Scattered Blueprints
Male Reader x fromis_9's Song Hayoung
~ 13k words
TW: woes of life, breeding kink
A/N: I managed to finish it in time! This one is dedicated to my lovely @xantithesis. I hope everyone have a good read~ No beta readers, wanted to try relying on my lousy eyes XD.
“Habbang~” You drop onto the edge of the mattress, its springs groaning under you. “Numbers any kinder today?”
“Yah, how many times do I have to tell you not to dry your hair on the bed!” Hayoung pouts, sitting up and crossing her legs. She wedges the crushed pillow that’s still dented with the shape of her head between her thighs like a shield. “It’s gonna get mouldy from all the water dripping everywhere.”
She tilts her phone toward you. The banking app glows blue against your face and she mumbles. “Still nowhere near… but hey. We’ll get there.”
“Mmm.” You squint at the screen, doing the math in your head like always. “Thirty-seven percent. Five years if we stay perfect… maybe four if we get lucky.”
“Ughhh. When will we win the lottery already?” She flops backward with a dramatic thud and immediately winces. “Ow. This thing hates me.”
You stand and stretch your back, wandering over to the progress board stuck to the wall. “There. One more percent.” You twist the knob and the left dial clicks to 37, the right falls to 63. “One measly percent a month. Thrilling.”
“Sixty-three more months…” Hayoung sighs, her limbs spread like a starfish across the mattress as she stares up at the familiar water stain on the ceiling like it's her favourite cheesy burrito.
“Aren’t you gonna shower? We’ll be late.” You turn toward the kitchen — or what looks like one. The dining table functions as a stove, her makeup station, and your unofficial “dreaming zone” (aka where you balance your phone to watch home tour videos when you can’t afford the real thing). “Get up~ I’ll make us coffee and breakfast while you freshen up.”
“Ugh.” Seeing you put the water to boil, Hayoung groans as she hauls herself off the bed, shuffling into the shower. The shower door shuts with a click, and soon the muffled sound of running water soothes into your ear.
“Damn, it's the last two packs.” You throw the empty box into the trash and tear the packs open, pouring them into your mugs. “Babe! We gotta get some more coffee tonight, we're out.” You holler as you add two extra teaspoons of sugar into Hayoung's mug — she likes it a tad sweeter.
“Didn't we just stock up?” Hayoung shouts back. “They should hire us as their brand endorsers or something at the rate we're drinking.”
You pop bread slices onto the warmed pan, swirling them around until they're burnt to a nice char with a nutty toasted aroma. Removing the toasted bread slices to let them cool, you toss in last yesterday’s leftover spam and soon, the room fills with the smell of sizzling processed meat. You let the boiled water cool to roughly 83°C for about five minutes (you’ve estimated the timing based on ten years of instant coffee making), before pouring them into the mugs.
“Smells good~” Hayoung emerges from the shower, towel wrapped around her hair in a bun. She approaches the kitchen/make-up/dining table and sits down, already helping herself with the warm toast and spam. “I love the coffee you make for me~” she says with her mouth full.
“We gotta go soon, the company shuttle comes in a bit,” you remind her, before wolfing down your share of salty spam, crunchy toast, and cheap coffee. You both scroll through reels on your phones through breakfast, and she pauses every few seconds to tilt the screen toward you. “Look at this backsplash! We could do something like that.” You nod, mouth full of food, pretending not to notice how her voice lifts just a little when she talks about “our kitchen.”
You both finish and clean up, before donning the same deep blue polo tee and bottoms that fully cover your legs (company policy). Once done, you put on socks and shoes, then kneel down to tie Hayoung’s shoelaces — your daily ritual — before quickly heading down together to board the shuttle bus.
The ride to the furniture store is short, crowded, and warm with too many bodies. It's mildly suffocating, and there aren’t any windows that you can slide open. Inflation is on a rising trend, but damn the bus driver who refuses to switch on the air conditioning. Hayoung leans against your shoulder, half-asleep again, her damp hair leaving a faint wet spot on your polo. You don’t mind. You never mind. Instead, you'd give anything for a car, for air-conditioning, for a life where she doesn't have to nap on your shoulder every morning.
The bus rolls up to the backdoor of the store. “Habbang~ wakey wakey. We're here.” You squeeze Hayoung's puffy cheeks with your fingers, waking her from slumber. “Mmmm… already?” She rubs her eyes and lifts her head off your shoulders. “Ah shit, I got your shirt wet again.” Hayoung peers at the damp spot, trying to pat it dry with her sleeve.
“It's alright, I don't mind your saliva on my shirt,” you tease.
“Yah, I didn't drool at all!” She smacks your arm with a smirk. You both wait in your seats for the bus to empty out before disembarking last — no rush to clock in. You both head into Blue Prints, a furniture store that you both have been working in for the past 8 years. You have a love-hate relationship with this place: it's where you get scolded by customers and supervisors, where you feel trapped from real freedom. But it's also where you pay the bills, work toward a better future… and where you met the love of your life.
“So, where are you stationed today?” you ask, turning to stand beside Hayoung, looking at the roster.
“I'm taking dual stations today,” Hayoung groans, tucking her polo tee into her pants. “Study Blueprints and… Kids Blueprints.”
“Good thing they're side by side. Then you won't have to go back and forth across the entire floor,” you reply, stuffing your hands into your pockets. “I’ll be on customer service duty today, so I’ll be up and about. RIP legs.” You bend down and massage your calves, warming them up for the 10-hour walkathon that's about to happen.
“Take it easy. I’ll see you at lunch, my dear~” Hayoung ties her hair into a ponytail, before putting on the company’s cap with the words “Blue Prints” sewn on in a fancy italicised font. “Love you,” she says, leaning in for a quick peck on your cheek before heading off.
Work passes in the usual blur: you hauling flat-packs, helping customers who can’t decide between birch and white, fixing a display shelf that keeps tilting. Hayoung is over in Kids Blueprints, kneeling on the foam mats, building towers with a group of kids who keep knocking them down and giggling. Every time you pass by, she looks up and flashes you that quick, bright smile. You've been married to her for 5 years, but that smile still makes your chest do a stupid flip after all this time.
By closing time you're both tired but wired. The manager waves you off with the keys again (“You two never cause trouble — lock up when you’re done”), and suddenly the store is yours. “Let's tidy up quickly and head out. The mart's gonna close if we get there late,” you say.
“We need coffee,” Hayoung says as you turn off the lights, “otherwise, you’ll be a zombie tomorrow.”
You check your phone as Hayoung steps out of the employee exit, locking the door. “It's about a twenty minute walk… Great. More walking.”
She groans dramatically but links her arm through yours. “You sure you don't want to take the bus? You've been walking all day.”
“It’s alright, I do need to soak my feet in some hot ginger water later though.” You say, yawning mid-sentence. “We have some ginger left at home, might as well use it up.”
The twenty minute walk becomes thirty because of your sore legs, but you don't mind one bit. The stroll to the mart is quiet, a nice break from the chaos from the day. You and Hayoung stand before the mini mart, and the automatic doors slide open.
“Coffee~ Coffee~ Get my lovely coffee~” Hayoung hums and skips to grab a shopping cart, pulling you to her side as you both push it together towards the beverage aisle. “We gotta get some bread and spam too, darling~”
“Aight aight~”
“UHT milk… cereal and… here we ar — fuck.”
“What's wrong?” Hayoung asks, her eyes following your line of sight to the coffee boxes on the shelf. “Oh. Fuck.”
“₩16,500. That's like a 10% increase!” You reach out to grab the price tag pasted on the edge, hoping to find an error or something, except there isn't. The words are printed big and bold: “₩15,000 ₩16,500 PRICE HIKE DUE TO RISING COSTS.”
“10%... It's a lot right? Especially when we drink it so often…” Hayoung says, her voice dropping to a mumble. “I don't think… we can buy this anymore… not when rent is due soon, and when we're not even halfway through our goal…”
“...” You stay silent, gripping the box tighter than before. Your eyes dart around the shelf, trying to search for a cheaper option, but you already know that you both have been already drinking the cheapest option there is. “Maybe we can find some way?” You look at the back of the box, hoping there would be a solution spoonfed to you.
“How about we share a pack each time, and add twice the amount of water? Then the box can last twic—”
“Might as well drink muddy water at this point…” Hayoung laments. She turns towards you, and you can see the sadness in her eyes. She's on the verge of tears.
You sigh, your heart tightening as you remember how this brand of coffee was the first drink you made her, and the drink that initiated your conversation with her when you first met at Blue Prints during a staff break. She's never drank any other brands ever since. You hate how powerless you feel, that you can't even give Hayoung her favourite drink.
“Maybe we can drink something else? I guess we can still buy it, but drink it every alternate day?” you suggest, but you know how ridiculous you sound. Everyone knows that caffeine is essential for surviving the day.
“Then what are we gonna drink on those other alternate days?” Hayoung grumbles as she calms herself down from the short emotional vulnerability earlier.
“Tea, I guess?” You suggest, pointing to the shelf seated right beside the coffee’s. “Tea contains caffeine too.” You put the box containing 150 sticks of hiked coffee sachets into the cart before pushing it further down the aisle.
Hayoung peers at the shelf, her fingers trailing along the row of tea boxes. The LED lights overhead make everything look a little too bright and jarring, daunting, in fact. She picks up a box of barley tea first. It's a familiar yellow barley tea pack, 120 tea bags for ₩8,500.
“This one’s always safe,” she says quietly, turning the box over. “Caffeine-free, good for digestion, helps with bloating after all the ramyeon. We could drink it hot or cold… and it’s cheap enough that we could get two boxes and still have money left for bread.”
You nod, but you both know barley tea is what old people drink at the senior centre near your apartment. “But this is going to make us hungry throughout the day… See? It's written there ‘Diet Tea’. You're already as hourglass and as sexy as you can be,” you say. It’s comforting, sure, but it doesn’t feel like a replacement. It feels like it's gonna make your days worse.
“I’m sexy… ehehehe~” Hayoung giggles as she sets it down and reaches for the next one — corn silk tea, 100 sachets for ₩9,000.
“Corn silk is supposed to be good for detoxing,” she reads off the back. “Helps with water retention, mild diuretic, clears the system. People say it tastes sweet, like corn milk. And it’s caffeine-free too, so we wouldn’t crash in the afternoon.”
You tilt your head. “Sounds… healthy. But I don’t know if I want my morning drink to feel like medicine.”
Hayoung gives a small, tired laugh. “Yeah. It’s not exactly ‘wake me up and make me feel alive.’”
She moves down one more shelf and stops at the ginger tea. Instant ginger tea — 120 sachets for ₩8,000. Slightly cheaper than the barley or corn silk, and less than half the new coffee price.
She lifts the box carefully, like it might bite her.
“Ginger tea…” she reads aloud. “Warming, good for circulation, helps with colds and sore throats, boosts metabolism, reduces nausea. Some people say it improves blood flow and… energy.” Her voice catches on the last word, cheeks flushing just a little as she glances at you sideways. “It’s supposed to be good for… you know. Warmth. Vitality.”
You raise an eyebrow, catching the unspoken implication. She quickly looks back at the box.
“But it’s spicy,” she adds defensively. “Like, really spicy. I don’t know if I can handle ginger first thing in the morning. What if it burns my tongue and I hate it forever?”
You take the box from her and turn it over. The packaging shows a steaming mug with honey and lemon slices floating on top.
“It says you can add honey to balance it,” you point out. “And we already have some left from last winter. Plus… if it helps with colds, that’s practical. We can’t afford to miss work if one of us gets sick again.”
Hayoung chews her lip, staring at the price tag like it’s personally judging her.
₩8,000 for 120 sachets.
Roughly ₩60-70 per serving.
About half of what the coffee now costs.
She exhales slowly, shoulders dropping.
“Okay,” she says at last. “Ginger tea. If it’s the cheapest one that still gives us some energy… and maybe a little extra warmth…” She trails off, cheeks pink again. “We’ll try it. Worst case, we give it to the ahjumma downstairs.”
“Hey, we’re still buying the coffee… we're just having it every alternate day! Don't make it sound like it's doomsday~” You place the box in the cart — right next to the coffee. “Besides, we can drink it at night, unlike coffee.” The cart feels lighter somehow, even though the decision still stings.
Hayoung links her arm through yours again as you push toward the counter. “Let's go get some bread.”
“New adventure,” she murmurs, trying for brightness. “Ginger mornings. Spicy but… hopeful.”
You squeeze her hand.
“Spicy but hopeful,” you echo.
And for the first time all evening, she smiles.
***
“Annnd 39.” You adjust the knob on the progress board on the wall, inching it till the number jumps by one. “It seems we're progressing a teeny tiny bit faster than usual,” you say. Three weeks have passed since the coffee price hike, but you were able to increase the progress bar by two percent, faster than the usual rate of one per month.
“Maybe it was the switch to ginger tea?” Hayoung replies, patting her hair dry as she walks out of the shower. The ginger boxes sit on the extra chairs beside the dining table — your makeshift shelf — two full ones now, because Hayoung insisted on buying a second one when the first packet proved surprisingly good. “We’re spending half the money on drinks now anyway,” she says, “I wanna drink one now too~ It's so good.” She skips towards you, grabbing the kettle and filling it with water, putting it to boil.
Hayoung drinks it every morning now with a spoonful of honey, claiming it “wakes her up without the crash”. You’ve grown to like the spicy warmth too, though you still miss the coffee’s bold kick. It’s not the same, but it’s something you figured out together. That counts.
The progress bar feels like an ever expanding ocean, looming larger every time you glance at it. Things are getting more expensive, and your target increases with it. But that's a problem that'll persist, no point worrying about it right now. You have an actual problem to deal with.
“Habbang, it's dead,” you announce.
“What? Don't scare m— oh.” Hayoung’s voice softens as she looks in your direction. The kettle is still roaring as it heats the water, but grey smoke rises from the rice cooker when you open it a few moments earlier. A burnt-char smell drifts out of the rice cooker, wafting into your noses as you scrunch them.
“How long has it been? 4 years? It's about time it popped, I guess.” You shrug and you flip the socket’s switch, cutting the power supply off.
“What now? I'm starving… especially when we missed lunch today.” Hayoung pouts dejectedly. “We can't possibly just eat spam and eggs and drink ginger tea with no rice… Rice is life! Plus, it's already this late, where are we gonna make a rice cooker appear out of nowhere?” She shoots questions out, panicking insecurely.
“Hey hey hey~ Relax baby~” you reassure her, “It’s not the end of the world. It's the 21st century, we have the Internet, Google, AI… if nothing works out, we’ll just live off instant rice, or just get a new rice cooker! Although I’d rather not spend more money…”
Finally calming down, Hayoung stands behind you, arms wrapped around your waist, chin on your shoulder. “...Well,” she says softly. “We’ve got a pot, a stove, and YouTube. We’re basically chefs now.”
You let out a tired laugh. “Chefs who will probably murder dinner. We’ll fix it together. Come on.”
You pull up a video on your phone — “How to steam perfect rice in a pot without a rice cooker” — and follow the steps like it’s a sacred ritual. Hayoung measures the rice and rinses it until the water runs clear, then stands beside you at the portable stove on the dining table, hip bumping yours.
“One point two parts water to one part rice,” she reads aloud, her voice a mix of mock-serious. “Add them into a bowl and place it in the pot with a riser. Fill the bottom with water, and turn on the heat on medium. Steam it while covered for 30 minutes. No peeking.”
You follow the cooking instructor. Soon, the kitchen fills with steam and the faint nutty smell of rice. You both hover like anxious parents, waiting for the timer to ring.
When the 30 minutes are up, you lift the lid — and the rice is… fine. It almost doubled in volume, a little sticky in places, a little uneven, but edible.
“We did it!” Hayoung claps delightfully.
You remove the steaming rice with oven mitts, and scoop it into two mismatched bowls, topping it with kimchi that your mom made, and a fried egg each. You transfer all the plates and bowls onto the mini drinking table on the floor, and the stir fried spam and frozen corn kernels sit in a serving plate between you both. Dinner is ready.
Hayoung is sipping on her cup of ginger tea, anxiously waiting to try the rice. No dining table — it's too messy right now with all the pots and pans to wash. You both sit cross-legged on the floor, side-by-side with your backs leaning against the bed frame and dig in.
Hayoung takes the first bite, eyes closing in exaggerated bliss. “It’s good~ tastes just like… rice. Eheheheh~” she giggles, chopsticks reaching out to grab a piece of diced spam. “Mmmm. It's a little wet and sticky, but it’ll do,” she says.
“I’ll probably need to add less water the next time. I think we don't need to get a rice cooker at all!” You say, breaking the yolk of your fried egg, allowing it to flow onto the steaming rice below. The residual heat from the rice cooks the runny yolk a little further as you mix the egg in, turning it into a golden indulgence of gooey and creamy rice.
You put down your bowl and set your phone onto the table, turning on a video of a house tour again. You both have been watching them since forever, envisioning how your future home would be like, constantly talking about furniture placements, electronics to buy. You want to build a family with Hayoung, a future, somewhere that you can both call home. And you're both inching towards that goal, month by month, dollar by dollar, percent by percent.
For a few minutes, the room is quiet except for the sound of chopsticks and soft chewing. Then Hayoung sets her bowl down and leans against you, head on your shoulder.
“I keep thinking about the kitchen in Blue Prints,” she says quietly. “The one with the big island. The white cabinets. I imagine us there every morning… making real food. Not burnt rice or spam sandwiches.”
You wrap an arm around her. “We’ll get there.”
She nods, but her voice wavers. “I want to make you breakfast. Like, proper breakfast. And then… maybe later, when we’re ready, I want to make baby food. Tiny bowls of mashed sweet potato. Little spoons.”
Her words land soft but heavy. You rest your hand on her stomach — it's flat now, but full of possibility. But it's too early to commit.
“We will,” you say. “We’ll build that kitchen. We’ll fill those bowls. One percent at a time.”
She turns her face into your neck, breathing you in.
“I know,” she whispers. “I just… I want it so much it hurts sometimes.”
You kiss her forehead, thumb rubbing her cheeks as you cup her face.
“Then tonight we practice,” you murmur. “We practice building. Right here.”
She lifts her head, eyes searching yours. A small, hopeful smile breaks through.
“Practice?”
You nod, pulling her closer until she’s in your lap, legs straddling yours.
“Practice,” you repeat.
And for the first time in weeks, the kiss isn’t careful or restrained. Maybe it's due to the ginger tea’s “energy boosting” and “warming effect”. But it doesn’t matter. You're both hungry. You lift Hayoung onto the bed, hands sliding under each other’s shirts, breaths catching, bodies pressing together on the thin mattress like you’re trying to fuse the pieces of your future right now.
But you don’t go all the way, not yet. Not when you're both still struggling. She looks into your eyes when she shatters, her own glassy and understanding as she nods when you grunt that you have to pull out.
You get close, close enough to feel the heat, the want, the promise.
Close enough to believe that someday, the blueprint won’t be scattered anymore.
***
A month has passed since the rice cooker died, and somehow the apartment still stands.
The savings board now reads 42% as you twist the knob tonight with a quiet sense of pride.
“5%...” You mumble to yourself as you rub your fingers against the number on the board. This has been the biggest jump yet. All that hard work has not been for naught. Extra overtime shifts, a couple of generous tips from customers who appreciated your patience with their build-your-own woes, and the fact that ginger tea is half the price of the old coffee all helped. The number on the banking app looks bigger than it has been in months. You're not a millionaire yet, probably never will be, but you're 5% closer to your dream.
Hayoung notices the change the second she walks out from the shower.
“Forty-two?” she says, towel still wrapped around her body. You look at her puzzled, mouth opening to ask, but she cuts you off with a grin. “I forgot to bring my clothes in hehe~ What? You've seen everything already anyway!” She pads over to the clothes rack barefoot, grabbing your oversized T-shirt (she always wears yours), before slipping the towel off. She exposes her naked body and poses at you cutely, winking at you with a pout, before putting on the T-shirt, finishing off with her panties and a pair of shorts.
The extra large T-shirt slips off one shoulder as she walks and stands beside you, and she raises her hand to trace the number with her finger like she’s afraid it’ll disappear if she blinks. “We actually did five percent?”
You nod, smiling. “We did. Overtime paid off. And we didn’t have any surprise bills this month.”
“You worked hard…” She turns to grab your hands, rubbing them softly as she looks into your eyes.
“No.” You smile, leaning in to kiss her forehead. “We worked hard.”
“Eheheheh~” Hayoung blushes and giggles, her eyes shining brightly as it curves into smiling crescents. It's those goddamn eyes and chubby cheeks of hers that you fell in love with.
“We should celebrate,” you declare, heart fuzzy from Hayoung’s cuteness.
“Celebrate how? We only have the usual — eggs, spam, rice and corn. There isn't much we can do with those.” Hayoung tilts her head and asks.
You grin, “One treat. Just one. We’ve earned it.”
An hour later you’re back home, both sitting cross-legged on the floor again. Your backs lean against the bedframe, and you both are sharing a single portion of tteokbokki from the hole-in-the-wall place two streets over. It’s the cheapest thing on the menu — spicy rice cakes in red sauce, no meat, no extras — but you both eat it slowly, savoring every bite like it’s a Michelin-star dish. You did still whip up two fried eggs and the same stir fried spam and corn (still have to get your daily protein and fiber intake); but once thrown into the tteokbokki, it transforms that into a sinful indulgence — or at least you both view it to be.
Hayoung feeds you a piece of chewy rice cake with her chopsticks, the sauce dripping onto the paper plate between you.
“I miss having real food… I wish I could feed you all your favourites daily,” you say, feeding Hayoung with some spam drenched in the red, spicy sauce. “I don't even know what you like other than tteokbokki and beef and bread and spam, because I've never even brought you to eat at nice fancy restaurants.”
“Does it really matter right now? I mean it does, but I’m the happiest when I’m with you~” Hayoung says, grinning with her eyes closed and cheekbones raised. “See?” she says, licking sauce off her thumb. “This is what our life will be like when we have a real kitchen. Takeout nights, but on our own table. With matching plates. And maybe a baby in a high chair stealing bites.”
You swallow the rice cake, your throat suddenly tight. “Yeah,” you say softly. “With a baby.”
She sets her chopsticks down and leans against your shoulder. “I bought something today,” she whispers.
You feel her shift, reaching into the pocket in her pants, and pull out a tiny folded piece of fabric. She smooths it open on her lap.
It’s a baby onesie — pale yellow, impossibly small, with a little embroidered heart on the chest.
“I saw it on clearance at the mart,” she says. “I know we’re not ready yet. I know we can’t… not yet. But I couldn’t leave it there. I just… I wanted to hold it. Just once —”
Her voice cracks on the last word.
You reach over and cover her hand with yours, fingers brushing the soft cotton. “It’s perfect,” you say. “The heart is perfect.”
She laughs softly, her eyes glassy and moist as she presses the onesie to her cheek for a second.
“I’ll hide it in the drawer,” she says. “Under the socks. Like a secret. If I keep it safe, the rest will come true. Like a tooth fairy, you know? Like if you hide your tooth under your pillow, you’ll be rewarded with a gold coin.”
You gently take the onesie from her hands, feeling the soft fabric between your fingers. It's a flat piece of cloth now, but you're imagining the warmth of your future child’s flesh in your hands, feeling the small heartbeat as you cradle your child in your arms, watching it grow up day by day. Your heart aches. You’re aching to try for a child right now… but it's not right to raise one in such an environment. Hell, you don't even have a proper kitchen, what more a studying table or even a separate bedroom for your kids.
You look back at Hayoung as she stares into your eyes. They're filled with hope and yearning, but they're also filled with sadness and disappointment. You carry her into your lap, wrapping your arms around her waist as she leans her back onto your chest. Your chin rests on her shoulder so you’re both looking down at the tiny garment.
“It will,” you murmur against her ear. “We’ll make it come true. One percent at a time.”
She turns her face toward you, eyes shining.
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
She turns her head around, her cheek brushing against yours as she pecks you on the lips. “Honey…I need you right now.” Hayoung whispers, her breath hot against your lips.
You don't say anything. Both of you just stare silently at each other for a few breaths. You lift her up from your lap and gently set her down onto the thin mattress behind you. Towering over her as she lies flat on the bed, your arms are perched on both sides of her head as you look at her beautiful face.
“W-why are you staring at me?” Her cheeks are flush with embarrassment, and her fingers grip onto the bottom hem of your oversized tee nervously.
“You're so beautiful, Hayoung,” you confess, “You're my princess… I want to give you the whole damn world.” You inch your face closer until your lips hover just above hers, staring deep into her glassy eyes.
“I love you so fucking much, Habbang,” you breathe, and dive into her lips. Hayoung’s eyes close, her hands wrapping around your back instinctively, trying to pull you in as your tongues dance around each other. She's moaning into your mouth through the intense kiss, suckling on your tongue and lips like it's the last thing in the world.
You pull off from her face and a thick strand of your salivas connect between both your lips, gasping for breath. “I love you too,” Hayoung gasps, her eyes drunk with need.
You climb onto the bed kneeling over Hayoung on both sides of her hips and her hands automatically grab the hem of your shorts tugging them down to reveal your throbbing hard erection. Your mind is dizzy from the kiss as you hastily peel off your shirt, throwing it to the floor. You let out a soft grunt as Hayoung softly grabs your length, giving it a few slow pumps. You're already leaking, throbbing from the desire to start a family. But not today.
You reach downwards and slide your hands underneath Hayoung’s shirt, firmly grabbing on to her soft breasts. She mewls, head tilting to the side as she revels in the pleasurable sensations your fingers provide.
“P-please….” Hayoung begs. You don't deny, because you want it too. You pull down her shorts, leaving it bunched around one of her ankles. No panties — you're both at home, no need for underwear.
Hayoung’s pussy is already wet and glistening with need. She looks down at you, eyes glassy with want, and whispers, “Please… touch me.”
You slide your hands up her thighs, thumbs brushing the sensitive skin just below where she’s aching. She shivers, hips twitching forward instinctively. You part her folds gently with your fingers, then lean up to kiss her there slowly. Your mouth opens and your tongue flicks lightly over her clit. She gasps, hands flying to your hair.
“More,” she breathes. “Please.”
You give her more, licking in slow circles, sucking gently, tasting her sweetness. She rocks against your mouth and her soft whimpers turn into moans that echo within the tiny room. Her thighs tremble around your head.
She doesn’t let you stay there long. With a shaky breath, she pushes you down onto the mattress and turns, straddling your face in reverse, her mouth hovering over your aching cock. “Together,” she whispers, her voice trembling. “I want you to feel good too.”
You groan as her lips parts around you. It's hot, wet, and perfect. She takes you slow at first, tongue swirling around the head, then deeper, her cheeks hollowing. You thrust shallowly into her mouth while your tongue returns to her clit, matching her rhythm. It’s messy, intimate, and desperate, the two of you giving and taking at the same time, bodies locked in a trembling 69 on the thin mattress.
Hayoung moans around you, the vibration shooting straight up your spine. Her hips grind down harder against your face and you can feel her getting close. Her thighs are shaking, and her breaths grow increasingly ragged. You suck her clit gently, flicking fast, and she cries out — muffled by your cock — as she cums hard, flooding your mouth with her release.
The taste of her, the sound of her, the way she trembles. It pushes you over. You warn her with a grunt and your hips jerk, but she doesn’t pull away. She takes you deeper, swallowing every pulse as you spill into her mouth, groaning her name against her still-quivering pussy.
When it’s over, she collapses forward, both of you panting, slick and spent. She turns slowly, crawling up your body until she’s curled against your chest, face tucked into your neck. Your arms wrap around her automatically, holding her close.
For a long minute there’s only the sound of your breathing and the faint hum of the refrigerator.
Hayoung lifts her head just enough to meet your eyes. “I want to start trying,” she whispers. “I know we’re not at 50% yet. I know it’s not smart. But… I’m scared if we wait too long, it’ll be harder. My mom always said the longer you wait, the more problems can come up. And I… I don’t want to miss our chance because we were too careful.”
You brush hair from her face, thumb tracing her cheek. “I know,” you say softly.
She nods, eyes shining again.
“Then… when we hit 50%,” you say, “even if it’s just barely. Even if we’re still in this room. Let’s start trying. For real. No more pulling out. No more waiting.”
You pull her in for a slow, deep kiss, tasting yourself on her tongue, tasting her on yours.
“Fifty percent,” you promise against her lips. “We’ll get there. And when we do… we start building our family. For real.”
She smiles and presses her forehead to yours.
“Fifty percent,” she echoes.
And for tonight, that promise feels closer than ever.
***
Six weeks have passed since the 42% celebration, but the progress bar has slipped back to 40%.
The five-percent jump felt like proof you were finally moving forward, but life doesn’t let progress stand still for long, however small it is. A medical fee for Hayoung’s lingering cough, a one-off fee to replace a cracked phone screen, and now this.
“I hate the world. Why does wear and tear even exist?” Hayoung grumbles as she closes the door behind you, kicking her sneakers off — or at least what remains of them. Her sneakers roll onto the ground, one to the front, the other landing begrudgingly to the side. “I can't believe both of them gave up at the same time…”
Her shoes gave way right before lunch, and you both tried to improvise and fix it in the staff room so that she could continue working throughout the day.
You kneel down and look at her shoes: both their soles are fastened together by duct tape that loops around the front, and the tape is already peeling at the edges from the countless walking from the day.
“Ehehehehe~” Hayoung giggles as she squats down with her legs tucked in, looking at the tape, “You drew these doodles on so cutely~”
“Gotta make it look fashionable right? You're basically walking about the showroom floor, I can't have you looking like a peasant.” You laugh tiredly.
“Did you see our supervisor's face, he was basically glaring at us the whole time.” Hayoung jokes and scrunches her eyebrows to frown, trying to mimic your supervisor’s expression.
“You're gonna get wrinkles if you continue to do that,” you say. You remember. You’d both been giggling like kids, marker in hand, turning the breakdown into a joke. It felt like defiance then. Now it feels like a plaster on a broken leg.
You support Hayoung and lower her into a sitting position, before gently removing her socks from her feet. “These poor feet must've hurt…” you frown as you massage her feet tenderly.
“The number's gonna drop again right?” she says, looking at the progress board in the centre of the room. “Anyway that we can fix’em so that I can continue wearing it?”
“Y’know, the supervisor dragged me aside earlier and said new shoes for you or you're out of dress code,” you say with a sigh. “Company policy.” You stare at the taped mess on the floor. “How much?”
“₩60,000 to ₩80,000 for anything decent,” she replies, her voice sinking lower. “The cheap ones are forty, but they fall apart in a month. We’d just be back here again.”
You look at her in silence.
“I hate asking you to fix things that keep breaking,” she whispers. “I hate that we’re always one step behind.”
Your mouth opens to say something, anything, but nothing comes out.
Hayoung’s eyes stay fixated on the number — 41% — refusing to look at you as her lip trembles. “I don’t want to see it drop again,” she whispers. “We just got to forty-two. It felt… real. Like we were actually getting somewhere. If we spend now…” Her voice cracks. “I’m scared we’ll never climb back up.”
You sit down on the ground from your kneeling position and take her hands. They’re cold. “I know,” you say quietly. “But your feet hurt. You winced every step home. If you keep wearing those, you’ll injure yourself worse. Then you can’t work. Then we lose even more.”
She looks down, her eyes now glassy.
“I can tape them better,” she mumbles. “We’ll make it work.”
“You shouldn’t have to tape your shoes to work,” you say, thumb rubbing circles over her knuckles. “You deserve something that lasts. Something that doesn’t hurt. This isn’t spending — it’s investing in us. In you so that you can keep going.”
Hayoung stares at your hands for a long moment. A tear slips free, dripping onto the back of your palm. She swipes it away quickly.
“I hate this,” she says. “I hate that every time we move forward, something pulls us back.”
“I know. But we’re still moving. One step at a time. Even if it’s backward sometimes.” You point to the progress bar, and say, “Remember when we first bought that? We started out at zero. Look where we're at right now? Almost halfway there. I think that's progress.”
“You're my bbang princess, not a crying princess, so don't cry already alright?”
She takes a deep breath and exhales, nodding slowly.
“Okay,” she whispers.
“Let’s go get some shoes. It's our shopping date tonight.”
“Deal.”
Half an hour later, you're both at the nearby shoe mart — you insisted on taking the public bus instead of walking despite her protests, wanting to protect her precious feet. The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, casting a warm glow over the shelves filled with all kinds of shoes. Hayoung is seated on the bench, sneakers lined up in front of her feet.
You're kneeled on one leg at her side, putting another rejected shoe back into the box. “So what's it gonna be? These are the most comfortable of the lot right?” You ask, looking at the three sneakers finalists. They are basically the same model to which you insisted to get — good cushioning, reinforced sole, breathable mesh — albeit the high price of ₩78,000.
“Can we just get that one there? That one will work just fine, I swear.” Hayoung pouts, puffing her cheeks in protest as she points to the pair on display farthest from you, the one with a modest “₩36,000” price tag.
“Nuh uh. You're listening to me today.”
“But these are too expens—”
“Habbang. I know. It's not cheap, but it’ll last for years,” you retort softly. “You know how much we walk daily… Those are gonna wear out twice as fast as your current one, and we're gonna have to get a new one in a few months.”
“But—”
“I saw how you wiggled your toes earlier, those look so tight, especially at the front. Your toes are gonna get blisters. Remember what you promised me when we were on the way just now? You said you would list—”
“Okay okay! I got it! Stop nagging you naggy man~” Hayoung whines in defeat, swinging her hanging feet up and down with her palms tucked under her thighs. “I want the black pair,” she says.
“Great, we're going for the sky blue one then.”
“Wait, no! The black oneeee…”
You ignore her and stuff the other two black and gray pairs back into the boxes, before marching to the cashier with the sky blue sneakers in hand. Hayoung clambers behind you, constantly pulling and tugging the hem of your shirt. “Babeee… the black one pleasee? It’s less likely to get dirty…”
You ignore her and swipe the card, paying the full ₩78,000 without hesitation. The clerk bags them, and Hayoung carries the box under her arm like it’s made of glass.
The walk home is quiet at first. She made a fuss to walk instead of taking the bus since so much money had already been spent, to which you obliged. Rain has started, although it’s a light, steady drizzle. Hayoung’s old taped shoes squelch with every step, the tape already peeling off from the rain. So when you walk past the nearby convenience store, you beg for two small plastic bags from the store attendant, and wrap Hayoung’s shoes with them. You tie the plastic bags tight with a double knot, and it's done. “Tada~ build-your-own waterproof shoes!” Both her two pairs of shoes now stay dry, the old ones within your genius bagging skills, and the new ones in the shoe mart’s bag.
You bump her shoulder gently as you both continue to walk back. “I wanted to buy you high heels, you know,” you say teasingly. “Sky blue ones. Tall ones. The kind that makes your legs look endless.”
“Is that why you ignored my pleas in front of everyone? That was so embarassing!” she complained, although her beaming smile tells a different story.
“I know you love sky blue, which is why I insisted on it, especially since we're already paying such a high price for it.” You say, ruffling her hair as the rain gets progressively heavier. “I want to buy you so many shoes, so many handbags, dress you up with all the pretty clothes… But this is all I can get you right now….”
“But here am I, only able to sponsor you to be my Practical Princess.”
Hayoung snorts with a wet, half-laugh, then leans into you under the shared umbrella.
“Practical princess,” she echoes. “I’ll take it.” She slips her hand into yours, her fingers cold but the grip is tight.
“We’re gonna be okay,” she says softly. “Right?”
You squeeze her hand.
“Right.”
Back home, she sets the new shoe box by the door like a trophy. The taped pair goes in the trash with no mercy.
She curls into your side on the mattress, head leaning soft on your chest. The savings board watches from the wall.
40%.
But tomorrow, her feet won’t hurt.
And that feels like progress.
***
The savings board reads 75% when you twist the knob that night.
You stare at the number like it might vanish if you blink. 75%. A whole 30% jump. After three long years of 1% salaried crawls, sudden overtime windfalls, skimped meals, and endless ginger tea (you both still love it though), the lottery ticket you bought on a whim — just one, for laughs — actually hit. It's not the jackpot prize of ₩2.5 billion, but it's more than enough to pay for the downpayment of a 3-room rental apartment, one with a real kitchen, a room where you can sleep comfortably, and a bedroom with space for a crib. You're both way past the 50% line where you both swore was the starting point; the line where you both struggled to cross, the line where it signified new beginnings.
“Really? Like really really?” Hayoung screams at the numbers on the lottery site.
“Yep, I’ve already taken the liberty to retrieve the money annnd… look!” You say and flash your phone’s screen in Hayoung’s face, the numbers standing proud — a whopping ₩80 million added to your joint savings account. “I wanted to give you a surprise~”
“One, two, three…” Hayoung counts the number of zeroes on the screen over and over again, refusing to believe her eyes. She squeals in excitement, hopping up and down, and leaps onto you, wrapping her legs around your waist. “80! It's 80 million honey!” She giggles as you spin her around the tiny apartment, laughing together until she cries.
“Damn it! Keep it down!” your neighbours bang on the wall.
You both collapse on the mattress breathless, staring at the banking all like it's a miracle.
“We did it,” she keeps whispering, her face buried in your neck as she cries. “We actually did it.”
You kiss her tears, her cheeks, her lips, murmuring to her. “We’re building it. For real. Starting tomorrow.”
She nods, eyes shining. “50%. We’re way past that now.”
You fall asleep tangled together, the onesie she’d hidden in the drawer finally pulled out and placed on the pillow between you like a talisman.
***
The call comes at 7:14 a.m.
Hayoung’s phone buzzes on the floor. “Who—” She groans, reaching for it as you both munch on breakfast, then freezes when she sees the caller ID.
“Mom?”
You place your fork and plate down, instantly alert. Hayoung’s face drains of colour as she listens quietly, only occasionally replying with a short grunt. Her free hand grips your thigh so hard that it stings, but you ignore the pain when you see her hands trembling.
Hayoung lowers the phone, her lips pale. “Dad… collapsed earlier. They took him to the hospital.” She blurts, eyes already reddening. “They said they need to operate on him, but the surgery alone costs ₩120 million and the hospital won't schedule it without a deposit.”
You grip her hands gently, trying to soothe and calm her down.
“Mom’s crying… she doesn't know what to do…”
The room goes quiet except for Hayoung’s mother’s muffled sobbing through the speaker. Hayoung looks at you, eyes already teary, wide and terrified.
You don’t hesitate.
“Tell her we’ll send it,” you say softly and smile.
“But… the house…” Hayoung’s lips tremble.
“We’ll build another one,” you say. “Dad needs this now.”
She stares at you for a long moment, then nod hesitantly. Tears slip down her cheeks when she speaks into the phone.
“Mom… we have the money. We’ll transfer it immediately. Tell them to schedule the surgery.”
Hayoung hangs up.
The silence that follows was deafening.
Hayoung looks at the savings board. 75%. It suddenly feels empty.
“Habbang-ah, just call in sick today — family emergency,” you murmur, your hands caressing her cheeks, wiping the tears off. “Go visit Dad and accompany Mom.”
“But—”
“Shhh. Don't worry about it. I’ll handle your share of work today.” You reassure her, “I'm sure our supervisor will understand the situation.”
She stares at you while you look at her with calm and concerned eyes. “I’ll clear these up and head to work, so you quickly head to the hospital,” you say, already moving to clear the dishes. “Go accompany your Mom, she must have had a scare—”
Hayoung cuts you short and lunges at you, hugging you as she wraps her arms around your back. “I'm—sorry—” she sniffles, tears and snot seeping into your shirt.
You grab her by the shoulders and squish her cheeks. “Habbang. Look at me. Don't worry about me. Dad is more important right now. Hurry, no time to waste! And take a cab to the hospital, this isn't the time to be thrifty.” You turn her around and push her towards the bathroom, asking her to wash up. You turn to grab her clothes from the rack, passing them to her so that she can change, before making a call to book a taxi.
“Text me when you're there, and keep me updated okay? Tell Mom that I'm sorry that I can't be there.” You say as you close the door to the vehicle, waving goodbye to Hayoung’s teary face as the cab runs down the road.
“I hope everything goes fine with Dad…” you mumble to yourself, before heading back upstairs to get ready for work.
“Hi supervisor, my wife Hayoung will be submitting a request for an urgent family care leave today and won't be coming to work…” You make a call to your supervisor, applying for a leave of absence from work on your wife’s behalf, bargaining that you’ll take on her share of today’s workload. Once the approval was given, you change out and leave for work.
The day wasn't as merciful as you'd hoped. A constant influx of unreasonable customers, an unimaginable number of repair requests (most of them were not covered under warranty), and a wave of emails that notified you of supplier delays. The only saving grace to this dreadful day was Hayoung’s constant updates on her father’s condition — fortunately the surgery went fine, and her father is now stabilising in the monitoring ward.
Your phone buzzes and you check. It's another text from Hayoung.
<Habbang ❤️, 15:27:31> Dad’s condition has stabilised. All thanks to the doctors. How is it over at your side?
<You, 15:27:47> That's really really good! You and Mom must have been worried…
<You, 15:27:59> I’ll have to work overtime for a few hours, see you at home?
<Habbang ❤️, 15:29:32> Is it because of me? TT I’m sowwy…
<You, 15:30:29> Yah, what did I say about apologising to me? Don't ever do that.
<Habbang ❤️, 15:30:48> But still…
<You, 15:31:40> Don’t worry about me and make sure you and Mom grab something to eat. I’ll see you back at home tonight. Remember to drink water~
<Habbang ❤️, 15:32:34> Okay…🥺
You lock your phone and stuff it back into your pocket, sighing at the remaining paperwork to complete. You take a sip of ginger tea — it's your 6th one today — slapping your cheeks with your palm, and get back to work.
The few extra overtime hours pass by in a flash, and you're done a little earlier than expected. You pack your stuff, grab your bag and switch off the lights. Blue Prints closes behind you with a soft click.
Today, the once-assembled showrooms feel different — half-built, half-empty, like incomplete and scattered plans. Darkness swallows Blue Prints whole, and the faint glow of emergency lights along the floor cuts through each display, fracturing the perfect illusions into jagged pieces.
“Habbang~ I’m back,” you say with a slightly raised voice as you open the main door.
No answer. Only the faint sound of running water fills the empty silence of your small room.
You walk in and set your bag down on the ground beside the bed and turn to look at the bathroom. The bathroom door is closed.
You set the water to boil, and made two cups of ginger tea.
You wait.
The shower is still running. Ten minutes. Fifteen. Twenty.
You knock softly. No answer.
You try the handle. It's unlocked.
You push the door open.
Hayoung is crouched naked in the corner of the shower stall, knees tucked to her chest, head bowed low. Water pours over her back, soaking her hair, running in streams down her skin. She's shaking — not from cold, but from silent, wrenching sobs that make her whole body jerk.
You don't think. You step into the bathroom fully clothed, your deep blue polo tee still on, your work pants still on. You sit down on the wet tile beside her, and pull her into your lap.
Hayoung doesn't resist. She curls into you like a child and presses her face into your chest, crying harder now. The raw, broken sounds of her uncontrollable sobs echoes off the tiles.
“I’m sorry,” she chokes out. “I'm sorry for robbing our future.”
You hold her tight, the water soaking through your hair, your shirt, your pants.
“It was your win. Your ticket. And my family… I took it all away. I ruined everything.” Hayoung bawls even louder.
“You’re not ruining anything. You’re the reason I keep going,” you counter immediately.
“I'm always ruining everything… the coffee, my shoes, me getting sick… I-I—”
You hate seeing her like this — like she thinks she broke everything. But she didn’t. She never could.
“Shhh,” you whisper, rocking her gently, rubbing her wet hair. “You didn't take anything. We gave it. Because that's what we do. We help family. We help each other.”
She shakes her head against you, hiccups mixing in between sobs. “We were so close… We went past 50% by so much. We could have started trying. And now… now it's gone. Because of me. It's me again.”
You cup her face and lift it so that she has no choice but to look at you. Water streams down both your faces, mixing with her tears.
“Listen to me,” you said, voice steady even though it carries a hint of a tremble. “Remember what we said when we got married? Forever. Every challenge. Every obstacle. Together. That hasn't changed. It's never you. It's us.”
She stares at you, her eyes red and swollen.
“We lost the money,” you continue. “But we didn't lose us. We didn't lose the dream. We just… hit a delay. Like we always do. We’ll build again. Continue to build like we always do.”
Her lips tremble, “I feel like I stole your future.”
You kiss her forehead, her cheeks, and her lips softly and slowly, tasting salt and water.
“Our future,” you correct. “And I’d give it again. A hundred times. For our dad. For our mom. For you. For us.”
Hayoung clings to you, sobbing quietly now, her arms still locked around your neck. You both stay like that until the water runs cold and the sobbing softens.
You finally stand up, turn the water off, and wrap Hayoung in a dry towel. You carry her like a wrapped dumpling to the mattress and sit with her in your lap, rocking her until her breathing evens out.
She lifts her head after a while, and says softly, “I don't want to be here tonight. Not to this cold and thin mattress. Not to the board at 40%.”
You brush the wet hair from her face. “Then we don't,” you say. “I have the keys again this week.”
“Blue Prints?”
You nod.
“Let's go. Let's pretend… just for tonight… that none of this happened. That we still have everything,” you say.
Hayoung stares into your eyes for a long moment. “Okay,” she whispers. “Let’s pretend.” You help her dress — your oversized burgundy hoodie, pleated shorts, and knee high socks. You carry her on your back and take the keys, locking the apartment behind you, walking into the night.
Blue Prints awaits.
And tonight, you both are going to claim what the world kept taking away.
The employee entrance clicks shut behind you. Blue Prints is dark except for the faint glow of emergency strips along the floor. The air smells of fabric sheets and furniture pine wood — familiar, comforting, and suddenly heartbreaking.
Hayoung lies over your back, hoodie sleeves pulled over her fingers, still trembling slightly from the shower. Hayoung is light, unbelievably so, but you can feel the weight of the day on her pressing down on you — the hospital, her worry, the guilt, and the loss of the lottery money. But she's right here, with you.
You don't speak at first. You just walk, carrying her on your back, carrying the weight of your future as you walk through the showroom, down across the different blueprints. “You pause before the living room display and murmur, “I’ve always imagined us here everyday. Sitting on the couch, enjoying your favourite dramas, watching comedy films, enjoying snacks and drinking beers.”
“Me too. I've always wanted to have a couch on our own, one that we can sink in and relax after a tough day at work. I don't want to sit on the floor forever.” Hayoung adds softly.
You nod and continue walking down towards the next blueprint. “You see this bathroom? I want it huge, one with a sink and mirror that’s large enough so that we can brush our teeth together.”
Hayoung nods in agreement, her muffled sobs no longer, now replaced with soft giggles. “I always imagine how it would be like when you wash your face, all white with the cleanser foam~ And I want a bath tub too, one that we can sink our bodies in together, soaking in the warm water to soothe our tired muscles.”
You carry her and move along, walking past the bedroom showroom. “I would then buy a huge bed, one with a mattress that's so wide that we can do all sorts of things…” you say.
“Yeah~ I wanna fit all sorts of things in our huge room — a large wardrobe, a make up counter… a baby crib…” Hayoung says excitedly, before softening at the mention of the crib.
You can almost see it — a tiny crib in the corner, Hayoung humming as she rocks it. You want it so badly it hurts.
You continue walking, talking to Hayoung, drawing up imaginary plans to your aspiring home. Then you stop at the kitchen blueprint.
“You must be tired, carrying me. Let me down.” Hayoung whispers in your ear. You slowly lower her down onto the ground, and she stands wobbly, holding on to your hands for support.
Her hands are cold. You guide her into the showroom, fingers locked tight around hers. The big island gleams under the accent lights — white marble-look countertop, deep sink, open shelves. Hayoung stops in front of it, running her fingers along the edge like she’s touching something unachievable.
“Imagine me here every morning,” she says, looking back at you. “Me chopping vegetables, washing rice, tossing and stirring actual food in our pans.”
You stand beside her and grab two mugs. “Then I would boil some water in the kettle, still making our favourite coffee and ginger tea, warming ourselves up for the day ahead.” You say, smiling at her.
“I would make your favourite food for dinner, whip up the lamest 0 star Michelin meals for us.” Hayoung continues, her voice drooping lower. “A kitchen like this. Where I could cook for you every morning. Where I could… make food for our baby.”
Her voice cracks on the last word. She turns to you, eyes glassy again.
You step behind her, arms sliding around her waist, chest pressed to her back. You rest your chin on her shoulder.
“Then let's pretend tonight,” you murmur against her ear. “Just us. Let me give you that tonight.”
You turn her in your arms till she faces you and kiss her, slow at first, then deeper, tasting the salt of her tears and the spicy ginger tea and everything that you both have been holding back for the past five years. Her hands slide under your polo, palms warm against your back. You reciprocate and slide yours under the hoodie, grabbing her soft breasts, kneading them lightly.
“M-more…” Hayoung moans into your lips, her arms pulling you towards her, refusing to let go. You grunt and flick your fingers against her already stiff nipples, drawing out a soft mewl from her.
“Habbang…” you say as you pull off from her lips. You grab the hem of her hoodie and pull it up gently, letting it slide up her body, off her arms, before letting it fall onto the island.
She's bare underneath, her soft and smooth skin glowing in the low light. You lift her onto the island and peel off her shorts, throwing it onto the floor. Hayoung’s legs part around your hips, and she gasps when you press your clothed sex between her thighs, already hard, already aching for her.
You kiss her cheeks, her neck, her collarbone, down to her breasts, tongue circling one nipple, then the other, until she's arching, moaning softly. “Please…” she pleads, her voice trembling. “Cum in me. Pretend this is the night. Pretend that we crossed the 50%. Pretend that we didn't lose everything.”
“I'm yours,” you groan, suckling her breasts harder. “Always.”
You unlatch your lips from her tits, and continue kissing downwards, past her tight waist, down towards her spread legs. “Babe… you're so… wet… How long have you wanted me?” Her folds are glistening, soaked with her greed and desire to start a family.
“Always. Ever since we got married. Ever since you asked me out. Ever since I met you.” Hayoung says, cupping your face to look up at hers. “I've always wanted to marry you, start a family with you, bear your child…”
You stare deeply into her eyes, and some switch flips inside you. You stand upright instantly, hands reaching down to unbuckle your belt. You tug your loosened pants down, letting it fall to the ground, your ankles kicking it aside. You're hard, unbelievably hard. Your cock throbs with need, already leaking from the slit as the tip hovers before her pussy.
“Hayoung.” You whisper, your hands gripping her tiny waist. She looks up at you, her eyes begging with raw desire. “Let's start a family.”
The moment those words left your mouth, you push into her slowly — she's so wet, so ready — and she cries out, head nodding desperately as her nails dig into your back. You sink yourself bit by bit, parting her tight, hot walls until you're fully embedded in her.
“You're so tight…” you groan, her heat melting both your cock and your mind.
“I need you… please—”
Even before she completes her sentence, you draw yourself out till your tip is the only thing left, and thrust it back in. You set a steady pace, thrusting deep, fucking Hayoung missionary on the island as you grip her waist tight.
“God fuck—” Hayoung moans as she loses her balance, her back falling onto the cold marble of the island. Her back arches into a deep semi-circle as you fuck your cock into her, and she wraps her legs around you, pulling you closer, deeper.
“Fill me,” she begs. “Give it to me. Make me yours. Make our baby tonight… please…”
You lean forward and pull her upwards again, grunting as you thrust deep into her over and over again, sheathing your cock in and out repeatedly. You kiss her tears, her mouth, thrusting harder, faster, chasing the edge together. Hayoung's moans turn into sobs — not sad, but overwhelmed, like everything she’s carrying is finally spilling out.
“I want it so bad,” she gasps between your thrusts. “I want your baby inside me. I want to feel you cum in me… deep… until I’m full… until I’m pregnant with our child…”
“I want it too.” You growl, staring into her glassy eyes as you fuck her harder and faster. She's impossibly wet as you continuously drive yourself in and out of her wet heat, the rationality of your mind blurring to only one goal — to breed. “I never wanted to not have a child. I’ve always wanted to start a family with you… I want to carry our child.”
“Then cum in me. I don't care if we're not at 50%...” Hayoung cries, “We’ll figure it out. Like we always do. Right?”
You drive into her one last time, groaning her name as you spill into her with deep pulses, filling her while she shudders around you. She pulls you into her soft breasts and cries out in bliss as she cums hard. Her walls clenches around you erratically, refusing to let you go as you continue to thrust into her.
Your thrusts slow into a stop as you both ride out your orgasms, and you collapse onto her, both a sweaty, gasping mess.
You stay inside her, breathing together, until she whispers, “Don’t pull out yet.”
You don't.
You slide your arms underneath her thighs and lift her — still joined — and carry her to the laundry room.
The washing machine display is sleek, silver, humming faintly in demo mode. You set her on the edge, legs dangling, and thrust again. The machine vibrates under her, sending shocks into her and she gasps, head falling back.
“When we have one,” she pants, “you’ll fuck me like this… all the time… while it shakes us both…”
You grip her hips, driving deep. “I’ll fill you every time,” you growl. “Every load. Until you’re pregnant. Until we have our family.”
She loses her composure from the added sensations, and slides downwards, one of her legs now rooted onto the ground for support.
The intense vibration of the washing machine sends tremors through Hayoung’s tight body into your core, sending shocks and tingles to every nerve of your cock as you piston into her.
“It’s—too much—” Hayoung cries, her body shivering and trembling with pleasure. “You’re so full—so deep—in me—I can feel—your dick—shaking and rubbing—against my pussy—”
“You feel so good baby. Your insides, they're so tight, so hot… I feel like I’m melting inside of you,” you moan, shuddering at the intense heat. You look at her as she crumbles in your arms, so vulnerable, yet so precious. You want to give the world to her, and you do, switching up the pace.
You pull out fully, rubbing your tip on her fluttering folds and Hayoung sobs. “W-why did you take out… more please… more…”
You stay silent, and your only reply is a deep, slow thrust. All the way to the hilt. You stay fully embedded in her, moving your hands down to press against the bulge on her waist that’s formed from your dick. Pressing on it firmly, you rub and push in small circular bursts.
“Baby w-what is this feeling, it-it feels so good,” Hayoung shakes and moans, her hands desperately reaching down cup against yours. She shakes your hand faster, grinding and rubbing your palm against the bulge harder, moaning and crying even louder.
“I-I it feels so good—I’m gonna fucking—fuck fuck fuck—cum—”
The combined vibration from the washing machine and the rubbing sends her over the edge. Hayoung shrieks as she cums again, crying out loud as she clenches around you. Her hands and body freezes, but you don't stop rubbing — you rub against the bulge even faster, your hands a blur. Her juices flood and soak your groin as she squeezes around your cock rhythmically, her eyes rolling to the back of her head as she rides out her orgasm.
You don't wait for her to recover. Still buried deep within her soaked warmth, you lift her again and carry her to the living room blueprint.
“Don’t stop,” she begs, each step you take prodding her sensitive walls. “Keep your cum deep inside of me.”
The big gray sectional sofa waits, plush and deep. You sit slowly, never breaking contact, letting her settle fully onto you. Hayoung’s thighs tremble around your hips as she straddles you, her knees sinking into the soft and plush cushions. She’s still shaking from the previous orgasms, still slick and full, but her eyes burn with something fiercer now.
She starts moving with slow rolls of her hips at first, grinding down hard enough to make you groan. Her hands brace on your shoulders as she finds a rhythm.
“I want to feel you everywhere,” she whispers, voice cracking. “Touch me… please… touch all of me. Don’t just love me tonight. Touch me. Breed me. Make me feel it.”
Her words hit like a plea. It’s raw and desperate, born from the pain of the day, the pain from the sense of helplessness. She’s not asking for gentleness anymore; she wants to be taken, claimed, reminded that she’s still here, still wanted, even when everything else feels lost.
You slide your hands up her sides, tracing every curve, every inch of her skin. Your fingers slide across her ribs, thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts, then cupping them fully, kneading softly at first, then harder as she moans. You pinch her nipples between thumb and forefinger, rolling them until she arches, gasping.
“Like this?” you murmur.
“More,” she begs, bouncing harder now. Her hips rise and fall in a frantic rhythm as she fucks your cock, taking you deeper with every downward stroke. “Touch me… everywhere… don’t hold back… I need to feel your hands on me… all of me…”
One hand slides down her back, fingers digging into the soft flesh of her ass, lifting her slightly so you can thrust up harder. The other hand roams across her body, stroking her stomach, pressing against the bulge where you’re buried inside her, rubbing the spot that makes her sob with pleasure.
She rides you desperately, bouncing faster, thighs slapping against yours, breasts jiggling with each drop. Tears stream down her cheeks, mixing with her sweat, but she doesn’t stop. She leans forward, pressing her forehead to yours. “I don’t want to be loved tonight,” she gasps between bounces. “I want to be touched. Filled. Bred. I want you to take me until there’s nothing left but you inside me. Until I can’t think about the money… or Dad… or anything except you breeding me.”
You groan, hands gripping her hips tighter. You lift her up and down now, controlling the pace, using her body like she asked. You slam her down onto your cock over and over. She’s weightless in your hold, your trembling, needy wife that’s riding the edge.
“Take it,” you growl. “Take every inch. I’m breeding you tonight. I’m filling you until you’re overflowing. Until you’re pregnant. Until our child is growing in you.”
“Yes… yes…” she sobs, bouncing harder. “Use me… fuck me like you mean it… make me yours… make me a mother… please… I need it so bad… cum in me… fill me deep… don’t stop…”
You thrust up to meet her every drop, hands lifting her hips faster, harder. The sofa creaks beneath you and the cushions sink under the force. Her moans turn into broken cries.
“I’m close,” she gasps. “I’m so close… touch me… please… touch me everywhere… make me cum on your cock… breed me… please…”
You slide one hand between you, thumb finding her clit, rubbing fast circles.
She shatters with her head thrown back, crying out your name, walls pulsing around you as she cums hard. The clench drags you over the edge and you thrust up one last time, spilling deep with your hot and thick cum, flooding her while she trembles and sobs above you.
She collapses forward, forehead pressed to yours, both of you gasping. You stay inside her, softening slowly, arms wrapped tight around her waist.
Tears drip onto your chest as she whispers, “Don’t pull out yet.”
“Bedroom,” she says against your lips. “Please. One more. Give me all your cum. Only then I can be sure that I’ll get pregnant.”
The king-size display waits with thick gray duvet, pillows stacked high and starry string lights draped over the headboard like a night sky. You lay her down gently, but the need is too strong for gentleness.
You flip her onto her stomach first and fuck your cock into her doggy. She arches her back with her ass up, hands gripping the duvet tight. You thrust from behind, deep and hard, hands on her hips, pulling her back onto you with every thrust.
“Take it,” you grunt. “Take every inch of my cock.”
She pushes back, moaning, tears soaking the pillow. “Yes… yes… breed me… please… fuck me like you mean it… make me pregnant… make me yours…”
You lean over her, chest to her back, one hand sliding under to rub her clit. She cums hard again, walls milking you desperately. You thrust through it, chasing your own release.
You push her pliable body down onto the bed pronebone, and she lies flat on her stomach, legs spread, you covering her completely. You thrust deep, spearing your cock into her depths, grinding against her ass.
“Look at me,” you whisper, turning her face so you can see her eyes. “I love you. We’re doing this. No matter what.”
Tears stream down her cheeks as she nods.
“I love you too,” she gasps. “Cum in me… one last time… fill me… make me full… make our baby… please…” Her walls squeeze tight every time you push in, and even tighter when you pull out. Your cock has become a plug for her pussy, one that stops your seed from flowing out.
You shift again, flipping her onto her back, back to missionary. You fuck into her face-to-face, making eye contact as her legs wraps around your waist. You thrust slow, deep, savoring every inch.
“You’re mine,” you say with a hoarse and rough voice. “Forever. I’m going to cum in you until you’re dripping. Until you’re pregnant. Until we have our family.”
She sobs, utterly broken and overwhelmed. She's in pure bliss at the thought of her belly full, full of your cum, full of your seed, full with your eventual child that will grow inside of her.
“Yes… yes… breed me… give it all to me… empty yourself inside me… make me yours… make me a mother… please… I need it so bad…”
You can't hold back any longer. You grab on to shoulders and drive into her, jackhammering your cock into her pussy the fastest you can. Wet squelching sounds and the slapping of your fleshes against each other echoes around the empty showroom. The bed is utterly soaked with both of your sweat, forming deep dark stains that will be marked into the sheets forever, but you don't care.
There's only one thing on your mind, and that is to unload your balls empty into Hayoung's womb, in hopes of giving form to a new life. “I-I'm gonna cum—” you grunt.
“Inside please… give me everything… everything inside of me…” Hayoung sobs frantically.
You drive deep, groaning her name as you cum hard, spilling everything you have left while she clenches around you, crying out in release. She milks you with desperate pulses, drawing out every drop, wringing you dry, until you’re both trembling, spent, and collapsed together.
You stay inside her, softening slowly, arms wrapped tight. She curls into your chest, hand resting on her stomach. It's trembling, hopeful.
“We’ll make it real,” she whispers. “Somehow.”
You kiss her forehead.
“Somehow,” you promise.
Under the starry lights of a pretend bedroom with the world locked outside, you hold each other tight.
The savings board is still back home.
40%.
But tonight, you built something anyway.
***
A few weeks have passed since that night in Blue Prints.
The apartment is the same — thin mattress, multi-purpose dining table, ginger tea boxes on the extra chairs. The savings board on the wall has crept up to 43%. You twist the knob this evening, and the left dial clicks forward, the right falling to 57%. It's not much, but it's something.
A quiet reminder that progress, even slow, is still progress.
Hayoung is at the multi-purpose table, boiling water for tea. The new shoes sit by the door, their laces neatly tied. They still look almost new — she gives extra care and attention to it, taking care not to soil her favourite sky blue colour — and she flexes her toes in them sometimes.
You watch her from the mattress, phone in hand with another house tour paused on the screen. She brings two mugs over, handing you one, then curls into your side. Her head rests on your shoulder.
“I added one more percent today,” you say.
She glances at the board, then back at you. “One percent,” she echoes, smiling small. “It’s still moving.”
She sips her tea and sets it down. Her hand drifts to her stomach. She doesn't say anything about tracking cycles or tests; she just rests her palm there, like she's holding space for the possibility.
You cover her hand with yours.
“Remember the night we lost the money?” you ask quietly. “You cried in the shower. I thought you’d break.”
She nods. “I thought I’d ruined everything. The win. The dream. Us.”
You squeeze her hand. “You didn't ruin anything. You saved your dad. And we’re still here.”
She turns her face into your neck, breathing you in. “I still think about the onesie in the drawer sometimes. And the crib we imagined. And the kitchen where I’d make baby food.”
“We’ll get there. One percent at a time.”
She lifts her head, eyes shining. It’s not with tears this time, but with something steadier. Hope, perhaps. Or stubbornness.
You pull her closer, arms around her waist. She nestles against your chest, hand still on her stomach, with yours covering it.
The savings board watches from the wall.
43%.
The blueprints right now may be scattered, but the ones for your futures aren't.
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Locked Screts
