goodbyes were finally over, Nari and Byeol went back to the living room to watch their spontaneously scheduled cartoons, leaving you alone with Felix once more. Somehow, his smile never faltered. How does he do it, you wondered. He’s just smiling and being happy so effortlessly, while you’re actively trying to hold back the burning salt in your eyes and throat.
“You sure you’re okay?” He asked.
“I’m fine,” you immediately said right before instantly regretting it. You hated how your voice croaked. “I just…had a day.”
“You should take it easy, Y/N. You’ve been working non-stop.”
“I’m fine, really, Felix. You don’t need to worry, okay?”
You hated saying that. Not when there used to be a time when it was okay for him to worry, and you would tell him everything that was on your mind. Felix pursed his lips, and you wanted to die on the spot.
“Right…I know I shouldn’t be so pushy,” he said softly. “I’ll let you know what my schedule is for next week, and see if I can go to Busan with them.”
“Wait, you’re not going on the field trip with them?” Your eyes widened.
Felix solemnly nodded.
“Chris anticipates that our managers are gonna give us a busy schedule. I will try to ask for a day off just for the girls, though, but I can’t promise anything. I’m sorry, Y/N.”
You sighed. Was it a sigh of defeat? You weren’t entirely sure.
“It’s okay,” you crossed your arms, “I’ll let the girls know, and I’ll ask my boss to let me take the days off if you can’t go.”
“Sounds good,” Felix’s phone buzzed with a brief ring. He pulled out the device from his pocket. You couldn’t help but clench your jaw. Obviously, it had to be something work-related, but at the same time, you couldn’t help but wonder if there was some other woman behind that screen. “Yeah, I should get going. I’ll see you, Y/N.”
Felix smiled at you before turning away and stepping out the door. With a new pang in your heart, you immediately stepped forward and weakly extended your hand.
“Felix—” your voice cracked once more, and he turned his head immediately with a hint of concern in his eyes.
“Yeah?” He asked.
You wanted to crawl into a hole and never leave.
“Bye…” You finally said.
Felix softly smiled.
“Bye,” he said, right before turning his head, walking away again, and getting in his car.
Once his car was pulled out of the driveway and shrank in the distance, you swallowed heavily. Inhaled and exhaled. Your joints tightened, and you couldn’t do much except close the door. Just like you always have been since you signed the papers. You crossed your arms a bit tighter than normal and let out another sigh. The girls’ laughter was loud as ever, as the music from their favorite cartoon was echoing from the living room. Meanwhile, you were walking back to the kitchen, only to be greeted by that expensive wine bottle and that sparkly pink gift bag. You groaned.
You rarely ever left a bottle of wine out in the open kitchen. How reckless of you. You grabbed the wine bottle and put it in the fridge, and you grabbed the gift bag and opened the trash bin. But before you could shove it down into the trash, you noticed a small envelope hiding in the red tissue. You pulled the note out of the bag. On the back of the red-pink paper, it read, “To: Y/N, From: Jack” in bold, black Sharpie. After putting the bag in the trash, you opened the envelope.
Inside the envelope was a simple, cute Valentine’s Day card. Not bad, even though the holiday had already passed. And you were stupidly alone that day, of course. Crying endlessly in your sheets and passing out from all the alcohol you drank. You wondered if Felix’s Valentine’s Day was like that. Maybe he brought someone home after a night out. Sounds about right. It’s been four months of freedom for him. He probably had the time of his life bringing someone else home. Why wouldn’t he be? He’s Lee Felix. The man who had it all. If there was anything he wanted, he’d have it instantly. He was a man loved by the whole world, as if he were a king and everyone else was his subjects, ready to do his bidding.
They were lucky he’s a good man. You hated that he was because the thought that a good man like him slipped through your fingers and could be in someone else’s palm made your stomach churn. You knew you shouldn’t feel this way. It’s been four damn months, and you were trying to move on. You needed to, frankly. But goddammit, it’s so hard.
“Mommy?”
You jumped a little, completely startled by the innocent girlish voice. You looked to your left to see that Byeol was standing there with her wide, starry eyes. You heaved a little breath, a little thankful that your daughter took you out of your spiraling session.
“Yes, Byeol?” You asked.
“I’m hungryyyyy,” she said.
“Aww, Baby. We have some leftover bibimbap if you want. I can warm it up and add kimchi.”
“Yes, please!”
Byeol jumped a little with enthusiasm, and you couldn’t help but look at her with such affectionate eyes. She was too cute.
“Okay, I’ll give you some,” you smiled softly, patting her head. “Ask your sister if she wants some as well.”
Byeol nodded and dashed to the living room. Meanwhile, you went ahead and put the bibimbap that was sitting in the fridge in the microwave. Byeol returned to the kitchen with Nari, and the two were eagerly sitting on the stools next to the kitchen island.
“You’re hungry, Nari?” You asked.
“Yes, Mommy,” Nari said.
“Okay.”
The microwave beeped, and when you saw that the bibimbap was steaming, you carefully took the dish out and put it on the counter. You then grabbed two plates, two spoons, and a slightly bigger spoon to scoop the bibimbap. Once you had plated the food, you placed the meals in front of your daughters.
“Eat up now,” you said, “I’ll get you both some water.”
“Mommy, can we have soda?” Byeol asked.
“Yes, Mommy, I want soda too!” Nari said.
“I’m sorry, my darlings,” you sighed, “But you need to sleep after this. The soda would just keep you awake.”
The girls pouted and whined with disappointment. However, they were quick to accept defeat. You poured water into their cups and handed them out. Nari and Byeol began to eat their dinner. Watching them eat made your stomach growl, so you decided to serve yourself as well.
“Who’s Jack?” Nari asked.
The big spoon slipped through your fingers and landed in the bibimbap. You looked up to see Nari holding the Valentine’s Day card. Shit, I forgot to look at it.
You immediately walked to Nari and gently snatched the card from her small hand. Pink tinted your cheeks, and you actively kept it out of their view.
“Someone from work,” you casually lied.
You put the card on another counter, and you went back to putting some bibimbap on your plate, along with pouring a glass of water for yourself. After making your plate, you sat on another stool on the kitchen island and started eating.
“Oh, okay,” Nari said chirpily, “What did the card say, Mommy? It has hearts all over it.”
“Maybe it’s something sweet,” Byeol giggled, “Maybe he has a crush on Mommy.”
A sudden cough escaped your lips, and you could feel the little choke in your throat. Your face got all hot and even more radiant with pink and red. You quickly drank some of your water to calm your coughing, right before you could clear your throat.
“Mommy!” Byeol said with sudden worry.
“Are you okay?” Nari asked.
“I’m fine,” you assured, “Also, no, that card doesn’t mean anything. He’s just being friendly.”
“But don’t hearts mean love?”
“It can mean friendship too,” you said, “Now, come on. Finish your food, so you can get to bed on time.”
“Okaaaayyyyy.”
Nari and Byeol continued to eat their dinner, and the same for you. Dinnertime wasn’t usually this silent, but you didn’t dare to say much this time around. The girls were somewhat chatty, but they knew they had to get ready for bed soon. Once you and the girls were done eating, you took them upstairs to their shared, cutesy and whimsical bedroom.
The room was a bit messy. Their beds weren’t made, Barbie dolls and plushies were a bit scattered on the floor in front of the dollhouse, the bookshelf was a bit unorganized and cluttered, and the pretty fairy forest painting gifted by Uncle Hyunjin had yet to be hung up. If it were any other hour of the day, you’d scold the girls a little and get them to clean up. But bedtime was more important. The two were changed into their cute pajamas. Byeol wore a blue set with a kitten pattern, and Nari’s was pink and had a puppy pattern. The girls got into their respective beds, and you gently tucked them in their blankets.
“Mommy?” Byeol asked.
“Hmm?” You said.
“Is Daddy coming to Busan with us?”
Right. The field trip.
“He doesn’t know if he can, but he hopes to,” you said, “If he isn’t able to come, I’ll go to Busan with you.”
“But Daddy promised he’d come with us,” Byeol’s pupils dialed wide open, making her eyes puppy-like. “Why can’t he come?”
“He’s just busy, Honey, there’s not much we can do—”
“But why is Daddy so busy?” Nari pouted and crossed her arms. “He isn’t even home anymore…”
Silence landed in the room. It was a loud entrance. Even though you and Felix told the girls about the divorce, they were still asking and wondering why he couldn’t just stay in the house as he always did. Was this wishful thinking on their end, or were they still in denial? You wanted to tell them that he’s never coming back home to stay, but the sad look on their precious, freckled faces was too much. It’s even painful for you to face the truth.
“I know…” You said, as your heart was pounding in your ears. “But he loves you both very much. I mean, he took you to the park and gave you ice cream today.”
“That is true,” Byeol said.
“The park was a lot of fun,” Nari said, as a smile grew back on her face.
“We should go together, Mommy! It was so pretty!”
You smiled softly.
“Hopefully, when the weekend comes,” you said, “I can take us for a lil trip.”
“Yay!” The girls cheered and giggled.
“Alright, now, it’s way past your bedtime. Good night, darlings.”
You leaned over to plant a kiss on Byeol’s head first and messed with her hair a little.
“Good night, Mommy,” Byeol said.
Byeol lay her back on her bed, and you went to Nari and kissed her head and ruffled her hair gently.
“Good night, Mommy,” Nari said, before she lay down.
The girls closed their eyes, and you turned off the lights in their room and closed the door. You walked down the stairs and went to the kitchen to turn off the lights. But before you turned them off, you realized that the card from Jack was still on the counter. You grabbed the cutesy Valentine’s Day card, and you finally opened it as you were walking to your bedroom. The inside of the card was standard. It had a graphic of a brown teddy bear holding a vintage pink heart, but in the empty space next to it was a handwritten note: Bought this wine for the most beautiful girl. Hopefully, I’ll see you more often, Doll - Jack.
The note was so simple yet so scary. Part of you wished that you hadn’t texted him earlier, but that’s what happens when sexual frustration gets the best of you, you suppose. Sure, the sex was okay, but why was he so eager? Eagerness and casualness don’t go well together, you thought. Dammit, why couldn’t you just keep entertaining yourself as you did for the first month? It was working just fine, but of course, you had to bring in a man. What would the girls think if they found out another man stepped into this house? Your stomach churned.
Even the sight of your messy bed made your shoulders tense. You put the letter on your bedside table and slipped under the tussled blanket, pulling it over your body. You curled into a fetal position, and your mattress was getting noticeably cold. You were lying in the very center of the bed because no matter where you were, there was so much space left over. Even if that space was full, it was filled in by some ghost. Your chest tightened, and you hugged yourself as the cold overwhelmed you. The blanket clearly wasn’t enough. Jack was right. This bed was way too big for one person.
x•x•x•x
It was the next day. The girls were already dropped off at school, and you were behind the counter at the local cafe. Your chestnut brown apron was over your white buttoned down shirt, and your hair was up in a tight ponytail. You were busy doing your usual tasks, which were to take customers’ orders and collect payments. The job was rather easy, but damn, was it mentally exhausting. Talking to so many people at once on a Friday morning made you wish that you had gone straight home after dropping the girls off at school. But alas, you had bills to pay, and you weren’t going to let Felix pay for anything more than just child support.
“So you want a chocolate croissant with a small Biscoff latte, correct?” You asked the customer in front of you. You tried to sound happy-go-lucky, but it was an attempt. Not the best attempt, but an attempt.
The customer before you was clearly a bit older. As if the “old people smell” wasn’t there, his hair was all silver and receding, and his tanned face had wrinkles all over.
“Yes, Lady, please,” he said.
“Okay,” you nodded, “That’ll be 11,000.”
The man laughed, almost a little flabbergasted.
“11,000? Damn, woman, you’re killing me.”
“Sorry, Sir, I don’t make the prices.”
“That’s alright, Sweetheart, just keep working.”
The man took out his wallet and swiped his credit card on the little reader, finalizing his payment. Once the man paid, he went on to the main counter to wait for his order. Meanwhile, you only huffed out a breath of relief. You were worried that the man would yell at you for the coffee and pastry being a little expensive. Luckily, you made it out. Suddenly, the little doorbell rang as a man stepped through the entrance. A 5’7” man with shabby brown hair, and he was dressed in a plain shirt and sweatpants. Looks like he got out of a dance practice.
“Hi, Y/N,” he said as he approached you. “Been a while.”
“Hi, Seungmin,” you said softly, your voice a little awkward. You didn’t think you’d see one of Felix’s closest friends, let alone his roommate, so suddenly. “What brings you here?”
“Practice’s been tough, and I could use a good cup of coffee.”
“What kind of coffee would you want?”
“I’ll just get a regular americano. Small, of course.”
“You want any pastries to go with?”
“No thanks. Just the coffee.”
“Alright. That’ll be 7,000.”
Seungmin pulled out his wallet to grab his credit card.
“How are the girls?” He suddenly asked.
“Oh, they’re good,” you said, smiling a little. “Last night, they were very energetic.”
“That’s good to hear,” Seungmin swiped his credit card. “Tell them Uncle Minnie says hi.”
You laughed a little.
“Will do,” you said, “Would you like your receipt?”
“Sure.” You handed Seungmin his receipt. “Thanks. I’ll see you later, Y/N. Take care.”
“Bye, Seungmin.”
Seungmin slightly bowed his head toward you and walked away to wait for his order. The doors opened again, and the doorbell rang its lovely tune. Jack just walked in. Your heart suddenly dropped, and you sucked a tight breath. Your eyes met his, and a smile grew on his face.
“Damn, Baby, I didn’t know you worked at a place like this,” he said, as he sauntered to the front counter. “Do you take kisses as payment?”
He blew a kiss at you, and heat rose in your cheeks, making them more red than needed.
“Hi, Jack,” you said, trying to remain professional. “And no, we unfortunately don’t accept kisses as payments.”
“Damn, that’s a shame,” Jack playfully huffed before leaning in closer to you. “Maybe I can give you a tip.”
“Jack—”
“I’m just playing, Sweetheart. Don’t worry, I’ll order something for real.”
You let out a small breath of relief.
“Well, what do you want?” You asked.
“I’ll just take the mocha cappuccino,” Jack said.
“No pastries?”
“I already had my lunch.”
You nodded.
“That’ll be 7,000,” you said.
“7,000?” Jack raised his eyebrows, “Well, I’ll be damned.”
He pulled out his wallet and put some cash on the countertop for you to grab. You grabbed the paper money and put it in the cash register.
“You want a receipt?” You asked.
“Nah, but ya know what I do want?” Jack replied, as he playfully bit his bottom lip and scanned your body up and down with his eyes. Shivers went up and down your spine, and your heart was picking up the pace, pounding in your chest.
“What?”
“I wanna take you out for a joyride,” Jack leaned in close and pointed his thumb behind him. “I got a sexy convertible.”
You blushed more. It has been an awful while since you’ve been taken on a joyride, but alas, this wasn’t the time. This wasn’t the day, as a matter of fact.
“I’m still working, Jack,” you said
“I meant after your shift, Babe,” Jack assured.
“I have to pick up my daughters from school. We can talk about this later, okay?”
“Awww, alright,” Jack said. Even if his smile was still cocky, you could hear the slight hint of disappointment in his cadence. “I’ll let you keep working, Sweetie, just don’t forget about me, alright?”
Jack walked away to get his drink. You sighed in relief and quickly checked the time. It was 2:15 P.M. Your shift was almost done, thankfully. Five more minutes, and you’re free to go. And thankfully, there weren’t an awful lot of customers this time around, which was a little strange, but you welcomed it.
Five minutes flew by fast, and you went to the employees' only room. The room was barely a room. It was more like a grey, boring closet. But there was enough space to get yourself out of the apron and cap. You put the two pieces in a box that was only labeled with your name. Once you put away your work items, you grabbed your purse that was in the box and walked out of the little closet and then out of the counter.
Jack was at his table with his drink, and his eyes beamed at the sight of you.
“Done with your shift, Babe?” He asked, standing up from his seat.
“Yeah,” you said.
You suddenly sucked in a breath once Jack snaked his arm around your waist and pulled you closer to his chest. Pink flushed over your cheeks, and Jack grinned before kissing you. Your knees were already giving out, but you kept your arms around his neck to stop yourself from falling. Jack might have been okay at sex, but he was one hell of a good kisser.
“Jack,” you breathed once his lips disconnected from yours.
“I wanna get you alone, Baby,” he whispered, “Hop in my car. I’ll take you to the most romantic spots in Seoul.”
“I have to pick up my daughters. We can go on the joyride some other time.”
“Awww, okay, Babe.”
Jack’s lips trailed down your neck, which made you squirm immediately.
“Jack,” you whined, “Not in front of—”
“Y/N?”
Your eyes widened, and you immediately pushed Jack off you. Your legs wobbled, and you were struggling to stand up straight when your heartbeat spiked. You couldn’t even bear to look at him. At Felix, who was standing right before you. His eyes were wide, and his mouth was open with shock.
“Felix?” Your voice quivered, and you straightened your clothes—at least attempted to. “What are you doing here?”
“I was going to get treats for the members,” he said, before looking at Jack with an unreadable expression. Your shoulders constricted, and you felt the cringe in your bones ache. An easy smile formed on Felix’s lips, and he reached his hand out to Jack. “I don’t think we’ve met before. I’m Felix.”
Jack took Felix’s hand, and the two men shared a handshake.
“Jack,” Jack said, looking back and forth between you and Felix. “I take it that you two know each other.”
You swallowed heavily. Frankly, you didn’t want to be there now. You needed to leave and pick up your daughters.
“Yeah,” Felix said coolly, “Very well actually.”
“Felix,” you said.
“Hmm?”
“Don’t be…” You wanted to finish that sentence, but not in front of Jack. The tension was already heavy enough. You leaned against Jack’s body and nuzzled into his side. “Jack, can you give us a minute?”
Jack looked at you with confusion. He looked at Felix and then back at you. His eyes widened a little, and he nodded.
“I’ll be waiting outside,” he said before walking away and stepping outside the building.
Once Jack was outside, you crossed your arms and looked at Felix with a stern face.
“You didn’t have to be rude to him,” you said.
“Rude?” Felix’s eyebrow raised, almost laughing it off. “I wasn’t being rude.”
“You were trying to one-up him.”
“Okay, I wasn’t trying to one-up him.”
“Well, it seemed like it. Listen, he’s my new boyfriend, so just—”
“New boyfriend?”
You stopped at his plain tone. Felix’s little smile fell, and your heart fell with it. He didn’t sound angry at all, which only made your stomach churn more.
“Yeah,” you said, now rubbing your sweaty palms together. “Jack is my boyfriend.”
“Where did you meet him?”
“The bar last week. Something wrong?”
“Did you two…you know?—”
“Felix.”
“I’m just asking.”
“So what if we did? It’s not your business anyway…”
Silence was now between the two of you. You couldn’t maintain eye contact with Felix much longer. The disappointed look on his face was enough to make you feel sick. Your arms instinctively wrapped around yourself, and your heart was pounding so much that it ached.
“You’re right,” Felix said softly, “I’m sorry…”
Even with the way he apologized, you wanted to die.
“Do the girls know?” He asked. His voice was so calm and gentle. You weren’t sure if you liked that.
“No,” you said before quickly glancing at the clock on the wall to check the time. You sighed. “I have to pick them up.”
“I can pick them up if you’re busy.”
“It’s okay, Felix, I can do it.”
“Alright. Oh yeah, I should let you know about the Busan trip by tonight.”
“Okay then. Bye.”
Felix softly said bye back, and you walked out of the café, while he stayed there and headed to the line for pastries. Jack was standing outside in the parking lot in front of his red convertible. He really wasn’t kidding about having a sexy car. He flashed a cocky grin at you and propped his sunglasses up on his face.
“‘Bout time you got out, Babe,” he said, “Come on, let’s go.”
“I’m sorry, Jack, but I have to pick up my daughters,” you said, “I’ll see you soon.”
You looked behind you and saw your gray mini SUV. You started walking to your car, but Jack playfully grabbed your wrist and held you close.
“Always in a rush, aren’t you, Cutiepie?” Jack grinned before kissing you.
“Jack—”
You tried to stand upright, but you were already feeling dizzy from how hard he was kissing your lips and gripping your wrist.
“I know, I’m sorry, but I couldn’t help it,” Jack sighed, “Alright, I’ll let you go. Just don’t forget to call me, yeah?”
He let you go, and your head was slightly spinning. You quickly recovered, and your face flushed red. You stepped a little away from Jack.
“Bye, Jack,” you said as you walked to your car.
“Bye, Sweetheart. Tell the girls I said hi!”
Jack gave you a kissy face, and you awkwardly laughed at the gesture. It was a little adorable, you had to admit. Jack may have been a little more forward and bold than you were used to, but he had some charm. You opened your car door and sat in the driver's seat. After you started the car, you pulled out of the café’s parking lot and drove all the way to the school. The drive wasn’t that long, but it felt that way without any music playing. You used to play music all the time in your car. Every drive was so lively. Your daughters in the backseats, the windows down, Felix’s hand in yours, and everyone’s voices were harmonizing and filling up the car. It was fun.
But every song you’ve heard now just reminded you of Felix. The girls would ask you to play a song because it was Daddy’s favorite or he made it with his members. And you would. You would because you loved to indulge them, but your heart ached at every lyric and tune. You couldn’t even sing along as your daughters did. All your vocal cords were held captive with chokes, and tears would threaten to pour down your face. Even if your car and hand felt empty, at least you felt a little at peace in the silence.
You pulled up at the carpool line at the school. You checked the time on the little clock on your car screen. It was 3:30 P.M, which was a couple of minutes after dismissal. So many little kids walked out of the doors, and teachers were escorting them to their parents’ cars. You saw a tall woman in a white blouse and black pencil skirt walking Nari and Byeol out of the building, her hands in theirs. Nari yawned, and Byeol rubbed her cute eyes. Must’ve been a long day. The woman and your daughters finally reached your car, and the girls crawled into the back seat, buckling their belts.
“Hi, Mommy,” your daughters said in unison.
“Hi, Babies,” you said.
The woman leaned against your car window as you rolled it down.
“Hi, Y/N,” the woman said.
“Hi, Mrs. Park,” you said.
“I’m just letting you know that you will have to confirm with the board about whether or not you’re going to the Busan trip.”
“Right, right. Felix actually told me he should have an update by the evening, so I’ll let you know.”
“Great. Thank you. Take care, Y/N.”
“You too.”
Mrs. Park walked away from the car, and you started to put the gear into drive. You drove away from the school and started the drive home.
“Is Daddy coming to Busan?” Byeol asked, while yawning.
“He said he’ll let me know tonight,” you said, “Anyways, how was school, you two?”
“I’m so sleepy, Mommy,” Nari said and followed with a yawn.
“Long day?”
“Mmmhmm.”
“That’s okay, Baby. You can take a nap before doing homework.”
You pulled up to your house, and the girls immediately walked out of the car and headed inside. You sighed and immediately made your way to the kitchen. The girls were probably very hungry after a long day at school, and by God, you also were. You checked the fridge to see if there was any leftover food. Surprise, nothing was there. You sighed. Now, you had to take a couple of minutes to figure out what your girls were in the mood for eating.
“Girls!” You called out.
“Yes, Mommy?” Nari asked from the stairs. The girls were probably going up to their room as they usually do.
“What do you both want for dinner?”
“Uhhh, anything, Mommy,” Byeol said.
“Anything? Are you sure?”
“Wait, Mommy, I want fish!” Nari interjected.
“Fish?” You didn’t really have a full fish to cook. However, you checked the pantry to see if there was any canned fish left from the time you made the girls' rice balls. There were a couple of cans left. Not a lot, but it’ll make do, you suppose. “Uhhh…I only have the canned fish if you want something with that.”
“Uhhh, can you make a sushi bake?”
“A sushi bake? Byeol, do you want one too?”
“Sure, Mommy,” Byeol said.
Once your daughters gave you the green light, you immediately grabbed all the ingredients from the pantry and got to work. You were a little thankful that they asked you to make something a little simple, because almost all the energy was slowly depleting from you.
Too much happened in one day. Waking up at 6:00 A.M, making breakfast and lunch for the girls, dropping the girls off at school, work, Jack coming in, Jack kissing you, Felix catching you both, your less-than-pleasant talk with Felix, Jack kissing you again, picking up the girls from school, and now cooking. You just wanted to lie down on the couch and rot. The oven was preheating. You washed and put all the rice in the rice cooker and just let that run. You needed to lie down for at least a little while. Maybe have a drink.
The wine Jack gave you was in the fridge. You grabbed a glass and poured yourself some of the wine. It was a deep red, like blood ringed out of a beating heart. The smell was still strong like the previous night, which you didn’t mind. Maybe you did want something strong after a long day anyway. You sipped on the wine, letting that flavor bubble and settle on your tongue. You drank more, and your head was feeling a little light. You put down the glass for the sake of not ending up drunk while cooking.
The rice was done, and you went ahead to assemble the layers for the sushi bake. You put the rice in the bottom of the dish and then topped it off with the canned fish, spicy mayo, and all the other necessary toppings. You then put the dish in the oven to bake, and you returned to savoring your drink. Red flushed your face, and you were a little thankful that Jack gifted you that bottle. It really was special. Maybe you would accept a joyride from him. A joyride in that sexy convertible. It’s been a while since someone made your head spin. The last time that happened was on your honeymoon with Felix.
Right.
Of course, everything had to circle back to him.
But damn, did you remember that trip? Felix wanted to take you to Paris for the honeymoon. So many romantic spots he chose. So many restaurants he held your hand at. So many thrilling rides on the motorbike he rented. You were holding onto him for dear life, screaming from the adrenaline pumping in your veins, but damn, was Felix so smooth with riding that motorbike. You remembered him laughing at how frizzy your hair got afterward, and when you pouted and lightly punched his chest, Felix smiled softly and kissed your pouty lips.
“Awww, don’t worry, Baby,” Felix said, “I was just teasing. Your hair always looks good, frizzy or not.”
“You better mean it, Banana Head,” you huffed as you crossed your arms.
“My, my. Such foul words, Angel. I think I should teach you some manners.”
That damn smirk on his face. The way Felix held you close and kissed your blushy face under the Paris twilight. You remembered squirming from how his hands expertly roamed your curves and whispered soft praises into your ear. Sometimes you would scream just out of excitement, and Felix would sweep you off your feet and carry you around like it was nothing. So many memories were like that. So many. Why did it all have to end? You couldn’t even look at him with that same smile and giggle.
Your heart gained a thousand pounds and sank into your stomach. Salt was stinging the corners of your welling eyes, and you could feel your throat squeeze over nothing, as if a ghost was wrapping its hand around it. You knew why it had to end. You were the one who told him that you wanted to end things. You wanted this. You needed this. For your sake. For the girls’ sake. For his sake. You felt like you shouldn’t even be crying at all.
Beep!
Your spine jumped out of you when the oven started beeping loudly. The sushi bake was done. You sniffed and wiped away your tears from your red face before you reached for the oven mitts from one of the drawers. You turned off the oven, pulled out the delicious meal, and placed it on the kitchen island. The sushi bake was indeed delectable-looking. It smelled divine, it had the right amount of crispiness on top, and your stomach rumbled immediately. Alas, you had to give it at least a minute to cool, so you resorted to cutting up some green onions and sprinkling them on top, along with some extra spicy sauce.
“Girls! Dinner is ready!” You said.
Little footsteps traveled downstairs, and you quickly plated their meals. Once Nari and Byeol arrived at the kitchen, you handed them their plates of delicious sushi bake.
“Careful, it’s hot,” you said.
“You alright, Mommy?” Nari asked, “You look sad.”
“Mommy’s fine.”
“Oooohh, Mommy, can I have that red drink?” Byeol asked, as she pointed at your wine glass.
You looked at it and then back at her before laughing softly. God, your daughters were so precious.
“No, Honey,” you said, as you gently rubbed Byeol’s head. “This is for me, and only me. I can give you both soda if you want.”
Byeol’s eyes lit up.
“Yes, Mommy!” Byeol said, “Please gimme soda!”
“Me too!” Nari chirped.
“Alright, alright,” you smiled. You went back to the fridge to grab two cans of cola and handed them to your girls. “Enjoy, little ones.”
Nari and Byeol happily accepted their little cola cans, and you grabbed a plate to help yourself to some of the sushi bake. You sat down on the third seat on the kitchen island and immediately dug into your second meal of the whole day, paired with the exquisite wine. The sushi bake really did hit the spot. It was crispy, spicy, and creamy. Just everything you wanted it to be. Suddenly, your phone vibrated in your pocket, and you pulled it out.
Felix: I talked with my manager, and I can go to Busan with the girls :)
You smiled a little. It was a relief, honestly. You typed in a response.
Y/N: that’s great! i’ll let the teachers and girls know.
Felix: Perfect.
Felix: Also…
Felix: I’m sorry for the way I acted today. It wasn’t right of me.
You sucked in a breath, and you could feel a sharp pang in your chest.
Y/N: it’s okay.
You couldn’t even bear to type in anything else. Let alone look at your phone. You took a deep breath before continuing to eat.
“Your father is going to Busan with you two,” you said.
“Wait, really?” Nari and Byeol’s eyes widened.
“Yep.”
“Yaaayyy!” Nari clapped her hands.
“It’s going to be soooo much fun,” Byeol giggled.
“Yes, yes,” you said, “Now finish up your food and go to bed.”
“Okay, Mommy.”
The girls finished their dinner before going upstairs to sleep, leaving you alone in the kitchen. After taking the last bite of your food, you put all the dishes away in the dishwasher and put the leftovers in the fridge. All that was left was the half-full wine glass. You drank more of it, feeling the slight buzz in your brain. You swayed a little and ended up on the couch in the living room, curling up underneath the soft throw blanket. Your face was so hot it might’ve been burning pink. You put on some show on the TV. It was a medical drama that was as good as background noise. You were just lying on the couch, letting all the sensations hit you. You were feeling woozy, hot, and just numb. You knew you were getting more messages in your phone, but you didn’t have the energy to check it.
Felix: No, it’s not okay. I shouldn’t have judged you. I hope that man treats you well.
Jack: When are you gonna call me back, Babe :3333
x•x•x•x
It was the morning of the Busan field trip. Felix was relieved that his manager allowed him to take the days off. Every day was just the same routine: recording, rehearsing, attending events, photoshoots. Just constant work. If only he could come back to a home where his daughters would jump at him the moment he opened the door every single night. He sometimes wondered how his daughters would feel if they learned that he willingly gave up custody of them. Would they hate him then? Would they look at him like he was some traitor?
Of course, he supported you and the girls financially. He paid for the girls’ education, he helped with the bills if your paycheck didn’t come in on time, and when the girls grow up and go to university, he planned to help pay for their tuition too. Although he might still need to talk to you about that. Ever since the divorce, you’ve been stubborn about paying for everything yourself. Every now and then, you’d tell him that he didn’t need to cover your electric bill, and that you got enough money to pay. The only things he should worry about were the girls. Felix, of course, understood you, but damn, did he hate watching you stretching yourself so thin.
The dark circles under your eyes weren’t ever lost on him. He couldn’t forget how your shoulders were always slumped, and how you would try to massage or stretch out the knots under your skin. Your smiles seemed so forced now, the exhaustion was so clear in your voice, and your skin lost its signature glow. Hell, he couldn’t take that image of you wearing his old hoodie and having your eyes so red-rimmed with tears and cheeks and nose all flushed off his mind. You claimed that you had wine and cried to some dog movie, but Felix couldn’t help but think that you were lying. You always did to keep a strong front.
If only he could help like he used to. You didn’t have to worry so much about money when he was home. Most of your tasks were cut in half, and you rarely felt any kind of stress. He wanted you to rest again. It wasn’t healthy to be overloading yourself this much. But he couldn’t step in. He shouldn’t really. You’re not his responsibility anymore, and if he tried to help you out, you’d only push him away for crossing a boundary that wasn’t there before, yet deserved respect. The only thing he could do at that point was just support his daughters and pray that your new boyfriend would bring the colors that you were missing.
Felix was packing his small suitcase with enough clothes to last him three days and all of his toiletries. Once he filled up his suitcase, he took it downstairs to the small kitchenette and the living room. Seungmin was already cooking up some breakfast. The kitchen smelled of coffee and omelette.
“Morning, Sunshine,” Seungmin said.
“Morning,” Felix said as he checked the coffee maker. “Two cups of coffee, right?”
“Yeah, I made some for you.”
“Thanks, Seungmin.”
Felix poured himself some coffee and added some sweetener and cream before going to the dining table.
“You’re going to Busan, right?” Seungmin asked.
“Yeah. It’ll be a three-day trip,” Felix said.
Seungmin took two plates of breakfast to the table. Felix grabbed one of them and started to eat.
“Sounds fun,” Seungmin said, “Actually, Jeongin was a bit jealous when he heard about your day off.”
“Really?” Felix asked, a soft smile creeping up his face.
“Yep. He said, ‘I can’t believe I have to go to Italy the same days Felix-hyung gets to go home.’”
“Awww, poor Innie. I’ll say hi to his parents for him.”
“I’m sure he’ll appreciate that. I’m dropping you off at the campus, right?”
“Yeah,” Felix nodded.
Once Felix and Seungmin were done with their breakfast, both of them got in Seungmin’s car. Felix put his suitcase in the trunk, and he sat in the passenger’s seat. Seungmin pulled out of the driveway and followed the GPS to the school. Meanwhile, Felix just stared at the text messages on his phone. You haven’t read the last text he sent. Were you that upset at him yesterday?
He mentally sighed. Felix knew he should’ve just stopped himself from making that comment. Boasting to Jack about how well he knew you, how arrogant of him. Felix knew that he shouldn’t feel sick while looking at you with another man, but he couldn’t help it. It was like all that time he had with you meant nothing. What if Jack was going to be your next husband? A new father for your daughters. Felix’s stomach churned at the thought.
Suddenly, his phone chimed, and in came a text from you.
Y/N: i’m dropping the girls off at school.
Felix: Nice. I’m on my way too.
“This the school?” Seungmin asked, pointing at the building through the windshield. It looked just like any elementary school, but it was definitely the one Felix knew.
“Yeah, that one.”
Seungmin pulled over at the parking lot, where a lot of parents were dropping off their kids at the field trip bus. Some parents joined their kids, while others were just dropping them off. You parked your car and stepped outside with your daughters. You were still in your pajamas. Those cute pink pajamas that had heart-shaped cherries on it, that he remembered so well. Your hair was a little frizzy, barely brushed. You looked like you just rolled out of bed. The girls stepped out of the car, wearing comfy clothes instead of their regular uniform.
Felix unbuckled his seatbelt.
“I’ll see you later, Seungmin,” he said.
“I’ll see you,” Seungmin said, “Safe travels.”
“Thanks.”
Felix stepped out of the car and went to the trunk to grab his suitcase. Once Felix was away from the car, Seungmin drove away and back home. Felix looked ahead and saw that you were doing the same thing he did: gathering all the stuff the girls packed for the trip out of your car’s trunk. The suitcases were a little heavier than you’d like. You even told the girls to pack lightly.
“Daddy!” Byeol called out.
“He’s here!” Nari cheered.
The two girls ran to their father, and Felix gave out a wide smile as he opened his arms wide for the girls to jump into.
“Morning, my Little Stars,” Felix said, “I told you I’d come.”
Felix then saw you struggle to pull out the heavy suitcases from the car. He quickly dashed to you and helped you out.
“Felix,” you said, raising your eyebrows.
“Let me help you,” he said, pulling the suitcases and putting them on the ground. “Damn, how much did the girls pack?”
“Clearly not lightly, as I told them. The teacher should be near the bus. Other kids and their parents are going that way.”
You yawned, and Felix smiled softly. You always yawned so cutely.
“Noted,” Felix said, “You should rest, Y/N. You look tired.”
“I have work right after this, so I can’t rest even if I wanted to.”
You said it so casually. As if the clear exhaustion wasn’t really bothering you. Felix pursed his lips and sighed.
“Please take care of yourself, okay?”
Your heartache returned once more. Your first instinct was to tell Felix to not worry about you, but you were just too tired to argue. He was right. You were tired. It was hard getting all the proper rest after bedrotting once the girls went to bed last night. You sighed.
“Alright. I’ll try and catch up on some sleep.”
You rubbed your eyes, and Felix softly smiled. He wanted to reach for your hair and touch it like he used to. He wanted to kiss your forehead, but you’d push him away. You’d flinch before he could get closer.
“Good,” Felix said, before turning to the girls. “Alright, girls, let’s go.”
“Okay, Daddy!” The girls jumped, grabbed their bags, and ran to his sides.
Felix turned to you once more.
“Bye, Y/N,” he said.
“Bye, Mommy!” The girls said as they took their father’s hands.
“Bye,” you said, waving as you saw Felix and the girls move farther away from you.
If only you could come along. But you already had other responsibilities on your plate. You yawned again, got back in the car, and drove all the way back home.
x•x•x•x
You did try to catch up on sleep while the girls were away in Busan. You didn’t have to wake up super early to make their breakfast and pack their lunches. You just woke up at the ideal hour of the day to get ready for work. The only thing you dreaded about the girls not being home was the uncomfortable silence in your house. A house too big for one person alone. So you’d just turn on the TV the moment you step into the living room. Not to watch anything but to just keep you company for a bit. You’d drink some of Jack’s wine. The bottle is nearly empty, which might be a bit of a blessing because damn, the headaches were killing you.
You just needed sleep.
So much sleep.
But when was the last time you actually had a good sleep? You couldn’t exactly remember. You’ve slept okay, but not okay enough for you to be well rested. You still had to use some kind of cream to keep your eye bags a little vibrant.
You were ready to clock out of work. Just go back home and crash on your couch. But the moment you stepped away from the counter after taking off your apron and cap, Jack entered the café with that wide smile on your face.
“Hey, Babe,” he said, “Aww, you’re already done with work? I was hoping you’d make my coffee.”
His hand didn’t waste time and snuck around your waist to pull you close to his chest. Your cheeks glowed pink, and you could feel the air get squeezed out of your lungs.
“Well, my coworkers make amazing coffee,” you said, “So you should still get some.”
“I prefer yours, Cutie,” Jack groaned playfully. “But hey, now that you’re done with work, how about you hop in my car?”
“Right now?”
“Yeah. Come on, Baby, it’ll be fun.”
Jack’s grip on your hips tightened, and you squirmed and winced. You would push him away, but he was like a solid brick wall. An overly affectionate one at that.
“Jack! I don’t feel the prettiest right now—” You said before you let out a high-pitched yelp, as you were suddenly lifted from the ground by Jack’s arms.
“Puh-lease,” Jack rolled his eyes. His lips met the column of your neck, and you only squirmed in response. God, for someone who’s so lean, he’s fucking strong. Felix was, too, but at least he was mindful of his strength. “You’re always pretty to me, Babe. Now come on, let me take you out for a ride. I can pay for any ice cream if we find a stand.”
“Fine, but just put me down, please. We’re still in the middle of the café.”
“Right, right.” Jack laughed it off and put you back on your two feet. His hand landed on your hair and ruffled it a bit. “Come on now. The car’s waiting.”
He walked towards the door of the café, and you followed him. You were a little thankful that you decided to take the walk to work instead of driving like you usually did. Jack opened the door to his red convertible. The paint was so shiny that you wondered if he had washed it this morning. You got in the white, crisp passenger seat that softly squished under your weight, and put your purse in the small space in front of your feet. The dashboard of the car looked very sleek with all its shiny silver buttons and screen. You felt like you stepped into a car straight out of a Bond movie. Jack sat in the driver’s seat, buckled his belt, and started the car.
“Comfortable, Baby?” he smirked at you.
“Yeah,” you said, “The car looks nice.”
“Thank you. My buddy paid good money to get this one for me. Life’s been good since.”
“That’s nice of him.”
Jack pulled out his phone and started to put on some music. You haven’t heard this song in a while. It was the type of song that would play in the clubs, and everyone would bump and grind on each other. Jack shifted the gear to drive, and the car started moving. The shadows of all the city buildings were getting longer, the cool breeze kept your hair up in the air, and Jack’s speed was fast yet controlled.
“Where are we going, Jack?” You asked.
“I don’t really have a specific destination in mind,” he said, “Just relax and enjoy the ride.”
His hand found its way to your thigh, and heat flushed up to your cheeks. Jack turned up the music as he squeezed the plush of your thigh. His blunt nails were grazing the thin fabric of your black tights. You didn’t realize how big his hand was until it was on your thigh. Your heart skipped a beat every time he would move his fingers slightly, but it would also drop to your stomach whenever he rubbed your thigh.
Felix did something similar before. It was one of your classic movie night dates with him. The girls were away at a sleepover at their friend’s house, so you and Felix took the liberty of going to the drive-in theater. The movie was some blockbuster hit. You couldn’t remember it. All you could remember was how Felix kept his hand on your thigh while driving and while watching the movie. He would gently squeeze it, mindlessly rub it, or maybe tickle you if he wanted to tease. You’d blush and squirm like you always did in your first five dates, as if that youthful joy you had in your freshman year of college returned to your body.
“Felix, stop!” you giggled as you spilled some of the popcorn in the car. “It tickles! I’m getting popcorn everywhere!”
“Aww, alright, Angel,” Felix removed his hand from your thigh, grabbed the handful of popcorn that luckily landed on your lap, and put them back in the bucket. “I just like hearing your laugh.”
And of course, Felix would finish off by pressing a tender kiss on your temple before turning your head to kiss your lips. He would say that your laughs and giggles were music to his ears, and you would say that he was being a little hyperbolic. He would say that he wasn’t in return. He meant every word he said. What would Felix even say if you were to bleed out your heart and stomach to him now? Would he still be as honest and gentle as before? Would he give you a tender kiss and make love to you like he used to?
“Y/N? Earth to Y/N!”
Jack’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts. He parked at one of the parks, a little further away from downtown. The sky was less blue and had pink and orange hues. The club music was muted, for Jack was just staring at you with wide eyes. You couldn’t tell if they were out of concern or offense. The familiar maggots of guilt curled and squirmed in your bones, and you noticed that your thigh felt cold without his hand.
“Sorry, I dozed off,” you said.
“I’m taking you out for a ride, and you just doze off?” he asked. His voice was quiet and a little firm. Just like the one time he came over to your house. “God, Babe, it’s like you’re not even here.”
“I’m sorry, Jack, I just…I’m—”
“I know you’re tired, Y/N. I know. You’re working tirelessly hard to provide for you and your little girls, but that doesn’t mean you get to mentally clock out when we’re out on a date.”
He didn’t sound angry, but you could tell he was just by the way he was gripping his steering wheel. Jack’s fists were holding onto the handle for dear life until his knuckles paled. You could feel the heat and water rise to your eyes, as your throat tightened with an invisible swell.
“I didn’t mean to—”
“Well, of course you didn’t. That’s what you think when you ghost me whenever I try to text you, right?”
The tears began to pour from your eyes. He wasn’t wrong. You did ghost him almost every time he tried to initiate anything with you. You’d come up with the excuse of “I was too drunk to reply” or “I’ve been caught up at home taking care of the girls.” But you knew that this wasn’t fair to him. It wasn’t that he was bad. You just…
“I’m sorry…” You croaked, “I know this isn’t fair to you. It’s not that I don’t like you, Jack. I just—”
“It’s that ex-husband of yours, right?”
You hitched a breath, and your heart clenched so hard that it might as well have shrunk. Jack scoffed.
“Of course it is,” he said. You couldn’t even look him in the eyes. “You’re still holding on, while he could be out there sleeping with anyone he wants.”
“Felix wouldn’t—”
“Cheat on you? Well, that’s the thing, Sweetheart. It wouldn’t be cheating now, would it?”
Why did he have to say it so cruelly yet be right at the same time? Felix wasn’t tied to anyone now. Who knows what he has been up to in his four months of freedom? He could have had a girlfriend, and you wouldn’t have known. No one in their right mind would dare to deny anything he offered. You tried to wipe every single tear that streamed down your face, but they wouldn’t stop coming. You couldn’t even speak because it would just come out in sobs.
Jack sighed.
“What’s even so great about that guy? He left you.”
You clutched your invisible pearls, and you felt even more queasy. He left you. You wanted to say Felix didn’t. It was a mutual agreement. There were conditions and clauses. He’d pay for most of the expenses. The girls saw him almost every weekend. He’d check in on you even when you didn’t want it. He didn’t just leave you and the girls for dead. You wanted to say everything, tell the truth, but all the words are trapped in your throat.
“I didn’t think you’d want me like this,” were the only words you could muster up in choked sobs. “I’m sorry, Jack, but…Just take me home.”
“Just like that?” Jack asked, almost appalled. “You are running away?”
“This isn’t going to work, Jack. I just want to go home.”
You cried more. All the tears were soaking your leggings, dress, and hair. Jack just stared at you. You couldn’t even tell what face he was making or what he was thinking. He probably was looking at you with the same disappointment as the owner of a misbehaved dog. Jack let out a heavy breath before starting the car and driving away. The entire ride was silent. Neither of you were talking, the music was gone, and you tried to suppress your tears and calm your trembling body.
“You really do love him,” Jack said, breaking the silence. It wasn’t even a question. More like a statement. His tone reverted to that neutrality that made the eggshells underneath your feet more fragile. You wrapped your arms around yourself as you always did whenever you felt scared or sad.
“I’m a cruel person,” your voice cracked, and you tried to hide your face in your knees, as you brought them closer to you. “I told Felix I wanted the divorce because his life is so different from mine. I can’t even be honest with my daughters about it all in the name of innocence. I wanted you just for casual sex, and I thought you felt that way, too. But I just led you on for nothing. I can’t keep my shit together. I drink to forget him, but I cry myself to sleep because I remember my wedding day like it was yesterday. I get nauseous whenever I imagine him with someone else, but I let you grab me and kiss me as roughly as you wanted. You deserve someone better than me, Jack. Felix does too, but…I love him too much to let him go. I’m really sorry, Jack. I didn’t mean to hurt you like this.”
The tears returned, and your head was throbbing. Your face might as well be a waterfall. You quietly cried, burying yourself in your knees, letting every fabric you’re wearing soak up all the water. You felt like a child. A baby crying because all her favorite toys were ripped out of her hands so unjustly. Jack’s hand suddenly landed on your head gently, and he ruffled some of your frizzy strands. Your shoulders twitched and immediately relaxed. Your sniffles calmed down a little, at least.
“I’m sorry,” Jack said, “I know I should’ve been gentler with you.”
“You don’t hate me?” you asked, “Even if I made you feel so used?”
“No, Baby. I just….wasn’t understanding. I judged you, and I got mad. Even though I never asked you to be my girlfriend. I just took you on whatever ride I wanted.”
Jack pulled up to the front of your house. Your car was still in the driveway, and you could see that some of the lights were still on through the windows. You unbuckled your belt, grabbed your purse, and before you could even get the chance to open the door, Jack took the initiative to get out of his seat and open it for you. You stepped out of the car, and now you were face-to-face with him, finally. Your face was probably still puffy, red, and tearstained. You were still holding back all the tears. Your heart was aching so much that it might as well be breaking like glass shattering slowly. Jack’s expression this time was soft. He looked at you like you were a lost girl in a scary world. It made you even sicker about all this.
“I guess this is goodbye,” you said weakly and sniffed. You used your long sleeve to wipe the tears and clear snot off your face.
“I guess it is,” Jack said, “I do want to say that I do love you, Y/N, even if you don’t feel the same.”
“Don’t say that.”
“It’s true, Babe.”
He came up to you and slowly pressed his lips against yours. It didn’t feel as good as before.
“Take care of yourself, okay?” Jack said, “Goodnight, Y/N.”
Jack pulled himself away from you, and you could feel your heart break in half. Your watery eyes glistened under the streetlight lamps, and you tried not to completely collapse. Jack kept his lips pursed. He wasn’t visibly happy or sad. He was just….accepting, but that didn’t make it any easier to see him stepping back into his sexy convertible and starting the engine.
“Bye, Jack,” you said.
And after the rev of an engine, Jack pulled away from the driveway, and now he was gone forever. Your shoulders were trembling, and you went back inside. The lights were still on, but that uncomfortable silence was heavy and thick in the air. Not even your cries could lift it completely. You went to your bedroom and just crawled into bed. All the weight you’ve been carrying crashed down on you, and breathy, hitched tears broke out. Your heart pounded so much that your ribs could probably break. The fabric of your pillow got wetter and wetter with every teardrop. Why did everything have to end? Why was moving on so hard? Jack was nice. He would’ve been the perfect lifelong partner if you weren’t stuck in time.
You couldn’t help but think about your last real argument with Felix. He was beyond exhausted and hungry from the packed schedules. You remembered how he just said that he had to go back to Paris for a Louis Vuitton event, but Byeol had her soccer match the same day. He rarely ever made it to those. Not even Nari’s ballet performances. So you got mad at him.
“You never show up for the girls, Felix,” you said, “That isn’t fair. You want me to show up for you, but you can’t show up for us?”
“I know, Y/N, but—” Felix said.
“No, you don’t know. You don’t know how sad they get when they don’t see you in the crowd. Hell, they get sad when you’re not home and somewhere else in the world without them!”
“It’s just a part of my job, Y/N.”
“You could at least be more flexible with it! You can negotiate with your manager more. Honestly, it feels like you’re just leaving us behind for the spotlight.”
That hurt look in his face still haunted you. You knew that you didn’t mean it, but you were just so mad that he wasn’t home. And when you said that you wanted the divorce because you couldn’t take it, Felix agreed. His lips were fixed into a frown, and you couldn’t ever forget what he said to you.
“If you truly think this is for the best…for you, me, the girls…then okay, Y/N. We can get a divorce.”
You cried so much that first night without him, but you didn’t think that pain would stick with you for that long. You sniffled and softly cried more—
“Mommy?”
You immediately bolted up in the bed, and you saw both Nari and Byeol standing at the bedroom door. They were wearing their comfy road trip clothes: just T-shirts and pajama pants.
“Girls?” You immediately tried to wipe your tears, but hiding your weak voice was impossible. “How did you—”
“Uncle Minnie just dropped us off here,” Byeol said.
“Oh, okay. How was Busan?”
“Busan was so much fun! The teacher took us to all the museums and parks, and Daddy even got us to meet Uncle Innie’s parents!”
Your face fell again, and the girls’ happy expressions faded when they saw yours.
“Are you crying, Mommy?” Nari asked, as her bottom lip jutted out to a sad pout. “You look so sad.”
“Oh, umm,” you wanted to say no. But it was of no use. The tears never stopped coming, your face was so red, and you couldn’t even speak without it croaking or your chords straining. “I’m fine…come on, you should go to bed, it’s late. Besides, you shouldn’t be seeing me like this—”
“It’s only seven o’clock, Mommy,” Byeol said, “Bedtime is at nine.”
“What’s wrong, Mommy? You can tell us,” Nari assured.
The two girls walked over to the bed and joined you on the mattress. Their starry eyes were so wide with worry, and they had little frowns on their slightly freckled faces. They looked so much like their father up close, it pained you, yet you adored them so much for it.
“I just…it’s grown-up stuff,” you said.
“Is this about Daddy?” Nari asked.
These kids are more perceptive than I thought.
You sighed.
“Yeah…” You said, your voice now raspy. You took a heavy, shaky breath. “I miss him.”
“Well, why can’t he just come back home?” Byeol asked.
“It’s complicated, Baby. He has his reasons, and I have mine. You’ll understand when you’re older.”
“But Daddy loves you,” Nari said, her voice all hopeful.
It made your heart ache more. Only his darling children would say something like that. What if he stopped loving you, just as Jack said? You swallowed the invisible ball in your throat.
“I don’t know if he still does,” you said, “He loves you both, but….I don’t know if he loves me now.”
Probably after all that traveling around the world.
The tears were welling up in your eyes again. The waterworks were working overtime today for sure. You couldn’t even look at your daughters because they’d probably end up crying. Byeol was already sniffling, and Nari’s deep frown wasn’t going away. Those poor girls. You felt so powerless. All they’ve wanted for the past four months was for Felix to come home, and now, you weren’t sure if he could.
“Can I borrow your phone, Mommy?” Byeol asked.
You looked at Byeol with wide, confused eyes.
“Why?” You asked.
“I wanna call Daddy. We can tell him you’re sad and miss him. He can come and hug you.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Sweetie. What if he—”
“Please, Mommy,” Nari urged, “Just let us call him.”
Saying no to your daughters was easy at times, but damn, their puppy eyes got the best of your bleeding, broken heart. You grabbed your phone from your purse and unlocked it. You then opened your contacts, and with hesitant, trembling fingers, you clicked on Felix. The picture you had for his contact hadn’t changed once since the divorce. It was that same picture you took of him at one of Australia’s finest beaches. The sun was kissing his chiseled, honey skin, the breeze was running its delicate fingers through his wet, blonde locks, and the ocean was grabbing him by the ankles, pulling him closer. He had the widest smile and the brightest laugh. He really felt at home in that moment, and you felt at home when he grabbed you by your bare waist and pulled you to the salty blue waves right after taking the photo. You remembered scolding him for getting your phone wet, but at least it was in a special casing.
You pressed the call button, and there was a deep ringing between you and the girls.
Felix picked up at the second ring.
“Yeah, Y/N?” Felix asked. His voice sounded deeper through the speaker, and your heart skipped a beat with every vibration you felt from your phone.
You opened your mouth, but Nari took the phone from your hand. Byeol leaned against her sister to look at the screen, as if Felix could see her.
“Hi, Daddy!” Nari said.
“Aww, hi, Nari,” Felix said, “Is everything okay?”
“Mommy’s crying and says she misses you!” Byeol blurted out.
“Byeol—” You said.
You wanted to protest, but it was too late.
“Wait, what?” Felix asked. You could clearly hear the concern in his voice. “What do you mean she’s crying? Is she okay?”
There was dead silence. Felix didn’t have an immediate reaction to his daughter begging him to come back. He was probably processing everything the girls just told him and contemplating what he should do. Suddenly, you heard him take a deep breath.
“I’ll be on my way,” he said, “Just keep Mommy company and make sure she’s okay.”
“Okay, Daddy!” The girls said, “We love you!”
“I love you, too. See you three soon.”
The call ended, and the girls cheered and clapped with their small hands. They couldn’t help but jump around, saying “Daddy’s coming home!!” like they were preaching to an unsuspecting crowd. You just sat still on the mattress. You couldn’t believe it. Felix was on his way home. The weight of it landed on your shoulders, and the overwhelming tears returned. How is he going to react to me like this, you wondered.
A half hour later, there were two knocks on the door.
Knock! Knock!
“Daddy’s here!” Nari yelled.
“Daddy!!” Byeol dashed out of your room, and Nari followed.
You jumped and immediately got off the bed to run after the girls.
“Girls, wait!” You called out, “Be careful!”
You ended up in the hallway, and you immediately stopped when your eyes found him. Felix was already hugging and greeting the girls, but you quickly noticed that he had crossed the barrier between the welcome mat and the house. His blonde hair was wet and a little messy, like he had just got out of the shower. He wasn’t wearing anything fancy. He was just wearing his F1 Ferrari graphic tee and some red plaid pajama pants. You could tell he wasn’t wearing any socks in his gray sneakers. He really was hurrying his ass over. His expression was soft, but his brown boba-like eyes were wide and full of worry. You could tell that he was analyzing your puffy, tear-stained face.
The air in your lungs thinned. Your shoulders were shaking ever so slightly. He came all this way for you. All because the girls told him you were crying.
“Daddy, Mommy’s there,” Byeol said, turning to point at you.
“Okay. Can you both go upstairs for me?” Felix asked.
“Okay, Daddy,” Nari said. The girls then ran upstairs. “Hope you feel better, Mommy!”
Felix’s eyes met yours. Shivers were sent up and down your spine, and your heart was pounding like a loud drum. He walked towards you. For the first time since the divorce, this was the closest he’s ever been to you. Your eyes were so red-rimmed and puffy that God knows how long you’ve been crying for. He could see the little tremors in your body, as if you were on the brink of completely breaking. Felix’s chest ached at the sight.
“Felix,” you said, your voice quiet and weak.
And within a single breath and without a second thought, Felix pulled you into his arms. Your face met his chest, and you immediately clung to his shirt. The tears began to pour again. It’s been so long since you’ve felt his warmth and smelled that spicy cologne. It felt like being brought back to the surface after drowning for so long. Your grip on his shirt was so tight that your knuckles paled, as if you were hoping that this wasn’t just some dream.
“I got you,” Felix said softly against your hair. “Let’s talk, okay?”
You nodded and led him to your once-shared bedroom. Felix closed the door behind him, took off his shoes, and joined you on the bed. There was space between you both, but you wanted nothing more than to just rest your head against his chest and let him just cuddle you like he used to. But Felix still wanted to be respectful and not take full advantage of your current state.
His eyes met yours, and he kept his hands together, twiddling with his thumbs.
“Everything okay, Y/N?” He asked. His voice was so calm and deep with that Australian accent. “You can be honest with me, I’m not going to judge you. You know that, right?”
You put your hair behind your ear, and you took a few deep breaths. God, where could you even begin? Was everything okay? No, nothing was ever okay.
“I broke up with Jack,” you said. Your throat ached from the strain and guilt.
Felix’s eyes widened.
“Wait, really?” He asked, “Why?”
You nodded and sniffed.
“I wanted him for the sex, but he wanted more and…I just couldn’t do it. He wasn’t bad at all, but….God, how do I even say this?”
“Is it because of me?”
“Yeah. I should be over you by now,” your wobbly lips curled into a deeper frown, and you sniffed as the tears poured. “But I can’t, Felix…”
Felix’s heart dropped at the sight of your tears. You wrapped your arms around yourself as usual, as if you couldn’t have his instead. Your face said it all: the exhaustion, the guilt, and the sheer love in your eyes. You might have always pretended that it was gone ever since the divorce, but if anything, it was too stubborn that it was hurting you.
“You probably don’t feel the same, but I still love you so much, Felix. I feel so incomplete and empty without you, and it just kills me.”
You wiped your tears with your sleeve, but Felix inched closer and gently caressed your wet cheek. You instantly leaned into his palm, and your hand was wrapped around his wrist, like it was all muscle memory.
“Y/N,” Felix said, “Every day I wondered just what I could’ve done to prevent all this. I could’ve asked my manager for more days off to spend more time with you and the girls. I could’ve just listened to you when you told me to stop overworking myself so much. I could’ve brought you and the girls along for some of my business trips. If I had done any of that, then maybe we wouldn’t have to be apart.”
You could feel your heart swell, and your breath was not as steady as you’d hope. Your eyes were burning hot and wet as you nodded along to what Felix was saying. He wasn’t over you either. You were on his mind constantly, just as he was on yours.
“God, I’m such an idiot,” you said, “I’m a cruel idiot. Why did I say I wanted us apart?”
“It wasn’t just you who wanted the divorce, Y/N,” Felix said, his voice getting a little shaky. gently rubbed his thumb against your cheek, catching any stray tears that trickled down your skin. “I agreed with you. I signed the papers. I didn’t even try to fight for us to be together. We did what we thought was for the best of our family.”
“I was mad that you were away from home so much. And you were mad that I was mad.”
Felix let out a raspy, quiet chuckle.
“We were both mad,” he said, “But we didn’t stop loving each other, right?”
“You didn’t try moving on?” You asked.
“I did try. Sometimes Chris or Hyunjin would take me to the bars. I flirted around a little, offered someone a drink or two, but I just didn’t let it go anywhere. Even when I tried to hook up, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. No one could hold me, touch me, or even kiss me like you. It was like my heart and brain couldn’t work together. My brain wanted to move on, but my heart was still tied to yours.”
You pressed your hand on his chest, and you could feel his pounding heart against your palm. His heartbeat was the same as yours. You remembered when he once said your hearts were always in sync with each other, and that it was a sign you were soulmates.
“Same beat?” Felix asked, giving you a hopeful smile.
You smiled back, but it was only smaller. You nodded.
“Yeah,” you said, “I don’t think it’s ever changed. God, I fucking miss you, Felix. I miss what we had. I miss your touch, your kisses, your—”
Felix’s lips met yours, and little sparks of electricity were shot throughout your body. It was like you were dying of thirst, and you just got all the water in the world. Your eyes immediately fluttered shut, and you kissed him back. The kiss was so tender, hot, and passionate. Felix’s hands were on your waist, and your arms were around his shoulders. God, the kiss felt so good you could cry. You whined a little before he released your lips to let you breathe. Your hearts were pounding against each other, and red flushed over your faces.
He rested his forehead against yours, and all you could do was just look at him with hopeful eyes and a smile.
“Felix?” you asked.
“Yeah, Angel?” Angel. He hasn’t called you that in a long while, and damn, you wanted him to do it again and again until you felt like you could fly.
“Are we…can we?”
Felix nodded and smiled before kissing you again. He pressed you up further against him, allowing your body to fit so perfectly against his like a puzzle piece.
“We can,” Felix said.
“Are you sure?”
“Yep. I’m right where I’m supposed to be. Let’s just keep it quiet, so the girls won’t hear.”
Without wasting another second, you grabbed Felix by his shirt to pull him in for another kiss. The kiss this time was harder and hungrier, as if you were actively refusing to let this moment be a dream. Felix moaned against your lips, and you gasped when you could feel the growing tent in his pajama pants rub against your center. All the heat rushed down to your core, and your panties were sticking to your cameltoe. He kissed you again, and you were pinned to the mattress. Felix was hovering over you. His hands were gently wrapped around your wrists, his nose touched yours, and his heart was racing. He really was getting you back after all that time of just wishful thinking.
“You really want this, Angel?” He asked.
“More than anything in the world,” you said, nodding eagerly.
Felix softly smiled and kissed your lips again. He leaned back and peeled his shirt off, revealing his perfectly toned abs. They were as gorgeous as you remembered them to be. You loved the way his honey-toned skin glistened under the bedroom light, and constellations of freckles were scattered all over his body. God, he was so perfect. Felix’s hands then slowly traveled to the neckline of your dress. He was so meticulous and gentle with his fingers as they hooked onto the fabric and pulled down your dress, revealing your black bra and leggings. He didn’t waste any time taking everything else off until you were completely bare underneath him.
Your cheeks got pinker than they were before, and Felix’s chest heaved. You truly were the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. The only woman he deserved.
“You’re so beautiful, Angel,” Felix said.
“Just as before?” You asked.
He smiled.
“You’re even more beautiful now,” he leaned in to kiss you. “No one compares to you, Honey.”
His lips traveled from yours to your neck. He nipped at the spot that always made you moan and arch your back. He then kissed your collarbones, all while his hands rested on your waist to keep you still. His lips traveled all the way down, finding all the correct landmarks that were your weak spots. It was like he still had your body memorized. Felix’s head was in between your thighs, and like it was muscle memory, his lips met your clit.
“Felix,” you moaned, biting your lip to try and keep it down.
“Felt good, Angel?” Felix smirked.
God, he’s so hot.
“Mmhmm,” you nodded.
And Felix went for it again. Only this time, he didn’t just kiss your clit. He sucked on it, using his tongue expertly and never failing to miss a spot. You moaned as your toes curled from the sensation. More heat rushed down to your body, and you were getting wetter, letting all that nectar drip into Felix’s mouth. He swallowed everything you were giving, moaning against your skin. His grip on your thighs tightened, and all you could do was throw your head back on the pillows and moan out his name like it was a prayer.
“Felix,” you whined.
“Tastes so good, Baby,” he groaned in between licks and slurps against your walls. “I don’t ever wanna let this go again.”
“Then don’t!”
You moaned again, and you could feel the tight coil in your gut. Your chest heaved, and Felix could feel your clit throb like crazy on his tongue. You were about to go up ahead into the clouds, but Felix pulled away right before you could finish. You pouted and whined.
“Felix, why?!”
Felix gently pressed his index finger on your lips, closing them shut.
“Careful, Angel,” he said teasingly, “The girls could hear you.”
You silently huffed, and Felix kissed your forehead.
“I’m gonna make you feel even better, Baby,” Felix said before he pulled down his pajama pants and boxers and tossed them to the floor, revealing his hard dick. You felt like your brain was short-circuiting at the sight. It was bigger than the Eiffel Tower. “You like what you see?”
“Yes,” you blushed and giggled, “And I want it in me, too.”
“Well, good thing that I love giving you what you want.”
Felix positioned himself between your legs. His hands found your wrists again, and within a single thrust, his cock slid back into your walls. You gasped from the sudden breach, and Felix moaned. Your cunt immediately clenched onto him for dear life. He was already hitting your sweet spot, and you could already see the stars.
“You okay, Angel?” Felix asked.
“Yeah,” you said.
“Okay. I’m gonna move now.”
Felix started to move his hips, and his tip collided with your cervix every time. You whined and moaned with every hit. Your heart was pounding and singing. You wrapped your arms around him to pull him closer, and your nails dug into his back.
“You like that, Angel?” Felix husked against your ear right before kissing it. “That’s it, my good girl.”
“Felix, oh God,” you whined.
More heat pooled down your walls and thighs, and Felix moaned even more from just how tight your pussy was around his cock. It was swelling so much from the pleasure that it could burst any second. The tight pressure in your gut returned, and Felix wasn’t slowing down. He wasn’t even giving up on whispering soft praises into your ear.
“You’re taking me so well, Baby,” he said, “Fuck, you feel so good.”
“Felix, I’m cumming,” you moaned.
“Cum for me, Angel.”
Felix buried his face into the crook of your neck to leave a very passionate kiss, and with one final hit of his cock against your sweet spot, both of you came at the same time. A chorus of moans broke out from the bed, and the two of you stayed still, as the afterglow slowly landed on you. Your chests were heaving against each other, and you still could feel each other’s heat under your fingertips. You held Felix’s face in your hands, still in disbelief that he’s finally home. He’s finally home with you. He’s finally home inside you.
You loved him so much you could cry. The tears were already falling from your eyes, and you let out the biggest smile you had in a while.
“I hope this wasn’t a dream,” you said.
Felix smiled warmly and kissed your wrists.
“Good thing that it wasn’t,” he said, “When I said 'till death do us part,’ I really meant it.”
You laughed.
“God, we’re crazy. Not even divorce could keep us apart. At least, not for too long.”
“We’re a bit stubborn,” Felix casually said before kissing your lips.
“So does this mean we can have another wedding?”
Felix’s eyes widened, but he softly laughed and smiled widely.
“I was hoping you’d ask that,” he said, “Yes, Angel, I’ll marry you again.”
You cheered and pulled him closer for another kiss, but this time, it was more passionate and hard.
“God, I love you so much, Felix,” you said, “And the wedding doesn’t have to be big like the last time.”
“Yeah, we can just go to the courthouse. And maybe elope in the park with just the girls and members around.”
“That sounds perfect.”
Felix kissed you again, and you didn’t think that you ever stopped kissing and holding him for the rest of the night.
x•x•x•x
You never thought you’d have a second wedding ever in your life. You didn’t even think you’d have a second wedding with your first husband. But yet there you were, standing holding a bouquet of forget-me-nots and white roses, while wearing your old wedding dress. It was still beautiful after all those years. Not only did it still sparkle under the sunlight, but it still fitted you like a glove. The dress had the long tails of silk fabric falling from your waistline to the train, and the Bardot sleeves were a little poofy and perfectly exposed your lovely shoulders.
The thin white veil was pulled away from your face, and now all you could see was that same freckled face with a sunshine smile. His blonde hair was as fluffy as ever, and his black suit and tie. There was even a forget-me-not in his breast pocket to match your bouquet. Cherry blossom petals were delicately falling like snow over you and everyone else in the park, as the sunbeams perfectly cast themselves on you and Felix like spotlights on a stage play.
“You look beautiful,” Felix said.
You blushed and smiled. You couldn’t stop smiling because your heart’s never felt so full.
“Thanks,” you said, “You look handsome as ever.”
“What will I do without you?”
God, Felix wanted to kiss you, but of course, he couldn’t yet. A man wearing a black button-down and matching trousers stood between you and Felix. He swooped his hand through his ginger hair and opened his slim black notebook.
“You ready?” the man asked.
“Yes, Jeongin, we’re ready,” Felix said.
Jeongin cleared his throat before looking at the messily handwritten notes he had made last minute.
“Welcome, everyone,” Jeongin started, before taking a deep breath. It wasn’t every day he’d be the one to officiate a wedding. “And by everyone, I mean…all my hyungs and the little girls.”
“Yay, Uncle Innie!!” Byeol and Nari cheered as they jumped up and down in their cute, baby blue dresses. The park really did make them lively.
Jeongin laughed a little before continuing his speech.
“We are gathered here today to celebrate the reunion of Y/N Y/L/N and Lee Felix. I’ll spare you all the details because we already know—a little too well, I might add—but let us take a moment to acknowledge the true, persistent love these two share. Even when you were both on your separate paths, making attempts to start new beginnings with others, your love for each other never truly died. Y/N always made the effort to have Felix present just for their daughters because she knew he loved them dearly, and Felix always expressed care and concern for Y/N when she needed it. There’s something to admire there, and I am wholeheartedly happy to help make this reunion happen.”
Jeongin leaned in towards Felix’s ear.
“Did you write your vows?” he asked.
Felix nodded.
“The couple has prepared their vows,” Jeongin said, “Which one of you wants to go first?”
“I can go first,” you said.
Jeongin nodded, and you pulled out the piece of paper that had been hidden in your bouquet. You looked at Felix in the eyes, and your heart was pounding like crazy.
“Lee Felix,” you said, “There’s so much I want to say to you, but I don’t think any words would be enough to describe the love I have for you. I mean, I love you so much that I couldn’t ever let you go. We have created a beautiful life in the past: a lovely house, two beautiful daughters whose eyes beam at the sight of you, and countless memories that the strongest wine couldn’t ever make me forget. When you were away from home, I slowly realized just how empty everything felt, like it was a constant rainy day. But the moment you came back for me, I realized that the only way a rainy day can end is if the sunshine breaks through those dark clouds. You are my sunshine, Felix, and I will forever be thankful that you still chose me, despite everything. I vow to be an even better wife this time. I’ll support you in your endeavors, I’ll come along to all those tour stops with the girls, and I’ll cherish you even more than ever.”
Felix’s eyes were watery, and he wiped some of his stray tears.
“God, I love you,” Felix said, “I was going to say the same thing. I love you more than anything, my Angel, and I vow to show it to you every single day. I’ll share more of my world with you because in every universe, you’re always going to be my wife, and nothing can truly seperate us.”
Damn, even you were crying.
“Will the bride and groom please join hands?” Jeongin asked, “Or at least that’s how I think it goes.”
Your hands linked with Felix’s, and you both stared into each other’s eyes.
“Do you, Y/N, vow to support Felix in his endeavors, come along on his tours with your daughters, and cherish him more than ever?” Jeongin asked.
“I do,” you said.
“And do you, Felix, vow to show your deep love to Y/N every single day and include her in your world instead of pushing her away?”
“I do,” Felix said.
“Of course, you do, Yongbok-hyung. Anyways, I now pronounce you…husband and wife. Again. You may kiss the bride.”
And within a millisecond, Felix pulled you by the waist and pressed his lips against yours. Applause erupted among the small crowd. Changbin was whistling loudly, Chan was crying his eyes out, and the other members were just looking at the couple with immense pride.
“Did you think they’d get back together?” Han asked as he leaned against Hyunjin.
“Well, of course,” Hyunjin said, “I’m surprised it took them four months.”
“Yeah, I thought it was gonna be in a week,” Minho commented.
“My dorm’s gonna be a bit quiet though,” Seungmin sighed, “But you know, I’m happy for Yongbok.”
“Love wins all!” Chan cried out as he wiped his tears.
“LET’S GO, YONGBOKKIE!” Changbin hollered out, followed by whistling.
All the members clapped and cheered again. You and Felix stopped kissing for a moment just to take a small breather.
“Which wedding did you prefer?” Felix asked, “Our first one or this one?”
“Umm…” you looked off to the side, feigning ponderance. “The first wedding was really fun. I mean, we were in Australia, your family got to meet mine, and the beach sex was good—”
Felix snorted and laughed.
“Hey!” You said with fake offense, “I’m just being honest!”
“I know, Angel, I know,” Felix said, “I’m not disagreeing with you. But yes, our first wedding was the best one?”
“Well, before you interrupted me with that silly laugh of yours, I was going to say that this wedding represented our love way better than our first one. The first wedding might have been fun, but….this one wouldn’t have happened if I didn’t realize how much I love you.”
Felix softly smiled and kissed your forehead.
“How do you always take the words out of my mouth?” He asked.
“We’re soulmates, duh,” you giggled, “‘Till death do us part.”
“‘Till death do us part.”
And just like that, you and Felix have signed your new marriage certificates. You still couldn’t believe it. The house was lively again. The girls were running around and watching cartoons. Felix was joining them in their fun playing board games. The whole family would have the same movie nights, watching some wholesome princess movie. And Felix would keep you in his arms underneath your sheets, sheilding you from the biting night cold. This might have been some dream, but if that was the case, then you wouldn’t ever want to wake up.
Thankfully, it wasn’t a dream. You woke up next to him as the sunlight peeked through the window blinds. You both were wearing the same wedding bands from ages ago, and the girls were banging their arms on your bedroom door, begging you both to take them to the park. You were right where you were supposed to be: at home with Felix.
𝓎our boyfriends will always assure you that they love you equally, because there's no them without you ♡
💭 :: 122O comfort relationship insecurity emotional distress mild angst
the thing about joining a relationship that already has years of history is that you always feel like you're trying to catch up.
jisung and felix had been a couple for two years before they met you. they had an entire universe built between the two of them—inside jokes that started with just a single word, a specific look across a room that meant they needed to leave, and a rhythm to their daily life that felt completely seamless.
when they asked you to be with them, it felt like a fucking dream. they both loved you loudly and gently, always trying to make sure you felt cherished. but love couldn't instantly erase two years of shared memories, and lately, the gaps were starting to feel wider.
you were sitting on the living room floor of their apartment, leaning against the couch while the two of them sat on the cushions above you. a comedy show was playing on the tv, but you weren't really watching it.
"wait, 'lix, remember that one time at the beach?" jisung suddenly burst out laughing, nudging felix's shoulder. "with the ice cream cone and the bird?"
felix’s face lit up instantly, his deep laugh echoing through the room. "oh my god, yes! i completely forgot about that. the guy's face was priceless."
they went back and forth for a few minutes, completly lost in the memory, laughing so hard they were breathless. you sat quietly, a polite, faint smile on your face, staring at the tv screen. you didn't know what beach they were talking about.
you didn't know about the bird or the ice cream.
and, like, it wasn't their fault. they weren't trying to exclude you, and if you asked, they would gladly explain the story. but explaining a joke always took the fun out of it, and it only served as a reminder that you weren't there when it happened.
this had been happening more and more. a specific phrase would make them both giggle, or a song would come on the radio and they’d exchange a knowing glance. every time it happened, a cold, heavy knot formed in your stomach.
the thought had started as a tiny whisper a few weeks ago, but now it was a constant, loud voice in your head: you don't fit here. they were perfect together. they balanced each other out completely. you loved them both so much, but you were starting to feel like a guest in your own relationship, a temporary addition that they would eventually realize they didn't actually need.
what would you do when that day came? wouldn't it just be better to leave now? wouldn't it... hurt less?
the episode ended, and the room fell into a quiet, comfortable silence. comfortable for them, maybe, because you just felt like you were out of place.
"hey," felix’s soft voice broke the quiet. you felt his hand drop onto your shoulder, his thumb gently rubbing through your shirt. "you've been really quiet tonight. are you tired, darling?"
"a little bit," you lied softly, keeping your eyes on the floor.
jisung leaned over the edge of the couch, his face coming into your line of sight. his eyebrows were knitted together, his eyes fixed your face with instant worry. "it's not just tired. you have your thinking face on. what's wrong?"
you swallowed hard, trying to blink back the tears. you hadn't planned on saying anything, but it was getting too much.
"do you guys... ever feel like you're just humoring me?" you whispered, your voice barely audible.
felix’s hand stopped moving on your shoulder. jisung sat up straight, his expression turning completely serious.
"what do you mean?" jisung asked, sliding off the couch to sit on the floor right in front of you, crossing his legs so he was eye-level. felix followed a second later, sitting right beside him, his warm hand instantly finding yours and locking his fingers with yours.
"just... tonight," you said, looking down at your intertwined fingers with felix. "and last week. you guys have so many stories and jokes that i don't know. you look at each other and just know what the other person is thinking. and i'm just sitting here."
"sweetheart," felix murmured, his voice laced with sudden hurt. "we don't ever want you to feel like that."
"i know you don't," you said quickly, a tear finally escaping and hitting your knee. you don't wipe it away. "that's why it's worse. you guys are so good to me, but i just feel like i'm forcing myself into a space that was already full. you two were happy before me. you make sense. i feel like i'm just... breaking up your rhythm. or something."
"stop," jisung said. his voice wasn't mean, but it was incredibly firm, cutting off your words. he reached out, taking your face in both of his hands, forcing you to look at him. his eyes were shiny with unshed tears, looking completely heartbroken. "don't ever say that. don't even think it."
"jisung—"
"no, listen to me," he insisted, his thumbs wiping away the wetness on your cheeks. "yes, 'lix and i have history. we can't change that. but our history ended where you started. when we asked you to be with us, it wasn't because we had extra room or because we were bored. it was because we both fell completely in love with you."
"we were happy before, yeah," felix joined in, his grip on your hand tighteing almost painfully. "but it's nothing compared to how happy we are now. you didn't break our rhythm, you made it better."
you looked between the two of them, your breath hitching as you saw the absolute sincerity and desperation in both of their faces. they weren't just saying things to make you feel better. it seemed like they were genuinely terrified that you believed you didn't belong.
"i'm just scared," you admitted, your voice breaking as more tears came. "i don't want to be the person that holds you guys back from just being you."
jisung let out a shaky breath, leaning forward to press his forehead against yours, his hands still cradling your face. "there is no us without you anymore. we don't want it. if we're making inside jokes, tell us to shut up. tell us to explain it. we're idiots sometimes, we don't realize we're doing it, but please don't pull away from us."
"we'll make new jokes," felix promised. "we have the rest of our lives to make memories where you're right in the middle of them. you're ours. completely equal. always."
jisung pulled back just enough to press a firm, lingering kiss to your lips, tasting like salt and reassurance. the moment he pulled away, felix shifted up to kiss your cheek, his arms wrapping securely around your waist from the side, anchoring you between the two of them.
you sat there on the living room floor, surrounded by their warmth. you still had a lot of history to learn, and there would still be days where you felt a little left behind, but looking at the two boys holding onto you like you were their entire world, you finally believed that you weren't going anywhere.
The night before Taehyung leaves for tour, a rainy evening of half-packed suitcases and quiet moments turns into a slow dance in the middle of their living room. As the hours slip away, the two cling to every extra minute together, trying not to think about the goodbye waiting for them in the morning.
김태형 x f!reader ˖ ࣪ ꉂ🗯˙ ‹— cw | established relationship • boyfriend!taehyung • pre-tour jitters • rainy night • slow dancing in the living room • soft jazz • comfort • longing • emotional intimacy • bittersweet fluff • not proofread
⧽ word count ⋮ 2k Average reading time ⋮ 10 minutes
┈ [ ✉️ ] Hi angels !! This was requested by @avawastakenen !! I am in love with fluff and angst lately, so I have been wanting to write some and here we go !! I hope you all enjoy this !! I am revamping my masterlist right now, just so you all know !! But any-whom !! I love you all and happy reading !!
The apartment looked like a disaster.
Open suitcases occupied nearly every corner of the living room, clothes spilling over the edges despite your repeated attempts to fold everything neatly. A stack of hoodies sat abandoned on the couch, several pairs of shoes lined the hallway, and travel documents, charging cables, and a half-finished cup of coffee cluttered the coffee table. Outside, rain drummed steadily against the windows. It wasn't loud enough to be distracting, but persistent enough to fill the apartment with a soft, comforting rhythm.
You glanced up from the sweatshirt in your hands and sighed.
Across the room, Taehyung was supposed to be packing. Instead, he sat cross-legged on the floor beside an open suitcase, staring out the window as if he had all the time in the world.
"Taehyung."
"Hm?" he hummed without looking away.
"You've been staring out that window for ten minutes."
A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Maybe I'm appreciating the rain."
"Maybe you're avoiding packing."
His eyes finally met yours, amusement dancing in them. "I would never."
You raised an eyebrow.
His suitcase contained exactly three shirts.
Three.
Meanwhile, you had spent the last hour folding clothes, organizing toiletries, and making sure he wasn't forgetting anything important. At this point, you were pretty sure more effort had gone into packing for his tour than he had.
"You're lying."
His smile widened. "Yet you still love me."
You rolled your eyes, but the warmth spreading through your chest betrayed you. Unfortunately, he wasn't wrong.
For a while, the only sounds filling the apartment were the rain outside and the occasional rustle of fabric as you folded another shirt. At least from your side of the room. Taehyung managed to fold exactly one before abandoning the task entirely.
You noticed him moving only when a shadow crossed your vision.
"Where are you going?"
He ignored you.
"Taehyung."
Still ignoring you, he dropped onto the floor beside you and rested his head directly in your lap. You stared down at him. He stared back, completely shameless at that.
"You have your own clothes to fold."
"Hm."
"Those clothes are supposed to be in your suitcase."
"Hm."
You nudged his shoulder.
He only shifted closer.
The warmth of him settled against your legs instantly, familiar and comforting in a way that made your chest ache. You tried to stay annoyed, but it was difficult when he looked so content.
"You are so unhelpful."
"I know I am."
His eyes drifted shut as your fingers found their way into his hair. Almost immediately, his shoulders relaxed. A satisfied hum escaped him and you couldn't help smiling.
"See?" he murmured.
"See what?"
"This is much better than packing."
A quiet laugh slipped from your lips, and the sound seemed to make him smile too.
For a few moments, neither of you spoke. Your fingers continued moving through his hair while the rain tapped softly against the windows. The apartment felt warm despite the weather outside, illuminated only by a lamp on a table, illuminating throughout the room. It should have felt chaotic with the mess surrounding you, but somehow it didn't.
It felt like home.
Your gaze drifted toward the open suitcase sitting several feet away. Tomorrow was the day... The thought settled heavily in your chest.
Neither of you had mentioned it all evening. The tour lingered in the background of every conversation, every glance, every moment of silence. It was there even when neither of you acknowledged it.
Because acknowledging it would make it real, and if it became real, then morning would come.
You swallowed hard and Taehyung's eyes opened immediately.
He always noticed, "What?"
You shook your head. "Nothing."
His expression softened. "Now who is the liar?"
A small smile found its way onto your face, "You know me too well."
"Of course I do, I'm the love of your life."
The answer came so naturally that it made your heart squeeze.
Of course he was, after everything, how could he not?
The room fell quiet again, comfortable and familiar. The kind of silence that only existed between two people who had learned every version of each other.
Eventually, Taehyung sat up.
You assumed he was finally going to continue packing but instead, he stood and wandered toward the record player beside the bookshelf.
"What are you doing?" you asked.
He didn't answer.
He flipped through several records before pulling one free and carefully placing it on the turntable. A few seconds later, soft jazz filled the apartment.
Warm and gentle, the kind of music that felt made for rainy nights.
Taehyung turned toward you.
For a moment, neither of you moved, and then he held out his hand. Your heartbeat stumbled.
"Come here."
You glanced around the room, taking in the suitcases, scattered clothes, and complete disaster surrounding you.
"There's no room."
He looked around too before nudging a suitcase aside with his foot. A cardboard box followed.
"There."
You laughed, "That's not making room."
"It absolutely is."
"No, it's making a bigger mess."
"Same difference."
The smile on his face made it impossible to argue.
He extended his hand again, patiently waiting.
Outside, rain slid down the windows in silver streaks. Inside, the music wrapped around you like a blanket. The clock on the wall continued ticking toward morning, but for the first time all evening, neither of you seemed to care.
You placed your hand in his.
Immediately, his smile widened.
He guided you toward the small space he'd cleared in the middle of the living room before gently settling one hand against your waist.
The other remained wrapped around yours.
Your arms instinctively found their way around his neck - Close, warm, and safe.
Taehyung pulled you a little nearer, his gaze never leaving yours, "We're dancing."
You looked down briefly before glancing back up at him, "We're standing."
His laugh was soft as he drew you impossibly closer, making your chest brush against his.
His smile turned smug, "We're dancing."
You opened your mouth to argue again, but the words died before they could leave your lips.
Mostly because he was already swaying. Slowly and barely moving.
The kind of movement that could hardly be considered dancing at all.
His hand rested comfortably against your waist while yours remained intertwined with his. The jazz music drifted softly through the apartment, blending with the sound of rain tapping against the windows.
For a moment, neither of you spoke.
You simply followed his lead.
Back and forth... Back and forth.
The room seemed smaller somehow.
Not because of the clutter or the suitcases, but because Taehyung always had a way of making everything else disappear when he looked at you like that.
Like there wasn't anything else worth paying attention to.
His eyes never left yours, not even for a second.
"What?" you finally asked.
A smile tugged at his lips.
"Nothing."
"Here you go lying again."
His grin widened.
You immediately knew you'd caught him.
"Fine."
You laughed softly, "Fine?"
"I was looking at you."
Your eyebrows lifted, "Wow. What a shocking revelation."
"I'm serious."
The teasing smile faded slightly. Just enough for something softer to take its place.
"You look beautiful tonight."
Your heart betrayed you instantly. Even after all this time and after hearing compliments from him more times than you could count. They still managed to affect you.
Especially when he said them like that. Quietly. Like he wasn't trying to impress you. Like it was simply a fact.
"You've seen me all day."
"I know."
"And I've been folding our clothes for three hours."
"I know."
"My hair is a mess."
"I know."
You narrowed your eyes, "You're terrible at this."
His laugh filled the room. Warm and familiar.
God, you were going to miss that laugh.
The thought slipped into your mind unexpectedly. Sharp enough to make your chest tighten. Because tomorrow he will leave. Tomorrow this apartment will be quiet. Tomorrow his shoes wouldn't be sitting by the door. Tomorrow you wouldn't wake up to find him stealing all the blankets.
Tomorrow—
His hand squeezed yours gently.
Your gaze lifted.
Immediately, concern flickered across his face. There it was again. That annoying ability he had. The one that allowed him to read you before you even spoke.
"What's wrong?"
You shook your head.
"Nothing."
"That's twice tonight."
"Taehyung—"
"You get one more before I start charging."
A laugh escaped before you could stop it, and then you rolled your eyes. But your grip tightened around him anyway.
The music continued playing. The rain continued falling. And Taehyung slowly guided you around the tiny space he'd created in the middle of the room.
At some point, your joined hands lowered. At some point, his arm slipped completely around your waist. At some point, your head found its way to his shoulder.
Neither of you acknowledged when it happened. It simply felt natural. Like breathing. Like home.
His chin came to rest against the top of your head. You felt him inhale deeply. Then again. Suspiciously.
You pulled back slightly, "Are you smelling my hair?"
Immediately, his eyes closed, as if he'd been caught committing a crime, "No."
"Taehyung."
"No."
"You literally are."
A smile broke across his face.
"I like the smell of your shampoo."
You stared at him, "I cannot believe you."
"It's nice."
"You are unbelievable."
"I've been told that a few times."
You laughed, shaking your head. The sound seemed to make him smile even more.
For a few moments, neither of you spoke. The record crackled softly in the background. Rain streaked down the glass. The city lights beyond the windows blurred into golden smudges.
And for the first time all evening, the apartment felt completely still. Not silent. Still. Like the world outside had paused.
Taehyung's fingers traced absent patterns against your side, in a comforting way.
His attention drifted toward the rain-covered windows, "I like nights like this."
You looked up at him, "Rainy nights?"
He nodded, "Everything feels slower."
His gaze remained fixed outside, "Like nobody expects anything from you."
You understood exactly what he meant. The schedules, flights, rehearsals, cameras, constant movement.
They all seemed impossibly far away right now. Hidden behind rain and warm apartment lights.
"You could stay."
The words slipped out before you could stop them. The second they did, the room grew quiet. Not awkward. Just honest.
Taehyung looked down at you. Really looked at you.
And suddenly you wished you could take the words back. Not because they weren't true. Because they were.
You knew he couldn't stay. You would never ask him to. But sometimes loving someone meant missing them before they'd even left.
His hand moved from your waist to your cheek, gentle and careful, like you were something precious.
"If I could, I would."
Your throat tightened and you looked away.
He wouldn't let you.
His fingers tilted your chin back toward him, "Don't look away." His voice was soft. Certain.
"If I could stay here with you, I would."
The sincerity in his eyes nearly undid you. Because he meant it. Every word.
And somehow that made tomorrow easier and harder all at once.
Your forehead fell against his chest.
For a moment, all you could hear was the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear.
Taehyung wrapped both arms around you immediately.
Holding you close, and closer. As if he was trying to memorize this too. Neither of you noticed when one song ended. Or when another began.
You just kept swaying together in the middle of the living room while rain painted the windows and tomorrow waited patiently outside the door.
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──𝐛𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 :: when they’re secretly in love & get jealous
𝙒𝘼𝙍𝙉𝙄𝙉𝙂𝙎::emotional tension, clingy behavior, silent jealousy,smut,dom x sub,
𝗪𝗼𝗿𝗱𝘀::11k
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✧ 𝐍𝐚𝐦𝐣𝐨𝐨𝐧
On the surface, Namjoon was the embodiment of calm control. The leader who carried the weight of the group with quiet strength, always composed, always measured in his words and actions.
But beneath that polished exterior, a fierce storm brewed whenever he had to watch you interact with anyone else. He was secretly in love, the kind of deep, unspoken affection that had been building for months behind closed doors and stolen moments.
You two had agreed to keep everything hidden—the pressures of idol life, the fans, the contracts—it all demanded secrecy. Yet that secrecy only sharpened the jealousy that clawed at him.
He sat in the corner of the spacious backstage waiting room, one leg crossed over the other, pretending to immerse himself in a thick philosophy book he'd carried from the hotel. The pages turned slowly under his long fingers, but his sharp eyes weren't absorbing the text.
Every sound from across the room pulled his focus: your soft laughter, the low murmur of the backup dancer's voice, the way the man leaned in just a fraction too close. Namjoon's chest tightened with that familiar burn.
He told himself to breathe, to stay rational. You weren't his in the eyes of the world. Not yet. But in his heart, you were already everything.
The dancer said something that made you laugh again, brighter this time. Namjoon's grip on the book pages tightened until the paper creased. He forced his expression to remain neutral, but inside, his mind raced with possessive thoughts. That smile belonged to him.
Those sparkling eyes when you were amused—they were for him during late-night conversations in hidden hotel rooms. Not for some guy who didn't know the way you sighed when his hands traced your spine.
Then it happened. The dancer reached out, his fingers brushing your arm in what was meant to be a casual gesture. But it lingered.
The touch dragged slowly, too familiar, too bold. Namjoon's jaw clenched hard, the muscle ticking visibly for a split second before he schooled his features. He closed the book with a deliberate snap, the sound cutting through the room like a quiet warning.
Rising to his full height, broad shoulders straight and presence commanding, he crossed the space in unhurried strides. The air seemed heavier as he approached.
"Are you done talking?" His voice was low, deep, and smooth like velvet over steel. It wasn't overtly rude—Namjoon was too intelligent for that—but the underlying edge of authority made the dancer straighten immediately.
The man mumbled something about checking on choreography and excused himself, retreating quickly under the weight of Namjoon's steady gaze.
You turned toward him, one eyebrow arched in that knowing way that always sent heat through his veins. A small, secret smile played on your lips.
Namjoon didn't speak further in front of the others. Instead, he placed a large, warm hand on the small of your back, the touch firm and guiding. It was possessive without being obvious to anyone watching.
He steered you out of the main room and down the quieter hallway toward his private dressing area.
The second the door clicked shut behind you, locking out the world, the composure cracked wide open.
Namjoon backed you against the wall in one fluid motion, his tall, muscular frame pressing flush against yours.
One hand cupped your jaw, tilting your face up as his mouth claimed yours in a hungry, demanding kiss. His tongue swept in, tasting and dominating, pouring out all the jealousy he'd bottled up.
When he pulled back just enough to breathe, his forehead rested against yours, eyes dark and intense.
"You enjoy testing me like this, don't you?" he murmured, voice rough around the edges. His free hand slid down your side, gripping your waist hard enough to leave faint marks. "Letting him touch your arm, laugh with you, stand so close... knowing I'm right there watching every second."
You started to respond, but he silenced you with another deep kiss, teeth grazing your lower lip. His hands worked quickly but deliberately, peeling your shirt over your head and tossing it aside.
His mouth trailed hot kisses down your neck, sucking at the sensitive spot just below your ear until you gasped. He marked you there, a subtle bruise that only the two of you would know about later.
"I hate it," he admitted between kisses, voice low and honest. "I hate pretending I don't feel anything when someone else gets even a piece of your attention. You're mine in every way that matters, even if we can't say it out loud yet."
He lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his hips as he carried you to the wide couch against the far wall. Laying you down gently but with clear urgency, he hovered over you, stripping off his own shirt to reveal the defined lines of his chest and shoulders.
His skin was warm as he pressed down again, mouth exploring every inch of exposed skin. He took one nipple between his lips, sucking firmly while his fingers teased the other, rolling and pinching until you arched beneath him with a soft moan.
Lower still, he went, kissing down your stomach, nipping at your hips as he removed the rest of your clothes. When you were fully bare, he knelt between your spread thighs, eyes locked on yours with burning intensity.
"Look at me," he commanded softly. His tongue dragged slowly through your folds, savoring your taste with a deep groan that vibrated against you.
He took his time, licking and sucking with expert precision, two thick fingers sliding inside you and curling just right to hit that perfect spot.
Your fingers tangled in his soft hair, hips rolling against his face as pleasure built fast. Namjoon held you steady with one strong arm across your lower stomach, refusing to let you escape the overwhelming sensation.
He alternated between slow, teasing licks and intense suction on your clit, fingers pumping steadily until your thighs trembled around his head.
" Namjoon... please," you gasped, right on the edge.
But he pulled back at the last moment, lips glistening, a dark smile on his face. He stood, shedding the rest of his clothes to reveal his thick, hard cock already leaking with need. He stroked himself slowly, watching you writhe on the couch.
"Tell me who you belong to," he said, voice husky with restrained desire.
"I'm yours, Joon. Only yours."
He moved over you again, positioning himself at your entrance and pushing in with one long, deep thrust. The stretch was perfect, filling you completely.
He groaned your name, hips starting a slow, grinding rhythm that quickly built in intensity.
One hand pinned your wrists above your head, the other gripping your thigh to hold you open wider for him. Each thrust was deliberate, possessive, skin slapping against skin in the quiet room.
"You feel incredible," he breathed against your neck, biting down gently. "So tight, so wet for me. No one else will ever have this. No one else gets to hear the sounds you make when I'm inside you."
He angled his hips to hit that sensitive spot inside with every stroke, driving you higher. Your moans filled the space, mixing with his low grunts.
The jealousy fueled him, making his movements harder, deeper, more claiming. When your orgasm crashed over you, walls clenching tightly around him, he kept going through it, prolonging the pleasure until you were shaking.
Only then did he let himself go, thrusting deep one final time and spilling inside you with a guttural moan, his body shuddering against yours. For long moments afterward, he stayed buried deep, holding you close as your breathing slowed.
He eventually pulled out carefully, gathering you into his arms on the couch. His fingers traced lazy patterns along your back, the earlier storm of jealousy easing into tender affection. "I'm sorry for the intensity," he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.
"I know we have to keep this secret for now. The timing isn't right, the world isn't ready. But seeing another man touch you, even innocently... it drives me insane. I just want you completely. Mind, body, everything."
You nestled closer against his chest, smiling as you felt his heartbeat under your cheek. "I love when you show me how much I mean to you. It makes me feel wanted in a way no one else ever has."
Namjoon chuckled softly, the sound warm and genuine now. His hand slid down your body again, cupping your ass possessively. "Good. Because we're not done yet. I need to remind you a few more times before we have to go back out there."
He kissed you slowly this time, building things up again with patient touches and whispered praises. Round two was slower, more intimate—him taking you from behind while you gripped the back of the couch, his chest pressed to your back, one hand between your legs rubbing your clit in time with his thrusts.
He murmured how perfect you were, how no one could ever compare, how he fell more in love every single day.
By the time you both finished again, the room felt warmer, heavier with the scent of sex and shared breaths.
Namjoon helped clean you up gently, then held you in his lap, stroking your hair as you talked quietly about nothing and everything. The jealousy hadn't vanished completely—it never did when love ran this deep and had to stay hidden—but it was soothed by the certainty of your connection.
He was calm again on the outside when you eventually returned to the others.
But now you carried his marks, his touch, his claim beneath your clothes. And that was enough for him, for now.
✧
✧ 𝐒𝐞𝐨𝐤𝐣𝐢𝐧
Seokjin had always been the dramatic one, the member who could turn even the smallest inconvenience into a full theatrical performance.
But when it came to you, his secret love, that drama wasn’t just for show—it masked something much deeper. He was head over heels, the kind of love that kept him up at night thinking about your laugh, your voice, the way you looked at him when no one else was watching.
You two had agreed to keep it hidden for now, protecting the relationship from the intense spotlight of idol life. Still, every time someone else stole your attention, it hit him harder than he let on.
The backstage area buzzed with pre-concert energy. Staff members hurried around, stylists adjusted outfits, and the members stretched or reviewed last-minute details. Seokjin lounged against a table, flipping through his phone with practiced nonchalance, but his eyes kept drifting to you across the room.
You were chatting with one of the newer lighting technicians—a friendly, outgoing guy who had been making everyone laugh all week. The technician leaned in closer as he explained some technical detail, gesturing animatedly, and you smiled at him, nodding along.
Seokjin’s fingers paused on his screen. He forced a smile, but inside, irritation prickled. It’s just a conversation, he told himself. You’re allowed to talk to people.
Yet the way the guy’s hand brushed your shoulder lightly as he pointed something out on a tablet made Seokjin’s stomach twist. He cleared his throat loudly, but no one noticed. Fine. He could play this game.
“Wow, okayyyy, I see how it is,” he muttered under his breath, loud enough for you to potentially hear if you were paying attention. You didn’t turn. The technician said something else, and you laughed again—that bright, genuine laugh that Seokjin usually earned with his dad jokes and cooking stories.
He pushed off the table, wandering closer under the pretense of grabbing a water bottle. “Guess I’m invisible now,” he added in a sing-song voice, dramatic and pouty, drawing a few amused glances from nearby staff. But his eyes stayed on you, sharp and needy.
Deep down, it wasn’t just theatrics. He genuinely felt the sting. He wanted your focus on him, your smiles directed at him, your time reserved for stolen moments in hotel rooms or quiet van rides where he could whisper how much he adored you.
The technician touched your arm again, this time resting his hand there a second too long while showing you a funny video on his phone. That was it.
Seokjin stepped forward with exaggerated flair, placing a hand on his chest like he’d been wounded. “Ah, I see the new lighting expert has taken over my role as the funniest person in the room. Should I just disappear into the background? Maybe become a stage prop?” His tone was light, teasing, but the undercurrent of real upset made his words sharper than usual.
The technician blinked, suddenly awkward, and pulled his hand back quickly.
You turned to Seokjin, catching the flash of genuine hurt behind his dramatic mask. The technician excused himself with a nervous chuckle, sensing the shift in atmosphere.
As soon as the two of you had a moment of semi-privacy near the edge of the room, Seokjin’s facade cracked further. He crossed his arms, lips pursed in that signature pout. “You like him more than me now? Be honest. I can take it. I’m just the handsome chef who makes you laugh and cooks your favorite meals at 2 a.m. No big deal.”
You rolled your eyes fondly, but before you could respond, he grabbed your hand and tugged you toward his private dressing room down the hall, closing the door firmly behind you. The lock clicked, sealing you both away from prying eyes.
The moment the world was shut out, Seokjin’s dramatic complaints melted into raw emotion. He pulled you into his arms, wrapping you in a tight back hug from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder.
His breath was warm against your neck. “I hate this,” he whispered, voice dropping the playful tone. “I hate pretending I don’t care when someone else touches you or makes you laugh. I want all of it. Your attention, your time, your everything. It’s selfish, but I’m in love with you. Secretly, stupidly, completely.”
His hands roamed up your sides, pulling you closer against his chest. The clinginess kicked in hard—exactly as expected after his jealousy flared. He pressed a series of soft forehead kisses along your hairline, then turned you in his arms to face him. “You like me more, right? Tell me. I need to hear it.”
“Of course I do, Jin. Only you,” you reassured him, and that was all it took.
His mouth descended on yours in a kiss that started tender but quickly ignited with pent-up need. Seokjin kissed like he performed— with full commitment and flair.
His lips moved against yours hungrily, tongue teasing until you parted for him. He backed you toward the couch, never breaking contact, his large hands cupping your face as if you might vanish.
Clothes came off in a heated rush. He peeled your shirt away slowly, savoring the reveal of your skin, then shed his own to expose his broad shoulders and toned chest. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, voice thick with emotion and desire.
He laid you down on the couch, hovering over you, dropping more forehead kisses and soft ones along your collarbone. His hands explored everywhere—squeezing your waist, tracing your curves, gripping your thighs as he settled between them.
Seokjin took his time, despite the urgency of his jealousy. He kissed down your body, lingering at your breasts, sucking one nipple into his mouth while his fingers played with the other. You arched into him, fingers threading through his dark hair.
Lower, he went, until his breath ghosted over your core. He looked up at you with those expressive eyes, still a hint of that dramatic pout lingering. “This is mine. Only mine.”
His tongue delved in, licking a slow stripe through your folds before focusing on your clit with precise, teasing circles. Two fingers slid inside you, curling expertly as he worked you open. He moaned against you, the vibrations sending sparks up your spine.
Seokjin ate you out with the same dedication he put into everything—thorough, passionate, a little extra. He brought you right to the edge, then eased back, kissing your inner thighs while you caught your breath.
“Not yet,” he said, climbing back up your body. “I want to be inside you when you come. I want to feel how much you want me.”
He positioned himself, rubbing the thick head of his cock against your entrance, slick with your arousal and his saliva. With a deep push, he entered you, both of you groaning at the perfect fit.
Seokjin’s hips rolled slowly at first, savoring the connection, but jealousy still simmered beneath the surface. His pace quickened, thrusts becoming deeper and more insistent.
“Tell me again,” he panted between kisses, pinning your hands above your head with one of his. “You like me more, right? Say it while I fuck you.”
“I like you more—fuck, Jin, so much more,” you moaned, legs wrapping around his waist to pull him deeper.
That spurred him on. He released your hands to grip your hips, angling you so every thrust hit that sweet spot inside. The room filled with the sounds of skin meeting skin, your shared gasps, and his occasional dramatic whispers. “That’s right. No one else gets to make you feel like this. No technician, no staff, no one. Just me.”
He shifted positions, pulling you up so you straddled him on the couch. You rode him while he guided your movements with strong hands on your ass, thrusting up to meet you. His mouth latched onto your neck, sucking marks that would be hidden under your clothes later.
One hand slipped between you, thumb circling your clit in time with your bounces.
Pleasure coiled tight in your belly. Seokjin could feel you tightening around him. “Come for me, baby. Show me I’m the only one.”
Your orgasm hit hard, waves crashing through you as you clenched around his cock, crying out his name. Seokjin followed right after, burying himself deep and spilling inside you with a long, satisfied groan.
His arms wrapped around you tightly in another back hug as you both came down, even while still connected.
For several minutes, he just held you like that, pressing forehead kisses to your temple, your cheeks, anywhere he could reach. The clinginess returned full force.
“I’m sorry for being dramatic out there,” he murmured, nuzzling your neck. “But I can’t help it. When I see someone else getting your smiles, it makes me realize how badly I want to tell the whole world you’re mine. Until then… stay close to me, okay? Lots of hugs like this. Lots of kisses. And always tell me I’m your favorite.”
You laughed softly, running your fingers through his hair. “You are my favorite, Jin. Dramatics and all.”
He smiled, genuine and warm now that the jealousy had been soothed by your touch. But he wasn’t done. After cleaning you both up gently, he pulled you back into his lap, hands wandering again. “Round two,” he announced with a playful wink. “I need more reassurance. And more of those sounds you make just for me.”
This time was slower, more intimate. He took you from behind while you leaned over the couch arm, his chest pressed to your back in a constant hug.
One arm wrapped around your waist, the other between your legs, rubbing you as he thrust steadily. He whispered praises and silly jokes mixed with love confessions, keeping things light even as pleasure built again.
By the end, you were both exhausted in the best way, tangled together on the couch with his arms securely around you. Seokjin’s dramatic jealousy had led to this—raw passion, tender aftercare, and a deeper bond strengthened in secret. He kissed your forehead one last time.
“Don’t forget who loves you most, even when I have to pretend I don’t in front of everyone else.”
The concert would start soon, and he’d be back to his charismatic, funny self on stage. But you would carry his touch, his words, and the quiet promise of more hidden moments like this.
✧
✧ 𝐘𝐨𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐢
Yoongi didn’t need to raise his voice or put on a show for his jealousy to land like ice water down the spine. It was the silence that made it terrifying—the way his face stayed almost neutral, sharp eyes narrowing just a fraction, while the temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.
He was in love with you in the quietest, most consuming way possible. A love built on late-night studio sessions where words weren’t necessary, on shared headphones and fingers brushing under tables. You kept it secret because that was the only way it could survive right now. But secrets had a way of sharpening everything else, especially the possessiveness he rarely let show.
The green room hummed with the usual pre-show chaos. Staff adjusted mics, members chatted in low voices, and you stood near the couch talking to one of the tour photographers.
The guy was friendly, talented, and clearly interested. He leaned against the wall, camera slung around his neck, smiling as he showed you some shots from the previous night on his screen. “You always end up looking perfect in these,” he said, voice dropping a little. “The way the light hits you… I could shoot you for hours.”
You laughed politely, flipping through the images. Yoongi sat on the opposite couch, hood up, earbuds in but no music playing. His expression didn’t change. He looked half-asleep, legs stretched out, cap pulled low. But his gaze followed every movement.
The way the photographer stepped closer. The way his hand brushed your elbow to point at something on the screen. The way you smiled back—not flirtatious, but warm enough to twist something deep in Yoongi’s chest.
He didn’t speak. Not at first. His answers to the staff member asking about setlist changes became short, almost curt. “Yeah.” “Fine.” “Whatever works.” The calm shifted. People around him started glancing over, sensing the subtle change in the air without understanding why. Yoongi’s eyes stayed locked on you, dark and unreadable, tracking the photographer’s every gesture like a predator deciding exactly when to strike.
When the guy laughed at something you said and let his fingers linger on your arm, tracing a light path down to your wrist while complimenting your “natural presence,” Yoongi moved. No words.
No dramatic sigh. He simply stood, crossed the room in that slow, deliberate way of his, and slid an arm around your waist from behind. His hand settled firmly, fingers pressing into your side with quiet ownership. He pulled you back against his chest, chin brushing your shoulder for a brief second before he released you—but not really. His presence stayed right there, a wall of silent warning.
The photographer straightened immediately, mumbling something about checking equipment, and disappeared faster than expected. Yoongi didn’t smile. He didn’t gloat. He just looked at you once, eyes saying everything his mouth wouldn’t: We’re leaving. Now.
He guided you out with that same hand on your waist, touch deceptively light but impossible to ignore. Down the hallway to his private dressing room.
The door shut with a soft click. The lock turned. And then the real shift happened.
Yoongi leaned against the door for a moment, staring at you. Still silent. The jealousy didn’t explode out of him like it might with the others. It coiled, controlled, and burned hotter because of it. He crossed to you slowly, backing you against the makeup counter without touching you at first.
His hands finally came up, framing your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks with surprising gentleness before his grip tightened just enough.
“You let him touch you,” he said, voice low and rough, barely above a whisper. It wasn’t a question. “Laughed with him. Let him look at you like that.”
His lips crashed into yours before you could answer—slow, deep, devastating. Yoongi kissed like he produced music: layered, intentional, every movement building something heavier. His tongue slid against yours, claiming, while one hand dropped to your waist again, pulling your hips flush against him.
You could feel how hard he already was, pressed against your stomach.
He broke the kiss only to trail his mouth down your neck, sucking lightly at first, then harder, leaving marks that would hide under your collar. “Mine,” he breathed against your skin. No theatrics.
Just fact. His hands worked methodically, peeling your shirt off, then his own. The sight of his pale skin, slim but toned torso, and the faint lines of muscle made your breath catch. He lifted you onto the counter, stepping between your legs.
Yoongi’s possessiveness showed in the calmest, most intense ways. He didn’t rush. He unbuttoned your pants and dragged them down along with your underwear, eyes never leaving yours. When you were bare, he ran his palms up your thighs, spreading them wider.
Two fingers traced your entrance, feeling how wet you already were, before sliding in deep. He curled them slowly, perfectly, watching every flicker across your face.
“Eyes on me,” he murmured when your head tipped back. His free hand gripped your chin, forcing your gaze back to his. Those dark eyes held you captive while his fingers pumped steadily, thumb circling your clit with maddening precision.
The room filled with the wet sounds of his hand and your growing moans, but Yoongi stayed mostly quiet, only letting out low, controlled breaths.
He brought you right to the edge, then withdrew his fingers, ignoring your frustrated whimper. He freed himself from his pants, thick and flushed, stroking once before pressing the head against you.
One smooth thrust and he buried himself to the hilt, groaning softly into your neck. The stretch was perfect, overwhelming.
His hips rolled in deep, measured strokes. Not frantic—deliberate. Each thrust claimed you, reminded you exactly who you belonged to. One arm wrapped around your back, holding you impossibly close, while the other braced on the counter. Skin met skin in rhythmic slaps, but his voice stayed low.
“No one else gets this,” he whispered against your ear, biting the lobe. “No one else hears you moan like this. No one else feels how tight you get when I’m inside you.” His pace increased gradually, still controlled, but the jealousy fueled every snap of his hips. He angled just right, hitting that spot inside you that made stars burst behind your eyes.
You clutched his shoulders, nails digging in. “Yoongi—”
“Say it,” he demanded quietly, voice dark. “Tell me who you belong to while I fuck you.”
“You. Only you.”
That seemed to break something in his restraint. He lifted you off the counter, turning you around and bending you over it. Your hands braced on the cool surface as he entered you again from behind, deeper this way.
One hand gripped your hip hard enough to bruise, the other reached around to rub your clit in tight circles. His chest pressed to your back, lips against your shoulder as he thrust harder, faster, but still terrifyingly silent except for the occasional low groan.
The orgasm built like a wave you couldn’t escape. When it crashed over you, your walls clenched around him, legs shaking. Yoongi followed moments later, burying himself deep and coming with a quiet, shuddering breath, filling you completely.
He stayed inside you for a long minute, arms wrapped around your waist, face pressed to your back.
Finally, he pulled out carefully, cleaning you both with a warm cloth from the side table. He didn’t speak much even then. Just pulled you into his arms on the small couch, holding you against his chest.
His fingers traced slow patterns on your bare skin—possessive, soothing. The silent jealousy had morphed into this: quiet intensity, the kind that wrapped around you like smoke.
“I hate it,” he said eventually, voice barely audible. “Seeing someone else flirt with you. Touch you. Makes me want to pull you away every single time. I know we can’t say anything yet. But you’re mine. In every way that matters.”
You turned in his arms, kissing his jaw. “I am yours, Yoongi. Always.”
He nodded once, eyes softening just a fraction. But the possessiveness lingered. His hand slid down to grip your thigh, pulling you closer. “Good. Because we still have time before soundcheck.”
His lips found yours again, slower this time, but no less hungry.
The second round was different—slower, face to face on the couch, your legs wrapped around his waist as he moved inside you with those same deep, claiming strokes. He kept his forehead against yours, eyes locked, forcing you to feel every emotion he rarely voiced.
When you came again, whispering his name like a prayer, he followed, spilling into you once more with a quiet curse.
Afterward, he held you tightly, pressing soft kisses to your temple. No dramatic declarations.
No over-the-top clinginess. Just Yoongi—silent, steady, and terrifyingly in love. The kind of love that didn’t need noise to be felt in your bones.
He helped you dress eventually, adjusting your clothes so the marks he left stayed hidden.
When you stepped back into the hallway, his expression had returned to that neutral calm. But his hand brushed your lower back one last time, a secret reminder.
The mood around him stayed shifted for the rest of the evening. Short answers. Watching eyes. And when anyone got too close to you again, that arm found your waist without a word.
Because Yoongi’s jealousy didn’t roar. It simply took what was his, quietly, completely, and left no room for doubt.
✧
✧ 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐤
Hoseok was sunshine personified—bright smiles, infectious laughter, and that endless energy that lit up every room he entered. But when jealousy crept in, especially over you, the person he was secretly, deeply in love with, that sunshine didn’t disappear. It just burned hotter, more focused, until it consumed everything else.
He tried so hard to play it cool, to keep things light and fun like always, because that was his role. The one who kept morale high. The one who made everyone feel at ease. But with you, his ult, his hidden heart, the mask slipped faster than he could catch it.
The backstage lounge was alive with pre-rehearsal chatter. Members stretched, stylists touched up makeup, and you were standing near the snack table talking to one of the new choreographers—a charismatic guy who’d been brought in for a fresh routine. He was funny, confident, and clearly drawn to your energy. He demonstrated a quick footwork move, laughing as you tried to copy it, his hand lightly steadying your waist for balance.
“See? You’ve got natural rhythm,” he said, eyes lingering a second too long. “We should practice together sometime. I could teach you a lot.”
Hoseok, who had been sipping water across the room while chatting with staff, felt the shift instantly. He forced a wide smile, the one that usually lit up stages worldwide, and sauntered over with his signature playful bounce. “Yah, what’s this? Stealing my favorite dance partner?” he teased, voice bright and sing-song.
But the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. It tightened at the corners, turning a little sharp. His laugh when the choreographer joked back sounded forced, almost brittle.
He tried again, keeping it playful. “Careful, she might outshine you on stage if you teach her too well!” Another laugh, but it fell flat even to his own ears.
Deep down, it wasn’t funny. Not when this guy had his hand on your waist. Not when you were smiling at someone else the way Hoseok wanted you smiling at him in every stolen moment—those quiet van rides, late-night texts, and hidden hotel nights where he whispered how much he adored you. You were his secret, his everything, and watching someone else flirt so openly made his chest ache with a need he couldn’t voice publicly.
The choreographer chuckled and touched your arm again, leaning in to say something quieter. That was the breaking point. Hoseok’s playful facade crumbled in an instant. He moved smoothly but decisively, sliding right beside you. One arm wrapped around your shoulders, pulling you firmly against his side. His other hand found yours, fingers intertwining tightly.
He rested his chin on top of your head, nuzzling in just enough to make his claim crystal clear without words. The warmth of his body enveloped you, that familiar mix of cologne and stage energy that was so distinctly him.
“Actually,” Hoseok said, voice still light but edged with something deeper, “we have some partner work we need to go over. Right now.” His smile stayed plastered on for the choreographer, but his grip on you tightened. Everyone in the room could see it—you two were close. Very close.
The choreographer got the message, nodding awkwardly and stepping back with a quick excuse about checking the stage layout.
As soon as the guy was out of sight, Hoseok didn’t let go. If anything, he held you tighter. His arm around your shoulders became a full embrace, chin still on your head as he swayed you gently side to side like you were dancing to music only he could hear. “I hate that,” he murmured into your hair, voice dropping the playful tone. “I try to act cool, but seeing him touch you… it makes me want to pull you away and keep you all to myself. You’re my person. My favorite. I need everyone to know how close we are, even if we can’t tell them everything yet.”
He guided you down the hallway to his private dressing room, never once releasing your hand. The door closed behind you, and the lock clicked. In the quiet space, Hoseok’s energy shifted completely.
He turned to you, eyes soft but burning with that mix of love and jealousy. “You know you’re my ult, right? My everything. I can’t stand the thought of someone else thinking they can have even a piece of you.”
His hands cupped your face tenderly, thumbs brushing your cheeks, before he kissed you. It wasn’t rushed—it was deep, passionate, full of all the affection he poured into every performance. Hoseok kissed like he danced: with soul, with fire, with every part of himself.
His tongue moved against yours in perfect rhythm, drawing soft sounds from you that made him smile against your lips.
Clothes disappeared between heated kisses and wandering hands. He peeled your shirt off slowly, worshipping every inch of skin he revealed with his mouth. “So beautiful,” he whispered, voice husky.
His own shirt came off next, revealing his toned dancer’s body, lean muscle honed from years of powerful performances. He lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you to the wide couch.
Hoseok laid you down like you were precious, but his touches grew more urgent. He kissed down your neck, sucking gentle marks along your collarbone—marks only the two of you would see.
His hands explored your curves, squeezing your hips, tracing your thighs as he removed the rest of your clothes. When you were bare beneath him, he took a moment just to look, eyes full of adoration. “Mine,” he said softly, almost reverently. “All mine.”
He settled between your legs, mouth hot and eager as he tasted you. His tongue moved with expert precision—playful flicks on your clit mixed with deep, languid strokes that had you gripping his hair. Two fingers slid inside you, curling in that way he knew drove you crazy, matching the rhythm of his mouth. Hoseok moaned against you, the vibrations sending sparks through your body.
He looked up at you the whole time, eyes locked, making sure you felt exactly how much he needed this.
But he didn’t let you finish that way. He wanted to be closer. Needed it. Hoseok climbed back up, shedding the last of his clothes, his cock hard and flushed with need.
He rubbed the tip against your entrance, teasing just enough to make you whimper, before sliding in deep with one smooth thrust. The feeling of him filling you completely drew matching groans from both of you.
He started slow, rolling his hips in that fluid, dancer-like motion, grinding deep. One hand held yours above your head, fingers still intertwined, while the other caressed your face. “Look at me, baby,” he breathed, forehead resting against yours. “I need you to see how much I love you. How crazy you make me.”
The pace built gradually, thrusts becoming more powerful, more possessive. Skin met skin with rhythmic slaps, the couch creaking softly beneath you. Hoseok’s usual playfulness returned in little ways—he nipped at your lip with a small smile, whispered silly-sweet things between moans—but the jealousy fueled an intensity that made everything hotter. He shifted you onto your side, lifting one leg over his shoulder so he could go even deeper, hitting that perfect spot with every stroke.
“You feel so good,” he panted, sweat glistening on his skin. “No one else gets this. No one else gets to hold you, touch you, love you like I do.” His free hand slipped between you, thumb circling your clit in tight, perfect patterns. The combination sent you spiraling fast.
When you came, it hit like a wave—walls clenching around him as you cried out his name. Hoseok followed right after, burying himself deep and spilling inside you with a long, throaty moan, hips stuttering through the pleasure. He collapsed gently on top of you, careful not to crush you, arms wrapping around you in the tightest hug.
Even in the afterglow, the clinginess stayed. He pressed kisses all over your face—forehead, cheeks, nose, lips—while still inside you. “I’m sorry I got jealous,” he whispered, nuzzling your neck.
“But I can’t help it. You’re my ult, my sunshine, my reason for smiling even on hard days. I need the world to see how close we are, even if it’s just through little things like holding your hand or resting my chin on your head.”
He pulled out eventually, cleaning you both with gentle care before pulling you into his lap. The second round came naturally, slower and sweeter this time. You rode him on the couch, his hands guiding your hips as he looked up at you with pure adoration.
He sat up midway, arms around your waist in a full embrace, mouths meeting in messy kisses while he thrust up to meet you. More forehead kisses, more whispers of love, more of that special energy only Hoseok could bring.
Afterward, tangled together and breathing softly, he kept you close. Fingers tracing patterns on your back, chin resting on your head again. “Promise me something?” he asked quietly. “No matter who flirts or how hard we have to hide this… you’ll always come back to me like this.
Let me hold you, love you, remind you that you’re my favorite person in the entire universe.”
You smiled, kissing his jaw. “Always, Hobi. You’re my ult too.”
Hoseok’s bright laugh returned, genuine this time, as he hugged you tighter. The jealousy had faded, replaced by warmth and certainty.
He would go back out there soon with his playful energy, but everyone would still see it—that extra closeness, the way his arm found your shoulders so naturally, the protective glint in his eye. Because when it came to you, Hoseok didn’t just love quietly. He loved with his whole heart, his whole body, and everyone nearby would feel it.
✧
✧ 𝐉𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐧
Jimin carried his heart in his eyes. That was what made his jealousy so devastating—not loud or possessive in a flashy way, but a quiet ache that turned those expressive eyes softer, almost glassy, like the light inside him had dimmed. He was deeply, secretly in love with you, the kind of love that bloomed in stolen glances during rehearsals and whispered confessions in the dark of hotel rooms.
You kept it hidden because the world demanded it, but that only made moments like this cut deeper. He wasn’t angry. He was hurt. The kind of hurt that made him question everything.
The waiting area backstage before the showcase was filled with the usual energy—stylists rushing with last-minute fixes, members warming up their voices, and low chatter bouncing off the walls. Jimin sat on a low couch, legs tucked under him gracefully, scrolling through his phone. But his attention wasn’t on the screen. It was on you, across the room, talking to one of the backup vocal coaches.
The guy was kind, experienced, and had a gentle way of speaking that clearly put you at ease. He laughed at something you said, leaning in slightly as he offered tips on a tricky harmony, his hand resting briefly on your shoulder in encouragement.
Jimin’s smile, the one he’d been holding for the staff earlier, faltered. His eyes softened, the usual sparkle dulling into something quieter, more vulnerable. He looked away for a moment, biting the inside of his cheek, but his gaze kept drifting back. Do they make you happier than I do? The thought crept in uninvited. Am I bothering you lately? Maybe I’ve been too clingy in our secret texts. Maybe you need someone who doesn’t have to hide. His fingers tightened around his phone, but outwardly, he stayed composed—almost too still, too quiet. The members noticed the shift; Jungkook asked if he was okay, and Jimin just nodded with a small, forced curve of his lips.
When the coach’s hand lingered on your arm a second longer while demonstrating a breathing technique, Jimin couldn’t stay seated. He stood gracefully, crossing the room without fanfare. No dramatic words, no tight smiles like Hoseok might use. Just a gentle touch—his hand slipping into yours, fingers intertwining as he tugged you lightly toward him. “Hey,” he said softly, voice barely above a murmur. “Can we talk for a minute?” His eyes met yours, pleading in that subtle way only you could read. The coach sensed the moment and stepped back with a polite nod.
Jimin led you down the hallway to his private dressing room, his hold on your hand never loosening. Once inside, with the door closed and the world locked out, the overthinking spilled quietly from him. He turned to you, eyes even softer now, almost misty. He didn’t let go of your hand, instead pulling it up to press against his chest so you could feel his heartbeat—steady but a little faster than usual.
“I saw you with him,” he whispered, voice gentle but laced with that hurt. “The way he made you laugh… it was nice. Really nice. Do they make you happier than I do? Be honest with me. I can take it, I think. But lately I keep wondering if I’m bothering you. If all these secret moments, the late calls when I can’t sleep, the way I always want you close… maybe it’s too much. Maybe you need space.”
His free hand came up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, touch feather-light, as if afraid you might pull away. Those beautiful eyes searched yours, vulnerable and open in a way he rarely showed the world. Jimin melted when he felt loved, but right now, the jealousy had him unraveling in the softest, most heartbreaking way.
You reassured him immediately, cupping his face and telling him how much he meant to you—how no one compared, how his attention was your favorite thing. The words worked like magic. His shoulders relaxed, eyes fluttering closed for a moment as he leaned into your palm. “Really?” he breathed, voice cracking just a little. And then he melted completely, stepping closer until his body pressed against yours, arms wrapping around your waist in a needy embrace. “I need you,” he murmured against your neck. “Show me I’m still your favorite.”
The kiss started tender, almost hesitant, like he was afraid to ask for too much. But as you deepened it, pouring reassurance into every brush of lips and tongue, Jimin came alive. His hands roamed your back, pulling you impossibly closer, fingers tracing the curve of your spine with familiar reverence. Clothes came off slowly, between soft kisses and whispered affirmations. He peeled your shirt away like unwrapping something precious, lips following the path of exposed skin—collarbone, shoulder, the dip between your breasts.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, eyes drinking you in. His own shirt slipped off, revealing the lean, sculpted lines of his dancer’s body, skin glowing under the warm lights. He lifted you onto the vanity table, stepping between your legs, hands gentle but sure on your thighs. “Tell me again,” he asked softly, forehead resting against yours. “That I’m the one you want.”
“You’re the only one, Jimin. Always.”
That was all he needed. He kissed you deeply, tongues sliding together as his hands explored. He cupped your breasts, thumbs circling your nipples until they peaked under his touch, drawing quiet gasps from you. Lower, his fingers trailed, slipping between your legs to find you already wet for him. Two slender fingers eased inside, curling slowly, perfectly, while his thumb brushed your clit in lazy circles. He watched your face the entire time, eyes soft and locked on yours, feeding on every moan like it was oxygen.
“Please,” you breathed, and he nodded, removing his fingers to free himself. His cock was hard, flushed, curving beautifully as he stroked it once before pressing against your entrance. He slid in slowly, savoring every inch, both of you sighing at the connection. Jimin’s hips rolled in fluid, graceful thrusts—deep and unhurried, like a dance only the two of you knew. One arm wrapped around your back, holding you close, while the other braced on the table.
“Feel me,” he whispered, voice husky with emotion. “I’m yours too. Completely.” His pace stayed tender at first, but reassurance turned the heat up. He buried his face in your neck, sucking soft marks as his thrusts grew firmer, hitting that spot inside you that made your toes curl. You clung to his shoulders, nails lightly scratching his back, and he shivered in pleasure.
He pulled back to look at you again, eyes half-lidded but shining. “I was scared for a second… that maybe someone else could make you smile bigger. But this—us—it’s everything.” The vulnerability mixed with desire made it intensely intimate. He shifted you slightly, angling deeper, one hand slipping between you to rub your clit in time with his movements. The build was slow, overwhelming, until you came with a soft cry, clenching around him, pulling him over the edge too. Jimin moaned your name quietly, spilling deep inside you, hips stuttering as waves of pleasure washed over him.
He stayed inside you for a long moment, holding you tightly, foreheads pressed together as breaths mingled. Then the melting happened fully—soft kisses all over your face, gentle hands cleaning you both with a warm towel from the side counter. He carried you to the small couch, curling around you like a koala, legs tangled, arms secure around your waist. “Thank you,” he murmured, nuzzling your hair. “For always making me feel wanted. I get so scared sometimes that I’m not enough in all this hiding.”
“You’re more than enough,” you reassured him again, fingers carding through his hair. He practically purred at the touch, eyes closing in contentment.
The second round came naturally, slower and even more emotional. You straddled him on the couch, sinking down onto him inch by inch while he gazed up at you like you hung the stars. His hands guided your hips, but gently, letting you set the rhythm. Every roll of your body drew soft praises from him—“So good… you feel perfect… I love you like this.” He sat up midway, chest to chest, arms wrapped fully around you in a tight embrace as he thrust up to meet you. Mouths met in lazy, deep kisses, tongues dancing as pleasure built again. When you both came this time, it was together—whispers and shudders, bodies trembling in sync.
Afterward, Jimin kept you in his lap, tracing invisible patterns on your skin, chin resting on your shoulder. The hurt jealousy had dissolved into pure, warm affection. He was quiet again, but this time it was peaceful, content. “I don’t want to go back out there yet,” he admitted with a small smile. “Just a little longer like this. You make everything better.”
He would return to the others soon, eyes bright once more, that charming stage persona slipping back into place. But the secret marks on your skin, the way his hand would brush yours a little longer than necessary, and the soft glances only you understood—they would remind everyone, subtly, that his heart was already claimed. Jimin’s love was like that: not loud, but profound. And when reassured, he gave it back tenfold, melting completely into the person who made his world feel right.
✧
✧ 𝐓𝐚𝐞𝐡𝐲𝐮𝐧𝐠
Taehyung felt everything deeply. Love, joy, sadness — and especially jealousy. Out of all the members, no one burned with it quite like he did. You weren’t dating. Not officially. You had never put a label on whatever this was between you: stolen kisses in the studio after midnight, fingers brushing under tables, late-night talks where he called you his soulmate in that low, sincere voice of his. But the lack of a title didn’t stop the fierce possessiveness that surged through him every time someone else got too close to you. If anything, it made it worse. Because without a label, he had no real right to feel this way — yet he felt it all the same.
The green room before the soundcheck was lively. Members sprawled across couches, staff moved around with tablets and cables, and you were sitting on the arm of a chair talking to one of the new international staff members — a tall, friendly guy who had been helping with translations. He was charming in an easy way, laughing as he showed you something on his phone. Taehyung sat across the room, legs spread wide, wearing an oversized hoodie, but his usual boxy smile was nowhere to be found.
Instead, his dark eyes were locked on you. Brows slightly furrowed. Lips pressed into a straight line. He didn’t even realize how obvious it was until Jungkook nudged Jimin and both of them started smirking.
“Hyung, you’re staring again,” Jungkook teased quietly, loud enough for the others to hear. “Looking like someone kicked your puppy.”
Taehyung blinked, trying to school his expression into something neutral, but it was too late. The frown was already there, deep and sulky. His gaze flicked back to you immediately. The staff guy leaned closer to show you another video, his hand resting casually on the back of your chair. Taehyung’s jaw tightened. That should be him. Sitting next to you. Making you laugh like that. Being the only one allowed in your space.
He stood up suddenly, long legs carrying him across the room without thinking. The members watched with knowing grins — they had seen this side of Taehyung more than once when it came to you.
“Hey,” he said, voice deep and a little rough as he stopped right beside you. He didn’t even acknowledge the staff member at first. His eyes were only on you. “Come sit with me instead.”
You looked up, catching the unmistakable sulk in his expression. The staff guy paused mid-sentence, suddenly aware of the heavy aura surrounding Taehyung.
“I was just—” you started, but Taehyung was already gently taking your hand, fingers wrapping around yours with quiet determination.
“Please?” he added, softer this time, but the jealousy was written all over his face. Big brown eyes, slight pout, shoulders a little hunched like the weight of watching you with someone else actually hurt him physically. The staff member cleared his throat awkwardly and found an excuse to leave.
The second you let Taehyung pull you over to the couch and sit beside him, his entire mood shifted. The frown melted away. That beautiful boxy smile broke across his face like sunshine after rain. He immediately draped one long arm around your shoulders, pulling you against his side, chin resting lightly on your head. Soulmate behavior. Like the universe had clicked back into place now that you were close again.
“Much better,” he murmured happily, voice low enough for only you to hear. His fingers played with the sleeve of your shirt, absentmindedly tracing patterns. The members exchanged amused looks but didn’t comment further.
But the jealousy hadn’t disappeared. It had simply been redirected into need.
A little while later, when the room cleared out slightly, Taehyung leaned down, lips brushing your ear. “Come with me for a minute.” No room for argument. He took your hand again and led you to his private dressing room, locking the door behind you with a soft click.
The moment you were alone, the intensity returned. He backed you against the wall, hands framing your face as he stared down at you with those soulful eyes.
“I hate it,” he confessed, voice husky. “I know we’re not… official. But seeing him next to you, making you laugh, touching your chair like that — it drives me crazy. You’re mine in here.” He pressed a hand over his own heart. “You feel like my soulmate. Even if we haven’t said the words yet. I get so jealous I can’t hide it.”
His kiss was deep and consuming, the kind only Taehyung could give — passionate, emotional, like he was pouring his entire soul into it. Tongues moved slowly, tasting, claiming. His large hands slid down your body, gripping your waist and pulling you flush against him so you could feel how hard he already was.
Clothes came off with urgent but reverent touches. He peeled your shirt away, kissing every inch of skin he revealed, whispering how beautiful you were, how no one else should ever get to stand that close to you. When he removed his own hoodie and shirt, revealing his broad shoulders and toned chest, you couldn’t help but run your hands over him. He shivered under your touch.
Taehyung lifted you effortlessly, carrying you to the couch and laying you down. He hovered over you, eyes never leaving yours as he removed the rest of your clothes. “So perfect,” he breathed, kissing down your stomach until he reached your core. He took his time, tongue moving in slow, sensual strokes, savoring you like fine wine. Two long fingers pushed inside you, curling gently while his mouth focused on your clit. He moaned against you, the vibrations sending pleasure shooting through your body.
But he didn’t let you finish there. He needed to be closer.
Rising up, he freed himself, thick and flushed, and rubbed the tip against your entrance. “Look at me,” he whispered. The eye contact was intense as he pushed in slowly, stretching you open inch by inch until he was buried deep. Both of you groaned at the feeling.
His thrusts started deep and rhythmic, hips rolling in that smooth, artistic way of his. One hand held yours above your head, fingers intertwined, while the other cradled the back of your neck so he could keep kissing you. “You’re mine,” he panted between kisses, even though you weren’t officially. “Even if the world doesn’t know yet. Tell me you feel it too.”
“I feel it, Tae. Only you.”
That reassurance made him melt and burn at the same time. His pace picked up, thrusts becoming harder, more desperate. The jealousy that had been simmering all afternoon poured out in every movement — possessive but full of love. He shifted you so your legs wrapped higher around his waist, going deeper, hitting that spot that made you see stars.
When you came, clenching tightly around him and moaning his name, Taehyung followed right after, burying his face in your neck as he spilled deep inside you with a low, broken groan. His body trembled against yours, arms wrapping around you tightly like he never wanted to let go.
Even after, the clinginess stayed. He cleaned you gently, then pulled you into his lap, arms locked around your waist, chin on your shoulder. “I know I get too jealous,” he admitted quietly, pressing soft kisses to your temple. “But I can’t help it. You’re my person. My soulmate. Watching someone else get your attention feels like losing a piece of myself.”
You stayed like that for a while, his hands gently stroking your back, mood completely bright again now that he had you all to himself. When desire built once more, the second round was slower, more intimate. You rode him on the couch, his hands guiding your hips while he looked up at you with pure adoration. He sat up to kiss you deeply, chest to chest, whispering sweet nothings and jealous little confessions between moans.
By the time you both finished again, you were tangled together, breathing softly. Taehyung kept you close, refusing to let go just yet. “Stay with me a little longer,” he murmured, voice warm. “I need more of this. More of you.”
He would go back out there soon with that signature boxy smile, acting like nothing happened. But everyone would notice how his eyes followed you, how he found excuses to sit next to you, how his hand always seemed to find yours when no one was looking too closely. Because Taehyung’s jealousy wasn’t subtle — it was obvious, deep, and rooted in a love so strong it didn’t need a label to feel real.
He was the most jealous for a reason. You were his soulmate. And he would keep reminding you — and everyone else — of that fact, one stolen moment at a time.
✧
✧ 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐤𝐨𝐨𝐤
Jungkook tried so hard not to care. He really did. He told himself a thousand times that you weren’t officially his, that the secret moments you shared—late-night gym sessions where he’d spot you, quiet studio cuddles, and stolen kisses behind closed doors—didn’t give him the right to feel possessive. But he cared the most. Out of everyone, no one’s heart twisted quite like his when someone else flirted with you. It made his ears burn red, his usual bright energy go quiet, and his big doe eyes stay glued to you like you were the only thing in the room.
The backstage lounge before the final rehearsal was buzzing. Members were scattered around, some playing games on their phones, others stretching or chatting with staff. Jungkook sat on the floor against the couch, pretending to scroll through his camera roll, but his attention was locked across the room where you stood talking to one of the young backup dancers. The guy was energetic, funny, and clearly interested. He kept leaning in, demonstrating a move and laughing when you tried it, his hand brushing your arm more than once.
Jungkook’s ears turned pink, then bright red. He pressed his lips together, trying to look unbothered, but his eyes never left you. That should be me,his brain repeated like a mantra. Making you laugh. Touching your arm. Standing that close. He stayed silent, jaw tight, fingers gripping his phone a little too hard. The members noticed. Jimin nudged Taehyung with a smirk, whispering something that made them both glance at Jungkook’s obvious struggle.
When the dancer stepped even closer, placing a hand on your waist to “correct your posture” while showing another step, Jungkook couldn’t stay back anymore. He stood up, ears still flaming, and crossed the room with that effortless athletic grace. Without a word, he slid right beside you, one arm wrapping around your shoulders and pulling you gently but firmly into his chest.
His other hand found yours, fingers intertwining tightly. To everyone else, he acted completely normal—casual smile, soft “hey” like he was just joining the conversation—but his body told a different story. His thumb stroked the back of your hand, and his fingers rested possessively on your waist, right where the other guy’s hand had been.
The dancer got the hint quickly, mumbling something about warming up and backing away. Jungkook’s ears were still red as he kept you pressed against him, chin resting lightly on top of your head for a second before he pulled back just enough to look normal. But inside? His brain was a mess of cute, jealous thoughts. Mine. Should be me. Only me
A few minutes later, when the room thinned out, he leaned down, voice low and a little shy. “Come with me?” He didn’t wait for a full answer, just gently tugged you toward his private dressing room, hand still holding yours the entire way. The second the door closed and locked, the shy act cracked open.
Jungkook turned to you, ears still tinged pink, big eyes soft and vulnerable. “I know I’m not supposed to care this much,” he admitted quietly, rubbing the back of his neck. “We’re not even… you know. But seeing him touch you like that? It makes me crazy. That should be me. Only me.”
His jealousy was the cutest thing in the world—those wide eyes, the way he tried so hard to play it cool but failed adorably, the soft pout forming on his lips. You smiled and stepped closer, cupping his face. The reassurance made him melt instantly. Jungkook leaned into your touch like a puppy, eyes fluttering closed for a moment before he pulled you into a tight hug, arms wrapping fully around you.
The kiss started sweet, almost shy, but quickly deepened with all the pent-up emotion. Jungkook kissed like he did everything else—with full commitment and passion. His hands roamed your back, pulling you flush against his strong body as his tongue moved against yours. He walked you backward until your legs hit the couch, then gently laid you down, hovering over you with those sparkling eyes.
“You’re so pretty,” he whispered, voice husky but still carrying that adorable nervousness. He helped you out of your shirt, then removed his own, revealing the sculpted muscles he worked so hard for. His hands were gentle as he explored your body, kissing down your neck, across your collarbone, and lower, sucking soft marks that made you shiver. When he reached your waistband, he looked up at you for permission, ears still faintly red.
Once you were both bare, Jungkook settled between your legs, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses along your inner thighs before his tongue found your core. He was eager and attentive, licking and sucking with focused dedication, two fingers sliding inside you and curling just right. He moaned softly against you, the vibrations making your back arch. His free hand reached up to hold yours, fingers intertwined again—like even here, he needed that connection.
But he didn’t let you finish that way. He wanted to be closer. Jungkook climbed back up, kissing you deeply so you could taste yourself on his lips. He stroked himself a few times, then lined up and pushed in slowly, groaning your name as he sank deep. The stretch was perfect, his thickness filling you completely. He stayed still for a moment, forehead pressed to yours, breathing shakily.
“That should be me,” he whispered again, almost like he couldn’t help it. “Only me touching you. Only me making you feel good.”
His thrusts started deep and steady, hips rolling with that powerful athletic control. One hand stayed laced with yours above your head while the other gripped your thigh, holding you open for him. Jungkook’s jealousy melted into the sweetest, most intense lovemaking—every movement full of adoration and quiet possessiveness. He buried his face in your neck, kissing and nibbling as his pace gradually quickened.
“You feel so good,” he panted, voice adorably breathy. “So tight… so perfect. I get so jealous because I like you so much. Like… really like you.”
The confession made your heart flutter. You pulled him closer, legs wrapping tighter around his waist. Jungkook’s thrusts grew faster, deeper, hitting that spot inside you repeatedly until you were moaning his name. His hand slipped between you, thumb rubbing your clit in perfect circles. When you came, clenching hard around him and trembling, he followed right after with a cute, broken moan, burying himself deep and filling you with warm spurts.
He collapsed gently on top of you, careful not to crush you, arms wrapping around your body in the tightest hug. His ears were still pink as he nuzzled into your neck, pressing soft kisses everywhere he could reach. “Sorry if I was too obvious out there,” he mumbled, voice muffled against your skin. “I tried not to care… but I care so much. You’re my favorite person.”
The aftercare was pure Jungkook—sweet and attentive. He cleaned you both carefully with a warm towel, then pulled you into his lap on the couch, arms locked around you like he never wanted to let go. He kept playing with your fingers, intertwining them over and over, chin resting on your shoulder.
The second round came naturally, slower and even cuter. You straddled him, sinking down onto his cock while he looked up at you with those big, sparkling eyes full of affection. His hands guided your hips gently, but he let you set the pace, whispering praises and little jealous confessions between kisses. “No one else gets to hold you like this… only me, right?” He sat up halfway, chest pressed to yours in a warm embrace, thrusting up to meet you as you rode him.
The closeness made everything more intense. When you both came again, it was with soft moans and foreheads pressed together, bodies trembling in sync.
Afterward, Jungkook refused to let you move, cuddling you tightly against his chest, one hand stroking your hair. His jealousy had turned into the fluffiest, warmest afterglow. “Can we stay like this a little longer?” he asked, voice shy but hopeful. “I just… I like having you close. Makes me feel better.”
He would go back out there soon, acting cool with that signature Jungkook confidence, but everyone would notice the little things: how his hand always found yours, how his eyes followed you protectively, how his ears turned pink whenever someone got too friendly. Because when Jungkook got jealous, it wasn’t scary or dramatic—it was the cutest thing in the world.
A big, strong guy reduced to blushing ears and needy hugs, all because he cared the most.
summary. hooking up with your best friend was convenient at first. you don’t have to go to clubs to find one night stands, you call him and he’ll come right away. you rule was simple: the others can’t know. but as months go by, it was clear this specific rule is slowly hurting the both of you. or instead it opens something new?
pairings. fwb!heeseung x fem!reader
content / warning. fwb to lovers,angst, fluff, slightly toxic, mentions of alcohol + clubbing, suggestive scenes, childhood bestfriend themes, cockwarming, they’re both stupid. reader is way more dumber though (sorry), arguments, mentions of jay, jake (enhypen), beomgyu (txt), yunjin (lesserafim), ryujin (itzy), hee smokes once in one scene, slight manipilation + guilt-tripping, unprotected p in v , mutual masturbation, titplay, fingering, jerking off.
w.c. 16.8k
now playing. available - justin biebier, i like u - niki
“Keep me warm, yeah?”
His room is dim except for the glow of the monitor, the soft clicking of buttons filling the space.
You’re straddling him like it’s nothing new—because it isn’t. It is also not unusual for him to be deep inside you while you’re at it.
Heeseung barely reacts at first, eyes still locked onto the screen, fingers moving like you’re not literally sitting in his lap.
“Hee..” You whine, hips grinding involuntarily despite his words earlier telling you not to move.
“Hold on,” he mutters, focused. “One round.”
You tilt your head, watching him instead of the game, how can this man act normally when he’s so deep inside you?
“‘One round’ like the last three times?”
No answer—just a quiet hm under his breath when something doesn’t distract him.
He felt you clench around him making him exhales sharply, dropping his head back against the chair.
“Fuck—Y/N, baby, stop that, I won’t last.” He groans againts your temple. You can’t help it, the stretch is so good and you can literally feel every vein of his.
You give up, groaning softly as you relax and rest your cheek on his chest while he whistles in victory.
“Good girl, we just did it an hour ago. Just relax on me while I game, yeah?” He huff while his fingers work on the keyboard, turning his head slightly to mouth your temple.
“You got the text about Jay’s birthday party?” You ask suddenly, in which he hums. “Tonight,”
“Get dressed, we’ll go together.” His legs moved the chair to give you space to get up, he pats your hip.
Your thighs shake as you got up, his now-soft length pulls out. He let out a groan.
The sudden wave of cold air hitting your bare privates made the both of you wince and hiss, before looking into each other’s eyes with a soft laugh.
“You still have that outfit in my closet—from two nights ago,” he says. “Go put it on.”
You blink, trying to place which one he means.
“The black one,” he adds, a slow smirk forming. “The one I like, though it was so hard to take off.”
Once you’re both ready, the room feels different—like everything that was chaotic before has been tightened into something deliberate.
Your hair is pulled up neatly, a few soft strands framing your face, and your makeup is done just right—clean, sharp, but still natural enough to make it look effortless. You catch your reflection and adjust your outfit one last time, smoothing it down even though it doesn’t need it.
When you step out, Heeseung looks up—and actually pauses for a second.
Not dramatic. Just… still.
His eyes scan you slowly, like he’s making sure he’s seeing it right.
“…yeah,” he mutters under his breath, more to himself than you.
You raise a brow. “What?”
He shakes it off like he didn’t just stare a little too long.
“Nothing. Let’s go.”
But as you walk past him, he lightly taps your hip—casual, almost absentminded—but his hand lingers just long enough to make it feel intentional before he grabs his keys.
The air between you feels charged in that quiet, familiar way again.
Outside, the night is cooler. The streetlights glow faintly against the pavement as you both head to his car. He unlocks it and opens the passenger door for you without saying much, like it’s automatic by now.
Once you’re inside, he shuts the door and circles around to the driver’s side.
He gets in and starts the engine, and finally glances at you properly again—like he’s still taking you in.
Then he looks away, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter than necessary.
The city lights smear across the windshield as the car moves through traffic, music from outside faint but still pulsing through the windows.
He drives like he always does—calm, one hand on the wheel, the other resting loosely near the gear shift.
Too close. Always too close.
You glance at him once, then look away.
“Hey,” you say.
“Yeah?”
Your voice drops a little. “Remember. Not too touchy tonight. It’s better to have no contact at all.”
He doesn’t look at you right away. Just tilts his head slightly, like he’s considering it.
“I’m not too touchy,” he says after a beat.
You turn your head.
“Last time you literally—”
“I fixed your strap,” he interrupts smoothly, eyes still on the road.
You pause.
“That’s not—”
“It was falling. You don’t want to flash everyone in the club.”
You exhale, looking forward again, unimpressed. “That’s not the point, Hee. They gave me a suspecting look and it weirded me out. It’s uncomfortable.”
A short silence settles.
Then you add, quieter, “And don’t call me baby in front of them. Or any other stupid petnames you always do.”
That time, his fingers tap once on the steering wheel. Slow.
He glances at you briefly, then back to the road.
“…you’re serious.”
“They’re gonna question it. And! we’re not a couple.”
Another beat.
The car moves under green lights, steady. Then he says, almost casually, “You’re fine with everything else though?”
You don’t answer immediately.
Your grip tightens slightly in your lap.
“That’s not what I meant.”
He hums under his breath, like he doesn’t fully agree, but he doesn’t push it either.
Instead, he just nods once. “Alright.”
But the air in the car shifts anyway.
Being with him like this feels… normal. Almost annoyingly so. And when you have talks like these, reminding him about your rules, it’ll always ruin the mood a little.
Years of knowing each other—childhood friends first, then somewhere in college it blurred, then now in adulthood it’s become this unspoken thing neither of you really defines out loud.
It’s easier that way.
At least, that’s what everyone else thinks.
To your friend group, you’re just the two who are always together. The ones who naturally drift toward each other in every room, every gathering, every late-night decision.
No one questions it.
No one looks twice.
No one knows that almost after every hangout, you both head to his or your apartment—making each other feel good.
“It’s like they’re choosing a club so far away on purpose.” He clicks his tongue, looking at the Maps app.
You look at the scenery outside, the night sky, other cars passing by. You’re grateful he changed the topic.
Almost 20 minutes later, we’ve finally arived to an unfamiliar club, picked by Jay and the others.
Heeseung parked the car, cutting the engine and turning to look at you. He didn't make a move to let go of your hand, his grip still firm as he looked you over silently for a moment.
"You ready?" He asked, a hint of a smirk on his lips—an attempt at humor to hide the worry in his eyes. You nod, and both of you got out of the car and walked towards the entrance.
“No petnames, no touches.” You remind him.
Heeseung paused at that, his expression almost comically annoyed as he stared at you for a long moment. A low huff of breath left him as he ran a hand through his hair, muttering under his breath.
"Damnit." he said, the word low and almost petulant. "I was looking forward to you clinging to me all night like a damn koala."
“What are you talking about, you silly.” You flick his bicep, “I’m not your girlfriend and we’re not some—couple to be so…PDA-ish.”
Heeseung's smirk vanished instantly, replaced with something that looked dangerously close to hurt for half a second before he schooled his expression back into nonchalance. He rubbed the spot you flicked with an exaggerated wince.
"Ow." he muttered—too sharp to be just about the flick. "You're right. We're not."
A pause as he met your eyes again, his tone deliberately light: "Guess I'll have fun flirting with someone else then."
Heeseung didn't say anything as you scoffed at him, simply following you into the club. He kept his hands in his pockets now, keeping a comfortable distance between you as the other members came into view.
"About goddamn time." Jay's voice cut through the low thrum of music as he noticed you both, his usual smug smirk in place. "Almost thought you two were ditching."
“Who the hell chooses the club? Why is it all the way downtown?” Heeseung grumbles as he took the glass Jake offered as soon as you both went to the group’s booth.
Your friends, the two guys and one more, Beomgyu and two girls, Yunjin and Ryujin is already there.
Yunjin smiles at the both of you before hugging you, talking about missing you the whole day even when she saw you two days ago during a hangout while Ryujin laughs.
Your friendgroup was formed during college, Heeseung was friends with Jay and Jake first, and then later on was introduced to Beomgyu which knew Yunjin and Ryujin.
Heeseung introduced all of them to you, he knew you’re someone reserved and doesn’t need to be in big friendgroups to have a great college life, and you’re content with just having Heeseung as your bestfriend.
However, he promised you these people are worth to be friends with. Real people with real feelings. No drama—just a couple of friends who are always up to weekend getaways and party nights.
Sitting beside the girls, Heeseung sat a few meters away from you, his gaze darting over to you every now and then as the night went on. He was uncharacteristically quiet—only throwing out sarcastic comments now and again while the others chattered.
He was trying so hard not to look at you it was almost funny, his jaw still clenched, teeth grinding slightly.
However, you’re completely unaware how much you’re hurting him right now.
It was a little after a few hours of drinking that everyone was starting to get a bit tipsy. The others were all laughing and chatting, getting rowdier as the alcohol started to go to their heads.
Heeseung, however, remained sitting quietly in his corner of the booth, his gaze never straying far from you. His expression was almost brooding as he sipped at his beer—a stark contrast to the overall atmosphere of the group.
“Hey guys, the birthday boy has a suggestion!” Jake laughs as Jay stands up, clearly too tipsy for his well-being. “Alright, friends.”
He looks around, before turning to us again. “The single ones, tonight everyone needs to get laid.” The others are already chiming in with excited replies.
In the group, only Jake has a girlfriend, someone who’s not in our friendgroup. You saw her a few times during hangouts where he’d bring her but she’s not here tonight.
“Hell yes.” Yunjin cheers, “Gotta find someone to make out with tonight!” The others join, yelling about not wanting to go home tonight or, having their protections ready.
“Wait, so we’re seperating?” You ask and the group’s eyes turn back to you, a chorus of agreeing nods and reassurances greeting you.
“Duh,” Jay smirks. “It’s the perfect time to pick up some cuties, right, Heeseung?” He looks at the man who has been silent since the conversation started.
He looks at you, before looking away, “Yeah, plenty on the dance floor.”
Jake looks at you, “I’ll leave early then, what about you, Y/N?”
I turn to the girls. “Seriously?”
Ryujin shakes her head, gaze going to the crowded dance floor. “There are some fine ass guys here. No way I’m gonna glued to your side all night.” She laughs.
You groan at that, watching everyone slowly leaves the booth.
Everyone except one person.
Heeseung sets his drink on the table and smirks at you, voice soft but clear despite the loud music of the club.
“Guess that leaves just you and me, princess?” He murmur, leaning back againts the booth and spreading his arms across the back of the couch. “You’re gonna keep me company all night?”
“Heeseung, no petnames.”
Hisa smirk faltered for half a second—just long enough to betray the sting of your words. His jaw tightened as he pulled his arms back, resting them on the table instead.
"Right." he muttered, tone clipped. "Y/N."
The way he said it was too formal now—almost cold. He took another sip of beer before adding, "Guess I'll just sit here alone then since you don't want anything to do with me either."
You frown, “I didn’t say that.”
A scoff escaped Heeseung's lips at that—something between a huff of irritation and a laugh.
"Could've fooled me." He mutter, running a hand through his hair. "You've been keeping your distance all goddamn night, avoiding even looking at me."
“Well, the others are around. And that’s our rule?”
He rolled his eyes at that, a sharp scoff cutting through the air. His expression is hard, almost cold.
“Like they care, Y/N.” He replies sharply, “They’re grown adults and they know we’re friends since we’re ten. A little closeness wouldn’t make them go crazy.”
You sigh, “But—”
Heeseung cut you off with a sharp, frustrated gesture of his hand.
"But what?" he bit out, voice low and rough—almost pleading now. "You're acting like I'm some dirty secret. Like this is something to be ashamed of."
A pause as he ran a hand over his face before muttering: "Just tell me what the hell you want from me."
“…You know they make a big deal once there’s a couple in the friendgroup.” You look down.
Heeseung let out a dry, brittle laugh at that, almost bitter. "Yeah. Just like you make a big deal out of me saying goddamn petnames."
He leaned back in the booth, fixing you with a dark gaze. "What's it matter? Are you embarrassed of me or something?"
You look at him, “What? Of course not!”
Heeseung's jaw tightened at that, his grip on the beer bottle turning white-knuckled again. He stared at you for a long moment—silent, calculating.
"Then why?" he finally bit out, "You act like I'm some secret to hide. Like this isn't real."
A pause as he shook his head slightly. "Fuck it. Forget I said anything."
You stood up, taking his hand. “Whatever, let’s dance.”
Heeseung's eyes widened in surprise for a half-second. His gaze flickered down to where you held his hand, something like hope flickering across his face—almost too brief to catch. He let you pull him up from the booth, but his grip tightened on your hand as he looked at you, almost uncertain.
"You're not just doing this to shut me up, are you?" he asks, voice gruff.
You didn’t reply as you drag him. Heeseung let you lead him to the dancefloor, his eyes never leaving you as you moved through the crowd. The music was low and sensual—perfect for the kind of dancing that required touch.
He placed a hand on your hip—hesitating for a moment before pulling you flush against him, chest-to-chest. His hand stayed there, grip firm and possessive.
He lets out a soft hum, his hands moving slowly to feel your back. Your breath hitch, as your fronts kept brushing while you sway to the music.
But you can’t let anyone see this.
“Heeseung, I said dance—“ Your palms softly againts his chest to push him away. “Y/N, it’s just one dance.” He looks into your eyes, pleading now.
“No. Don’t be too close, Hee. The others are going to see.” You say, and that made him snap.
Heeseung exhaled sharply through his nose, frustration flashing across his face as he finally let go of your hip—hands raising in mock surrender.
"Fine." he bit out, stepping back just enough to put space between you two. His jaw was still clenched tight though, eyes burning with something unreadable. "You want distance? You got it. I’m done.”
He took another step back into the crowd—letting the bodies around them swallow him up until all you could see was a flash of dark hair and tense shoulders before he disappeared entirely.
You know you didn’t just pushed him away physically, but mentally as well.
“…Fuck.” You mutter to yourself as you try to get away from the crowd.
You wove your way through the people, trying to weave through the packed club. The music was loud and crowded—flashing lights and hot bodies everywhere.
You stumbled around another group of people, muttering under your breath as you tried to search for any sign of Heeseung. "Dammit." you cursed under your breath, "Where did that idiot disappear to…"
Your gaze flickered over the crowd—searching the sea of bodies for a familiar head of dark hair. You weaved through the people, cursing under your breath as each passing face proved just how hard it was to find someone in a club this packed.
"Damn it." you mutter again, frustration growing as the minutes ticked on. Where the hell was he?
You give up on searching and just sit back down on the empty large couch that was full with your friends earlier.
“Guess I’m the solo one tonight.” You sigh, taking a sip “By choice.”
And stupidity.
You slumped back into the booth, a sense of defeat washing over you as you realized how alone you were now. Everyone was off in pairs or in groups—and you were stranded in the booth on your own.
Your thoughts kept wandering back to Heeseung—the way he'd looked at you before he stormed off, the way his touch seared against your hips—but you pushed it aside, telling yourself to forget about him for now.
The feeling of being lonely in the club was something you were all too familiar with. Your friends were off with whoever they were hooking up with for the night, while you were left behind, alone in the booth like some third-wheel.
The sense of isolation was crushing. The music was too loud, the lights were too bright, and the people were too drunk. You felt completely alone in the chaos of it all.
However, usually Heeseung would come sit next to you, quickly coming out with conversations that’d make you forget being sad and laugh.
That’s how your best friend would usually come during times like these.
Yeah, your best friend.
Who also is your fuck-buddy. Who isn’t exclusively yours and you always try to stay aware of that fact.
The minutes ticked by like hours, and you sat there in the booth, nursing your drink as you watched the crowd around you. Everywhere you looked, people were dancing together, touching each other, having a good time…while you were stuck sitting there, alone. It was like a cruel reminder of how singled out you were in the club.
You pushed yourself up from the booth and made your way through the crowd, heading towards the washroom. Finally, some solitude.
You pushed the door open and slipped inside, the sound of the music muted now as the door swung shut behind you. The washroom was mercifully empty, and you let out a sigh of relief as you leaned against the sink.
You went out a few minutes after and you caught sight of a couple—pressed up against a wall, all over each other. The man's lips was pressed against the woman's as they kissed, hands roaming over each other and—wait.
His face was familiar, even from this distance. You recognized that face. Heeseung?
Your best friend?
“…Wow.” You mutter softly to yourself as you walk away.
It was definitely him. There was no mistaking that face—the sharp jawline, the dark eyes, the defined features. That was unmistakably Heeseung. He was making out with some random girl in the corner.
Your stomach churned with something you refused to identify as jealousy. You looked away, trying to push down the bitter feeling in your chest.
“I deserved this. I was pushing him away all night.” You sigh as you slumped back into the booth, your earlier frustration giving way to something heavier—something that felt a lot like regret.
The club was still loud, still chaotic around you, but it all faded into background noise as you replayed every stupid thing you'd said to Heeseung in your head.
“Fuck." you muttered under your breath, "I really messed this up."
The bitter taste of the drink on your tongue did nothing to distract from the gnawing guilt in your chest.
You sat in the booth for what felt like ages, wallowing in the realization that it was entirely your fault. You'd spent all night pushing Heeseung away—reacting coldly to his touch, distancing yourself from him as much as possible. And now look where that got you.
The image of him, kissing the girl was stuck in your head like a broken record. You couldn't stop thinking about it—replaying it over and over like some kind of sick punishment.
The guilt was eating you up inside, twisting your stomach in knots. You'd been so hellbent on keeping Heeseung at arm's length, and now look where it got you.
He was off making out with someone else while you sat alone in the booth like a goddamn idiot.
“His dick was literally in me hours ago.”
Your own words hit you like a punch to the gut, sharp and brutal.
You have always been in love with him. Like—how can you not? But in college, you both agreed only to have sex, feel good, and that’s it. Other than that? He’s your best friend.
The lines were blurry sometimes? But Heeseung’s careless. You need to be the one who’s keeping the both of you in check. Reminding it’s all casual.
Or is it?
"Fuck.” You dropped your head into your hands, nails digging into your scalp as if it could physically tear the thought out of you. "I really am an idiot."
The thought of him touching her the way he’d touched you—hands sliding over skin, lips pressed to throat, voice rough in her ear—made your chest burn with something dangerously close to rage. And worse? The fact that he probably didn’t even give a shit about what you wanted anymore.
"I did this."you muttered into your palms, "I fucking pushed him until there was nothing left for me."
A bitter laugh escaped you as the truth settled in like poison: “Guess I got exactly what I asked for."
Your fingers fumbled slightly as you pulled out your phone, scrolling through the app with stiff movements. The club lights were too bright now—too loud, too much.
"Cab in 5 minutes," you muttered to yourself, shoving the phone back into your pocket. You didn’t even bother looking for anyone else in the group—let them stay gone.
The thought of Heeseung stumbling back to an empty booth later crossed your mind…but you crushed it underfoot as you grabbed your jacket and stood up.
You walked towards the exit, shoulders slumped and head down. The cool air of the night enveloped you, like a cold slap to the face—grounding you in a way the stuffy air of the club couldn't. You shoved your hands in your pockets, jaw clenched as you stood outside, waiting for the cab.
The wait felt endless, each second like torture as your thoughts spiraled. You couldn't stop thinking about the look on Heeseung's face when you'd pushed him away—the flash of disappointment, mixed with frustration.
What an idiot you were. You'd had it all, right there, and you let it slip through your fingers like it meant nothing. The guilt gnawed at your stomach, sharp and bitter.
Your thoughts were a mess of images—Heeseung, his touch, the way his voice sounded when he'd said your name.
A bright light suddenly cut through the dark night, jolting you out of your thoughts as a cab pulled up in front of you. The driver called out, asking for a location. You hesitated for a moment, your gaze flicking back towards the entrance of the club—as if for some kind of sign.
But there was nothing waiting for you there. Just the loud music and the flashing lights of the club.
You took a deep breath, pushing aside the ache in your heart as you gave the driver your address.
The cab ride was long—longer than it normally would have felt. You watched the city pass by outside the window—all the people on the street, all the bright lights, all the couples laughing and touching each other. Everything that was out of reach for you now.
Your phone buzzed in your pocket, making you jump a little. You fumbled for a moment, clumsily pulling it out and tapping the screen awake. The sudden light of the screen stung your eyes—blindingly bright after the darkness of the cab.
Your heart skipped a beat when you saw the name on the screen. It was a text from Heeseung.
hee: where the hell are you?
You stare at the message, your heart pounding. Your thumb hover over it, half-tempted to ignore it all together. But damn it, you can’t resist. You type your reply.
you: on my way home.
The reply was almost instant. Your heart gave another painful squeeze, but you couldn't help the little flicker of hope that flared in your chest. Goddamn it all.
hee: alone??
you: everyone’s busy. don’t wanna disturb.
The reply was slower this time—as if he was debating his response. The 'typing' dots appeared and disappeared a few times before Heeseung finally sent the message. You stared at the screen, almost holding your breath as you waited for his next text.
hee: can i call?
you: the driver is a woman, you don’t have to.
Another pause, and then the call notification flashed across your screen. You hesitated for only a moment more before accepting. You put the phone to your ear, heart in your throat.
Heeseung's voice came through the line, low and hoarse. God, those damn chills it sent down your spine should be illegal.
"You left." he said, a note of something almost like hurt edging into the words. It was so subtle, you almost missed it.
“Said you don’t have to call, I’m safe.”
There was a pause on the other end of the line, as if Heeseung was debating whether to say something or not. When he finally spoke again, the words came out sharp and frustrated.
"Damnit, I don't care if you're safe." he muttered, his voice laced with something like irritation and something else you couldn't quite name. "That's not the goddamn point."
You frown, “You don’t care..?”
He sighed, and it came out more like a ragged huff. "I didn't mean it like that, goddamn it. You just—" He broke off, his tone taking on a frustrated edge as he continued.
"You left without saying anything. Didn't even send a goddamn text. Do you have any idea how worried I was?"
“…You were busy.”
There was an incredulous sound on the other end of the line—like Heeseung had just rolled his eyes or something. When he spoke again, there was a hint of bitterness in his voice.
"So? That doesn't matter. I'd never be too busy for you." he grumbled, a note of something like annoyance—or was that hurt?—coloring his words.
"You know that. You could've at least let me know you were leaving. You just disappeared, without a goddamn word."
“Well? With the way I’m alone the whole time and everyone is sucking other people’s lips? Of course.”
Heeseung's response came almost immediately, sharp and biting—a hint of something almost like anger in his voice now.
“You think I wanted this? You think I wanted to spend the night like that? You're the one who kept pushing me away all night. What the hell did you expect." he snapped, the words coming out harsh and frustrated.
"You were so goddamn cold all night—did you really expect me not to go find someone else to keep me distracted?"
“I told you we have to be discreet—“
Heeseung cut you off before you could finish, his voice rising as irritation flared in his tone.
"Yeah, I know. You told me. But damn, was it so goddamn hard to give me a bit of attention? Even a little touch? You acted like you didn't want me near you at all. What the hell was I supposed to do?"
He was definitely angry now—the words coming out harsh and sharp. You could hear him breathing heavily on the other end of the line, like he was trying to control his own emotions.
"You wanted me to act like a friend? That's what you wanted? To push me away anytime I tried to get close? To act like we're nothing more than friends? Fine, I did what you wanted. I acted like I didn't care. Like you don't mean anything to me. That's the whole damn point, isn't it?"
His voice dropped dangerously low at that, sharp and bitter.
"You think I don't know what you want? You think I don’t see it?" A rough exhale came through the phone—almost a growl. “I just spent half the night watching you act like you didn’t even want me to breathe in your direction. So yeah. Maybe I got tired of playing by your goddamn rules."
A pause as his tone shifted slightly—something almost wounded seeping into his next words:
"But sure. Let's pretend this is all on me."
You were speechless, the words cutting into you like a damn knife. Because as angry as he sounded, he wasn't even wrong.
You'd given him the cold shoulder all night, pushing him away again and again—and now you were going to act offended when he went and found someone else to give him the attention you refused him? It was a gut-wrenching realization.
His breathing was ragged on the other end of the line—like he was struggling to keep his voice even. When he finally spoke again, it came out low and rough.
“You really don't get it, do you?" A bitter chuckle. "I didn’t go with her because I wanted to. I did it because you kept pushing me away until there wasn't a goddamn thing left for me."
A sharp inhale—almost pained. "But yeah. Sure. Let's act like this is all my fault."
You sigh, “It’s not your fault, Hee—”
He huffed, the sound sharp and bitter.
"Damn straight it's not my fault. It's yours. You're the one who wanted to keep this a goddamn secret. You're the one who wanted to act like we were just friends."
He let out a low scoff. "Don't get pissed at me for finding someone who wanted to give me the attention you refused to."
The words stung, more brutally than you wanted to admit. Because part of you knew he was right. You'd been the one to set the rules—set the boundaries.
You'd pushed him away every time he got close, every time he touched you, every time he got too intimate.
And now you had the audacity to get pissed off when he finally got tired of the game and found someone else? It was a bitter pill to swallow.
In public, the only time you want to be all touchy feely with someone is when it’s exclusive. When it’s established. Not some hookup, or a fuck-buddy. Even when it’s your best friend. Even when it’s Heeseung.
You start to feel your tension increase as well, “Is this why you called? To bitch at me?”
His huff of irritation was almost a snarl. "No. I called because I was goddamn worried. But then you started this bullshit. You really gonna act like you're the victim here?" He scoffed, his voice taking on a bitter edge. "You've been cold all night, pushing me away every time I tried to touch you. You can't blame me for finding someone else to give me some goddamn affection."
The words felt like a punch to your gut. Because goddamn it, how did this get twisted so much? Hadn't you been trying to do the right thing? To keep things casual, to keep things secret?
But now it felt like you were the bad guy. The one who drove him into another girl's arms. The guilt twisted in your chest, the realization that your rules had backfired coming down on you like a ton of bricks.
“It was mutually agreed in the first place, we keep it from our friends.” You say, tone no nonsense.
He cut you off with a sharp, frustrated sound—almost like he couldn't even believe what he was hearing.
"You really don’t get it. Do you?" His voice dropped to something low and rough—dangerous. "I don’t give a shit about the secret. I care that you act like I'm some dirty little mistake even when we're alone."
A pause as his breathing hitched slightly. "So yeah. Maybe I went looking for someone who won't make me feel like garbage.”
Once he noticed the silence on your end of the line, and he let out a dry laugh—the sound sharp and almost cruel.
"What? Nothing to say now? No explanation for why you've been treating me like I don't even exist all goddamn night?" he muttered, the frustration and hurt coming through in his tone. "Go ahead. Say something. Tell me this isn't all on me. You know you want to."
You were done, you didn’t want to talk anymore as you feel your emotions are starting to get over you, “Don’t you have a girl waiting for you? Hang up.”
Heeseung's laugh this time was bitter—almost angry. He was getting pissed now—angry at you, at the whole damn situation, at himself for even caring so much.
He wanted to snap back, to say something cutting and cruel—to hurt you as much as you hurt him. But instead, he forced himself to take a deep breath, his voice coming out low and hoarse
"Yeah. I do have a girl waiting for me. So why the hell am I even still talking to you?" he muttered, irritation edging into the words.
“Don’t be surprised when I’m not there to wait for you anymore. With the others around or not.”
That was the last thing he said before hanging up.
The tears stung in your eyes as the dial tone cut through the air, the silence in the cab suddenly feeling heavy and oppressive.
You tried to push away the feeling of guilt twisting in your gut, the realization that all of this was your damn fault hitting you like a ton of bricks.
You'd pushed him away, pushed him to look for comfort elsewhere, and now he'd gone and found it. In someone else's arms, someone who was probably giving him the affection you refused to give him all night.
A bitter laugh escaped your lips. Heeseung was right—you hadn't even given him a goddamn explanation for treating him like a dirty secret. You'd just expected him to accept it, to put up with being treated like a mistake you couldn't let anyone find about.
But he wasn't just some goddamn mistake. He was your best goddamn friend, the one person who mattered more to you than anyone else.
And you were treating him like he was nothing more than a dirty little secret to be kept hidden away in the shadows. How goddamn stupid were you?
The tears came even harder now—hot and fast, the weight of guilt and regret crashing over you like a goddamn wave. You'd messed up. And not just a little bit—you'd royally screwed up. You'd pushed away the one person who meant more to you than anything else—all because of your stupid fear of people finding out.
So there you were, sitting in the backseat of a damn cab, crying like a fool over the man you'd driven into another girl's arms.
The image of him with the girl burned in your mind—his hands touching her like they should've been touching you, his head bent close to hers like it should've been bent down to whisper in your ear instead.
You wanted to scream, to turn back time and undo every goddamn stupid choice that led to this moment. Because right now, all you wanted was for him to be there with you—not in someone else's arms.
The last few days had been hell. The image of Heeseung with that girl kept replaying in your damn head like a broken record—the guilt twisting in your gut every time you thought about it.
You'd tried to keep yourself occupied, to throw yourself into work, into anything that would get your mind off of him. But no matter what you did, all you could think about was him. His smile, his laugh, the sound of his voice, the way his hands felt against your skin.
You stayed away from the friend group as best as you could, giving excuse after excuse about why you couldn't hang out.
"I've got meetings this week." "There's a new project I'm helping out on." "Sorry, I can't come out tonight—I'm too swamped with paperwork." A hundred different bullshit reasons, all avoiding the goddamn truth.
The days bled together—same excuses, same routine. You’d show up to the hospital early, leave late, avoid any group texts with a million replies you didn’t have energy for.
And if anyone noticed how quiet you'd gotten? How your eyes kept darting toward the door like some part of you was still waiting for him?
No one called it out.
At least until Yunjin herself comes to your workplace, bringing you out for a lunch break.
She appeared in the doorway of your office, arms crossed and an eyebrow raised. The look on her face was a mix of concern and stubbornness—the kind that said she wasn't leaving without you.
"Okay, what the hell is going on?" she demanded, "You've been dodging us for days. And don't even try to feed me that 'workload' bullshit—I know damn well you're not scheduled for anything, I’m literally in a department next to yours."
Her gaze softened slightly as she took in your tired expression. "C'mon, Y/N. Let's go eat something before I drag you out by force."
You felt like passing out. You can’t believe Yunjin Huh—the manager of the HR department, going all the way to the Finance department for something as personal as a friendgroup problem during working hours.
You continue looking at your computer screen because there’s just no way.
Yunjin scoffed, her arms dropping to her sides as she shot you a look that said "seriously?" She rolled her eyes and pushed off the doorframe, striding into your office without a care for personal space.
"Alright, that's it. No bullshit excuses. You're coming with me, even if I have to drag you out by the ear." she said, her voice leaving no room for argument.
“How the hell did you get in here without work business?” You question, looking at her.
Yunjin shrugged, a sly smirk crossing her face. "Please. I’m the boss’s favourite" she jokes.
She paused, taking in your tired, distracted state. Her expression softened slightly—almost like she knew exactly what was going on. “And stop trying to change the subject. You're coming with me. Period."
Yunjin led the way to the cafe, her expression determined. The cafe was packed with hospital staff, the place buzzing with the usual lunchtime rush. She weaved her way through the crowd effortlessly, finding an empty table near the window.
She plopped into the chair across from you, her eyes scanning your face intently. "Okay. Spill. What the hell is going on? And don't give me any of that bullshit."
You sigh as you lean back.
Yunjin raised an eyebrow, watching you closely as you sighed.
She knew something was up—your expression, your demeanor, the fact that you'd been avoiding the friend group like the damn plague. She leaned forward, her voice softening slightly.
“C'mon, Y/N. You can tell me. You know that. Is this about Heeseung?"
Your gaze snap at her. “How..”
Yunjin rolled her eyes, a small smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. "Don't act surprised, okay? You two aren't exactly subtle."
Her gaze softened as she took in your expression—the way your eyes flicked away, the way you avoided looking directly at her, the guilt etched into every line on your face.
"Besides, you've been avoiding the friend group for like, a week now. We're not idiots, you know."
You keep quiet. Not knowing what to answer to that.
Yunjin sighed, her expression softening further as she reached across the table and touched your hand.
Her touch was light, but it was grounding—a reminder that she was there, that she cared.
“Hey. Talk to me. What happened between you and Heeseung?“
You look at her. And then your hands together.
“We’ve been sleeping together…all this time.” You reveal to her.
Yunjin's eyes widened at your confession. She hadn't been expecting such a blunt answer and it took her a moment to process what you'd said.
But she was a smart girl, and it didn't take her long to fit the pieces together.
The late nights, the secret text messages, the tension between you and Heeseung… It all made sense now. She leaned back in her chair, her expression a mix of surprise and understanding.
"You've been hooking up the whole time? Since when?”
“Final year.“ You nodded. “And..we didn’t plan on telling you guys because, it was physical. We’re best friends. That’s all. Nothing exclusive.”
Yunjin let out a slow breath, her gaze never leaving yours.
The cafe noise faded into background static as she studied your face—the exhaustion in your eyes, the tension in your jaw. “Y/N.” Her voice was quieter now—less teasing, more serious.
"You don't get to call something 'physical' when you're crying over it for days straight."
A pause as she leaned forward slightly, “So tell me. What's really going on?"
You hesitate before answering.
“I made rules when we were still hooking up, to never show it when you guys are around. But, I was so anxious that you’re gonna caught us, so I just decided to push him away all together. Acting like if he’s too close I’ll burn.” You chuckle, but it didn’t reach my eyes.
“I know what we had was casual, and strictly no feelings involved. We were friends the longest in the friendgroup, so I never wanted to ruin that. And…” You look down, your free hand fumbling.
“And?” Yunjin urges.
“And I freaking like him. I’m in love with him. I think I already did during highschool. And now with intimacy involved? It’s…insane.”
Yunjin nodded—like she'd already guessed as much.
She'd seen the way you looked at Heeseung, seen the chemistry between the two of you. It was obvious to anyone with eyes.
"And he likes you, idiot. Any moron could see that."
Your eyes went to her, before shaking your head.
“Even if that’s true, we still did everything out of order. In what world that can work? And what will the others think?
She snorted, reaching across the table to flick your forehead lightly. "Who cares about 'order'? Since when do you give a shit about what anyone thinks?"
She leaned in, her voice lowering as she fixed you with a dead-serious look. "Heeseung's been obsessed with you for years. And yeah—maybe it started as casual. But that doesn't mean it can't be something more."
A smirk tugged at her lips. "Unless you're too chicken to try."
You huff, “Yunjin, I’m serious!”
She raised an eyebrow, her smirk growing wider. She was enjoying this a bit too much now—the way your face got all worked up, the way you tried so damn hard to be calm and composed…
She leaned in, resting her chin on her hand—still smirking like a smartass. "Yeah? Then what's the problem? If you like each other, just be together. Seems like a no-brainer to me."
“…And if we don’t work? I’m risking my best friend here.” Your lips tremble.
Yunjin's smirk vanished. Her expression shifted—suddenly serious, her eyes sharp as she studied you.
"That's bullshit and you know it." She pointed a finger at your face. "Heeseung isn't the type to throw away years of friendship over one messy breakup. And neither are you."
A pause as she crossed her arms, "But fine—if that's really what scares you? Then tell him how you feel before things go any further. No more hiding behind 'casual' crap when we both know damn well this is more than that for both of ya."
“Easier said than done.”
She rolled her eyes, exasperated now. "Nothing worth doing ever is, idiot. This isn't a Disney movie where everything turns out perfect."
She leaned back in her chair, a sigh escaping her as she ran a hand through her hair. "Look—I get it. It's risky, it's scary…but you're not doing yourself any favor by keeping your mouth shut. You want Heeseung, right?"
You took a deep breath, before nodding.
Yunjin nodded too, her gaze steady on yours.
"Then you gotta take a damn chance" she said firmly.
"Tell him how you feel. Make it clear. Because if you don't, you'll be spending the next who-knows-how-long wondering 'what if' every goddamn time you see him with someone else."
You tilt your head in confusion, “You know about the girl?”
Yunjin rolled her eyes again, scoffing. "Of course I know. You think we're all blind, dumbass?"
She paused, her gaze still locked onto yours. "Heeseung's been weird all week—edgy, short-tempered. None of us are that stupid to not put two and two together. We've been friends with him just as long as you have, you know. We know when he's acting off."
She leaned forward again, her expression turning serious again.
“And even if none of us knew, we aren't blind enough to miss how you've been avoiding everyone like the goddamn plague. Do you have any idea how shitty it feels to see our friend, someone we care about, acting like we don't exist, just because they're too scared to talk about a boy?"
She shook her head, her voice tinged with frustration now. “So yes. I know about the girl. And it's pissing me off to see you let it go down this way."
“A boy who’s also in the same friendgroup as you and can literally make things awkward once we date each other.”
Yunjin rolled her eyes yet again, her expression going fond despite herself. “Regardless, he’s a friend who's head over heels for you. You really think we don't see it? The tension between the two of you? The looks, the stolen touches during hangouts, the way his eyes follow you around like some goddamn lost puppy…?"
She paused, shaking her head as she leaned back in her chair. “Hell, even the way he talks about you when you're not around…it's sickeningly sweet."
Your gaze drop again, “That night, we argued. After I push him away, he just stopped fighting back. We…we never really argued like that before, you know?”
Yunjin's expression softened as she took in your demeanor—the way you were avoiding her gaze, staring down at your hands like your whole damn world was falling apart.
She reached across the table, her voice quieter now, more gentle. "Hey… Look at me.”
"Arguing means you care." Her voice dropped lower—almost fierce now. “You think Jake and his girl never fight? They fight a lot during our hangouts, even sometimes she left without him. It’s hilarious.”
A pause as she leaned in closer, “But the next time we see them? They’re closer than ever.”
Yunjin's grip on your wrist tightened slightly—not enough to hurt, but enough to make you look at her. Her expression was dead serious now.
"Listen to me." Her voice was low, firm.
"Heeseung is a goddamn idiot for letting things go that far with some random girl when it's you he wants. But if you're really this scared?"
She let out a slow breath before continuing,
"Then go talk to him before this gets any more messed up. Or I swear to god, I'll drag both of you into a closet and lock the door until one of ya says something real."
You chuckle, before shaking your head.
“No need, I’ll…try to call him today.” You smile at her, in which she smiled back.
Yunjin's smirk returned, sharp and victorious.
"Good. Because I will follow through on that threat."
She leaned back in her chair, arms crossed—looking way too smug for someone who just basically blackmailed you into fixing your love life. "And if he picks up? Don't be a coward about it. Just say what you mean."
A pause as she pointed a warning finger at you, "Or I will find out…and then we're having another talk."
A few hours had passed since lunch, and the moon was up high in the sky when you finally worked up the courage—your finger hovering over the call button.
Heeseung's contact stared up at you from the screen, the profile picture a stupid picture of him making a funny face. As the phone rang, your heart thudded in your chest.
Each second felt like forever as the call rang once, twice…and then, finally—on the third ring, Heeseung's voice came through the other end of the line.
"Hello?" His voice was casual, almost distant, like he didn't have a clue what you were calling for.
“…Hi. It’s me.” You say quietly.
There was a pause, a beat of silence on his end—then his voice came through again, lower now, a tinge of hesitancy in the words.
"Hey." The single word was quiet, an uncertain exhale. It sounded like he couldn't tell if you were calling to talk or to yell at him again. The thought sent a pang through you—the same guilt you'd had ever since that goddamn argument with him.
You hummed.
Heeseung exhaled on the other end of the line, almost like he was bracing himself. "Spit it out. I know you didn't call just to say uhm."
His tone wasn’t harsh—just tired, a little rough around the edges. Like maybe he hadn't slept well since that night either.
“…Could you pick me up tonight after work? At 11.”
Heeseung went quiet for a moment, clearly surprised by your request.
You could almost hear his brain working, trying to guess what the hell you were up to.
But eventually, he sighed—a resigned sound, like he knew he was walking straight into your trap, whatever it was.
“Yeah, I can." The words came out with a hint of wariness, but it was clear he'd already made up his mind to do what you asked. “I'll be there."
“Thanks, see you, Hee.”
There was a pause on the other end of the line—almost like he was hesitating, wanting to say something before you hung up. But in the end, he didn't.
"See you." He replied, his voice gruff, before the line clicked to silence. You were left with the buzz of the phone in your hand and a churning guilt in your stomach.
A few hours passed as you finished your shift, the minutes ticking by excruciatingly slow as you tried to keep your mind off of the fact that you'd be seeing Heeseung again in less than an hour.
By the time the clock hit 11, your heart was in your throat, your hands shaking a bit walked out of the office building. You were exhausted, the long shift taking its toll on your body…but that was the least of the things on your mind right now.
Heeseung was already there when you walked out—standing outside the building, leaning against his car and lit cigarette in hand.
He looked…tired.
Almost like he'd had a damn long week too, dark circles under his eyes. But of course, being the goddamn handsome bastard he was, it didn't take away how good he looked.
He pushed off the car when he saw you approach, tossing the cigarette and crushing it under his foot.
“Real nice. Smoking in front of a working civilian? Told ya to quit.”
He scoffed, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he opened the car door for you to get in.
The action was so damn effortless—it was so damn natural, the casual ease he had when he was around you. It made your heart twist a bit, but you pushed the thought away.
"What, gonna go all doctor and tell me the dangers of smoking now?" he said dryly, watching as you got in.
Heeseung walked around the car and got in the driver's seat, starting the engine and pulling out of the building’s parking lot.
For a few seconds, he was silent, staring out the windshield with the same stoic expression he always had.
The only difference was that damn tired look in his eyes, the slight heaviness in the air between you. And then—
"So." He cut through the tense silence, his eyes flicking to you. "You gonna tell me why you wanted me to pick you up at the goddamn office?"
You leaned into his carseat, the familiar scent of his car calming you slightly, but not entirely.
“You always do.”
He rolled his eyes, a scoff leaving his lips as his fingers tightened on the steering wheel. And of course that goddamn motion caught your eye, because damn it, those hands were so attractive.
But no. You weren't gonna get distracted by that tonight, no matter how many times the thought had plagued you in the last week.
“Stop avoiding the question, Y/N." he said, his gaze glued to the road but his voice sharp.
I sighed. “I’m sorry, for acting stupid the other night.”
Heeseung's gaze flicked to you for a second before he focused back onto the road, the muscles in his jaw tensing as he replied.
There was a hint of something in his voice—like you'd just hit a damn nerve.
“That's all I get? Just an apology and nothing else?" His voice was low, rough around the edges. Like he was trying to hold himself back from saying something else, some damn emotion that was itching to come out.
Heeseung exhaled sharply, his grip tightening on the steering wheel again—knuckles going white for a second before he forced himself to relax.
“You kept pushing me away like I was some goddamn mistake." The words came out rough, almost pained. "And then you got pissed when I went and found someone who didn't make me feel like garbage. That's what this is about."
A pause as he shot you a sideways glance, “So yeah. You were acting stupid."
You winced under the harsh words, the guilt in your gut twisting harder at the truth in the words. Because the worst part was, he was right.
You'd been a goddamn hypocrite, expecting him to wait around for you like some idiot while you pushed him away yourself.
But you weren't gonna admit that. Not right now, when he was acting like that.
So you forced yourself to scoff, crossing your arms over your chest defensively—trying to hide the damn guilt from him. From yourself. “That's a goddamn exaggeration and you know it. That’s why I’m apologising right now.”
Heeseung huffed in disbelief at your damn nonchalance, his eyes still fixed on the road in front of him.
But you didn't miss the way his jaw clenched, the way his fingers tightened on the steering wheel—he was trying goddamn hard to hold back his emotions, to keep his cool.
But he was failing. You could see it in the tension in his shoulders, the tightness in his jaw.
He was frustrated.
“Yeah, well…your apology sucks."
“…Want me to write a letter?”
A bitter laugh escaped his lips—short, sharp laugh that sounded more like a scoff. The sound sent a pang through you. Damn it, he really was frustrated.
“How 'bout an essay, smartass." He shot back with a mocking tilt to his lips. “With proper citations and everything."
You sigh, “Are you…still talking to that girl?”
Heeseung's grip on the steering wheel tightened for a split second—his jaw clenching as he shot you a sharp glance. The question clearly caught him off guard, and from the look in his eyes? He wasn't about to let that slide.
“That's what this is about?" His voice dropped lower, rougher. "You want to know if I'm still talking to her? After all that goddamn guilt-tripping?"
A bitter scoff left his lips before he added, "No. Not anymore.”
“I’m not guilt-tripping.” You try to say,
Heeseung scoffed at your denial, the sound harsh and disbelieving. Like you were being a goddamn idiot and he had no patience for it.
“Bullshit,"he said bluntly, his knuckles turning white around the steering wheel again.
"You say you're sorry for acting like an idiot, and then in the very next moment, you ask me about some other girl."
He glanced at you again, his eyes narrowing slightly.
"Or do you not think I can see straight through you?"
The silence in the car went on for a few seconds, the air thick with tension. You could've heard a damn pin drop.
Heeseung's irritation lingered, his jaw clenching as he gripped the steering wheel like he was fighting the urge to snap at you.
His fingers drummed an irritated rhythm against the wheel, like he was trying to burn off some of the anger with that small motion.
"Say something, goddamnit."
“…I didn’t want to tell the others about us not because I’m embarrassed of you.” You start,
“It’s..just complicated. We’re not dating. It’s casual. So why do we have to tell them? We don’t owe them anything.”
Heeseung's expression hardened at your words, the look in his eyes almost cold now. He didn't look at you as he spoke, his gaze fixed firmly on the road ahead, but his tone was sharp.
"Right. So it's casual." He huffed out a humorless laugh, the sound bitter. "And yet for some goddamn reason, you still get all jealous when I start talking to someone else."
“For the love of God, let me finish!” You huff, and it’s like the normal banter you always have again, except it’s nothing unserious.
Heeseung's grip on the steering wheel tightened, his jaw clenching as he exhaled sharply through his nose.
The car fell into a heavy silence for a second—just the hum of tires against pavement and your own damn heartbeat pounding in your ears.
"Fine." he finally bit out, still not looking at you. "Finish. But don't act surprised when I call bullshit on whatever excuse you're about to pull."
“…It was casual. But is it really? Even when we weren’t in bed, you’d still call me petnames.” You sigh, “Still make me meals, still stay the night, still drive me to and from work. I mean, you’re my best friend. But…I feel..something now.”
Heeseung's shoulders tensed as you spoke, his jaw clenching slightly as you listed off all the…coupley things he did for you.
It was like you were listing off every little thing he did to show you he cared, every way he proved he wasn't just some casual hook-up. And you were right, goddamnit—he did all of that. He always had.
There was a long, heavy silence, and then he forced out a quiet, "What do you feel?"
You look at you trembling hands, “Love.”
His breath stuttered for a split second, his fingers tightening on the steering wheel even more. The word hit him like a damn ton of bricks.
He'd been expecting some excuse, some stupid justification—some reason for why you felt something now.
But love? He almost couldn't believe his own goddamn ears.
He shot you a sharp, disbelieving look, like he was trying to see if you meant it. Like he was trying to see if this was just some cruel joke.
You take another deep breath, “Well-that's what I felt. At least,” looking outside the window.
“But I'm scared. Because we did everything out of order, and I'm not sure if we'll be okay. If-If we stopped, I'm not only gonna lose my boyfriend, but my best friend." You continue, voice slightly trembling now.
Heeseung went quiet, his expression softening slightly as he realized you were serious-as he saw the tremble in your voice, the fear on your face.
He wanted to tell you it would be okay. He wanted to pull you into his arms, to wrap you up in his embrace and soothe away the damn anxiety he heard in your words.
But he didn't. He took a deep breath, his shoulders tensing again as he gripped the steering wheel like a lifeline.
"..ls that the only reason you're telling me this now? Because you're scared of losing a friend?"
“You’re not just a friend, Hee. You’re basically my other half.” You confess,
A low, heavy sigh left Heeseung's lips at those words, and this time, his shoulders slumped slightly.
It was like all the frustrated tension finally left his body, leaving just the tired, worn-out weight of those words.
Hearing you say that...it did something to him. It made his heart clench, made his breathing get a little uneven.
He looked over at you then, the look on his face almost vulnerable. "...Your other half, huh?"
You nod, not trying to filter anything now.
“You’re my other half, someone who knows me the most— I don’t— I don’t think I can live normally again if we ever stopped being together, friends and all.”
His breath caught in his throat at that statement, his chest tightening painfully.
You were saying the words so damn casually, like you didn't realize the weight they carried for him. He had to force himself to breathe, to speak past the sudden emotional lump in his throat.
His voice was a little hoarse when he finally managed to grit out a question. "And you're just telling me this now? After a whole goddamn week of avoiding each other? After years of dragging it as some hookup?”
You keep quiet, silenced.
“That’s a question, Y/N.” He bite out.
“I’m sorry.”
Your apologies are like a broken record by now, as he let out a bitter laugh.
“You’ve said that.”
“But it’s the truth! I’m sorry I hurt you because I know I did, and I wasn’t acting my feelings for years straight.”
He let out a sharp exhaled at your words, his jaw clenching as he tried to swallow back the mix of irritation and...hope that flared in him at your confession.
The mix of emotions was getting to be too damn much. He was tired, he was frustrated, and he was tired of the games.
He glanced over at you-and dammit if you didn't look like you meant it.
And Heeseung, damn his bleeding heart, couldn't deny that look in your eyes. He let out a low, exasperated sigh.
"You goddamn idiot." He said, his voice gruff.
"Do you have any idea how pissed I was? How goddamn frustrated l've been all week? I didn't know if you just regretted it, if you thought I was some stupid mistake, if...if I meant anything to you."
The words left his lips before he could stop them, a hint of vulnerability in the tone.
He was being damn honest for once, letting some of the emotional mess swirling around in his head spill out in front of you like that.
And you didn’t even realize you’ve arrived to your complex. But he didn’t ask you to leave yet, he just parked his car and switched off the engine, the sudden silence in the car suddenly deafening.
For a moment, both of you just sat there, the tension in the air almost stifling.
Then, he looks over to you. His expressions are unreadable.
“We’re here.” he said simply, like it was some kind of warning.
A warning that this conversation was about to continue, and there was no avoiding it.
“You were never, ever a mistake to me.” You look into his eyes.
Heeseung's breath hitched at your words, the honest admission sending a pang through his heart.
He'd been going back and forth between annoyance and irritation all goddamn week-trying to convince himself you just regretted the hookup, trying to ignore the fact that he still wanted you.
Hearing you say that, hearing that quiet honesty in your voice—it made it hard to hold onto the irritation.
It made him feel guilty for doubting you in the first place but damn it, he was still angry.
He stared at you for a long moment—your expression, the way your hands were fidgeting in your lap.
The vulnerability in it all made his chest ache. He exhaled sharply through his nose, running a hand over his face like he was trying to physically push back the damn emotions clogging up his throat.
"I know that now," he finally muttered, "But it took you avoiding me and acting like I didn't exist for a week to say that shit."
A pause as he turn fully towards you now.
“You don’t get to keep pushing me away and then act like that when I go looking elsewhere.”
“I’m not going to push you away anymore.”
His breath caught in his chest at your quiet admission, the raw sincerity of it making something inside him ache.
He was still pissed—still frustrated beyond belief but the confession did soften the edges.
“Good,” He says gruffly. “Because you’re not going to dismiss my feelings, not again.”
That made you look at him, “What do you feel?”
He froze at your sudden question, his heart leaping in his chest. The look in your eyes was damn intent, leaving no room for bullshit.
You were asking him what he felt-for real this time, not some half-ass excuse or half-true response.
He clenched his jaw, conflicted. He wanted to be honest. He wanted to tell you exactly how he felt.
But part of him was still pissed, still frustrated by that week of avoiding each other, and he wanted to make you hurt just a little bit, too.
Gosh he’s so petty.
“What do I feel? I’m pissed. Hella freaking pissed,” he bit out at first—zero hesitation, "Because you made me think I wasn't shit to you. That all of this"—a sharp gesture between the two of you—"was just some goddamn mistake."
A pause as he swallowed hard, his voice dropping lower.
"But I also feel like a damn idiot for caring this much when we never even called it what it was."
The sight of you wincing at his bitter confession made something in Heeseung ache, but he didn't let that stop him from speaking.
He'd been keeping this all bottled up for a week, and damn it, it was time for you to hear what that felt like.
He continued, the words falling out like a damn train wreck.
"You have any idea how much of an idiot I've been this past week? | thought you were ashamed of me. Like I was some kind of regret."
There was a note of anger in his voice still, the frustration and hurt of the past week coming out in sharp breaths as he continued.
"I was trying to keep my distance, trying to forget you. But you have no goddamn idea how that felt when I was lying in my bed every damn night, and all I could think of was you."
He took a sharp inhale, his throat tight with emotion. "I'm tired of being the one who cares, damn it."
You retort immediately, “I care too!”
"Then damn it, why didn't you act like it?" He huffed out bitterly, his irritation and frustration getting the best of him. He was angry, so goddamn angry, but the hurt in his voice was undeniable.
"All you did was push me away. You acted cold, you avoided me, you never gave me a straight answer about us! You made me doubt everything we had! So excuse me if I thought you were ashamed!"
“It’s because I’m fucking scared, Hee!”
His shoulders tensed at that sudden outburst,
the raw emotion in your voice finally getting through his walls of anger-piercing through to the vulnerable thing beneath.
He felt that confession down to the very bone-and it only made His own guilt claw at his conscience.
But he was still angry, still hurt, and he needed you to understand why. "Scared of what?" he snapped, voice slowly rising.
"That maybe I'm ruining things with someone who probably know me the best out of everyone!” You snap, “that I'm ruining my friendship with someone I always wanted to be with!"
He felt those words like a punch to the gut. It was like you were saying everything that'd crossed his mind in the past week, and damn if it didn't hurt like hell.
A part of him, the soft part that loved you with all the damn intensity of the sun, wanted to pull you into his arms and soothe your fears.
But the part of him that was still hurt and angry kept him holding back.
"If you were so scared, then why did you let it get this far?!” He yell.
“Stop yelling!”
"I'll stop yelling when you start making some goddamn sense!" He fired back, his voice rising again as he struggled to rein in his emotions.
Goddamn it, he knew he was being unreasonably loud, but he couldn't help it.
He was struggling to hold back the mix of anger, hurt, and goddamn affection swirling through him at the sight of you, vulnerable and so damn familiar.
"You can't just avoid me for a week, act distant and cold, and expect me not to be pissed!"
You never heard him scream at you like this, at it scared you.
Your best friend, who’s smug and stupid at time— but always so soft-spoken. That’s one of a million things you loved about him.
The way he speaks— like he’s scared if he’s too loud or too harsh you’ll fade away.
But right now? All of that is out of the window.
Rightfully so, he’s hurt. You hurt him.
And nothing scares you more that hurting the one person you cared the most.
“Please,” you tear up.
Holy fuck, are you crying?
You wanted to slap the shit out of yourself.
“Please don’t yell when I’m so fucking scared right now.”
Heeseung froze the moment he saw your tears, his entire body going rigid.
The anger drained from him in an instant-replaced by something far more visceral, something that made his chest tighten painfully.
His hands dropped to his sides as he exhaled sharply through clenched teeth, like the fight was being punched out of him at once.
He looked…guilty now.
"Shit." he muttered under his breath before running a hand over his face, "I'm not yelling anymore."
He stayed quiet for a long moment, his jaw working as he fought to keep his own damn emotions in check.
The silence between you was thick with everything unspoken-anger, hurt, fear. But the way your voice had cracked on that last word made something in him cave.
Slowly, deliberately—he reached over and took one of your hands from where it was clenched into fists on your lap. His grip was firm but not tight, grounding.
“I’m not going to yell, I’m sorry.” he says softly, “I’m not going anywhere.”
He exhaled sharply through his nose, the frustration and anger still simmering in his chest-but your quiet plea made him pause.
He wanted to yell, damn it. He needed you to understand how much he'd been hurting too.
"I'm not yelling," he muttered again gruffly-though the way he bit out each word was soft. "But I'm not just gonna sit here and pretend like this didn't fucking destroy me."
A pause as he swallowed hard, forcing himself to lower his voice further when he added, "You don't get to be scared of losing me when you're the one who pushed first."
You look at your hands together, “I don’t know how to do this, Hee.” You confess, “I’m going to mess up again, I’ve messed up, so I don’t…know how to do it,” you bite out, “But I know I want to be with you.”
His grip on the steering wheel loosened slightly as he stared at you—really looked at you—for the first time since this whole damn mess started.
"You don't get to say that," he muttered, but there was no real bite left in his words now. Just exhaustion.
A pause as he exhaled sharply, "But...if you really want this? Then we figure it out. Together."
“You mean everything to me,” you say. The tears never stopped.
At that quiet declaration, He felt his heart twist and some of the anger left draining from him ever further.
But he wanted you to be sure. He wasn’t going to accept this all sincerely and then watch you push him away again once your friends are in the room.
“Like hell I mean everything to you, after the shit—” He starts but you cut him off before he could even continue.
“I know I acted like shit recently, heck, maybe even months now. But before that?” You look into his eyes, “All the years before? When we were kids and the grandmas in the neighborhood always predicted we’d get married? Isn’t that obvious, you jerk?” If you weren’t then, now you are full on sobbing.
Heeseung felt something in his chest ache at those memories. Those years you spent growing up together. The elderly neighbors who'd always tease about how cute you were together, how sure they were that you'd end up getting married down the line.
Those damn memories were playing on repeat in his mind, and it only made him feel all more frustrated.
He bit back a scoff, shaking his head slightly as the words left him in a low mutter. "You still pushed me away for months, idiot."
“Well I’m a little stupid, sorry!”
He couldn't help but huff out a dry, humorless laugh.
Your blunt confession, just blurting out that you were sorry and stupid... it was so damn typical of you that he couldn't stay angry for much longer.
He pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, shaking his head as he muttered, "You're more than a little stupid, you know that?" He smiles, and you sob harder.
He finally reaches out, taking both of your hands together now.
“Stop crying, you’re not a kid anymore.” He kisses your hands.
“I’m trying. But it kept pouring out.” You whine softly.
He felt his lips twitch at that whiny tone—so typical of you. Even in moments like this, you still manage to make him feel giddy.
He squeezed your hands tightly, “No more crying, baby.”
That was the last thing he says before guiding you to sit on his lap in the driver’s seat, pulling you against his chest.
You break again, like the comfort finally reaches you from the anxiety of this whole talk.
Heeseung let out a slow, tired breath as you practically collapsed into him-your sobs muffled against his chest.
The weight of your body against his, the way you clung to him like he was some damn lifeline...it made something in his heart twist painfully.
“You’re okay,” He kisses your temple. “I’m here, I got you.”
One of his hands tangles in your hair, playing with the strands as he feels you calm down.
He could feel a lot of things at once. The rise and fall of your chest against his, the press of your legs against his, the way you gripped his shirt tighter in your fists...it was maddening.
“I love you.” You mutter, lips pressing against his chest as you feel his beating heart.
He smiles, hearing you say that felt so good—especially after years doubting everything between you two.
He took a shaky breath, his arms tightening around you even as he muttered,
"I love you too, idiot."
“That’s not what you call me.”
He let out a low, amused huff at that— your sniffly protest was so adorable it made his chest ache. He pulled away slightly to cup your face in his hands, wiping away the lingering tears with rough thumbs.
“I love you, baby.” He smiles.
When he sees you cry again, he laughs and tuck your face into the crook of his neck-letting you soak his shirt with those damn tears.
“What am I going to do with you?” He chuckles in your hair.
Heeseung let you cry against him for God knows how long, just running his fingers through your hair and holding you close.
He'd always been a quiet and relatively patient person, but damn it if it didn't take everything in him to keep from falling to pieces at the feeling of you crying in his arms.
Eventually, though, he knew this needed to stop. He'd been putting off the hard conversation for far too long. So he pulled your face out of his neck, forcing you to look up at him with a gruff "Hey, look at me.”
Staring down at you for a long moment, he takes in your beautiful face despite the tears.
Your eyes were red and puffy, your cheeks flushed and wet. You looked so damn vulnerable, and it made his chest ache in a way that was almost too much to handle.
But he had to be the one to push through it this time. He knew you needed him to be the stronger one right now.
“I need you to listen and answer okay? Truthfully.”
Heeseung let go of your face, his hands dropping to your hips now, holding you tightly in place on his lap.
He didn't want you to look away-didn't want to lose your focus for even a second. He kept his gaze locked with yours, his expression unwaveringly serious.
The way you were looking back at him? So damn vulnerable and open, make his heart hurt like hell.
“Why’d you push me away, baby?” He asks, this time he wants a clear answer from you.
No more It’s because I’m stupid bullshit.
“Because…” You look at him, “It’s too much.” You pat your heart, “Right here. And I have this nagging voice that if I am beside you any more without letting it out, the wrong words are gonna come out." You wince.
"And then, I saw you kissing that girl."
"It was my fault of course, but...still hurt." You chuckle.
Heeseung listened in silence as the words spilled out of you. He still had you sitting in his lap, still holding onto you with a tight, almost possessive grip.
The sound of your voice was shaky, the confession making the ache in his chest intensify even more.
And then you had to go and bring up that innocent girl he used to numb whatever you two had going on?
He swallowed hard, clenching his jaw for a moment before replying, "That was nothing. You know that."
“Still, Hee.”
Heeseung exhaled sharply through his nose, "It was nothing," he repeated firmly, gripping your hips tighter as he stared at you with a hard expression.
“I kissed her because I was pissed off, I was confused as hell after the way we left things. I didn’t know where we stand, even if I was confident I loved you, It was still confusing.”
“You were hurt.”
He shakes his head. “I was, but I still acted like an asshole about it. I want you. Only you, but I still kissed her.”
A pause as he looked away briefly, clearly struggling with himself for a second before turning back to you with sharp eyes.
"But I don't want us to keep doing this shit—avoiding each other and pushing one another away just because we're scared of what might happen if things go wrong."
He brings his hand to cup your cheek as you lean in.
“We’re better than this, baby. We’re adults. We need to communicate, or none of this is ever going to work. You hear me?”
You give him soft nod. He searched for any hint of hesitation, and when he sees one? He let out a deep sigh.
“Good girl.” He smiles, “We’re going to tell each other everything from now on. No more pushing, no more running.”
“I want to be exclusive.” You say, out of nowhere. Thinking it was the best time to clarify.
He raised his eyebrows at that, “Yeah? Want me to be your boyfriend, princess? Say it again.”
You felt your cheeks heat up. “You heard me, I’m gonna take it back—”
“Nope. You’re so not.” He laughs. "Not when I've been waiting to hear those damn words from you since we were goddamn ten years old, baby."
Huh?
Those words made you snap. You grab his face, and crush your lips together.
There was only a second of hesitation from him before he was kissing you back, his hand on your hip pulling you even closer as his lips crashed against yours.
There was something almost desperate to it, the months of hurt and longing and pent up emotions from the past week suddenly catching up to him now.
He kissed you hungrily, almost roughly, until finally pulling back slightly-gasping for air with your foreheads pressed together. His voice came out barely above a whisper:
"You're mine, got it?"
“And you?”
“All yours.” He smile and leaned down to kiss you again, his lips moving roughly against yours. This time a low, possessive sound left his chest-his tongue darting out to push past your lips with an almost feral need. He was claiming your mouth with his own, dominating without question.
When you both finally pull away, his breathing was labored, the hand on your face dropping to your hip once more in a tight grip.
He sees your expression, so honest and exhausted. But full, so full of love. Your eyes a bit hazy and dazed, like he can feel the tiredness all over you.
“Long day, yeah?”
You nod, and he chuckles. “Let’s get you inside.”
Heeseung kept a tight, protective grip on you as you got out of the car, his arm wrapping around your waist to steady you.
He could tell you were barely staying standing, and he was determined to get you inside and taken care of as quickly as possible.
Without another word, he closed the door and started leading you towards your complex, his eyes scanning the surroundings around you for any potential dangers.
Despite his usual nonchalant demeanor, there was a subtle protectiveness in the way he held you close to him—a determined edge to his expression.
The elevator ride up was short-lived, and soon enough they were stepping through the doors into your apartment.
He kept a steadying hand on your waist as you walked inside, guiding you towards your room.
Heeseung led you straight to your bed, carefully helping you sit down on the edge of it. His eyes roamed over you, taking in your exhausted state with a mixture of concern and affection.
The urge to get you comfortable and taken care of was practically overwhelming.
He gently tugged on your arm, his voice soft and gruff. "Lay down."
You obeyed, slowly laying back on the bed.
Something about the way you looked right now was so vulnerable, so damn soft, it was almost making his head spin.
But he pushed past the emotions swirling in his chest, determined to get you cared for first.
He knelt at the edge of the bed, his eyes scanning your face with a mix of concern and tenderness.
"I'll be right back, okay?Just gonna get something."
He gave your hand a gentle squeeze before reluctantly letting go. Getting up, he moved across the room, rummaging through your drawers until he found some comfortable clothes for you.
He quickly grabbed a tank top and hoodie, along with some sweatpants, before making his way back over to the bed.
Kneeling beside the bed again, he looked down at you. "Sit up for a second."
He waited until you pushed yourself up into a sitting position, and then he started helping you out of your clothes.
His touch was gentle as he pulled your top off, his eyes roaming over your skin almost reverently.
He could see the weariness in your movements, and he worked quickly, but his fingers lingered against your skin with a tender touch. Once you were wearing the tank top, he offered you the hoodie next. He helped you into the hoodie, watching as the fabric swallowed you up.
The way you looked now—wearing his hoodie and looking so damn tired—was somehow unbearably endearing and it only made the protectiveness in his chest intensify.
But he kept his focus, helping you slide out of your pants and into the sweatpants next.
Throughout the entire process, his touch was careful and gentle, his eyes lingering on each piece of skin he exposed.
Once you were changed into the comfortable clothes, he helped you lay back down on the bed.
He pulled the covers up over your body, making sure you were properly tucked in and cozy. His eyes scanned your face for a moment, taking in how exhausted you looked once again.
He reached up and gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his voice low and gruff.
"Go to sleep, okay? You're dead on your feet, baby."
You replied with a soft pat on the space beside you on the bed.
Heeseung couldn't help the small smile that pulled at his lips as you patted the space beside you, the wordless request obvious.
He knew you were asking him to stay. And damn it, if that wasn't one of his favorite things in the world.
He didn't hesitate, carefully climbing onto the bed next to you. His arm immediately went around your waist, pulling you closer until you were tucked against him.
He settled behind you, adjusting your bodies until you were cuddled against him, your back pressed against his chest.
He could feel the exhaustion coming off you in waves, and the feeling filled his chest with a mix of affection and concern.
He tightened his arm around your waist, pulling you even closer, almost possessively. He nuzzled his face into your hair, inhaling the familiar scent.
His voice was quiet and gruff as he spoke, almost a whisper next to your ear. "Sleep, baby. I'll stay with you."
He continued to hold you close, his body molded against yours. He could feel the way your tired body relaxed into his embrace, the way you automatically shifted closer against him.
His hand on your waist began tracing slow, idle circles against your side, hoping the gentle touch would soothe you even more.
“I love you,” was the last thing you hear before drifting off to sleep.
Morning settles softly over the room, pale light slipping through the curtains and stretching across the bed where Heeseung wakes first, eyes blinking open slowly as the quiet replaces last night’s noise.
For a moment, he doesn’t move—just lies there, one arm still draped loosely around you, your head tucked against his shoulder, hair slightly undone from sleep.
There’s a faint crease on your cheek from the pillow, your breathing even, steady, like none of the tension from before followed you into the morning.
He shifts just enough to look at you properly, gaze lingering in a way he’d never admit out loud, thumb brushing absentmindedly against your arm before he exhales softly, like he’s trying not to disturb something fragile.
He feels you stir awake slowly, and register the warmth between the both of you.
Your lashes flutter open, adjusting to the soft morning light spilling through the curtains, and for a second you don’t move, still caught somewhere between sleep and awareness.
Then you realize where you are—how close you are—and your fingers instinctively curl slightly against his shirt.
“Hi,” he mutters, his smile soft and still heavy with sleep.
Up close, it’s different—quieter than anything he ever gives you when he’s fully awake. His eyes are half-lidded, hair slightly tousled, and there’s something unguarded in the way he looks at you, like he hasn’t had the chance to put his walls back up yet.
His thumb brushes faintly against your arm again, slow, absent, like he’s still halfway dreaming.
“You’re up early,” you murmur, voice still rough as you shift slightly against him, but not enough to pull away.
Heeseung lets out a quiet hum, the corner of his lips lifting just a little more.
“Could say the same about you.”
Neither of you moves after that.
The morning stretches between you, calm and fragile, like if either of you says the wrong thing, it’ll snap back into what you usually are.
“You should sleep more, you were so tired last night,” he suggests, his hand moves to your hip for a grounding grip.
His hand slides from your arm to your hip, settling there like it belongs, fingers pressing lightly—just enough to keep you from drifting too far away.
The touch is grounding.
Steady.
You let out a small breath, barely noticeable, your body sinking a little more into the mattress despite yourself.
“I’m okay,” you mumble, though your voice betrays how heavy sleep still feels in your limbs.
Lee Heeseung huffs quietly, almost amused, his thumb brushing once against your side.
“Doesn’t sound like it.”
You shift slightly, your hand coming up to rest against his chest, feeling the slow, even rhythm beneath your palm.
For a second, neither of you says anything, the silence filled only by quiet breathing and the soft rustle of sheets.
Suddenly, he shifts closer, his head dipping into the crook of your neck, breath warm against your skin. His lips follow a moment later—slow, lingering, open-mouthed presses that make you inhale sharply, your fingers tightening slightly against his shirt.
It’s unhurried.
Sleepy, almost.
Like he’s not fully thinking—just acting on instinct, on familiarity.
His hand at your hip steadies you when you shift, thumb pressing lightly as he continues, each kiss softer than the last but no less intentional.
The quiet of the morning wraps around you both, broken only by the faint rustle of sheets and your uneven breathing.
You tilt your head just a little, giving him space without realizing it, and he exhales softly against your skin, like he notices.
You hum, while he continues mouthing at your collarbone.
“Hee, it’s—” you glance at the clock on the nightstand, squinting slightly, “9 in the morning,” you sigh.
He doesn’t pull away.
If anything, Heeseung just exhales softly against your neck, lips still brushing your skin in slow, unhurried presses, like the time doesn’t matter.
“Mm,” he hums, voice muffled.
His hand on your hip tightens just slightly when you shift, keeping you right where you are.
“I missed you, baby.” He nuzzle his nose against your jaw, trying to coax you into giving in.
Sly fox.
“I’m right here.” You smile.
“But I want to kiss you all over, make you feel good.” He murmur again, voice turning slightly whiny.
You let out a small laugh, which died as soon as he moves his hand to cup your clothed core.
“You’ll let me, right? You’ll let me love this sweet body of yours?”
He looks into your eyes, asking for permission.
“But breakfast…”
“It’s Saturday, baby. We can have breakfast at 2PM.” He whines.
You grin, before nodding.
Heeseung wasted no time in claiming the skin of your neck, his mouth and tongue working at your pulse point, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses down the column of your throat once again.
The entire time, his hands roamed your body, pushing up the bottom of your hoodie and tanktop and slipping underneath to touch your overheated skin.
He practically groaned at the feeling of you, hot and pliant underneath him—he's been dying to touch you like this for days now.
His hands were rough as they groped your breasts, his fingers pinching and rolling the hardened peaks between them. His mouth left wet trails along your collarbone before latching onto one nipple—sucking hard through the fabric of your top.
"Fuck," he groaned against you, his hips grinding down instinctively, "You always taste so damn good."
A sharp nip to punctuate it—because he knew you liked that little sting.
You help him take off your clothes, hands trembling slightly.
Heeseung lifted his head at the sudden motion, staring at you hungrily as he watched you lift your shirt up.
"Good girl."he said, his eyes dark with intensity as he watched your movements."That's it. Show me."
His breath hitched as he took in the sight of you—bare, flushed, and already so damn needy for him. His gaze raked over your exposed skin like a starving man at a feast.
“Beautiful, my woman.”
Without another second of hesitation, his mouth descended on one nipple—sucking hard while his fingers pinched the other between rough fingertips.
Heeseung's tongue flicked against the hardened peak as he sucked and swirled it around in his mouth. It wasn't enough, though. He nipped and lapped at your skin—his hand moving from your chest to your inner thigh.”
It was almost as if he was intent on memorizing every inch of your body with his touch, leaving no area unmarked by his lips and teeth.
“Mm, I could stay like this forever," he murmured, his words partially muffled against your skin.
His hand skimmed up your thigh, pushing up the hem of your pants. He pushed them down just far enough to bare your legs to his sight, and his mouth left your breast to press kisses along the soft skin.
"Lift your hips."
The order was said in a rough, lust-filled tone, and he didn't give you even a second to hesitate before hooking a finger into the waistband of your panties, pulling them down your legs.
His eyes darkened as he took in the sight of you, now fully exposed.
Heeseung practically growled as he took in the sight of you—bare, exposed, and so damn perfect.
His fingers dug into your hips for a second before sliding lower to grip the backs of your thighs, yanking you closer to him.
"You're already wet for me? I'm not holding back, baby.”
His hands were everywhere, touching you with a mixture of impatience and desperation. His mouth latched onto the soft skin of your neck, sucking and biting down on your pulse until he left a blossoming mark behind.
He wanted you, and he wanted you now.
"Can't wait to be inside of you," Heeseung hissed against your skin. “Can’t wait to love you until I’m milked dry.”
“Watch me touch myself first.”
Heeseung had to hold back a groan at your suggestion.
While his main goal right now was to be inside of you, the thought of watching you touch yourself right in front of him sounded almost sinful.
During your hookups, Heeseung was the one that take the lead but once in a while, you would give suggestions like these.
To try and experiment with each other, of course.
"Yeah? You wanna put on a show?" he teased, an eyebrow raised as he pulled away slightly to look at you. He already sounded breathless just from the thought of it—he was practically salivating for the sight.
Heeseung's expression darkened as he watched you, his eyes glued to the sight of your hands slowly moving over yourself.
Your smaller fingers rubbing your bundle of nerves, still sensitive after waking up.
He couldn't tear his gaze away for a second, as if he was a starving man staring at his prey. His own hands flexed against your thighs, pressing more firmly into the soft skin as he fought the urge to take over and touch you himself.
This was your show right now—not his. He had to be patient.
"So pretty," he murmured hoarsely, "All for me to watch." His eyes darkened even further. That tone of your voice, the way you looked right now... God, if you weren't careful, he was going to lose all self-control and take over again.
“Hee…Touch yourself too..”
He swallowed thickly, the sound almost audible to your ears. His breathing was already shaky, his voice strained as he replied.
"Yeah? You want me to touch myself for you, baby?” Heeseung's breath hitched as he watched you nod, his hands immediately moving to the waistband of his jeans.
His fingers fumbled slightly in his haste—he wasn't used to being this desperate for something so simple.
"You're lucky I'm weak for you."
With one rough yank, he pulled down just enough fabric to free himself—already hard and aching from watching you. His grip tightened around the base as a groan escaped him at the first touch.
He was going to die just watching you.
His chest was rising and falling heavily, and he could feel his self-control hanging on by a mere thread at this point.
He wanted to touch you, to be the one to touch you—but the sight of you touching yourself like this just for him was almost torturous.
"Mmm, look at me, baby." he commanded hoarsely."Want you to keep your eyes open while you do that for me."
Heeseung's grip on himself tightened painfully as he watched you slip your fingers inside, his breath hitching in response to the wet sound.
His eyes were practically glued to where you touched yourself—his entire body tensed with need.
"Fuck, that's it," he gritted out between clenched teeth, "Keep going just like that."
A rough thrust of his own hand matched yours instinctively—mimicking the rhythm you set for him.
You whine with need when you feel your own fingers aren’t enough to reach the places that can make you see stars.
Heeseung's hips jerked forward involuntarily, a strangled groan tearing from his throat as he watched you.
His knuckles whitened where they gripped himself-too close to the edge already just from watching you.
"Y/N," he warned lowly, "You keep making those sounds and I'm not gonna last." A bead of sweat rolled down his temple as he fought for control-his entire body coiled tight with desperation.
His head was swimming; the air felt like it was crackling with electricity. Every nerve was on fire, desperate for release.
He needed you, but there was something about watching you like this—so open, so vulnerable, so perfect—that he couldn't stop himself from prolonging his suffering.
"Sweetheart, I need to touch you..." he gasped out, a strangled plea on his lips. "Please..."
The moment you removed your fingers, giving him permission, he moved forward with an almost feral speed to grab you by the hips and pull you closer-settling himself right between your spread legs.
"You have no idea how much I ache for you," he muttered hoarsely, his voice rough with need. "I need you so much."
Heeseung's mouth crashed against yours before you could respond, his lips moving hungrily over yours.
There was no tenderness, only a raw, desperate need as he claimed your mouth completely. His hands were everywhere, touching you with a rough familiarity that spoke of his desperate need to feel every part of you all at once.
His breath came out in a sharp, ragged exhale as he pressed the thick head of his cock against your entrance—teasing, torturing both of you with the slow drag.
His entire body was trembling from how hard it was for him to not just shove inside right then and there.
“Ready, baby?”
And when you finally nod, he slides in with zero resistance, given how soaked you are.
A guttural groan tearing from his throat as he buried himself to the hilt, both of you immediately losing your sleepy haze.
"Fuck-" he choked out, forehead dropping to yours, "You feel so damn good."
A ragged breath before he started moving—deep, punishing rolls of his hips that left no room for gentleness.
“Ngh, fuck—Hee!”
Heeseung's entire body locked up at the sound of your voice, his hips stuttering to a halt for a second. The way you clenched around him-tight, wet, perfect-had his vision whiting out for half a second.
"Fucking hell," he rasped against your neck, "You're trying to kill me."
A rough grind of his pelvis pressed even deeper as he fought not to lose it right then and there.
He needed you so badly right now. More than he'd ever needed anyone—and he never thought he could possibly be this addicted to someone, but here he was.
Addicted to you, his love.
Completely and utterly addicted to the feel of your skin against his, the sounds you made as he moved inside you, the way you looked at him like he was the center of your entire world.
“All this, mine, right?” He murmurs in between moans. “No one else to touch, to love, to have.”
He stops for a second, pulling back making you whine due to the sudden absence.
“Shh, baby, I know—I know.” He cooed, grabbing a pillow to move it under you, and then entering you again.
The angle change made the both of you breathless. He felt even deeper than what you thought was possible.
“So good—you’re so good for me.”
You felt the tight knot forming, and started clenching harder around him—making him jolt forward.
“Shit—baby, I know, I’ll get you there, yeah?” He kisses your temple.
He speeds up his thrusts, his tip hitting hard against your cervix.
He pulled you closer, his lips trailing up your neck to your ear, his breathing ragged against your skin.
“Come with me, baby.” He murmur, “That’s my girl.” He smiles when he feels you arch and tremble as your climax ran through you.
A ragged, guttural groan tore from his throat as he buried himself impossibly deeper—his entire body shuddering with release. His grip on you was ironclad, like he was afraid you'd vanish the second he let go.
"Fuck—yes," he panted against your sweat-slicked skin, "Mine. Only mine."
A few more rough thrusts before his hips stilled completely—spent and wrecked in the best way possible.
He dropped on top of you, making sure not to crush you with his weight as the both of you catch your breaths.
He got up, looking at you disheveled state. His hand ran through the sweaty hair sticking to your face, taking a good look at his girlfriend.
“How can it feel even better when we’re finally together now?”
𝒇.reader ⁕ fingering ⁕ unprotected p in v ⁕ rough sex ⁕ slight dub-con ⁕ mean sunghoon ⁕ dacryphilia ⁕ use of pet names (baby, angel, pretty girl etc.)
The argument ended more than two hours ago.
Still, Sunghoon hasn’t heard a word leave your pretty little mouth. Not to mention that the argument was absolutely stupid. His nerves were already frayed by the constant nagging of his manager, a headache throbbing behind his eyelids from sitting in front of the computer screen for too long, mood ruined by that stale coffee the barista served him this morning and called it the best creation of his time. And you. Sweet, perfect, concerned you just happened to be there at the wrong time.
He was being an asshole, that much he admits. He shouldn’t have yelled at you or called you dumb, but you were the softest target with your clinginess and sweet voice. Now, you are giving him the ultimate cold shoulder. He has tried apologizing, tried talking to you, to make it up to you, yet you remain steadfast in your determination to ignore him. It was frustrating, really, though you look absolutely lovely sulking on the couch, big eyes swimming with tears you could barely keep at bay.
Sunghoon’s heart cracks a little at the sight but a small part of him is thrilled that he can get to you so well. You have always been a sensitive little thing, just one mean word or raising his voice a few octaves would leave you a sniffling, sobbing mess.
Just like how you’re sobbing right now. Sunghoon had initially thought that he’d coax you to talk to him again by murmuring apologies in your ear, but you had other plans. The second Sunghoon sits down beside you, you were getting up, sniffling as if he had wronged you (he has). That made his remaining patience snap like a thread.
Before you could even utter a word of protest, you were being bent over the arm of the couch, his large hand pushing your face into the cushions, thick fingers ripping your panties and tossing them off somewhere. He could have been more vocal and gentlemanly, though you don’t look like you were in the mood for it. Besides, he already knows what will get you speaking really fast.
“We’ll do it your way,” Sunghoon mutters, leaning over you, his chest brushing against your back. His lips pressed on the side of your neck in a feather-light kiss that didn’t match the roughness of his hands.
His hand palms your ass, squeezing the flesh roughly before sneaking down to brush over your folds. He isn’t gentle by any means, no, his thumb rubs up and down your slit, gathering the syrupy slick and circling your clit once, twice, thrice, and again until you are squirming from the stimulation.
“Nu-uh, baby. Don’t squirm now,” he coos, pressing a kiss to your jaw. You were about to relax, to melt into his familiar touch, but of course Sunghoon wasn’t nice. Before you could relax, three thick fingers are sinking down to knuckles, cold metal of his rings bumping against your heated skin.
You jerk, a sharp cry leaving your lips at the suddenness of the intrusion. Sunghoon watches as tears drip down your sweet face, staining your ruddy cheeks, and making your bottom lip tremble oh-so-sweetly. Fuck, you were so pretty, so, so dear to him it was ridiculous. He gives you enough time to adjust by squirming and clamping around his digits before pulling them out, feeling your walls flutter, and then stretching deliciously when he thrusts them back in.
Sobs are already falling past your lips, back arched as slick drips down his digits and coats his hand in thick sheen. “Still not speaking?” He murmurs, warm lips brushing over your dampened cheek, tongue flicking out to lick a tear. “I did say sorry, didn’t I?”
You’re immediately shaking your head, strands of hair sticking to your damp skin. “No, y-you didn’t, Hoonie.”
Oh, how Sunghoon melts at the way you whimper out that little nickname. He grins against your cheek, crooking his fingers juuust slightly to hit that spongey spot. Your body jerks, toes curling from pleasure as you let out a choked moan.
“I didn’t?” He muses, pulling his fingers out with a wet squelch. “That’s really bad of me, isn’t it?”
He was mocking you, you could tell by the slight taunting lilt of his voice. You were ready to beg him to put his fingers back, already feeling empty and distressed from the loss of orgasm. But then you feel him moving back, the sound of metal clinking, and the sound of a zipper reaches your ears. You tense—from anticipation or from nervousness, you couldn’t tell. Though your cunt clenched ‘round nothing, dripping like it has been waiting for this exact moment. And perhaps, Sunghoon thinks, she has. After all, his pretty girl was just so ready for him whenever he needed her.
He pulls his pants and boxers down to his thighs, just enough to free his aching erection. It springs free with a jerk, tip glistening with pre-cum. Spitting on his palm, Sunghoon fists his shaft, pumping his plumpy girth once, twice, thrice before lining himself up with your weeping cunt.
His one hand pushes down on your back to make you arch while the other guides the bulbous head to part your folds and sink into your heat. He watches, entranced, as your puffy lips parted around his mushroom tip, your walls stretching around his girth as he feeds you inch after thick inch. He has to hold himself back from just rutting into you like an animal, to relish in the damning, velvety heat of your cunt.
“S—Sunghoon—” you gasp, gummy insides swallowing him whole. The way he fills you up is almost sinful, and all you could do is push your hips back, grind your ass against his pelvis
“Mm, fuck, baby,” Sunghoon rasps, his other hand coming to pull both of your arms behind your back, holding your wrists with one hand while the other settles on the dip of your waist to anchor you to him. “Feels like coming home. Literally.”
He gives you a second to adjust—just a second, and then he is pulling his hips back, thick head dragging along your walls almost heavenly before snapping forward.
He sets a punishing pace almost immediately once he was sure you could take it. His hips slap against your plump ass, grip tight on your wrists as he thrusts, thrusts, thrusts, each one forcing his cock a little deeper than the last. “That’s what you get for goin’ silent on me,” Sunghoon groans, his length swabbing into every nook and cranny you thought didn’t even exist.
“Nngh, t—too fast,” you slur out, head pushed into the couch cushions, its case now damp with your drool and tears, and bend over the armrest with your ass and feet up. The position wasn’t new, though the circumstances sure were. And Sunghoon doesn’t look like he is in the mood for playing nice and gentle for you, at least not tonight.
“Clearly not fast enough if ya’ can still speak, pretty girl,” and then he is changing the angle, just slightly so, but it made stars burst behind your eyes all the same. He bends his knees, pulling at your wrists to force your back into a deeper arch and that has his cock ramming into that sweet, hidden spot.
“Oh—” you squeal, thighs clamping shut.
That, that wasn’t something Sunghoon liked, clearly, because one second his hand is pinning your wrists behind your back, and the next you feel a sharp smack landing right on your pussy.
You yelp, more slick gushing around his cock as his roughened tips press down onto your puffy clit. “You’re always throwin’ a tantrum and being messy, hm?” His low voice was enough to pull a whimper from your throat, the stinging of the smack barely subsiding before he is drilling into you.
“I—I wasn’t—” you start, but your words are soon dissolving into sobs when he twists your clit, his larger, broader frame hovering behind you when he leans down.
“H-Ha, you so were, baby,” he drawl out. You were a firm one, Sunghoon knew that much. Even if you were on your limits, you wouldn’t admit it. Such foolishness in a small body was almost expected, really, though it didn’t dim his admiration for you. If anything, your stubbornness to admit your weakness and vulnerability made him want to crush you.
And he expected that whiny denial anyways. He’d have to bully out a few orgasms for you to actually sob out a complaint.
You were just so beautiful when you were being tunneled by his cock, all stupid and whiny with tears and drool all over your face.
Stubborn and a whole lot sensitive, but you were his, every inch. And while he might have yelled at you because of his stupid stress, he knows how to make it up to you all too well.
So, in no time, he is burrowing his cock deeper into your cunt until the round head slams into your cervix. You don’t get the time to even register the sensation at first before he is bashing that spot, the impact and pleasure making your eyes cross and for unashamed moans to spill out.
“Mhm-hm, look at ‘er, angel,” he grunts, “Grippin’ me so sweetly.”
Each snap of his hips sent your body jolting forward, face pressing into the cushions and wetting them with your spit and tears. Usually Sunghoon is much more loving and considerate, however, right now he has lost all of his patience. The sound of skin slapping against skin, and the wet, filthy plap, plap, plap filled the living room along with his ragged breathing.
He felt your walls fluttering, saw the way your knees gave away and you bit the pillowcase to muffle your cries, and he knew you were close. Too close. A little bit more and you’d be dumb enough to forget about the argument altogether.
His hand snakes down, thick fingers prodding at your swollen folds before finding your clit and drawing slow, tight circles over the sensitive bud. Your body twitched, a broken sound spilling past your lips, sounding strangely like a breathy gasp of his name. Sunghoon didn’t stop his relentless assault, if anything, his thrusts became more forceful, more intentional to drive you to the brink of insanity.
“You’re close, pretty girl,” Sunghoon murmurs, not a question, rather a statement. He knew your body better than you knew it yourself, knew which buttons to press to get you all stubborn and defensive and what strings to pull to make you melt in his hands.
You merely managed a dumb nod, sniffling and hiccuping, and it was just so pathetic. You were barely coherent, probably not even listening to half the things he spewed out. His cock gave a traitorous jerk, balls drawing up as his own climax approached.
“Sunghoon,” you choke out, the knot in your tummy unraveling with each thrust. “P—Please, don’t stop.” Pleasure spreads down to your toes like an inferno, consuming you whole until all thoughts and memories of previous argument melted from your head.
The “please” sounded so good from your lips, but then again, you’ve always looked prettier when you begged.
“Please what?” He slows down like the annoying asshole he was, and a shudder ran through you. You didn’t speak—couldn’t, not when he was railing you into another week. He, however, doesn’t care if he had rendered you speechless. He wanted—no, needed—you to continue your mindless babbling. He leaned over you, chest brushing against your back and he was so warm, like a furnace. “I said, please what, angel, hm? Please let you cum? Please fuck you harder? Or please stop? Which one is it?”
The thought of him stopping was painful. You didn’t want that, not when you were so, so close. You shake your head immediately, lifting your head a little to peer at him from over your shoulders, your wet eyes meeting his.
“Please let me cum,” you whimper, and Sunghoon feels the wetness of your tears when you press your cheek against his jaw.
And, just like that, he was absolutely done for. His hips snapped forward with more force than necessary and you bit back a choked cry.
“Fuck, you’re so good,” he rasped, lips ghosting over your soft damp cheek in feather-light kisses. “Too good.”
The squelching sound of your wetness ricocheted off of the walls along with the slap of skin against skin. Your eyes rolled back, breath hitching as the pleasure mounted—hot and white. Your grip on the cushions tightened, nails tearing into the cheap pillowcase.
Your thighs shook, entire body seizing with the force of your orgasm as you came around his cock. It was abrupt, intense, and numbing. You feel Sunghoon stilling inside you, big, warm hands settling on your waist. You squeezed him, and the tightness had him choking back a moan. He pulled out, fist closing around the base of his cock in a firm grip. He knew if he continues, he’d cum, and he had something much important to take care of before granting himself that pleasure.
He watched as you came down from your high, body still trembling with the aftershocks of it all, the fire dying down and leaving behind dazzles of pleasure.
“You alright?” He whispered, voice gentler now as he rubbed your back.
You stayed quiet for a moment, catching your breath before speaking. “You were mean to me,” you whisper, voice undeniably sulky despite your piss-poor attempt to mask it.
Sunghoon huffed, a sound somewhere between a scoff and a chuckle, though you weren’t sure. He moved away, the warmth of his body disappearing and you almost found your footing back when he is hauling you up and settling down on the couch, sitting you on his lap.
“Oh, I know,” he sighed, hands finding purchase on your bare hips and he felt the familiar spark of arousal igniting low in his guts. He dark eyes catch yours, a small, almost mocking smile pulling at his lips. “But I know how to make it much better, yeah?”
If the lustful glint in his eyes wasn’t enough to convey his implications, the hardness of his arousal pressing against your inner thigh made his intentions much, much clear. And despite how much you want to hold on to your anger, you couldn’t. Not when he was looking at you like you were the most beautiful person to exist in his world, and especially not when you could feel yourself already beginning to drip.
STRAY KIDS REACTION — getting interrupted during a heated moment.
.𖥔 ݁ ˖🛸── .✦ crack. smut. mdni.
Stray Kids getting interrupted in the middle of an intense and heated moment.
❛ ━━━━━━･❪skz❫･━━━━━━ ❜
: ̗̀➛ bang chan
Studio lights dimmed, Chan has you pinned against the soundproof wall like he’s about to ruin you for anyone else. His hand is shoved up your skirt, fingers teasing the edge of your soaked panties while he grinds his painfully hard cock against your thigh.
“Been dying to fuck you raw in this studio,” he growls, voice wrecked, lips brushing your ear. “Gonna make you scream my name so loud the members hear it through the walls—”
RING RING RING RING.
His manager’s name flashes like Satan himself.
Chan’s entire body freezes mid-thrust. He lets out the most pained, horny groan known to man and drops his head between your tits.
“Fuck my life. If I don’t answer he’ll send a search party.”
He stays pressed against you, still rock hard and twitching.
“Baby… talk dirty to me while I answer. I need something to stay hard through this call.”
: ̗̀➛ lee minho
Minho’s got you bent over the kitchen island like a five-star meal. Shorts yanked down to your knees, his hard cock rubbing between your ass cheeks while two fingers are already knuckle-deep inside you, curling viciously.
“Such a greedy little pussy,” he purrs, biting your shoulder. “Clenching around my fingers like you want me to breed you right here on the counter—”
CRASH!
Glass explodes. Soonie has committed war crimes and knocked over an entire bottle of expensive wine.
Minho stills, fingers still buried deep. He slowly turns his head like a possessed demon.
“You absolute menace.” He pulls his fingers out with a wet sound, sucks them clean while glaring at the cat, then looks back at you with a feral smirk.
“New plan. I’m locking all three cats in the bathroom, then fucking you stupid on this counter. Don’t move.”
: ̗̀➛ seo changbin
Changbin has you lifted against the wall, legs wrapped around his waist, his thick cock grinding hard against your clothed core like he’s trying to fuck you through the fabric. Sweat is already dripping down his neck.
“Fuck— you’re dripping through your panties,” he rasps, voice deep and animalistic. “Gonna split you open, baby. Gonna make this pussy cry for me—”
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!
“FOOD DELIVERY!”
Changbin’s head snaps toward the door like he wants to murder someone. He yells back without moving an inch, still grinding slow and filthy,
“LEAVE IT OUTSIDE OR I’LL PAY YOU TO WAIT THERE FOR THIRTY MINUTES!”
He looks back at you, eyes wild, lips swollen. “If that guy knocks again I’m answering the door with my dick out. Fair warning.”
: ̗̀➛ hwang hyunjin
Hyunjin has you sprawled on the couch, shirt pushed up, mouth latched onto your nipple while his hips roll deep and sensual between your legs. You can feel every inch of his long, hard cock pressing right against your clit through his thin sweatpants.
“Want to cover you with my cum tonight,” he moans dramatically, tongue flicking. “Gonna edge you until you’re begging, then ruin this pretty pussy—”
DING.
Mama Hwang: “Honey I’m outside!! I brought kimchi jjigae. Why aren’t you answering the door?“
Hyunjin freezes mid-lick, eyes wide like he just got caught committing a felony. He whispers in pure theatrical horror.
“My mother is outside… while I have a raging boner and your tit in my mouth.”
He dramatically flops his face into your chest. “Tell her we’re sleeping. Tell her i’m still showering. I don’t care. Just buy me time before I actually die.”
: ̗̀➛ han jisung
Jisung is uncharacteristically feral tonight — straddling you, pants shoved down just enough, frantically grinding his leaking cock against your bare stomach while whimpering into your mouth.
“Fuck— I’m so hard it hurts,” he whines, voice cracking. “Want to cum all over you, then fuck you right after, pleasepleaseplease—”
ACHOO!
A nuclear sneeze explodes out of him, followed by two more.
Jisung goes rigid, face scarlet. “I just— I sneezed on my own dick mid session. This is my villain origin story.”
ACHOO!
He hides in your neck, still grinding pathetically. “Don’t laugh— okay laugh, but don’t stop touching me. I’m emotionally fragile and physically desperate.”
: ̗̀➛ lee felix
Felix has you underneath him, deep voice rumbling as he sucks marks into your neck and grinds his thick cock against your soaked panties in slow, filthy circles.
“Gonna eat this pussy till you’re shaking,” he growls, accent heavy with lust. “Then I’m fucking you so deep you’ll feel me for days—”
ALARM BLARING. Kitchen timer screaming and letting you know that the instant ramen is ready.
Felix lifts his head, freckles standing out on his flushed face, looking personally betrayed by the universe.
“…The noodles are done.”
He stares at you dead serious, cock still throbbing against you. “We have thirty seconds to decide: soggy ramen or me railing you until you forget what ramen is.”
Pause.
“Actually, fuck it. Ramen can drown. I’m choosing you.”
: ̗̀➛ kim seungmin
Seungmin has you on his lap, one hand fisted in your hair, the other squeezing your ass as he guides you to grind down on his very obvious, very hard cock. His usual calm is gone — he’s biting your lip, voice low and mean in the hottest way.
“Finally. Now ride me properly before I—”
RING RING RING!
On your phone was his mom calling.
“Seungmin’s Mom ❤️” with a heart emoji and everything.
Seungmin pulls back like he’s been electrocuted, but his hands stay glued to your ass, still squeezing.
“Answer it. Right now.”
You stare at him in disbelief. He smirks, even as his cock twitches under you.
“What? I’m a good son. But the second you hang up…” He leans in, whispering right against your lips, “I’m bending you over and fucking the respect right out of you.”
: ̗̀➛ yang jeongin
Jeongin’s shyness has completely evaporated. He’s got you pinned to his bed, tongue in your mouth, one hand boldly squeezing your breast while his hips rut desperately against you, hard cock straining in his pants.
“Want you so bad— can I fuck you? Please? I’ll be so good, I’ll make you cum so many times—”
LIGHTS OUT.
Total blackout. All lights in the room dies.
You both freeze, breathing heavy in pitch darkness. Jeongin lets out the most dramatic, betrayed whine.
“Are you actually kidding me?! Right now when I finally have the chance after aching all day?!”
He still hasn’t stopped grinding slowly against your thigh in the dark.
“…We have condoms in the drawer. I have muscle memory. We can do this blind. Or… we can laugh and I’ll keep dry-humping you until the power comes back. Your choice, no pressure.”
Jungkook is your brother’s stupidly hot best friend who has been around since you learned how to read and write. He has always known where the line is when it comes to you. The problem? You don’t.
PAIRING: brother’s bsf!jk x fem!reader
GENRE: smut w plot
WC: 13k
WARNINGS: biker!jk, brother!jaehyun (my fics mean nothing wo him), 3 year age gap, jealousy, reader’s a TEASE, she’s also so horny it’s stupid, don’t let the banner fool you it’s very summer in this, smut wise: uhh, they have sex on his bike, dry humphing (a lost art), m masturbation, riding, he has a thing for her tits, so he fucks her tits, BIG D JK AGENDA, dirty talk
NOTES: im aware this is long overdue but hear me out here!! this was going to be like 6k words max but things just…kept happening…anyways this is pure filth and self indulgence. i lost my mind after that fucking tiktok his slutty ass posted and ofc it led us here. i hope this satisfies your fantasies the way it did mine, enjoy <3
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Jeon Jungkook is so unbelievably hot.
Though it’s not the kind that makes your eyes linger and your heart flutter. No, it’s nothing like that. He is so ridiculously attractive it leaves your pussy aching, clenching so hard around nothing you wish it’s him you bounce on until sunset blurs into sunrise. You almost feel your muscles physically hurt by how he’s always so close yet so far away when the only thing you desire is for the space between you to become a rhythm and draw you in until distance doesn’t really exist anymore.
But that doesn’t happen, that never happens when it’s Jungkook.
He’s Jaehyun’s best friend– your older brother who loves you more than anything. Your brother who still babies you because you fell off your bike and broke your arm that one time when you were sixteen. Your brother who trusts Jungkook in that effortless, unquestioning way that only comes from years of knowing someone too well– because they’ve known each other since Jungkook knocked on your door when they were nine and you were six. He’d looked up at your parents with those big brown eyes of his and asked, so politely your mother still gushes about it at family gatherings, if he could play with your brother.
That was all it took for Jungkook to stay. You remember how at first, it started with the small things. His shoes left by the door like the spot had been assigned to him, his voice echoing through the walls so often it soon blended into the background…Those little moments stretched into something bigger and bigger before you could even notice. And suddenly, he was there for everything. Anywhere from holiday dinners to summer getaways, Jungkook was always there.
But he never gave you anything.
Jaehyun is the kind of brother who treats every man like a problem, like a timed bomb ticking in the corner, patiently waiting for the right time to blow up into flames. He’s the kind of brother who lectures you about never trusting a guy, the kind who would show up at his door with something burning behind his eyes and a fist ready to throw. Not asking for questions, not looking for answers.
If anything was to ever happen between you and Jungkook, Jaehyun wouldn’t just be mad. He’d fucking lose it.
So Jungkook has always kept his distance from you.
He makes sure it’s not anything obvious, but it’s never enough for you to not notice either. The way he never stands next to you for too long, the way his hands stay to himself even when it’s not convenient, the way he looks at you just enough to acknowledge your presence, yet never enough to let it mean anything. He has always been controlled around you, way beyond measure and annoying as hell.
Because you’ve seen him with other people. You’ve seen how he talks and how he laughs. He lets himself be less careful, less contained. Just more…him. And what bothers you the most isn’t that he ignores you, he never ignores you.
Jungkook does notice you. You know it, he knows it, he definitely knows you know it too. But what’s so infuriating is the fact that he actively chooses not to react, not to acknowledge anything that comes in his way from you. It’s like he’s decided long ago that whatever line existing between the two of you is one he’s never willing to cross. Which would be fine if he wasn’t so damn irresistible.
But he is.
And tonight, you’re a little more aware of it than usual. Maybe it’s the tight little dress that’s framing your body so well you had to twirl in front of the mirror more than once just to take it in, because it just looks that good. Or maybe, it’s something else entirely; one of those nights where whatever he usually holds so carefully contained inside sits a little closer to the surface than it normally does.
You don’t think too much of it as you step out of your room, walking down the hallway barefoot as you fix your earrings. A voice drifts away from the living room until it reaches your ears. You know the voice belongs to Jaehyun, he’s home, that’s not surprising. What’s surprising is that he’s not alone.
You round the corner with your mind elsewhere, the only thought lingering on your mind being whether the shade of your lipstick is a little too dark or not. You’re already halfway into whatever you were going to say when you briefly pause by the mirror to smooth down your dress.
“Hey, do you mind if–” You start, but you cut yourself off, because when you finally drift your eyes away from the hem of your skirt and lift them up, Jungkook’s reflection stares right back at you from behind.
He’s leaning back against the couch comfortably, legs spread wide like he’s been there for so long his body has melted and molded into the cushion. One of his arms is thrown over the backrest as the other is holding a can of beer he’s not really drinking from. Jaehyun isn’t there with him for some reason, probably whipping something up in the kitchen even though he can't cook to save his life.
And when you turn around to face him fully, there’s a beat where his eyes move over you, all the way from the very top of your head to the bottom of your feet. You swear his eyes linger for a second too long on your chest before he drops them down and lets his mind register you properly.
“Going somewhere?” He asks, one brow raised as he spreads his legs even further.
You nod once, pretending to be mindless and nonchalant about it. “Just for drinks with some friends.” Technically, you’re going out with a friend. But before you can even think of elaborating on that further, Jaehyun walks in. And that’s all it takes for Jungkook to look away like it doesn’t mean anything.
“Finally.” He scoffs before taking a large sip from his beer. “You take longer than anyone I know to get ready.”
It takes half a minute of consecutive swift blinking for you to drag your attention away from Jungkook and pull yourself back together. “Relax.” You mutter when you’ve recollected your senses, rolling your eyes. “You’re not even coming with me.”
“As if I’d want to.” He responds immediately. “I don’t want to deal with your friends.”
“Hey!” You exclaim, pulling your browns together. “You like my friends.”
“When they’re sober and quiet.” He corrects.
You huff out a laugh, stepping further into the room, grabbing your purse from the table. “Liar.”
“I never lie.” Jaehyun responds, making his way over to the couch before dropping himself down next to Jungkook. You shake your head with a light scoff, barely listening anymore, because Jungkook’s gaze is fixed on you once again and you don’t know if you can continue holding up this stupid act of nonchalance if he doesn’t tear his eyes away from you soon enough.
“Text me when you get there.” Jaehyun reminds you for the third time today, and you nod along halfheartedly, checking your purse one last time for good measure.
“Yeah, okay. Promise.”
“You better.” He mutters.
You sling your bag over your shoulder, turning slightly just to sneak one last look at the man who’s managed to get your pussy tingling with so much as one look and two careless words. But when your gaze finds him and you realize he’s still looking at you, you think that maybe, he isn’t as untouchable as he makes it out to be.
He shifts under your presence, like your eyes weren’t something he expected to land a certain way yet did anyway, setting his drink down on the table as you move past him. The motion brings you close just enough, and his hand brushes against yours in passing. It’s light and fleeting, the kind of contact that normally would be dismissed in seconds. But you feel it all too clearly, so much that even after he pulls away, his fingertips linger on your skin in a way that burns until it leaves a permanent trace.
Because he doesn’t pull away immediately, not fast enough like he usually does. There’s a fraction of a second where his fingers stay there before he retracts like he remembered it a little too late.
And when you finally leave, Jungkook finds himself drowned inside the drunken haze of your sweet scent and the warmth of your presence– so strong that he physically feels the way it’s begging for him to follow.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
The place Jaemin picked is one of those upscale cocktail bars where the wine is just so mediocre you’re forced to order overpriced cocktails instead. The lighting is warm and dim, because it always is in places like this– casting everything in a golden glow so that the glint makes it easier to ignore what doesn’t quite live up to the price tag. It’s busy just the way you like, filled with enough people to feel alive without being crowded.
Jaemin is already there by the time you reach the table that's reserved for you, leaning back into his seat like the air around him bends so intently that the place belongs to him. His legs are spread just a little wider than what’s acceptable, and the drink in his hand swings lazily from side to side like it’s been there for long with the sole purpose of giving him something to fidget with.
He smirks immediately when you walk in. “There she is.” He sings, dragging his gaze over you before continuing. “You look…happy.” He says, cocking a brow like he’s questioning his own choice of words.
You slide into the seat across from him, setting your bag onto the one next to you. “When am I not happy?”
“This is like, when your hot friend from statistics called me cute, kind of happy.”
You scoff, reaching for the menu before letting your eyes scan through the list of beverages. “You threw a chair and got banned from the cafe you took her to.”
Jaemin rolls his eyes. “I moved a chair.”
“You threw it and it hit someone’s leg.”
He pauses. “Not the point.”
You giggle, placing the menu back onto the table. “Exactly the point, she got back together with her ex two days after your date.”
He watches you for a second, then shakes his head. “God, you’re exhausting.”
“And,” You start, dragging the word. “You still text me every day.”
“What can I say, you’re a part of my routine.” Jaemin winks at you before turning his head to call over a waiter. When he comes by, you order a cocktail too pink to be taken seriously, and Jaemin asks for a kind of whiskey you’re sure tastes even worse than its name. Because no one really enjoys whiskey, it’s just for show. A whole performance created by men trying to match up to their fragile egos. Not that you're saying Jaemin fits the profile.
He leans forward when the waiter walks away. “Alright.” He says. “What did you do?”
You tilt your head, pretending to think. “I didn’t exactly do something.”
He gives you an unimpressed look. “And you expect me to believe that?”
“Yes!” You exclaim. “I really didn’t do anything. He just…slipped.”
“Who?” He pulls his brows together. “Don’t tell me this is about Jungkook again.”
You lean back into your seat, unable to help the mischievous smile spreading across your face. Jaemin groans when it clicks, realizing exactly what you’re talking about. “No he didn’t.” He says matter of factly.
You met Jaemin your freshman year of high school, and you slipped in each other’s spaces so easily you don’t even remember how. Just that by the time it mattered, he was already there. In your messages at ungodly hours, in the best parts of your worst days, in the middle of things he had no reason to involve himself in but did anyway.
And at some point, without either of you really saying it out loud, you built something strong enough to stay and fight for.
So naturally, Jaemin knows Jungkook. How he moves, how he talks, how careful he is without making it obvious— only when it comes to you. He knows the version of him that exists around your brother; easy, controlled, and distant just enough to never cause any problems.
So when you say that Jungkook slipped, he knows exactly what you mean, even though he would never grant you the pleasure of being right. But most importantly, he knows that if you're bringing it up like this, something has actually shifted.
“He did.” You say without an ounce of hesitation. “He looked at me like he…forgot everything. Like there was a feeling he’d been suppressing and he forgot why for a second." You pause, sipping your drink. "And!" You exclaim like you forgot to add something so crucial. "His hand brushed mine and he didn't pull away." You argue.
Jaemin sinks deeper into his seat. “Can we please move on from that man? Jungkook doesn’t slip, that’s literally his thing. I can set you up with Mark, if you want. Saw his dick once in the lockers and let me tell you, he’s huge.”
Your lips pull into a pout. “I don’t want Mark, I want Jungkook.”
Jaemin exhales through his nose before taking a large gulp from his drink. “Let’s say you’re right, Jaehyun would fucking kill you.”
You shrug, mindlessly tracing your nail along the rim of your glass. “We’ll figure that out, I just wanna see how far it goes. What it takes for him to lose control."
“You’ve liked him way too long for this to end well.”
You scoff. “I do not like him.”
Jaemin deadpans. “You used to sit on the stairs just to watch him and your brother play video games.”
“That's because I wanted to hop on his bones.” You argue.
He lifts a brow accusingly. “When you were fifteen?”
You pause for a second, tongue poking the inside of your cheek as you watch over your friend. “Fuck you.” You mutter under your breath.
You breathe again before leaning forward slightly, lowering your voice just enough. “You’ve seen him, Jaemin. He’s always so– so put together. Like nothing touches and sticks to him enough.”
“Yeah.” Jaemin nods. “Because he’s not stupid.”
The corner of your mouth twitches. “And it’s my duty to fuck up his morals.”
He exhales sharply, shaking his head. “You’re gonna drag me into this, aren’t you?”
“You’re already in it." You smile at him innocently, bating your eyelashes. “You’re gonna sit next to me and look pretty."
“Wow, the way you love me.”
You wink at him, sipping your drink and letting the bitter taste of alcohol burn in your mouth. "Always."
“God,” He mutters. “You’re gonna fuck this up.”
Your lips twitch. “I’ll snap you a pic when he spreads his legs for me.”
“Please don’t.”
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
The opportunity presents itself on a silver platter.
You’d be stupid to not take it. Not when you’ve gotten him somewhere hot, wet and messy without even meaning to, as if the universe already knows exactly what you’re about to do with it.
You're stretched out on one of the chez-longs by the pool, body wrapped in the tiniest set of white bikinis in your wardrobe. That was definitely a lucky guess— a hot one to say the least. You're laying on your stomach with a book resting open in your hands with the sole purpose of being there, because you've read no more than two or five pages during the whole hour you spent here.
You had set the day aside and spared it for yourself— silenced your phone, shut everyone out, forced your mind into a kind of quiet that had no way out unless you tried hard enough. You had cleared everything until there was nothing to think about, nothing pulling at you from somewhere with something you didn't choose.
But it doesn't last.
The sliding door cuts through the quiet when you expect it the least, and when it opens, it brings Jaehyun with it. He walks in a way that's loud, careless, and already mid conversation with a couple of his friends trailing behind him.
And Jungkook too, of course.
You lower your book, push yourself onto your elbows, and then lift your sunglasses up into your hair. The exasperated breath you huff out goes unnoticed by both your brother, and his ridiculously loud friends as their voices swallow it up without wasting a second.
"Wow," You mutter, tilting your head to take a look at them. "Great."
Jaehyun spots you immediately. “Oh, you’re here.”
You scrunch your face a little, blinking up at him, shielding your face from the sun with a help of your hand even though it doesn't exactly work wonders. “I live here.”
“Right.” He says mindlessly. “Didn’t think you’d be outside.”
You scoff. “Clearly.”
After your exchange, Jaehyun walks over the lounge chairs across from you, tossing his towel onto one of them like there isn't enough for everyone and they're something to call dibs on. When in reality, they aren't. One of his friends, one you only vaguely recognize, blows out a low whistle as he walks by.
"Damn," He says, not even trying to be subtle about it. "Didn't know he had a sister like that."
Luckily, Jaehyun doesn't hear it, too busy arguing with Mingyu about sunscreen brands like either of them know what they're talking about.
But Jungkook does.
His head turns— maybe not immediately, maybe you're giving yourself too much credit and your imagination has started playing games on you— but you swear it does. His eyes narrow at his friend for a second too long before landing on you. And this time, you're sure there's something there. You're sure that if you were exaggerating and reading too much into every small detail last week, you aren't now.
His eyes linger on you as the oil you had put on catches the sunlight in a way that's impossible to ignore. The soft sheen traces every line and every curve of your body, shifting with movement until it reflects straight into his eyes.
Jungkook really doesn't mean to look. But the way the light hits your body— which he swears is literally the epitome of beauty— pulls in his attention without asking for permission. Suddenly, he's seeing too much and the tent in his shorts is growing and growing until the fabric tightens around his length and he can't bear doing nothing about it.
Though what really gets him isn't only how good you look— because that has always been a problem. It's how you exist in it so easily, so comfortable in the artwork dressed as your body. As his gaze dances over you, his head keeps spinning and spinning and suddenly, words he can never say out loud build at the tip of his tongue.
You're a fucking temptation.
You’re in the middle of flipping a page you haven’t been reading when his voice cuts in. “Didn’t know you’d be here.”
You glance up again. “And I didn’t know you were coming over.”
He shrugs. “Jaehyun asked.”
You nod slowly, pursing your lips. “I figured.”
There’s a beat filled with silence, one that stretches a little too long, one that leads you to realize he won’t be the first one to break it. So you turn over and sit up fully, setting your book aside. “Are you gonna get in or keep standing there?” You ask lightly.
But it takes him longer than a minute to hear the question. Because as you sit up and your front faces him, Jungkook feels the air knocking out of his lungs.
Your tits.
They sit so round and perky under the thin fabric of your bikini top. The white colour extenuates the soft swell of your boobs perfectly and Jungkook can't help but wonder what else would paint them white like this. As if things couldn't get worse for him, your tits bounce slightly when you move, and Jungkook fucking loses it.
He huffs a quiet breath in hopes of masking the ethical dilemma he's got going on inside. “Don’t really feel like it.”
You hum softly, dragging your gaze over him. “Well,” You start. “That’s too bad.”
His brows pull together. “Why?”
You give him a calculated smile, letting the moment sink in before answering. “You’d be fun to watch.”
You see the way your words land immediately– that almost-reaction he covers before it reaches too far. “Yeah?” He says, voice lower now, unable to help himself. “You watch everyone like that?”
You shrug. “Only the ones nice to look at.”
He huffs out a soft scoff under his breath before reaching for the hem of his shirt, then pulls it off in one swift motion. You try to keep your expression neutral. And you swear, you really do. But when he looks like that, it’s impossible.
Because Jungkook looks ridiculous like this, chest toned and bare and so fucking hot. He looks like someone who jumped out of your dirtiest fantasies and landed straight in your aching pussy. Your muscles grow sore despite having laid down all morning and you have to physically stop yourself from drooling and licking along the lines framing his abs.
At the end of the day, you're just a girl who knows what she likes. Sue you.
You exhale softly through your nose, shaking your head mindlessly like it doesn’t matter, like you don’t want to jump and bounce on him until his shape is permanently engraved in you. “Real subtle.”
He glances at you, cocking a brow. “You asked.”
You tilt your head. “I wouldn’t say asked is the correct word.”
“You’re welcome anyway.” He says, tossing his shirt beside you.
You laugh, pushing yourself up from the sunbed. “You’re so annoying.” So annoyingly hot.
When you’re finally standing, he’s so close you don’t hear whatever bullshit Jaehyun yells from the pool. Shut up, brother. Your girl is standing on business.
You step forward towards the edge of the pool when the lack of distance starts feeling like you want to drop down to your knees and take him into your mouth until he's whining and crying. Because it's one thing to be aware of his presence, but a whole another thing to feel the warmth of him sizzling through your bones.
You crouch down, dragging your hand along the water. "You getting in?" You ask, glancing up at him.
Jungkook lets out a breathy chuckle, gives you one final look, and before you know it, he's jumping straight into the pool. Water rises fast the moment his body drops in, splashing and hitting your skin in cool droplets.
Jungkook shakes his head, dragging a hand over his face. "Happy?" He asks, looking at you behind wet curls as he brushes them away from his face.
Oh the sight he is.
You tilt your head, looking down at him as you narrow your eyes teasingly. “A little.”
Before you can move, his hand catches your wrist and pulls you forward. You lose your balance and a sharp splash cuts through your body, skin burning with the unexpected hit. And suddenly, all you can feel is the cold chill of water rushing up your spine mixed with the warmth of his body.
Shit.
When you open your eyes, you realize you're fully pressed against him. Your arms instinctively wrap around his shoulders and your legs around his waist before you have the chance to realize what's happening.
For a second, it's like the earth stops rotating— like it forgets to revolve around the sun and time forgets to move along with it. The water ripples slowly until it calms down, the noise around you fading into something so distant and irrelevant. Because right now, all you can feel is him. The way his broad chest sits solid against your soft boobs and the warm touch of him on your skin that's suddenly everywhere.
Jungkook goes completely still the exact way you do, like he didn't expect this either yet can't bring himself to do anything rational about it. The rush keeps you away from registering his hold around your thighs until he shifts slightly, securing your place in his arms.
Your faces are so close that his breath is hitting your skin in that warm, intimate kind of way you don’t share with just anyone. But the intimacy slips over your head just like that and all you can focus on is the way his hardened length presses against you beneath the water.
“Fuck.” It slips under his breath, barely audible even for you considering the lack of distance between you and him. But of course, you hear it. You'd be a fool to miss a slip like that, because you'd notice that kind of desperation from a mile away
He pulls back abruptly, like the warmth becomes too much and suffocates him all at once, so much that he can't feel oxygen reaching his lungs anymore. Distance folds itself into something necessary for him to function properly again, and just like that, your arms slip away and your legs drop back into the water.
Then you give him a smile, teasing and knowing, like this was all you needed to have him all bare and figured out in the middle of your palm. "This is new." You murmur. "You're getting reckless."
His jaw tightens. “I’m not.”
“You just pulled me into the pool.” You say, crossing your arms over your chest.
“You were standing too close.”
You laugh softly. “That’s your excuse?”
“It’s the truth.”
You tilt your head to study him with a little more care. The way he's been holding onto the tension between you like his life depends on it just so that it doesn't crack, the way restraint sits so uncomfortably on his face even though he has no choice but to keep it together a little longer— it's all a bit more clear now.
"Right." You say lightly, then turn away like nothing about what just happened is worth digging further. But on the inside, you're already thinking about the phone call you'll have with Jaemin. Because you were right from the start, that wasn't nothing, not even close.
You just got what you wanted.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Jaehyun absolutely loves Jaemin. He just won't ever say it like that.
It shows in other ways— been there since the day you came home all giddy and giggly, talking too fast about the first ever friend you made in high school, barely able to get his name out properly out of excitement. Jaehyun remembers it anyway. He remembers the day you said Jaemin like it already meant something, like the way the letters rolled out of your tongue was enough to know he was going to stay.
He didn't question it then, he doesn't question it now.
So when Jaemin shows up unannounced at your door and lets himself in without asking, Jaehyun doesn't tell him to leave. He complains with a roll of his eyes, but offers him a can of beer anyway. Because accommodating an uninvited Jaemin has become a given way too long ago.
Jaemin exists in the space the same way Jungkook does, even though he slipped into it a few years later, like they both carved out a place for themselves in the dearest corners of your lives and never really left.
The difference is, Jaemin doesn't really have to keep his distance.
After inviting himself inside, he stretches across your couch, fetches the drink straight out of Jaehyun's hand before your brother gets to offer it properly, then reaches for you absentmindedly the way he always does.
Jaehyun notices it sometimes, just enough to be bothered by it. He isn't exactly a fan of seeing a man touch you like that, even if it's Jaemin. He rolls his eyes, tells him to stop being annoying, but Jaemin just nods along with that loose, careless grin; pulling you closer regardless.
You lean into him just enough to make things worse for your brother, your shoulder pressing into his chest as you reach past him for the small bowl of nuts Jaehyun was about to hand you, until Jaemin beats you to it.
"Can you not steal everything that's mine?" Jaehyun mutters. Already huffing, already annoyed.
Jaemin doesn't even look at him, stuffing his mouth with a handful of peanuts. "Relax. You were literally handing it out."
Jaehyun deadpans. "Well, not to you."
You laugh, grabbing a few of the almonds. "You're both insufferable."
"You're one to talk." Jaehyun shoots back immediately. "You encourage him."
"I don't encourage him." You argue, but the lack of distance between you and your friend is still questionable.
Jaemin glances down at you, eyes grazing over your bare legs draped across his lap before lifting a brow. "You definitely do."
You tilt your head, meeting his gaze with narrowed eyes. "You're very impressionable, that's not my fault."
"I'm not impressionable."
"You walked in uninvited and stole a drink in under thirty seconds."
"Eh," He squints his eyes, pretending to think. "You offered it though."
"So you wouldn't have gone ahead and taken one if he didn't?" You ask, cocking a brow.
Jaehyun points at him in victory, ecstatic at the newfound support from you. "Exactly."
Jaemin ignores him completely and turns to you, his arm still draped over your shoulders. "You weren't complaining five minutes ago."
"Suddenly I'm feeling a little wiser."
Jaemin rolls his eyes. "No, you're not."
You pause mid sip like you're considering putting up a fight, but you change your mind as you gulp down the drink, dropping your shoulders. "Fine, I'm not."
Jaehyun exhales sharply, dragging a hand along his face like he's already exhausted. "See, this is exactly what I mean. You two are unbearable together."
"You're the one who keeps letting him in." You say lightly.
"I don't let him in." He argues. "He just shows up."
"You'd shut the door in my face if you wanted to." Jaemin says.
"You'd climb in through the window."
Jaemin nods with a serious look on his face, like what he's agreeing to is a reasonable solution. "Yeah, I would."
You're still laughing when the bell rings, and Jaehyun mutters a quiet finally under his breath as he pushes himself up from the couch. Jungkook and Mingyu walk in one behind the other, Jaehyun holding the door open by the corner.
"Took you long enough." He complains, unimpressed.
Mingyu scoffs lightly. "We're not late."
"You always are. I'm the only one with a sense of urgency here."
Mingyu doesn't argue further, he heads straight for the kitchen instead. As he's busy opening and closing cabinets one by one like he owns like place, Jungkook lingers a little longer at the entrance before following Jaehyun inside.
He looks good, he looks so fucking good it takes everything in you to not spread your legs right then and there. So you lean more into Jaemin, letting your skirt ride up with the movement. Because you'll get this man in your bed one way or the other and right now, there's nothing you can do besides rile him up a little and pray your brother doesn't notice.
He does.
Jaehyun's eyes flick between the two of you before he looks away again, jaw clenching just slightly. "Can you sit normally for once?"
But you don't move. You can't move when Jungkook's already looking at you like he's trying so hard not to slip. Not again. "Are we not sitting normally?" You ask, glancing down at yourself, pretending to be confused.
"No." He says flatly.
Jaemin shifts just enough to make it worse, his arm tightening around you even though it's completely unnecessary. "Feels pretty normal to me."
"That's because you're the problem."
You hum softly, clearly entertained now. "I think you're overreacting."
Jaemin nudges you with his elbow. "He's jealous."
"I'm not jealous of you."
"Wow." Jaemin says as he brings a hand to his chest, pretending to be offended. "That hurt."
Mingyu laughs from the kitchen, leaning against the counter with his drink in hand. "He's definitely jealous."
“I’m not jealous.” Jaehyun repeats, louder this time.
Mingyu shrugs as he drops onto the singular couch beside him. “Sounds like it.”
You laugh again, and it still sounds light and careless. But it doesn't really feel like it. Not when you can feel Jungkook's eyes digging holes into your exposed skin, like he's trying to do with his eyes what he can't with anything else. Because neither one of his fists have the privilege of breaking Jaemin's jaw right now.
He's not even trying to hide it now. Maybe because something bigger already slipped last week and there is no point in trying to recollect it back together, or maybe because Jaehyun has fallen into another pointless argument with Mingyu and a small glace or two won't hurt anybody. Doesn't really matter when he keeps giving you exactly what you're looking for.
Regardless, you're adamant on not giving in. You're a girl on a mission and you're going to compromise it for nothing.
So you shift closer, letting your hand slide further along Jaemin's arm before curling your fingers around his bicep like there's no other place you'd rather it be. Like this is nothing new, nothing worth paying attention to.
But it is.
Jungkook's eyes drop down to your legs— bare and unapologetic on Jaemin's lap. He lets them linger on the poor excuse of a skirt that's sitting uselessly on your hips, and then trails lines along your exposed legs all the way to the tip of your feet.
You don't have to look up to know he's watching, but you do anyway, just to see the way he's starting to break. Because this time, there's nothing careful about the way he's looking at you. The control is still there, but he's holding onto it for his dear life— barely.
The conversation around you keeps moving in a way that's constant and habitual— Jaehyun complaining, Mingyu laughing, Jaemin saying something in your ear you don't fully catch…Everything is safe and practiced.
Besides him.
Jeon Jungkook is not safe. God, he’s terrifying. Terrifyingly sexy and thoroughly unsafe.
You reach for your drink, take a slow sip, then set it back down like you've suddenly lost all interest and nothing is as entertaining anymore. "I'll be back." You say, pushing yourself up from the couch before anyone can question you about it.
"Don't disappear." Jaehyun mutters mid-conversation, barely glancing at you.
You hum something about him asking too for many things at once before turning away, making your way out of the living room fast so that no one has the chance to hold you there longer.
You take your sweet time walking down the hallway, hips swaying from side to side just in case a certain someone decides to follow behind. But you know he will, so you don't look back. Luckily, life smiles at you for another day and the sound of a second set of footsteps reaches you in no time.
The corner of your mouth lifts in satisfaction as you reach the bathroom door, letting your hand linger on the handle for half a second too long before pushing it open, like you're giving him time to catch up.
You don't bother closing the door, leaving it open as Jungkook steps in a beat or two after you, not forgetting to lock it after him.
"Stop it." He mutters finally, voice low and rough like he doesn't fully trust it to come out louder without giving something away.
Too bad he already has.
You tilt your head, looking up at him like you don't quite understand what he's talking about, lashes fluttering innocently even though you're far from it. "Stop what?"
When your gazes meet, it's like his eyes are whispering to you, telling you to come closer and let yourself melt into his touch until your breath is completely blown away. But instead of doing anything about it, instead of tugging you closer into him and ending this stupid game that has left both of you aching and soaring; he drags a hand down his face and does everything in his power to pull himself back into the control he had once mastered.
"You know what." He says, exhaling sharply through his nose.
You take a step closer, fed up with the distance he's forced you into. "I wanna hear you say it."
His jaw tightens as he looks at you, trying to figure out how far you're willing to take it. "You've been pushing this all night."
"Well then, let me remind you." You murmur, stepping even closer, until there's barely any space left between the two of you. "You followed me." You say, placing your index finger on his chest.
Your words land a certain way, you watch his reaction all the way through its birth and death. In the way his breath stutters audibly, in the way his eyes flick briefly down to your lips, in the way something between light and lust flashes across his features before he can lock it back down again.
He scoffs as his eyes drift away from yours. "You're out of your mind."
You shrug mindlessly, like nothing about this is as serious as he makes it out to be. "I've been told once. Or twice." You give him a smile, light and flirty.
He drops down his hand, then snaps his head towards you like he suddenly remembered something. "Do you think this is funny?" He asks,
You let your gaze drag over him slowly, completely unapologetic, taking your time with it before meeting his eyes.
"I think it's hot."
And you're met with silence. Oh, Jeon Jungkook, the fucking pussy you are.
That does it, you see it the second it lands, the second that suppressed urge in him slips past the point of recovery. It's still there— but thinner, frying, barely holding on. Like it's waiting for someone to cross the line first and it sure as hell won't be him.
So you do.
You close the space completely this time, your hand finding him again until it settles on his shirt and fists the fabric enough to pull him in. You're not testing the waters, not anymore. Everything is visible no matter how hard he's trying to pull it through and you're not going to let him slip past your fingertips when you've gotten him like this.
Jungkook inhales sharply, quick and uneven, like air catches in the middle of his chest before he can do anything about it. His hand moves instinctively, and just as you think he's going to push your hand away, he settles his hold on your waist.
He calls your name, voice dropping in a way that's raw and desperate. His body goes rigid as his brain tries being reasonable one last time, but he fails terribly, miserably.
Your hands trail along his chest, traveling down until you decide to let them settle on his waist. Your hands don't rush him, they move like you've already decided how this ends on his part. Your fingers slip just past the waistband of his jeans, but still not fully, tugging with his belt.
"Fuck." He mutters under his breath as your hips hit his roughly, head falling back beyond his control.
Jungkook just stands there and takes it, lets it happen, lets you happen.
That's what gives him away. He doesn't grab your wrists, doesn't step back, doesn't do anything he should be doing. So with the newfound confidence, you sink down to your knees, slow enough that each passing second aches and tortures and stings his skin until it burns and leaves your trace.
He freezes.
His body hasn't caught up to what's happening yet, even though you're taking your sweet time to make sure every second of your touch registers to the point where it's lingering and all he sees and feels is you when he closes his eyes.
No matter how bad you're trying to let him keep up, he feels as though his brain has stopped working long ago and parked itself outside of the constellation named his fucking morals.
"You still there, Jungkook?" You ask looking up at him, voice low and sultry, bating your eyelashes with feigned innocence. As if you aren't his best friend's little sister who's about to suck the life out of him.
He's barely able to get out a reply and you're already pulling his jeans down. You fiddle with the waistband of his boxers, then move along to palm him over the fabric. Jungkook sucks in a sharp breath, hands finding their way to your hair like he's trying to ground himself.
You give a squeeze to his base, hard and thick just like you expected. You're sure whatever he's hiding inside is even better than your imagination, but there's still a minute or two before you can figure that out.
"Ah, fuck, yes—" Jungkook breathes, almost stuttering, completely lost in a daze. "Keep going." He says as his hold tightens in your hair, locks tangling between his fingertips as he tries steadying himself. You slowly drag your hand over to his tip, flicking your index finger somewhere over his slit before moving it back down. You're about to pull down his boxers and then—
A knock.
Jaehyun calls out your name from the other side of the door, and the sound reaches your ears in an instant, forcing you out of whatever fantasy you've lost yourselves in. It's so sudden that Jungkook jerks, his hold on you slipping away as panic flashes across his features. But you? You don't even move.
"Give me a second!" You call back with a voice so impressively steady even Jungkook believes you're alone for a second.
Jungkook exhales like he's just been dropped back into a body he hasn't been in for years, fists closing and opening by his sides like he doesn't know what to do with his hands anymore. But what gets him— what gets him the most is how calm and unbothered you look, like you didn't just bury his body and bring it back to life in under a minute.
Jaehyun calls your name again. "Be quick, seriously."
But you're still not rushing, still not scrambling. Hell, you're not even shifting the way anyone else would in this situation— enter Jungkook. You just tilt your head slightly as you slowly rise back up to your feel, like you're mildly inconvenienced at best.
"I said give me a second!" You reply, and Jungkook watches over you like you're insane. Because you don't look panicked, you don't look caught, you don't look half he's feeling right now.
You look…fine.
He doesn't like that.
Right when Jungkook was considering running the bath and drowning himself in boiling water, another door opens.
"You can use this one." Jaemin says casually, thoroughly aware of whatever stunt you're pulling unlike your brother. Jaehyun mutters something under his breath, a few curse words and complaints about how annoying you are, but he's already moving.
It's silent again when the door locks shut, and Jungkook exhales like he has been holding the entire universe in his lungs. "Jesus—" He runs a hand down his face, shaking his head like he's trying to rid himself of everything but it doesn't work. "What the fuck was that?"
You melt into every second in a whole minute, smoothing your skirt down, fixing your lipstick, running a hand along your hair like those are the only things that need a fixing and nothing about this requires any urgency.
You look at him, completely calm. "What?" You ask lightly, not even making an effort to look at him, glancing at his face from its reflection through the mirror.
His jaw tightens. "You have no idea what game you're playing and it's a problem."
You finally turn to look at him, then glance down to his crotch before lifting your eyes back up, the corners of your mouth lifting. "I think you've got a bigger problem going on." You say, then walk through the door just like that.
Just like that.
Jungkook is losing his fucking mind.
He hates you, he hates you so goddamn much right now. He hated you that day by the pool when you were in that stupid little bikini, hated you when you had your perfect legs over some boy's lap— God, he really is just some boy. What the fuck is a Jaemin? He swears he's so much hotter and bigger and sexier but he can't even try and make himself feel better now that his pants are tightening and his cock is aching.
He knows he's got a bigger problem going on, he didn't need you to say it, he doesn't want to hear you say anything at this point. Because it seems as though he has the self restraint of a fucking rabbit and his dick gets hard with so much as your breathing.
Jungkook is the boy here. He knows he is. There is nothing left for him to do besides hoping you don't. But god, he's desperate. He can't help but think about the what ifs. What if Jaehyun didn't knock, what if you actually pulled down his boxers and took him in your sweet little mouth. He'd give anything right now. Anything to see your mouth full with his cock, stuffed to the brim. He'd do anything for you to fold beneath him and do as he says, he'd bend you over this stupid counter and take you right fucking here. He'd fuck you so good you'd never be able to walk properly again. He'd put you in your place and shut that sweet mouth of yours forever.
But he can't. He knows he can't. So he does the second most stupid he can do today— the first being letting you take him in your mouth. He pulls his jeans back down after making sure the door is locked again, then frees his cock out of the fabric that has been suffocating him since the moment he laid his eyes on you today.
He starts stroking himself after spreading the precum over his tip, then lets his hand run down his aching length. He's so horny it's stupid. He can't believe a girl he has known since he was nine has gotten his dick rock hard with so much as a few reckless words and light, taunting touches. But who the fuck is he kidding? This isn't the first time he's thought about you like this, not the first time he's caught himself a way the shouldn't have.
He's just been better at hiding it before.
He had always been the version of himself that knows where the line is and doesn't even think about crossing it. Because for the longest time, you had a single purpose, a single title in his life— Jaehyun's little sister. A kid who used to hover around the edges of everything she had no part in, who'd sit too close and talk too much even when she didn't have to. There was never a reason to think about it longer than necessary.
Until you made it impossible to ignore.
It didn't happen all at once, not in a way he could point to and say this is where it changed. It just…happened. You stopped asking to be included, stopped looking at him like he was someone above and untouchable. You built your own life, your own circle, yourself.
And somewhere in the middle of all of that, he started noticing things. The way you carried yourself differently, the way your voice grew into something low and sultry, the way you started looking at people with eyes that knew exactly what you were doing, thoroughly aware of the effect you had.
So as he keeps dragging a hand along his length, he thinks about every time you'd bent over in front of him with a skirt way too short to be acceptable, every time you'd given him those eyes while asking for things as simple as a glass of water, every time you'd call a man late at night thinking your voice couldn't be heard when he'd lose hours of sleep over it— he thinks about it all.
He cums with a breathy trail of moans and your name on his tongue, body shaking with the intensity of his orgasm. And as he struggles to find the line between his imagination and the reality, he realizes that the worst part about what he has done today isn't Jaehyun or the post nut clarity.
It's that he wants more.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
The club is brazen without trying to be subtle about it. It's the kind of atmosphere that doesn't prepare you for the worst before settling deep into your skin, right in the middle of something you can't erase no matter how hard you try scrubbing it off, because the agitation is just that heavy. The lights hang low, glowing in a distant hue that's maybe a little too deliberate for a club like this. The air is thick and full without being suffocating, but it's lived in. Like it's been used over and over again and simply refuses to empty out, carrying the remnants of conversations, the cluttered echo of laughter, and things that are said too loud yet meant too lightly.
You're not sure if it was the best pick for a birthday night out, but who are you to say anything— you wouldn't be here without Jaehyun anyway. Not that you want to leave, but the party doesn't matter all that much either. Although you do like Haneul— one of Jaehyun's college friends who also became yours overtime— she's sweet in a way that's safe and makes it easy to forget she's the center of attention tonight.
The music is starting to feel too loud and it feels as if the club is getting smaller and smaller as time goes on, but it's still a little early to leave, at least by yourself. Because leaving alone would mean you aren't enjoying yourself and staying long enough keeps everything in place, keeps you exactly where you need to be without drawing attention to the fact that your mind has been completely elsewhere for the entirety of the night.
Jungkook has been avoiding you. Definitely, irreproachably, unmistakeably.
You've been in this club for three hours now, with your body pressed against the crowd in a way that doesn't allow distance to exist, caught between people who move like proximity is a choice rather than an inconvenience, and still— Jungkook hasn't looked at you properly. Not even once.
Jaehyun finds you sometime around the final minutes of your fourth hour here, fully drunk now as if he hasn't been halfway gone for the majority of his time here. His words are looser, his voice is louder, and his arm is slinging around your shoulder like everything about his balance depends on you.
"There you are." He sings, stretching the words sloppily. "I'm done."
You laugh, head tipping back in his arms. "You've been done for like, what? An hour now?" You tell him, steadying the drink in his hand before it spills.
"I mean it this time." He leans into you, then immediately leans away like something far more interesting suddenly caught his attention. "I'm leaving— or, no. I'm staying. I don't know."
"That sounds about right."
He exhales dramatically, then glances over your shoulder until he spots what he was looking for. "Jungkook!" He shouts over the music.
Jungkook turns his head slightly before fully facing your brother, then moves towards you like rejecting was never really an option.
"Can you take her home?" Jaehyun asks, placing a hand on the small of your back. But it doesn't sound like a question, it sounds like a decision that's already been made before it even reached Jungkook.
"You are." Jaehyun cuts him off, waving it away like the argument doesn't exist, doesn't matter. "I'll stay a bit longer, or all night, just— make sure she gets home safe, please."
Your eyes wander away to Jungkook, because watching him is far more interesting than dealing with your drunk brother. There's a pause before he exhales through his nose, a beat that's enough to feel like he's weighing something in his head, like there is a version of this he so badly wants to refuse but knows he can't— knows he won't.
"Fine." He says finally, not exactly willing.
Jaehyun grins, satisfied with the outcome even though he won't remember achieving it by the time he wakes up. He disappears into the crowd after patting Jungkook on the shoulder, leaving the two of you standing in a space that suddenly feels quiet despite being the complete opposite.
Jungkook walks alongside you in silence as you make your way out of the club, his pace controlled and calculated like that's the only thing he's concentrating on right now. The music gets swallowed up by a wave of soft wind and the distant hum of the city when you step outside, fading slowly as you get further and further away from the club.
You glance at him as you walk, trailing your eyes along the sharp line of his jaw beneath the warm glow of the streetlights. He's dressed too nicely for the bike waiting at the curb, painted in dark clothes and silver rings along with the kind of face that makes people stop and turn their heads twice without even realizing they're doing it. For a short second, you wonder if he knows how unfair he looks tonight. But jokes on you, he probably does.
Because Jeon Jungkook is one cocky bastard, even though he doesn't show it a lot.
"You could've said no, you know." You say lightly when you reach the bike. "If it's impossible for you to be alone with me without glaring like you want me dead."
Jungkook exhales through his nose, pulling the spare helmet from the handle and holding it out to you before responding eventually. "I would've said no if i wanted to."
You look down to the helmet, crossing your arms on your chest."You can act a little less miserable, then."
His jaw tightens slightly at that, like he's annoyed with both you and himself. "Put the helmet on." He says, ignoring your claim.
You roll your eyes, but take it from him anyway, not forgetting to let your fingers brush against his on purpose. He shifts under your touch, shoulders tensing beneath his jacket. You're sure he notices the way you're doing it on purpose too, but prefers not to comment on it. Not yet, at least.
"You're quiet tonight." You say, slipping the helmet on.
"You talk enough for the both of us."
"That's not true. You talk plenty when you're…engaged." You say slowly, dragging your gaze over him before settling them back on his face. Jungkook looks at you properly for the first time tonight, and he makes sure to look at you with purpose. Enough to let you know he's still thinking about it too.
The bathroom, everything you did that day, everything he did after you left. Not a single second of it has left his mind ever since.
"Get on the bike." He says, tongue poking the inside of cheek before he speaks.
You do, but you do it so slowly Jungkook thinks he wants to dig his grave right then and there. You place your hands on his shoulders before sliding them over his chest as you move behind him, taking your time in a way that feels cruel. By the time you finally sit, there's barely any space between your bodes. Your knees press against his thighs, your arms wrap around his waist, and your chest leans onto his back.
"You know," You murmur near his ear, and it takes so much in him to not go still at the lingering heat of your breath. "For someone who keeps telling me to stop, you never actually do anything."
His grip tightens around the handles. "You don't listen."
"Maybe i'd listen if you were better at hiding how much you like it."
You feel how his body stiffens immediately as he inhales sharply before starting the engine. "Hold properly." He says, completely dismissing your words.
When the bike finally pulls away from the curb, you settle against him even closer than before, letting your body melt into the warmth of his. You smile to yourself beneath the helmet, because this time, you know exactly how tonight is going to end.
Your hands wander all over him throughout the entirety of the ride, tracing lines starting from his chest all the way down to his thighs. Jungkook has no idea how the hell he's survived when he rolls the bike into your garage, but he definitely knows the tension between you has turned into something so physical he feels like he's going to burst.
Neither of you can move when the engine cuts off, because the air is still vibrating from the ride. Because your body stayed pressed against his the entire way home like you were trying to test how much restraint one could realistically have before it gave out completely.
And judging by how Jungkook is handling it all— not much.
"You should go inside." He says eventually, back still turned to you.
You slowly let go of his waist, leaning back slightly as you take off your helmet. "I don't really want to."
Jungkook lets out a breath through his nose, then hops off the bike as he takes the helmet from your hand and places it back on the handle alongside his own. When he's back on the bike, he's facing you, legs placed on both sides of the vehicle.
He calls your name, but it sounds completely ruined in his mouth now, rough and raw around the edges by weeks of restraint and the complete lack of it sitting underneath. He shakes his head in frustration, dragging a hand along his face.
"Look, you— this, whatever you've been trying to do all night. No, scratch that, you've been doing this for weeks now. It's not going to happen, it can't happen."
"You wanna know what i think?" You ask instead, tilting your head.
"No."
"I think you liked avoiding me."
Jungkook's eyes darken at your words, sharp enough to slice through your skin that's ravaged with desire. And as the dawn slowly breaks, you see the walls crumbling down beneath his feverish, agitated gaze. Because you've already stripped him out of his armor and he hates how naked and vulnerable he might look to your eyes.
"You liked it because it gave you an excuse to think about me all the time." Your voice softens slightly, just enough to feel intimate. "Every room i walked into, every conversation you avoided, every time you looked away before i caught you. You liked it because that was the only way to fill your mind with me without feeling guilty."
Jungkook laughs quietly, but there's nothing amused about it. The sound comes out frayed, disbelieving, like he's hearing his own thoughts being spoken back to him in your voice and hates how accurate they sound.
"You think this is easy for me?" He asks, and the shift in his tone catches you off-guard. It's not softer, not gentler either— but it's honest. Raw in a way that sits somewhere so deep in his chest, so much more than he has been willing to show until now. "You think i enjoy walking into a room and having to pretend i'm not thinking about you?"
At his confession, your breath stutters without waiting for permission. Because suddenly, every letter rolling out of his tongue feels heavy. Because this is the first time he's admitting it out loud, even if it sounds like it's being dragged out against his will.
His eyes dip briefly to your lips before lifting again, but it's slow, as if the movement costs him something he can't pay for. "You keep looking at me like that." He mutters, so low that you think it's not meant for you.
"Like what?" You ask, looking up at him through your lashes.
"Like you already know i'm gonna give in."
You tilt your head slightly, pushing yourself further into his embrace. "Are you?" You ask, voice laced with a honeyed amusement.
He exhales sharply with closed eyes, and for a second, you think he's actually going to walk away. You see the glimpses of conflict flash across his features, shoulders tensing like he's forcing himself to hold onto the last scraps of control he has left.
But then his hands find your waist, firm and certain in a way that makes you believe he won't let go this time. Whatever was left of Jungkook's self-control gives in completely, and his lips are on yours in an instant.
A mix of gasps and moans falls from your lips, and he swallows them without wasting a second. Your fists find his jacket, tugging onto the fabric as you close the remaining bits and pieces of distance between your bodies.
His hands drop drown to your hips, moving them to the rhythm of your lips until you're fully on his lap. His thumb pulls at your bottom lip, searching for permission to be let in even further into your mouth. You grant him the access immediately, his tongue clashing against yours in a way that's hot, wet, and so fucking desperate.
You draw circles with your hips on his lap, his already hardened length pressing into your clothed core. The friction feels so good it blows your breath away, and your stomach flutters every time his skin touches yours in a way that's rather vulnerable and intimate instead of sole lust.
Jungkook feels his cock pulsing beneath the fabric of his jeans, and he swears he's going to cum on the spot if you keep moving your hips like that. Your wetness leaves filthy stains on the course denim, marking him with your arousal.
"This dress," He breathes into your mouth, voice laced with fever as he tugs onto the thin fabric. "You wore it for me?"
You smirk into the kiss, not forgetting to continue moving your hips. "Wouldn't you like to know." You sing softly.
He scoffs, hand sliding in through your dress to settle on your bare ass, giving it a hard squeeze, fingers digging into the soft flesh. "Oh, i already do."
The moment a soft trace of streetlights spread inside from the corner and chase away the darkness, Jungkook knows it's his cue to pull away. A final opportunity to let him fix everything he has broken and lost himself inside, a weak excuse to allow him wake up to a brighter morning without the weight of betrayal and regret and burnt desire he hates himself for not being able to keep hidden.
But he doesn't, he's so lost in the drug called you and as your body searches his further and further, there's almost nothing left in him that's holding him back from being gone completely.
Your movements on his lap grow into something more and more desperate, pussy aching with need as his hands wander all around your body, feeling you up beneath your dress. He lifts the skirt over your hips, exposing it to the cool air of the garage and your breath hitches at the feeling of being so bare all of a sudden.
"Shit— stop, stop." He nearly begs, pulling his lips away from yours. You look back at him, momentarily thrown. Because what does he mean stop? He can't, not right now, not when he's got you all hot and bothered on his lap.
"What's wrong?" You ask softly, brows pulling together.
"I'm— I'll cum if you keep doing that. Wanna be inside you."
The words mean so much more to you than just lust. Because this isn't only want, not at all. It's ravishment, the breakage of suppression that has been dressed up as a boundary for way too long. Jungkook has spent weeks— no, scratch that. He has spent years holding himself together so tightly you almost started believing he was actually capable of resisting you.
But now, he's sitting beneath you, looking completely unraveled by your body against his. Nothing more, nothing less.
You did that. The thought alone makes you dizzy.
You take a moment to let your gaze drift over his face; taking in the spent rise and fall of his chest, his red lips that are swollen from kissing you, the frustration and desperation tangled together beneath his darkened gaze…He looks wrecked in a way that doesn't suit him at all. Because Jeon Jungkook has always been a man of precision and there isn't a single ounce left of it in his being tonight.
He was always guarded in a way that kept every ugly thought locked somewhere private, somewhere no one else could reach, could touch. And now, Jeon Jungkook is falling apart right in front of you— because of you.
"Yeah? You want to fuck me, Jungkook?" You ask slowly, voice low and sultry as your nails trail lines along his inner thighs.
Jungkook lets out a low groan before speaking. "Come here." He says, pulling you back onto him. You laugh with the movement as your hands work on the zipper of his jeans, and he lifts his hips enough to assist you pull them off just enough.
Once his boxers are pulled down and his cock is all bare and exposed for you to see, you can't help but let your lips part in shock. You feel yourself nearly drooling over his size because fuck, he's huge.
You shouldn't be shocked, you've already felt him up and you expected nothing less. But seeing it like this, thick and long and leaking for you— you think you're going to pass away.
"See something you like, baby?" He smirks, all cocky and confident.
"That's not going to fit." You reply immediately, gaze flicking up and down consecutively.
"We'll make it fit." He says, eyes stuck on yours as he gives himself a few strokes. "And you're going to take every inch like the good girl you are."
You just stare at him, utterly in shock, almost scared. Because what the actual fuck is he talking about? You've never taking anything this big, and you're not sure if anyone ever has either.
"You were begging for me to fuck you. Weren't you, princess? Were so desperate for my cock and now what? Cat's got your tongue?" He says, a loose grin on his face as his thumb swipes over the head and spreads the precum.
"I'll take it." You say obediently.
"Yeah?" He breathes, lifting your hips so that your entrance is lining up with his cock.
"I'll take all of it. Need your big cock so bad. Fuck me, Jungkook. Please, need it." You beg, trying to push yourself down to take him into your cunt but he tightens his hands around your hips to hold you in place.
He guides your hips down slowly, letting you feel every line and every vein that's painting his pretty length. You whine at the stretch, but there's still half of him you haven't taken yet.
"Fuck," He groans, letting his eyes close and his head fall back as you sink down further. "You're so tight."
You both moan loudly as he presses your hips down fully, your wet cunt swallowing him wholly. He watches as his cock disappears between your folds, so wet and creamy with your slick that's already obnoxiously overflowing. Once all of him is inside you, you let out a high pitched whimper, feeling the way your walls burn with how good he's stretching you, because he's just that big. So fucking massive it's insane. And you swear you've never felt this full in your entire life.
"Holy shit." You gasp when he lifts his hips to meet you halfway, balls hitting your ass with the movement.
"How does it feel, princess? Anything like you imagined?" He asks, thrusting up into you as he guides your hips down, hands squeezing the flesh of your plump ass. "Use your big girl words, i know you can."
"So good, Jungkook. I'm so full, you're so— so big." You cry out, nails digging into his shoulders.
He pushes down the top of your dress, exposing the lace fabric of your red bra. He pulls it down just enough to bare your boobs, breath hitching the moment they bounce free right in front of his eyes.
Jungkook sucks in a sharp breath the moment you find your pace, your tits bouncing up and down as you hop on his cock, riding him to chase your own high. One of his hands lift to massage your tit as the other keeps digging into the flesh of your ass. You whimper when he takes your hardened nipple into his mouth, bouncing on his cock in a pace that slowly grows into something sloppier as the hot feeling of your orgasm starts building low in your stomach.
"Kook, i'm cumming. Shit."
"Yeah? Let it go, baby. Cream all over my fat cock."
His words do it for you, and you fall apart on his cock after a few more thrusts. Your legs start shaking and you bury your head in his neck for support, panting into his skin.
"You okay?" He asks, head tilted as he tries looking at your profile.
"Yeah…just," You breathe, straightening your posture to pull away and take a proper look at him. "Wanna make you feel good."
Jungkook groans loudly, letting his head fall back at your words. Because how can he act normal, how can he hold it together when your mouth keeps reciting filthy words so casually like you're talking about the weather?
He can't believe this, he still can't believe he's just fucked you on his stupid bike. Because this is you. Jaehyun's little sister. The girl he spent years forcing himself not to look at for to long. And now, he's got you all naked and completely spent on his lap, touching him like the yellow light that's filling up the void of control he'd built for himself, warming him up so intimately without even realizing you're doing so.
He's a goner. He's so irreversibly fucked and completely gone.
But what worsens it for him is, that you don't look too different from the state he's in. You've fallen apart right in front of his eyes, skin flushed, sounds breathless, movements desperate. They tell him you're just as gone as he is. There is something so dizzying about it, about seeing the exact effect he has on you after weeks of wondering whether he imagined it all or not.
He didn't.
Thank god, he didn't.
As his eyes wander all over you, desire burning through him so intensely it almost feels violent, he thinks about the one thing he has been dying to ask you.
Because if he doesn't ask now, when will he ever?
"Can i—" Jungkook cuts himself off with a quiet curse, dragging a hand down his face before looking back at you. "Fuck, can i fuck your tits?"
The corner of your mouth twitches upwards immediately, amusement curling through your face despite how breathless he left you just minutes ago. The overhead light catches against the flush spreading across your skin, showing off the mess he's made of you.
Your fingertips move onto the hem of your dress, pausing there long enough for anticipation to sizzle in his lungs before you slowly pull the fabric upwards.
Jungkook watches every movement, so so carefully. Like he's afraid that if he blinks, he'll miss something. And when your dress is completely off, he thinks that he might actually die right then and there.
The breath that leaves him when you unclasp your bra and let it fall down to the ground is sharp. His gaze drags over you with a kind of raw hunger he stopped trying to hide a long time ago tonight. There is nothing composed about him now, nothing careful. Just pure, unadulterated want.
"Jesus Christ." He mutters under his breath, hands flexing at his sides like he doesn't know what to do with them.
You tilt your head slightly, watching him through your lashes, a small and seductive smile playing on your lips. "You look overwhelmed."
"You think?" He argues, a rough laugh slipping out of his lips. "Press'em together for me, baby." He says, hands braced behind him as he leans into the handlebars.
You press your tits together, then lean forward onto him to take his cock between the soft flesh of your boobs. Jungkook's eyes flutter shut in an instant, a low groan escaping his lips as you start moving your chest up and down. His dick is already so wet, sliding between your boobs seamlessly.
"Love your tits, princess. Gonna paint them with my seed." He moans, long gone in the bliss. Jungkook's hips jerk beyond his control, and he starts fucking your tits as you move along with his pace.
He cums all over your chest not long after with low grunts of curses and your name on his tongue.
The garage still feels warm, still thick with tension and the aftermath of everything that just happened, everything that was boundto happen for weeks. But there isn't an edge to it anymore. Because Jungkook isn't looking at you the way he was just a few hours ago. Because now, there's no frustration behind his gaze. Instead, he looks wrecked.
He leans back against the handlebars as he tries catching his breath, one hand still on your thigh. You sit sideways across his lap, completely naked, hair messy, lips swollen.
Your fingers drift absentmindedly along the collar of his shirt as he tries catching his breath, smoothing the fabric. "You know," You murmur, eyes dancing over him. "You're a lot softer than i thought you'd be."
Jungkook laughs lightly. "You literally spent weeks trying to ruin my life."
"Mhm." You tilt your head, pretending to think. "You survived tho."
He snorts, thumb drawing circles on your thigh. "Barely."
You smile, then lean into his chest when his hand slides higher along your waist without really thinking, skin calloused and a little rough on your soft skin. But for some reason, it comforts you in a way nothing ever has.
Because for a second, it doesn't feel complicated at all. It doesn't feel like boundaries or guilt or Jaehyun or years of years of knowing each other but never doing anything about it. It just feels like Jungkook's hands on your body and the quiet look in his eyes that says he's still trying to process how badly he wanted this.
How badly he still wants it.
"I really tried not to." He says suddenly.
You look at him, brows pulling together faintly as you try to figure out what he's going to say. "Tried not to what?"
His eyes flick down to your lips before lifting again. "Want you."
Your stomach flips when he says that. Because they sound real. There is no teasing in them. No temptation, no flirtation. Just raw, unadulterated truth.
You lift your head to look at him properly, suddenly a little too aware of how close the two of you still are. How his hand hasn't moved from your waist, how your legs are still tangled with his on the bike like neither of you has figured out how to leave.
"You sucked at it." You say softly.
That earns you a real laugh this time. It's quiet and tired, yet warm around the edges in a way you've never heard him before. Even if you have, it was never for you. But now it feels so intimate that every breath he takes, every word he says, every single thing he does is in honour to you.
"Yeah, i know." And for one dangerous moment, everything feels easy.
Then the front door slams open upstairs.
"I'm home!" Jaehyun's voice echoes through the house; loud, drunk and completely unaware. "Why the fuck is the garage light on?"
Heeseung as a tired boyfriend is upsetting you more than you realise.
Heeseung x gf!reader — angstish with a lot of comfort because we need it
I got inspired from that one Spotify interview where they played desire or deny and when they were asked about ‘a stroll under the full moon’ Heeseung answered with deny, saying “girls… I gotta go to sleep.” He was so cheeky and cute 😆
Only his soft snores alongside the noise from the movie you had been watching together filled the room.
You slightly lifted your head from his chest, careful not to startle him. His hand which was previously buried in your hair and massaged your head had slipped off. “Baby?” You called out for him softly.
His snores continued, chest rising and falling in a rhythmic pattern under your hand. Leaning forward, you placed a soft kiss on his jaw. No response. You tried again by kissing the corner of his jaw, right next to his ear where you knew he was sensitive. He grunted and buried his face in his hoodie, still completely knocked out. You bit your lip to suppress a chuckle, kissing along his neck and jaw. “Baby~” you kissed his cheek, “wake up, my love. You can’t sleep here, baby.” Now you were trailing your kisses to his chin and nose, purposefully missing out on his soft, kissable lips.
His eyes fluttered, he looked at you with a dazed vision. “Hm?” Heavy eyes met yours.
"Baby, you can't sleep here, my love." You rubbed your nose against his. He didn't respond right away. His hand buried in your hair again and pulled you closer to him. You gasped softly, the strenght in your arms giving out. You fell right on his body, now completely sprawled over him. His cheek rubbed on your forehead as he pressed your face into the crook of his neck which was covered by his hoodie.
"You woke me up." He complained with a rough voice, softness seeping through when he wrapped his other arm tighter around your waist.
"I'm sorry, bambi." You kissed his hamster like cheek, the nickname you gave him melted his heart everytime. "I wish I could carry you to bed, but you're too heavy for me." Heeseung chuckled under his breath, eyelids fighting against sleep. "That would be weird...", he murmured, exhaustion never vanishing from his voice.
"I don't like to be woken up," he started lazily, "but if it's you waking me up with kisses like this..." he pulled you further into his embrace, "then it’s okey."
You looked up, cheeks flushed due to warmth of candles and the fireplace breathing through your apartment. His heart fluttered at the sight. Softness bloomed through his veins, his eyes, though still heavy with drowsiness, now shimmered with fondness and affection.
You kissed his chin, "I'm glad you're giving your girlfriend this privilige," you giggled. His eyes softened even more. "Always,” he whispered more to himself than to you.
"Let's go to-" you yelped when Heeseung pulled you back to him as you were about to lift yourself up from his body.
"Hee-" You were cut off by a kiss on your lips. You sighed softly, his hand tilting your head so he could aim your soft lips accurately. Your body melted into his all over again.
“You forgot to kiss me here.” He mumbled against your lips, eyes twinkling mischievously.
The warm glow across your cheeks deepened. “You’re so annoying,” you whispered back, ears getting hot and lips brushing his. “Let’s get ready for bed, silly.”
In bed, your head rested on Heeseung’s chest, now clothed in pyjamas and not his hoodie and sweatpants anymore. The comfortable and warm weight of your body on his soothed him steadily to sleep.
And when it suddenly disappeared, he groggily stirred awake. “Where you goin’?” His hand lazily reached out for you though you already had slipped away from his reach.
“I’m just getting a glass of water, baby,” you whispered, leaning down to press a kiss on the arch of his eyebrow. “Go back to sleep.”
He responded with a gibberish “hurry up” before his consciousness slowly slipped away. Even though he looked dead to the world, his subconscious was still alert to every sound from you. The footsteps tapping down the stairs, the light switch clicking, the cabinet door closing.
But then there was absolute silence.
A frown appeared on Heeseung’s face. He was still way too gone to actually wake up, but his instincts couldn’t ignore your ongoing absence. Unconsciously, he purred into his pillow in distress, his face burying in it as his arm stretched towards your side of the bed.
Suddenly, hurried footsteps echoed through the house. You ripped the door open, but your boyfriend was now fast asleep.
“Oh my god! Heeseung! Wake up! You gotta see this!” You began as you crawled on the bed towards him. You shook him gently by his shoulders.
He grunted, face burying even further into his pillow.
“Baby, baby! Wake up!”
“Hm.”
“Baby, please~” You tried to lift him up, of course it was an unnecessary attempt — he didn’t budge one bit.
“Heeseung! You’re not gonna believe it! It’s snowing outside!”
“Hm?”
“It’s snowing!”
“M-hm.” He grunted in fake acknowledgment.
“Baby, please, you need to see it! It looks so beautiful!” You laid on top of him as you nestled your head next to his. “Please, please, please.”
“Mhmmm…” he grunted again, almost inaudible this time.
“Please~!” Your hands cupped his face. “Baby, please, wake up.” You pouted. Genuine hurt cracked through your voice. How could you enjoy the first snowfall of the year without your boyfriend? “You have to watch it with me…”
A quiet, frustrated whimper elicited from your throat. Defeated, you rested your head on his chest.
He was way too exhausted. He worked so much and so hard. There was no chance he would wake up after the back to back concerts he just had. For some reason, it brought tears to your eyes.
“Stupid boyfriend…” you pouted quietly, childishly, as you rubbed your face into his chest like a cat.
And somehow, his eyes fluttered open. “Hm?”
You were too lost in your tears, wetting his pyjama shirt and softly sniffling that you didn’t notice him stirring awake.
His hand flew up to your head in worry. “What’s wrong? Why are you crying, pretty?” His voice was deep and rough.
You gasped, head shooting up, “you woke up! Oh my god, Heeseung! You won’t believe this! It’s snowing outside!”
He blinked for a moment. Then a low chuckle escaped him, clearly taken by surprise, “yeah? That’s why you’re crying?” He gently pushed your hair behind your ear. His thumb swiped at the corner of your eye. You shook your head, but the stubborn tears managed to fill your eyes yet again.
“Then why is my big girl crying? Hm?”
“I- I don’t know.” You felt so silly. He’d definitely laugh at you if you told him.
He didn’t say anything at first. Just continued to stroke your cheekbone as he gazed at you with the softest eyes.
“You thought I died or something?”
You gasped a wet laugh. “What? No!” You slapped his chest.
A lazy smile spread across his face. Suddenly, he sat up and leaned against the headboard. He pulled you on his lap and cradled your head against his chest. His naked chest was peeking out of his unbuttoned shirt as he wrapped his arms around you trying to shield you from the cold world. Or anything that was making you cry. He pressed a kiss on your forehead and started rocking you slowly as if you were his baby.
“You said it’s snowing?” He asked after a while. He always talked to you very softly and cautiously, but whenever you were crying and vulnerable he became even more gentle. As if he was afraid you would break if he wasn’t careful enough.
You nodded frequently against his chest, doe and shimmery eyes glancing at him.
“Yeah?” He chuckled under his breath. He couldn’t help but find you so cute, so adorable at this moment. His heart squeezed in adoration. His hand cupped your soft cheek, stroking it gently.
For a while, he just gazed at you softly, taking his time to caress you and soak you in. He pressed a kiss on your forehead. Your eyes fluttered at his soft lips loving you, his kiss lingering on your skin even after he separated.
“You wanna watch the snowfall?” His voice was tender, as if he knew what and what not to say when you’re all vulnerable in his arms.
“Oh, yes!! Please, please, please!!” You nodded eagerly and quickly stood up. You took his hand to drag him towards the door and basically pulled him out of the sheets.
You were determined to share the most beautiful sight with the love of your life.
“Wait-“ he halted, tugging you back, his hair messy in the cutest and sleepiest way, “wait. Where are you going? Baby-“ he was so amused by your antics, “we have a window here, pretty.”
“Oh- No! We have to go downstairs, the view from the living room is a lot better!” You pulled him with you without any hesitation. His big and firmer hand wrapped around your smaller, soft one. His heart swelled up. He didn’t dare to protest, you were just the cutest being so he let you lead him to wherever your heart desired.
You gasped dramatically once you stood in front of the window. “Look at the view, Seungie!” You let go of his warm hand and pushed the curtains away to show him more of the view.
“Isn’t it so beautiful??” You awed with bright, sparkling eyes, hands on the cool glass as you watched the snowflakes dancing in the air.
Heeseung leaned against the big window, arms crossed as he hummed. His sleepy, sluggish demeanour was a huge contrast to your excited, giddy one. He sighed heavily, his head resting on the glass as the coolness seeped into his skin.
You whipped your head at him, “it’s so beautiful, isn’t it??” You tried again after he didn’t give an answer. He nodded lazily, barely managing to keep his eyes open. His eyes shifted to you, lingering on your bare arms and the way your body was trembling almost unnoticeably. But never unnoticed by him.
A disappointed, accusatory frown appeared on your face, “you’re not even looking, baby.”
A yawn escaped from his mouth as he lazily stretched his arms. He then pulled you into his embrace. His head rested comfortably on your shoulder as his arms wrapped around around your waist. Your hands automatically rested on his firm forearms. He pressed a soft kiss on your shoulder before rubbing his face against it, his movements were sluggish and lazy.
“ ‘m lookin” he mumbled against the crook of your neck. He looked up and kissed your cheek, arms tightening around you. One hand rubbed your chilled, naked arm, “ ‘s pretty”. He lingered a kiss on your neck. “So pretty,” he repeated before he rested his chin on your shoulder, his face half buried in your hair and neck.
You giggled excitedly, “I know!! The snow is soooo pretty.”
Heeseung chuckled under his breath and pressed himself further against your back, wrapping you even tighter in his arms.
“Really pretty,” he hummed.
He definitely wasn’t talking about the view. Matter of fact, when he had you in his arms like this, he couldn’t care less about some snow.
You let out an existed gasp, an idea striking you. You turned in his embrace. “Babe! Let’s go outside! The snow is still untouched, oh my god- this will be so fun!”
His eyebrows raised in surprised, “huh?”
“Please, please, please! A snowfall during the night is the best thing to experience!! You gotta trust me on this one!” Suddenly, you unwrapped yourself from his arms. You already made up your mind that you were going out with your boyfriend. At midnight. In the cold.
“Wait-“ his hand caught you before you were out of reach. “Baby-“ he chuckled softly, tired eyes flickering with amusement. “We can’t go outside- it’s midnight, baby.” His other hand wrapped around your waist.
“But that’s the point! You have to experience the first snowfall of the year outside. And during night it’s even more beautiful!”
“Baby-“ he pulled you closer to his chest, his hand cupping your cheek. His thumb glided over your cheek as he shook his head subtly, “it’s very late-“
“But that’s the fun part-! Look it’s even full moon-!”
He shook his head yet again, “babygirl… I gotta go to sleep…”
Your shoulders sagged visibly, “oh-“
His tired eyes continued to look at you with the fondest expression. “We gotta sleep, hm? It’s late. I have work tomorrow.” He kissed your forehead, “we can do this another time. Let’s go to bed for now.”
Your heart tightened at that. Another time.
That’s what he always told you.
Always ‘another time’.
Always ‘I have no time’.
Always ‘I’m too tired’.
Your throat tightened painfully. You always have work. The words lingered on your tongue. But you held yourself back.
He is tired. Don’t be selfish. You reminded yourself.
You blinked your eyes repeatedly before he could notice. You merely nodded, feeling already hopeless and defeated.
When you were settled back in your bed, you somehow managed to lie furthest away from him. Usually, you would always have some kind of closeness when falling asleep — hands intertwined, bodies spooning, legs tangled together, his hand on your waist, or your feet nestled between his legs — whatever it was, your bodies were always touching.
At first, he didn’t think much of it — sleep already fogging his mind as soon as his head hit the pillow.
“Love you, pretty. G’night.” He murmured sleepily. Your back was facing him, and you couldn’t bring yourself to answer him because of the painful lump forming in your throat. You couldn’t shift closer to your boyfriend. Not because you were mad at him, of course not — he never gave you a reason to be angry at him. But you couldn’t help but feel hurt. The pain in your heart was just hurting too much. And you knew that as soon as you get in his warm embrace you would start crying.
Suddenly, his strong arm wrapped around your waist and swiftly pulled you across the bed to his chest. He buried his face in your hair, “I said I Iove you, baby.” He repeated in a low tone.
Your lips began to tremble. A single teardrop slid down your temple. He pressed a gentle kiss on your shoulder, “why’re you not answerin’? My princess ‘s already sleepin’?” His hand splayed across your stomach, your back resting warmly against his chest. “Hm?” You shook your head.
“What’s the matter, baby? Are you mad at me?” Your heart ached at his soft tone. It hurt you even more to hear that he thought you were mad at him.
You shook your head again, mumbling a wet, “‘course not.”
“Then tell me what’s wrong. Why’s my pretty princess not answering me?”
And that’s all that it took. You turned around in his embrace and just started sobbing. His warmth and gentle way with you were enough for you to break.
His doe eyes widened, “why, why, why??” His arms tightened immediately in a protective manner as you buried your face in his chest, your shoulders shaking.
“What- baby, baby. What’s wrong?? Why are you crying??” That made you cry even more. Causing his heart to ache even more. “What’s wrong??”
“I- I hate your j-job.” You choked on your tears, he couldn’t even understand it.
“What?” The crease between his eyebrows intensified.
“I hate your job!” You repeated louder, though it was muffled by his chest.
“What-?” He laughed softly, his hand came up to caress your head as the other spread out on your back protectively. “You hate my job? Why?”
“Cause- cause-“ you hesitated, “you’re constantly tired and sleepy!”
His heart melted in real time. “Awww~ baby…” he laid his cheek on your head. “Is this why you were crying earlier too?”
You nodded against his chest, pouting. “I saw the snow and came to tell you because I wanted to watch the snowfall with you, but- but you weren’t waking up no matter how much I tried. And it- it makes me so sad to see you so exhausted, and- and work so hard that- that you’re too tired to do stuff like that with me. We-we already spent so little time together and whenever we’re together you’re just too tired and just sleeping. I- I hate that job of y-yours. I- I hate seeing you so- so tired and exhausted.” You hiccuped, your tears stained his shirt as you clutched onto it tightly.
He caressed your hair, trying to calm you down. He cooed, “I’m sorry, baby.” He kissed your forehead. You snuggled further into him in response. “I’m sorry for not waking up. I didn’t know you loved the snow this much.” You shook your head at that, “no, Heeseung. It’s not about the snow- it’s- it’s about-“ you couldn’t explain any further, not finding the words as you sobbed loudly.
His arms tightened around, wanting to ground your trembling body. “Baby…” he murmured worriedly.
“Shh…” he hushed in your ear, “it’s okey, it’s okey. Let it out, hm?” He patted your back soothingly. His heart ached so painfully seeing you so upset. He had never seen you this distraught, he knew that there must another reason — you were hiding something else from him.
“Baby…” he kissed your temple, mumbling against it, “it’s okey, I’m here. Hm? I’m here.” He didn’t understand why but somehow that made you cry even harder, your tears didn’t seem to have an end. He couldn’t bear to listen to it any longer, his heart was tearing at every sob.
He cupped your cheek to tilt your face to him. “Hey, hey, hey, baby. What’s wrong? Why are you crying so much…? You’re breaking my heart, babygirl.” He kissed your swollen eyelids, one by one. Then your reddish nose, followed by a kiss on your forehead. “Don’t cry… please.” You sniffled softly, slowly calming down due to his gentle kisses and soft tone. He always spoke so gently with you.
“What’s wrong, princess? Did something else happen?” He tried, his hand caressing your cheek as the other held you close to him. You hiccuped under your breath, trying to calm down. You shook your head in denial, but he saw right through you. He tilted his head softly, doe eyes waiting patiently for you. Your lower lip jutted out as the corners of your lips went down.
“Come on, princess. Tell me. You need to tell me what’s making you upset.” He pecked the corner of your sad lips.
You hesitated for a moment. “A few days ago…” you started, he nodded immediately, his bambi eyes encouraging you, “I mean- a few nights ago, I had a dream-“ your eyes filled with tears, “I dreamed that you- that you left- left me.” A sob left your mouth, the tears blurred your vision again. His eyebrows furrowed instantly.
“I dreamed that you left- left me. Out of nowhere. It was so sudden and unexpected. In my dream, I woke up to text messages from you where you said that you had other dreams and that being with me was getting in your way of achieving them.” You hiccuped, the pain resurfaced saying it out loud like that. Your voice became timid: “You told me that our relationship was holding you back from chasing your dreams.”
“Oh princess…” he buried your wet face in his neck. But you continued: “And then you told me that you’re too tired to balance a career and a relationship and that- that you love your career… more than me-“ you sobbed louder towards the end.
He patted your trembling body, “hey… it was just a dream. Hm? Just a dream, my princess. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.” His eyes became glassy, he couldn’t bear the imagination of leaving you. Hearing you talk about it ripped his heart apart into million pieces.
He kissed the top of your head as you wetted his neck, sobbing and sobbing. “I’m not leaving you, princess. Never.” His hand smoothed over your trembling back, the other never leaving the back of your head, “it was just a dream...”
“But- but it felt so real.” You sobbed.
“I know. I know.” He murmured against your temple, lips lingering there to soothe you. “But I’m here. You’re in my arms. I’m never leaving you.” He pulled away a little to look at your tear streaked face. “I hate seeing you cry like this.” He spoke as he wiped the tears away. “That Heeseung in your dream? He is stupid, okey? He is not me,” he kissed your forehead, “never will be me. He is just a foolish idiot who doesn’t know how precious you are.” He kissed your flushed cheeks.
“You mean it?” Your small voice trembled. Doubt evident.
“Of course.” He answered firmly. “You’re my beautiful princess, alright? The most precious possession I own. I could never be so stupid and leave you behind, do you understand?” You nodded against his neck. “I love you so much, my angel.” He caressed your hair, “I will never leave you. I promise. You have no idea how much I depend on you. I can’t imagine a life without you. Never.”
His throat tightened, “I know it gets exhausting to date me. I know it’s not easy. I don’t have an ordinary life. But if I tell you you’re all I have, then I’m begging you to believe me. I promise it will get better. Our relationship will not stay like this forever. There are better days ahead. Days where I won’t be as busy anymore. And I’m truly, truly grateful that I have such a patient and understanding partner. I truly am.”
He grasped your hand and kissed your knuckles one after another. He then rested your intertwined hands on his chest, right above his heart.
“And I want you to know one thing: There are many things I want to achieve in life. Many dreams that have yet to be fulfilled. But there is not a single dream of mine that doesn’t have you in it. There’s no future for me without you. A future without you simply doesn’t exist.”
The lump in your throat appeared once again. Your eyes met his though your vision was blurry, yet again.
“Promise?” Your voice was rough from crying so much.
“I promise, angel.” He hook your pinky with his own and pressed a kiss on it. “Pinky promise,” he whispered.
You nodded, blinking your teary eyes as you settled on his chest again, seeking comfort.
“I love you so much, princess. More than you can ever imagine.”
You nodded against his chest, tightening your own arms around his torso, afraid he might disappear.
“I love you too, Heeseungie.” You rapsed, exhaustion now catching up to you.
Heeseung’s heartbeat underneath you lulled you steadily and quickly into sleep, your eyes fluttered shut.
His hand rested on your cheek, thumb drawing circles on it before he pressed a good night kiss on your forehead. After a while of caressing your cheek and patting your back, he spoke again:
“I promise, tomorrow, before I leave for work we will play in the snow, okey? We can build a snowman together.”
Silence answered him.
When he glanced down, he realized that you were already knocked out on his chest. He chuckled under his breath.
“Look at you, princess. Knocked out in under a minute. You were fighting your sleep, hm? My tired baby…”
He pulled the cover over your shoulders, making sure you were snuggled in so that no cold could reach you.
“Sweet dreams, princess.”
It didn’t take long for him to quickly follow you into the world of dreams.
Sooo… i started writing this in September last year after they finished the Walk the line tour. It somehow feels off to post this now because… yk… he’s not that busy anymore with touring/high demanding schedules so it feels kinda off and not suitable anymore. But I’m cleaning up my drafts so I had to force myself to finish this. Tbh I don’t like the ending, it feels forced and unrealistic — what do you guys think? I put some elements from our current situation… ts hurt like hell, but I had this urge to put it in the fic for some reason. I was about to make a sad ending bc I’m not feeling a happy ending with what’s going on irl but idk… I thought maybe this will comfort someone. Perhaps I don’t like this happy ending because irl we will be stuck in this nightmare forever and will never wake up from it and will never be told that this was all a dream, that he never left us, that he’s still in enhypen, and we are still engenes to him… we will never have this kinda happy ending, yeah maybe that’s the reason why I don’t like it 🫠 dang…
