Sucking on yuyu's fingers while he fucks you quick and hard because he has a make up crew waiting for him just outside the door!!
OH GOODNESS the way his hips would smack against yours but he has to try and muffle the sound?? sighhh
ᢉ𐭩 ( jyh ) fem reader nsfw / swearing, established relationship, fingers/hands (all that good stuff), public sex (?), dirty talk, unprotected sex!
yunho had your thighs wrapped around his waist, hips moving faster than either of you could think. his cock plunged deep into your walls, hard and quick.
“mmph— yun—“ your whines came out muffled as drool dribbled down your chin and around his fingers. he groans into your neck before there’s another knock on the dressing room door.
“yunho? are you ready?” the stylist asked softly, not even realizing what was occurring on the other side of that door.
he stifles a moan, “j-just a minute!”
your lips wrap around his thick fingers as you continue to suck on them, trying your best to swallow back your moans.
yunho looked down to where his hips met yours—your clit swollen and puffy from how hard he was thrusting. your arousal dripped down him and onto the couch.
he groaned deep in his chest, low and quiet. “such a good pussy, baby. you like being fucked like this? my fingers in your mouth?”
you nodded your head quickly, too afraid to speak.
his other hand came to grip your hip, squeezing hard enough to leave a bruise there. he pulled your hips against his, fucking into you harder.
you gasped, throwing your head back in pleasure. “oh f-fuck—“
his fingers slipped from your lips, now wrapped around your chin as he made you look at him once more.
“yeah?” he smirked. “gonna cum with the crew right outside? probably listening to those pretty moans?”
that only pushed you closer to the edge, your pussy clenching around him as he teased you. he shuddered, his head dropping against your shoulder again.
“we’ll be waiting when you’re ready, yunho.” the stylist spoke again suddenly. “are you okay?”
“f-fine!” he stuttered out. “i’m fine.”
you clenched around him again—purposely—feeling his hips stutter.
“oh, you little—“ he huffed out a laugh before grunting into your skin, his length reaching deeper as he continued thrusting.
˶ˊᜊˋ˶ : hoped you liked this ! ^^ tried my best to tailor it to your request
random boyfriend gestures i associate each of them with.
[ (ateez) ] | more random fluff, established relationship, soft thoughts | warning/s: none, this feels very parasocial
홍중 — 「 hongjoong. 」
⤷ always keeps direct eye contact with you when you’re talking to him. he wants you to know he’s listening to everything you’re saying. no matter what, he’ll stop everything and put his full focus onto what you’re saying. responds with more than just hums or nods, asks questions and gets involved. the way he looks at you never fails to make you blush, words fumbling as you get lost in your own story. hongjoong just laughs, a smirk curling on his lips - “it’s okay jagiya, take your time.”
성화 — 「 seonghwa. 」
⤷ dresses up for every occasion. there isn’t a single event or date that you two go on that seonghwa isn’t dressed up for. the money helps but he has incredible fashion sense on his own. it always makes you proud to have a man that cares about his appearance and knows how to use that skill properly, never leaving the house looking anything but incredibly put together - he secretly puts in more effort when he learns this.
윤호 — 「 yunho. 」
⤷ incredibly patient with you. it might seem simple, but he never gets frustrated with you no matter how hard you might be to teach. likes to teach you how to play his favorite video games, and even if you suck, he’ll just set his big, warm hands over your own and guide your fingers exactly where they need to be. he just doesn’t know that the reason why you suck is because you’re too busy focusing on the way he’s leaning over you and how good it feels.
여상 — 「 yeosang. 」
⤷ when he’s trying to focus on something, he always ties his hair up into a loose messy bun, with a few stray blonde strands. sticks his tongue out as he does whatever he’s doing. you find it so attractive even when he’s simply just reading, watching the way his eyes zone in and with his hair tied back... you just love it when he ties his hair back.
산 — 「 san. 」
⤷ presses kisses to your forehead. no matter the occasion, whether you’re upset or he’s leaving or the two of you are just sitting together watching a movie. he likes to remind you that he’s there, so every so often he lean towards you, causing you to blink in surprise, before pressing a soft kiss against your forehead - his lips are always soft.
민기 — 「 mingi. 」
⤷ reaching anything that’s too high. even if you’re tall enough to reach something, he’ll still make a habit of grabbing it for you. likes being able to do things for you, but mainly it’s because it gives him the chance to subtly show off his muscles, stretching his arm up next to you, leaning in close to you. every single time it takes your breath away, leaving you a flustered mess as he goes back to whatever he was doing before. and every single time he leaves with a shit-eating grin.
우영 — 「 wooyoung. 」
⤷ sets his hand on your lower back to guide you places. doesn’t matter where you are or what you’re doing, every single time he’ll be there right behind you, guiding you. makes you feel safe and protected, and he knows which is why he does it. a simple way to show he’s there without having to say anything and the feeling of his hand on your back never fails to cause goosebumps. he also leans close too, letting his breath fan across the back of your neck as he guides you forward.
종호 — 「 jongho. 」
⤷ gives the absolute best messages. never ever complains either. he likes to be able to calm you in any way he can, whether that be when you’re stressed or just simply something to make you comfortable. he’s incredibly good with his hands, knowing exactly where to press or rub - does it without expecting anything in return cause he just wants to make you happy.
𝗦𝗨𝗠𝗠𝗔𝗥𝗜𝓞 ──── in which your daughter disappears down a store aisle, nowhere to be found. that is, until she comes back to you with a handsome stranger holding her hand and a brand-new toy.
﹙ 1,079 ﹚ choi san x singlemom!fem!r | 𝑓𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧＆𝑐𝗈𝗆𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗍 + petnames strangers to (???) physical touch not proofread ﹗
─ emi is about 3 years old here.
𝓁ani speaks : not my best work but i’ve been struggling to write lately so i’m taking this as a win
she had been right there.
standing at your side, in the bread aisle, holding onto the fabric of your sweatpants as you picked up two loafs to put into your cart. she followed behind you closely as you pushed the cart when you left the aisle, traveling to get the next thing on your list.
but in an instant, she was gone. you were calling her name, asking her about snacks and what she would want for dinner.
“emi?”
there was no response. you had stopped pushing the cart, realizing you didn’t feel her tugging at your pants or hear her occasional giggles as she imagined all sorts of games and cartoon characters.
you turned to find nothing but a shelf of chocolate next to you, your daughter not in sight.
“emilia?” you called out, looking down one of the aisles. there was a lady who glanced at you and turned back to the item she was holding.
she couldn’t have gone far, you tried to convince yourself.
leaving the cart where it was, you jogged back to the bread aisle. and again, there was no sight of her.
“emi? baby?”
you ran to another aisle, searching everything up and down, checking behind the items that stood on the shelves.
no emi.
your heart’s pace began to pick up, faster than its normal rate. usually you’d put her in the cart but there were too many groceries this time, and you were not pulling that red wagon that she loved to sit in when you both went on walks.
you checked a few more aisles before eventually finding an employee, jogging up to her for some extra help.
“excuse me, um,” you stop in front of her, your chest heaving.
she looked at you, her eyes widening with concern. “yes?”
“i’m sorry— have you seen a little girl around here? pink sweatpants and a white tee shirt?”
she looked down the aisle she was stocking in. “no, i’m sorry. no one’s really been down this one.”
you drag your hands down your face, groaning. you thanked the young lady anyway, hoping to find someone else who could be of more help. but before you could walk away, she called out.
“i could ask around, if you’d like? maybe she’s looking for you,” she offered a tender smile, climbing down from the small step stool to stand by your side.
“that would be great, thank you.” you let out a shaky breath. together, you both roamed the aisles, calling out your daughter’s name—to which you received no response.
as the minutes passed, the more you walked up and down those aisles, your stomach sank. you couldn’t lose her, not your baby.
the employee eventually turned to you, after walking down the seventh aisle.
“would you like me to call the police?” her eyebrows were furrowed as she studied your anxious expression.
before you could even start to say yes, a small voice called out, nearly bringing tears to your eyes.
“mama!”
you turned around so quickly, you almost lost your balance.
there was emi, her face lighting up when she saw that it was you. she held something in her hand that was nearly as big as her, and a hand that you did not recognize.
your gaze shifted to the figure next to her, traveling up to reveal a man—an all too good-looking one—with sharp features but a gentle smile on his face. he held emi’s hand tightly, a protective grip that ensured she wouldn’t wander off again.
you caught yourself staring, quickly clearing your throat before greeting your daughter.
you crouched to her level, watching as she immediately let go of the man’s hand and he watched as she ran to you, his smile growing wide.
“mama!” she said again, dropping the box in her hand and wrapping her hands around your neck. you pulled her in for a tight embrace, your arms wrapping around her smaller frame.
“oh, thank goodness,” you mumbled, closing your eyes. you rubbed her back, staying there with her for a moment.
“where did you go?! i thought i lost you, i thought—“ you rambled.
emi pulled back to look at you, “i don’t know,”
“you don’t know?” you laughed shakily, your breathing still uneven.
she shook her head before hugging you again, tighter this time.
“i’m sorry,” she mumbled into your jacket. without saying anything, you kissed the side of her head, lifting her up in your arms.
your gaze landed back on the man, who still stood in front of you.
“i found her in the toy section,” he said softly, glancing at the box that sat on the ground. it was a new teacup set with little utensils inside, which emi didn’t need but that didn’t matter at the moment.
“um, i— thank you,” your lips formed a small smile, watching as he held out his hand. you took it, your palms sliding against each other’s as you gave his hand a firm shake.
“it’s no problem, i’m glad i could help,” his dimple deepened as he beamed, still holding your hand.
your face felt hot as the handsome stranger gazed back at you, a twinkle in his eye.
“uh, did you need help? with anything else?” he asked, his grip on your hand turning loose as he bent to pick up emi’s new toy.
“no, no,” you reassured him. “i…i think we got everything.”
he handed you the toy, as you readjusted emi in your arms.
“thank you, again. i really appreciate it.”
he nodded, saying that it was no problem. emi sat up in your arms, facing him.
“thank you, mr. san,” she spoke quietly, suddenly shy. he chuckled m, leaning in to give her head a small pat.
“of course, but stay close to mama, okay? she was really worried.” his tone softened when he spoke to emi, as if she was the most delicate thing ever.
emi nodded before wrapping her arms around you again, nuzzling into your neck.
you looked at san once more as he waved to you and emi, giving you one more smile before turning back down the aisle.
“how did you manage to find the most gorgeous person in the store?” you murmured more to yourself than to emi.
she yawned, her small hand patting at your back. “wan’ go home.”
you nodded, forgetting all about the cart that was filled with the items from your list.
➣ synopsis: song mingi. everyone knows his name — south korea’s golden boy rapper and producer is always in the headlines; award after award, sold out shows, new #1 albums. recently, it’s been: drinking, fights, drugs, girls. in order to help his image, his agency comes up with a last attempt to help him and it involves becoming your boyfriend, south korea’s sweetheart and the complete opposite of song freaking mingi.
➣ GENERAL WARNINGS FOR SERIES: Mingi is major big asshole for a while but he gets better I promise, negotiations of relationship related issues without recipients consent, vulgar language, violence, blood, arguments, heated situations (and not in a hot way), toxic environments, misogyny, toxic masculinity, Mingi is a HOT MESS, yes that’s a warning, mentions of past relationships and also Mingi having sexual relations with other people, bisexual!mingi, kind of explicit scenes with Mingi having sex with someone other than the reader, excessive drinking and recreational drug use, big dick Mingi bc yes he has a big dick, eventual rough sex, clit/pussy slapping, sex in public, biting, choking, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it kids), illusions to voyuerism, mg is very angry for a lot of this but I promise things get better, this looks like a dark fic but I promise there are tender moments, you just have to get through all of that ^^
➣ part two
“...in other news, heartthrob rapper Song Mingi has made the news yet again for another fight he has started at Club Octagon in Gangnam, leading him to be kicked out. He exited the club in front of security with three girls hanging off of his arms. When will enough be enough?”
“I completely agree Sunghoon, his music is incredible and his shows are jaw dropping, but when will this toxic behavior be put to an end?”
+2,567 -400
I know everyone’s saying he needs help but he looks so good ㅠㅠ mingi’s in his idgaf era we love to see it
+1,347 -345
me and my friends saw him at KISS in itaewon and we could all tell he was blacked out, snorting coke off some girls body as they practically fucked in the corner of the club. he needs serious help
+588 -400
anyone else thinks it doesn’t matter and he’s an adult and can live his life???
+271 -123
he’s so hot ㅎㅎㅎㅎ
+129 -76
I hope he’s okay ㅠㅠㅠ is something going on???? :(
“Oppa…ngh, fuck!”
Mingi leans forward, biting gently at the shoulder blade of…whoever he currently has his dick in right now.
The obscene slap of his hips against her ass can barely be heard over the sound of his heart pumping in his ears. He reaches down to knot his fingers in her black hair, pushing her head down into the mattress. Mingi fucks into her hard, causing her to squeal and she’s screaming, yelling that she’s going to cum.
Mingi’s close, he’s so, so close. His dick almost hurts with how badly he needs to cum, but he’s nothing if not a gentleman…ladies first.
“Oppa!” She screams as she clenches around him, legs trembling underneath her.
He’s gonna cum, he’s gonna—
Not cum. If the ringing of his phone on the table is any consolation. Scrambling to look at the caller ID on the cellphone, Mingi is going to make it his personal mission to kill whoever is interrupting this moment right now.
“Fuck!” cries Mingi when he sees who it is.
“Oppa?” The girl asks weakly.
He grimaces as he pulls out of her, cock screaming at him to put it back, finish himself off. Reaching over to the table, he grabs his phone just in time to put it to his ear before the call ends.
“Hyung, I’m busy—”
“Get your ass down to the office right now. I don’t give a fuck what you’re doing or more so who you’re doing.”
The call cuts off.
Shit, Mingi thinks, shit.
Mingi’s left leg bounces as his nerves feel completely singed at the ends, nervous energy thrumming through his veins. The sound of a remote smacking against the table ricochets around the conference room, silence enveloping him as the news is shut off. Mingi has his head tilted back against his chair, sunglasses pushed up the bridge of his nose under the bright lights and fingers fidgeting with his rings.
“They’re talking about arresting you this time with no leeway.”
“They wouldn’t hyung, I’m Korea’s golden boy,” Mingi argues, sounding bored with this conversation already and it’s barely begun.
“They are literally blowing me up with threats of your arrest warrant. I’m about to let them have you spend a few nights in jail.” Hongjoong sighs, reaching up to pull at the strands of his freshly dyed red hair, at his wit’s end.
Mingi frowns slightly and then laughs condescendingly. “You would never do that to me.”
Hongjoong sighs, “you’re right, I love you too much, but I need you to fix your shit or I’m going to fix it for you and maybe you won’t have any choice in the matter in what happens to you.”
Mingi bites his lip, the skin chapped from all the kissing and licking and sucking he had done an hour prior.
He's annoyed, he has a right to be annoyed. Every right.
A sigh resounds from the other end of the table as Choi Jongho rubs at his temples. His face is a bright red, veins popping underneath his jawline.
“You are putting me in a terrible position, hyung.”
Hongjoong stays silent as he waits for Jongho to say more, eyes darting from Mingi back to the PR manager.
Jongho’s sharp eyes are boring into Mingi’s and it sends a shiver down his spine. He doesn’t enjoy causing stress to his team — he knows he acts as if it’s his favorite extracurricular activity, but he loves his team. They have been with him since the very beginning and have been his shoulder to cry on during hard times and his people to hug when celebrating.
Recently, he has had neither a shoulder to cry on or someone to hug as he has been too busy causing premature grey hairs. He is completely aware that his behavior has gotten out of hand, but truly, at this moment in time — he sincerely does not give a single fuck. It could also be that he is still high, the drug bouncing persistently through his system.
There’s a rock sitting deep inside Mingi’s chest. It somehow entered its way between his ribcage and crawled up like a spider, giving him a sense of guilt. It makes him need a drink, badly.
Getting up from the table, Mingi bows gently towards Jongho and eyes Hongjoong, silently asking him to follow him out of the room. Hongjoong seems to get the message, telling Jongho that he’ll be right back.
In the quiet halls of KQ, Mingi bites his bottom lip, crossing his arms and stares down at Hongjoong.
“You fucking know something,” spits Mingi venomously.
Hongjoong’s eyes widen, taken aback by his words. “I know a lot of things. You’ll have to be more specific.”
“You know what Jongho is planning.”
“I know what Jongho is thinking of planning, yes.”
“Well,” Mingi shakes his head in disbelief. “What is it?”
Hongjoong is silent, watching Mingi with curious, careful eyes. Concern is written all over his face, making Mingi feel like he needs to shrink under this gaze.
“You’re not gonna like it. Go home, Mingi-yah, and you better be sober the next time I see you.”
Hongjoong lightly pats Mingi’s shoulder before disappearing into the conference room again, Hongjoong’s voice filtering through the door along with Jongho’s.
Mingi is fucking furious. They don’t want to tell him? Fine, that’s just fine.
His phone feels heavy in his pocket as he reaches for it, dialing the most recent number— save for Hongjoong — on his call list.
A tinny voice reaches his ears, making him wince.
“Oppa, what happened?”
Mingi sniffs as he steps outside, the cold immediately making his nose drip.
“Meet me at Club Pacific at eleven. Don’t wear any underwear and bring those pills you were talking about earlier.”
With that, Mingi hangs up and finds his Porsche parked in his personal parking spot, beckoning him. Hongjoong and Jongho don’t want to let Mingi in on what kind of shit they’re thinking of throwing him into the middle of? Fine, Mingi is going to go live his life while they do that then.
His car starts with a purr and he runs his tongue along his top teeth, takes a deep breath, and backs out of his spot, peeling out of the parking lot.
Your head pounds as Yeosang gently dabs some concealer underneath your eyes. You’ve had quite the intense week — you’re ending your recent world tour with the girls back in Seoul and starting promotions for your new movies — yes, movies as in multiple.
You and your group filmed a documentary as you toured, showing what your life is like while traveling and being on the road, doing mundane things; you also finished a dark fantasy movie called “Angel of Mine,” directed by the Bong Joon-ho, and are starting promos for that currently.
“Y/N?” Yeosang inquires quietly.
You hum in answer, trying to will your headache away.
“Do you need some water?”
“I need a gun so I can shoot myself and put me out of my misery,” you whisper with grit.
“Headache?” Yeosang chuckles, pulling away from your face and taking a better look at you.
“The biggest,” you say.
You are so lucky to have someone like Yeosang on your team. He is so understanding, kind, and not to mention, an incredible friend.
He walks away momentarily, coming back with an unmarked plastic water bottle and two white oblong pills in his hand.
You hold out your hand to accept them; the pills resting in the palm of your hand feel slightly heavy and you are hoping it’s just a figment of your imagination.
Closing your eyes, you toss the medicine into your mouth as Yeosang hands you the open water bottle. The water glides down your throat smoothly, the sharpness of the cold in your throat jerking you awake more and you’re hoping those pills kick in fast.
You look at yourself in the mirror in front of you, taking in your appearance.
They dressed you in a pair of cream pleated pants and white form fitting lacy blouse with flowy, sheer sleeves — something that’s very different from your recent concert outfits.
The concept for the tour is Forgotten Fairytale, modeled after your most recent comeback and album drop “Solstice.”
They have dressed you in lots of corsets, short flowy skirts and chunky heeled boots for your stages and you’re so grateful that it will not follow you into your movie promotion. It was hard for you to be comfortable in those outfits, let alone dance and sing. Of course, you did your best and tried to ignore it, but it was definitely something you brought up at your last company meeting.
The girls had all agreed with you, their leader, that their tour costumes needed to be more stretchy, less itchy, and less sheer in places that shouldn’t be sheer.
Luckily, your record company AURA ENT. had taken this feedback in stride and created all new costumes for your last two shows in Seoul.
“Y/N? They’re ready for you.” Your PR manager, Choi San, smiles at you, tablet in hand.
Yeosang waves you off, telling you he did such a good job (like always) and you looked beautiful.
Following San, you watch as people with headsets rush by you, talking rapidly into them. You are currently at the KBS station, lots of people doing lots of different things to make this interview happen.
San brings you over to the set, a simple chair set up in front of a multitude of studio lights, and you pray Yeosang used makeup that will not melt off your skin under the intense heat.
San turns to face you, peeking down at his tablet, mumbling to himself absent-mindedly and tapping the screen a few times. There’s a cute little crease in between his brows as he focuses and you can’t help but snicker slightly.
He flicks his eyes up to look at you, the workings of a smile tugging at his lips. San is the epitome of handsome; sometimes he shows up to work or at your apartment and your breath is taken away at how beautiful this man is. Briefly, you think about the fact that if San were not like a brother to you, you would for sure be shooting your shot.
“Okay,” San pulls you from your thoughts. “Should be routine. They’re going to ask you about the tour, then move on to the movie with a few filler questions in between. Ready?”
You nod, reaching up to scratch an itch under your jaw gently to not disturb any makeup that might linger there.
You wait until you’re given the okay to take your seat in front of the camera, but not before you shake hands and bow towards your interviewer.
“Kwon Mina with KBS Entertainment sector. It is lovely to meet you!” A middle-aged woman greets you, shoulder length black hair and gentle, kind features that have more than likely seen many moments of laughter.
“L/N Y/N, the pleasure is all mine.” You respond, taking your seat with a smile.
San stands behind the camera, nervously checking his watch and you tear your eyes away from the many people behind the camera, monitoring this interview.
“And rolling…recording in three, two…” and the count of one is silent as the camera’s red recording light turns on.
Your interviewer clears her throat and poises a smile. “This is Kwon Mina for KBS Entertainment, coming to you with an exclusive interview with South Korea’s sweetheart—” your smile is tight at the mention. “She is an actress and the leader of idol group ROYALS, today we have L/N Y/N in the studio with us today. Thank you very much for joining us, Y/N.”
“Thank you very much for having me,” you respond, smile permanently placed on your face.
“Now,” Mina begins, ballpoint pen in her hand for some interest. “You are coming off your sold out world tour with one final show this weekend at Jamsil Stadium, congratulations!”
You bow your head, thanking her.
“And now you are here in the studio today to promote your brand new film, written and directed by Bong Joon-ho. What has the last year been like for you?” She asks, completely in awe.
You lick your lips, silently cursing yourself and hoping the lip products Yeosang applied are long lasting.
“You know,” you begin, “it has been tiring.”
You and Mina both let out a laugh, some nervous energy dissipating at the sound.
“But,” you continue. “I am so grateful for every opportunity I have had for the last year. I have to extend my deepest gratitude to our Rebels. They are at the heart of everything we as a group do, truly, and I keep having to pinch myself about working with a legend like Bong Joon-ho. He is a mastermind behind the camera and it’s genuinely been an honor.”
The interview continues with questions about the plot of the movie, what songs have been your favorite on the tour to perform and what roles you would like to delve into next.
It all blurs together at the end and pretty soon, the interview is over and you’re saying your goodbyes to Kwon Mina, thanking her for her great questions and hospitality.
As you step away from the set, San follows diligently. Yeosang has approached you with oil blotting sheets and a few products to touch up your makeup for your exit from KBS and your brows furrow.
“Wooyoung isn’t here?” You ask, noting his absence.
San bites his lip, that nervous behavior he was exhibiting earlier, making its way back up to the surface.
“San, what’s going on?”
It’s not unusual for Wooyoung to miss out on some things to take care of things that way out of your scope of practice (AKA why Wooyoung is your manager and not the other way around), especially if San can accompany you somewhere, but his absence definitely hits harder today for some unbeknownst reason.
“Wooyoung is doing manager things, so don’t worry, but you have to be at the agency later for a meeting.”
You throw your head back with a groan; you were looking forward to putting on some ratty old sweats and rotting on your couch with some ramen and a variety show and now, your dreams are crushed.
You exit the KBS building about twenty minutes later, bright flashes blinding you from the paparazzi and fans shoving phones in your face as you walk by, your body guards caging you in all the way to the van you’re supposed to get into.
As the van door shuts, the noise gets completely drowned out, causing you to let out a breath of relief. As much as you love your fans, sometimes having phones thrust in your face 24/7 is exhausting. You always have to be on your A game.
It leaves you frayed at the edges, constantly having to walk around with somewhat of a persona in order to please the public. You don’t want to smile all the time as you walk through a crowded airport, big cameras being turned towards you, bright flashes blinding you, fans yelling your name, etc.
You are incredibly grateful for everything you have, but sometimes you want to walk around a street without worrying about being photographed or recognized.
That is a huge reason you end up walking around at night, a mask covering your face to obscure your features, trying to enjoy alone time. Your members join you sometimes, but not all at once, otherwise it seems too suspicious. So instead of all of you going together, sometimes it’s only two of you, but most only three at a time.
San is typing agressively on his phone, next to you, brows furrowed. He’s been doing that a lot today. You know how busy of a person San is, dealing with tabloids, dispatch, content creation regarding you and the girls, and much more. You can’t even imagine how stressed he must be sometimes, but that’s why he is paid to do what he does.
Your phone buzzes against your thigh and you take it out of your pants pocket, looking down onto the screen.
royalty forever
zyozyo: how did the interview go leader-nim
rinrin: kk unnie why so formal
heejinie: jihyo-unnie took y/n-unnie’s purple cardigan and then spilled an americano on it
zyozyo: I DID NOT
heejinie: I was literally there, who are you trying to fool
rinrin: yikes that’s y/n-unnie’s favorite cardigan
zyozyo: I ALREADY GOT HER A NEW ONE. you guys are so annoying, no loyalty in this group whatsoever
You shake your head, snorting gently. Honestly, you don’t remember the last time you wore that cardigan.
You type a response, hoping to calm Jihyo and tell her it’s not a big deal.
leader-nim: it’s all good zyo, don’t even worry. interview was good! i am just tired and need to nap until our concert kkkk
heejinie: coming home unnie? we can cuddle
leader-nim: sadly i am being summoned to the office, wooyoung needs to go over something with me, i will be home after!! someone order chicken?
rinrin: on it!! good luck our fearless leader
Harin sends a bunch of cute emoticons after her message and you smile, pocketing your phone when you look up and realize you’re outside of the company building.
The van rolls to a stop in the underground parking garage and you jump out, San hot on your heels.
You thank your driver who bows towards you, you reciprocate it and head towards the elevator. It’s warm and stuffy once you step in, a stale smell hitting your nostrils and you grimace.
When was the last time they checked and made sure the elevator air con worked? San reaches forward and hits the number five, straightening his back as he steps away from the doors. The soft sound of your song “THIS IS FOR” bounces from the speaker that’s above your head. It’s a newly released song on your most recent album that you’ve been performing nonstop on the tour, but hearing it like this, luckily, does not make you sick of it.
You are always proud of the music you put out with ROYALS; you are a main lyric writer and producer on much of your music, which makes you love your songs even more when you finally listen to the finished product.
I did that, you usually think after completing a project.
Your mindset shifts back to the moving elevator you are in and look towards San and his black fitted polo.
“Do you know what this meeting is about?” You ask, eyeing him.
San clears his throat and shifts, “no.”
His neck at the base of his shirt is turning red.
You scoff. “You’re not a very good liar, San-ah.”
San says nothing until the elevator comes to a stop, dinging once you’ve arrived at your floor.
He looks at you, sharp eyes softening somewhat. “You’re not gonna like this.”
Your heart drops to your feet at the ominous words, and San steps out of the elevator once the doors open. You stand there for a moment, shocked at what you just heard, before following him down the hallway.
Wooyoung is sitting in the conference room you are usually in to go over comebacks and future projects, black hair looking almost blue against the harsh lights of the room. Papers are scattered across the shiny black top of the table, laptop humming loudly and for a moment, you’re worried it might blow up as Wooyoung furiously types on it.
There are six other people in the room, all of them engrossed in something on their own laptops, only looking up briefly at your entrance. You’re kind of scared. This doesn’t look good and regarding San’s words earlier, you have no idea what to expect.
Wooyoung looks up at you and stands. His clothes are wrinkled in a way that makes you think he’s been sitting here in this very room for a long time today.
“Y/N, this is Kim Ha-seong with JTBC, Lee Junghoo with Dispatch, Cho Ilhoon with SBS, and Jeon Byungho with MBC.” Wooyoung introduces most of the people in the room, except for two.
You pull your sleeves down over your hands, a comfort thing as you try to piece together why these people from major Korean news outlets would be in the same room together, regarding you.
Your eyes land on the two who have not been introduced and they both stand, bowing towards you.
You bow back stiffly, shell-shocked.
“Y/N, my name is Kim Hongjoong, and this is Choi Jongho. We are with KQ Entertainment.”
You nod, expecting more, but that’s all you get from the shorter one of the two. Jongho stares at you intimidatingly, and it makes you want to crawl into your shell if you had one.
KQ Entertainment? Maybe it’s a collab with another artist? But if so, why are the other girls not here and why is everyone so tense?
“Sit, Y/N,” Wooyoung instructs, taking his own seat.
You reach forward and pull the chair in front of you out, gripping into the leather a little harder than necessary. San takes a seat next to you, pulling his tablet out and bringing something up on it.
You can feel everyone’s eyes on you and you hate it. This is not like having a show or having an interview or doing a variety show, these people mean business.
“Why did San say I wasn’t going to like this meeting?” You ask sharply, sick of the pregnant pause in the air.
Wooyoung sends a look towards San and you feel San slightly shrink next to you.
No one answers your question and honestly, you’re starting to get annoyed now, frustration simmering low in your veins.
“Hello? What’s the point of this meeting?”
The so-called Kim Hongjoong leans forward, hands clasped on the tabletop.
Silver rings adorn his fingers that he fidgits with and your eyes widen slightly when you think about how expensive those pieces look.
“Y/N, we at KQ have made a proposition to your company, specifically with you.” Choi Jongho speaks up, his tone of voice strictly professional and no hint of emotion in it.
You wonder if that’s just a persona he’s using when he works or that’s who he is as a person.
Your lips part, trying to form around words that aren’t ready to come out of your mouth yet.
You look at Wooyoung, trying to get him to say something — for fuck’s sake, he’s your manager, why isn’t he saying anything?
Wooyoung catches your glance and instantly recognizes your plea for help in understanding. You two have worked together since the start of your careers and are basically family, he can read you like back of his hand.
“Kim Hongjoong is Song Mingi’s manager,” Wooyoung clarifies.
Slight chatter begins amongst the newspeople, starting up at the mention of this name.
You look at San, who doesn’t meet your eyes, his gaze focused on his tablet, focused on what looks to be a contract of some sort.
Your brain is desperately trying to bring up an image of this Song Mingi somewhere, your body overheating at how weird this entire situation feels.
Song Mingi…Song Mingi…
Suddenly, an image of a taller man with dyed blonde hair comes to mind, thick chains around his neck as he wears a tight form fitting top, girls yelling his name when he’s on stage.
Song Mingi…
You’ve gotta be fucking kidding.
“Song Mingi. You mean that problematic rapper?”
The room stuns into silence at your sudden comment. Hongjoong and Jongho’s faces remain stoic considering what just came out of your mouth.
“Yes,” Hongjoong simply answers. “Song Mingi, the problematic rapper.”
You bite the inside of your cheek, a bad nervous habit you developed in your trainee days.
“What would I have to do with Song Mingi?”
Wooyoung speaks up again, “we have a contract formed between the two of you in order to publish a dating story.”
Your jaw drops visibly. “No.”
“Y/N—” Wooyoung begins.
“No, absolutely not. We don’t even know each other and he clearly has issues!” You throw at your manager.
Jongho reaches his hand out to you in order to bring your attention to him. Your eyes shift, but your lips are pulled tight together in displeasure.
“As Song Mingi’s PR manager, we are trying to do everything we can in order to clear his image up and get him some help because you’re right,” Jongho says, voice softening. “He has issues and we care about him and his career, so we are trying to fix that.”
It’s the first time you’ve heard Jongho’s voice change into a different sound other than monotone.
You’re quiet for a moment, your blood is boiling over, practically cooking you alive. Who the hell does Wooyoung think he is, trying to rope you into this messy situation? And San — well, it’s clear that San knew. That would explain his nervousness all morning.
You cross your arms over your chest, feeling your heart thump deeply against your ribcage.
“Why me?” You ask quietly.
“Your image is one of clarity; you donate money to charities, you’re open about mental health, you care about human rights, you’re a phenomenal idol and actress, I mean, you’re South Korea’s sweetheart. This country loves you and you’re loved worldwide, too. Your image could help clean his up a lot and get him on the right track,” Jongho explains.
You’re dumbfounded. Genuinely, how do they think a dating contract is going to fix his fucked up reputation? He is the definition of a party playboy.
He’s on the cover of tabloids every other night, stumbling drunkenly and high as a kite out of clubs at four AM, girls hanging off his body and sometimes — guys too.
He’s been arrested twice for starting fights out in the streets of Seoul and is the definition of a troublemaker. Sure, your image might help him, but what does that mean for his image against yours?
Will people peg you as someone who also parties recklessly, does drugs, and has sex in dingy club bathrooms? Will this shatter your own so-called reputation of “Korea’s sweetheart”?
“What’s in it for me?” You’re aware of how incredibly selfish that sounds, but genuinely, what is the positive side for you personally?
“Think of it like charity work,” Hongjoong responds.
You burst out laughing. The reporters look at you as if you have grown another head. This is ridiculous, seriously.
“Yeah, no,” you say after you settle down.
“It’s not really up for debate, Y/N.”
Wooyoung’s statement startles you.
“You can’t possibly think you can force me into fake dating Song Mingi, messed up playboy rapper?”
Everyone is silent, yet again.
“I want you to look at the contract that San has drawn up for you tonight and then tomorrow we will have another meeting to go over any concerns.” Wooyoung says, eyes glancing between you, San, the KQ people, and the reporters.
“All of it is concerning! Wooyoung, seriously, I’m not doing this!”
Someone taps at the glass door and you turn around, mind moving one hundred miles a second. San’s assistant, Yejin, steps into the room and hands San a stack of papers. She disappears quickly and soon, you understand why.
The first page is labeled RELATIONSHIP CONTRACT.
Your eyes widen, and your heartbeat quickens steadfastly. This is not…no — you’re not…no.
This is a nightmare.
“Alright well, gentlemen, if I may consult my artist, that would be much appreaciated. Meeting for tomorrow is on at eleven AM as discussed, thank you.” Wooyoung practically sends everyone out of the room, while you’re one hundred percent sure that you taste blood from how hard you’re biting your cheek.
Jongho and Hongjoong bow towards you and you get up, bowing gently towards them. Just because you’re upset and shocked about the events that have just occured, does not allow you to justify being rude.
Pretty soon, it’s just you, Wooyoung, and San. You let out a long, deep exhale and slump forward, hitting your forehead against the table.
“Y/N, I understand you’re upset—”
“Wouldn’t you be?” You lash out, sitting up fast.
Something unrecongnizable crosses Wooyoung’s eyes as he looks at you. He runs a hand through his hair, messing up the product that you’re sure he put in this morning.
“This is out of my control!” Wooyoung snaps back at you. “I tried to reason with the company, but there is only so much I can do. I fought for your case, Y/N, I did! I am always on your side!”
Your bottom lip wobbles. You don’t like this. You don’t like how this situation is making you feel and be mean to your staff, your family.
“There is nothing I can do,” Wooyoung tells you softly.
San has said nothing as he sits next to you, just pushes the contract in front of you.
You groan, picking it up. It’s heavy. Fuck.
“Read it, fill everything out except for the last page. We will leave that for tomorrow.” San says, finally breaking his silence.
“What is tomorrow?”
“A meeting between you, us, and Song Mingi, and his team.”
You bite your lip to avoid saying something rude. You didn’t want to do this, this was genuinely not even close to being on your list of things you’re wanting to do.
“Wooyoung-ah…” You whine.
He leans over to hold your hand. “I’m sorry I had to be your manager today and not your friend.”
The apology is sincere and calms you in how you feel towards him right now. You know that if it really had been up to Wooyoung, this would not be happening; Wooyoung has been in your corner since day one.
Back in trainee days, once upon a time, Wooyoung had trained alongside you and the girls. Unfortunately, his dreams of debuting did not come true, and he was left behind.
However, he was offered a training position as a staff member and turned out: he kicked ass at taking charge and putting fires out. When you had debuted with the rest of your group, they had hired Wooyoung on as an assistant manager.
He worked his way up to being your manager in a short period of time, the company taking a big leap of faith with him. So far, Wooyoung has been nothing but the best manager a group could ask for.
If he says he couldn’t do anything about it, then he really couldn’t do anything about it.
You sigh deeply, looking at the contract in front of you with dread.
“Go home Y/N, we will have more details for you tomorrow. Do we need to send a car for you, or will you show up willingly tomorrow?” Wooyoung questions, pinpointing you with the ask.
“Define willingly,” you mumble, eyes not meeting his.
He gives you a look and you shrug, grabbing the contract and standing up.
San has barely looked at you this whole time and it’s visibly clear that he feels guilty about this entire situation, considering he’s your public relations manager.
You need to leave, go outside and get some fresh air before going home. This whole meeting has made you feel as if you were suffocating.
“See you tomorrow, boys.”
And with that, you leave the conference room, taking the elevator to the lobby so that you can pick up your purse and a few other things.
You feel a little like a zombie retreiving your things from your studio, locking it behind you, and getting back into the elevator.
You take the elevator back to the parking garage where life was better thirty minutes ago, when this fucking meeting had not occured. Getting into your car, the contract thumps against your passenger seat, reminding you of its very large, looming presence.
The drive home is luckily quick, but you don’t remember most of it — just going through the motions.
The keypad on the front door dings cutely as it unlocks and you step into the apartment. You peel your shoes off, almost falling over as the weight of the contract is heavy in your arms and the heavenly scent of garlic fried chicken wafts through the hall.
It has been an incredibly long day.
Everyone is sitting around the kitchen table, laying out the containers of chicken in the middle.
Harin, your youngest member at only twenty, looks over to see you, pink hair swishing around her face and smiles. Her eyes disappear sweetly as she smiles, but her face drops when she notices your expression.
“Unnie?” Harin questions softly, a sparkle on her eyelid catching the light.
Jihyo and Heejin turn to you, smiles as well until they see you.
“Ah, Y/N — what’s wrong?” Jihyo immediately asks, coming towards you. “What was the meeting at the company about?”
You shakily hand her the contract, watching her face as she takes it and looks down at it.
Her wide eyes scan the first page and you swear she almost drops it.
“Relationship contract?”
Harin and Heejin look at each other confusedly and then look at you and Jihyo.
“Song Mingi?”
“What?!” Heejin and Harin both yell.
“What kind of chicken did you get?” You pose and move to sit down.
The kitchen is eerily quiet.
The clock reads eleven-thirty PM. Your belly is full of delicious fried chicken and sides, pajamas are cozy against your skin, and whoever you’re tucked against is so, so warm.
That warmth is dangerously trying to pull you into the tempting tendrils of sleep, wanting to wake up tomorrow and have this all be some weird, sick dream.
You and the girls are going over the entire contract together; the three of them were furious earlier at the idea that your company pushed you into this without even asking what your thoughts were.
You swear Jihyo was about to go down there and make a scene with your CEO; you know that wouldn’t have done much though considering Wooyoung had mentioned he had done his best.
“The contract is written for the mutual benefit of both parties,” Heejin reads. “Mutual benefit? How does this benefit you exactly? You’re going to get stuck with some hot-headed rapper who can’t keep his dick out of something or snort something for thirty seconds! Who cares how attractive he is?”
You, Jihyo, and Harin stare at Heejin.
Heejin’s inky black hair swishes in her ponytail as she looks up at you. “What?”
“You think he’s attractive?” Harin snickers.
“I have eyes,” Heejin retorts, sticking her tongue out at the maknae.
Jihyo leans over body, snatching the contract from Heejin’s hands, ignoring the yelp and complaints Heejin lets out.
You settle back against Jihyo’s side, your eyes able to look at the contract too.
“Exclusivity?” Jihyo questions.
You read along with her:
□ Open Relationship: the couple agrees to be in an open relationship and either party is not obligated to be faithful sexually or emotionally.
□ Exclusive Relationship: the couple agrees to be exclusive and no other parties are involved. The couple is faithful sexually and/or emotionally.
If choosing Open Relationship — the sexually active partner is:
□ not required to wear protection when engaging in sexual acts with other(s)
□ required to wear protection when engaging in sexual acts with other(s)
□ other
Your jaw is open, not even believing what you’re reading.
“What the fuck?” You cry out, sitting up and grabbing the contract.
The girls are quiet around you, tensions high. You’re sure they don’t really know what to say right now.
It feels like your company is selling your rights to someone else — someone you don’t even know, to clarify. Your heart is pounding against your chest and you feel sick to your stomach.
You stand, letting out a scream before you chuck the contract across the room.
“He gets to go out there and fuck other people while I am supposedly at home like a good little girlfriend, waiting for his return when he is messing up my career, too?” You laugh hysterically, a familiar burning pressure growing behind your eyes.
The girls are on the couch, eyeing you as if you’re a deranged animal.
Maybe you are, because the emotions and anger that you are feeling right now are probably not healthy, but also how else would you feel when someone is forcing you into a situation you don’t want to be in?
You’re feeling very boxed in, very caged, very trapped.
If you wanted a relationship, you would’ve gone out and found one. You’re an idol for Godssake, finding someone really wouldn’t be that hard if you tried. However, you’re happy where you are right now with no boyfriend. You’re so incredibly busy in your career right now and trying to think about having time for someone else, let alone yourself, sounds exhausting.
The chilling realization that this wouldn’t only affect you, but also your members, makes a deep pit form in your stomach.
They didn’t agree to this almost as much as you didn’t agree to this. Nobody asked them either, and you’re all riding this career high together right now.
“I’m so sorry you guys,” you pout, lip wobbling.
Jihyo blinks and frowns. Heejin and Harin stand up to hug you together.
You snuggle deep into their embrace, smelling the cotton candy that Harin likes to smell like, and the flowery pink musk Heejin loves.
Jihyo joins the group hug and looks at you fiercely. “This is not your fault, Y/N. We are going to get through this like we get through everything…together. We love you.”
How lucky you are to have them in your life, how lucky you are to have been put into the same group as them by some strange twist of fate. Your girls always have your back.
You were feeling really confident this morning, like, so confident. Right now, standing in front of the conference room you were in yesterday, you aren’t feeling super confident anymore.
It’s been warm in Seoul recently, so you’re wearing a flowy, cotton romper with some sneakers, just trying to keep cool.
Entering the room, you notice that Wooyoung, San, Yejin (San’s assistant), and all the reporters from yesterday’s meeting are all sitting at the long table. That’s a lot of people. You see three empty seats across from where your seat is and you immediately know who is supposed to sit there.
You clear your throat and take your seat in between San and Wooyoung, placing the thoroughly read contract in front of you.
Heejin and Jihyo made tons of notes in the margins of the contract (although you’re not so sure they should’ve done that), all in cute purple hangul.
You catch Wooyoung eyeing the notes that the girls made, eyes narrowing before a small smirk makes its way onto his face. You look at him in question and he points at the top of the first page where Heejin wrote: WE DON’T CARE THAT HE’S HOT!!!
You take a deep breath in surprise and bite your lip; you didn’t thoroughly look through all the notes they added last night because your brain was fried from the atomic bomb dumped on you. But that…you didn’t think Heejin would write that.
“He’s hot?” Wooyoung whispers into your ear and you elbow him. Hard.
The door opens behind you and you turn, seeing Kim Hongjoong and Choi Jongho bow and greet everyone, Song Mingi trailing in behind them.
You swallow thickly at his appearance. His black hair is pushed back with a pair of sunglasses on top of his head, a slight smear of eyeliner shapes his already sharp cat eyes, and silver jewerly adorns his entire figure.
He has four chains around his neck, two skinny and two chunky, and you can’t tear your eyes away from his chest. Why is he so broad and big? It doesn’t help that his green t-shirt is nothing but a cloth and only eccentuates every curve and every ripple of his body.
Heejin was right. He is hot and he’s even hotter in person.
Ugh, Y/N, who cares? It’s not like he will be your actual boyfriend. This is all just a ploy to take his “bad boy” crown away.
He has a cocky little smirk on his face as he takes his seat, the black cargo pants and silver belt grasping your attention before his legs disappear under the table. He sits in between Jongho and Hongjoong and you’re startled when suddenly, his eyes are directly on you.
“Ah, the infamous sweetheart of South Korea, L/N Y/N.” Mingi mocks, leaning backwards and running his tongue along his top teeth.
You wanna smack that smug look off of his beautiful, handsome face.
“Ah, the current trouble maker of South Korea, Song Mingi,” you snap back.
He loses his smirk as he eyes you darkly. Two can play this game, Song.
“Alright—” Wooyoung begins, clearing his throat. “Good morning everyone, and thank you for joining us all here at AURA Entertainment. We thank you for your flexibility in your recent schedules in order to make these meetings happen.”
Hongjoong also joins in, “yes, thank you everyone. Now, have both Mingi and Y/N-ssi looked over the contract?”
You nod and look at Mingi. His eyes have never left your face, almost curiously peering into your soul. It unnerves you slightly, leaving you a bit hot under the collar at his undivided attention.
Mingi must’ve looked at the contract because Hongjoong moves on, talking to the reporters for a minute. San is making rapid notes on his laptop regarding social media strategy and how you are going to drop the story that you — and Song Mingi — are now dating.
Netizens are going to have a fucking field day tearing the two of you apart.
“Why the hell are we doing this?” Mingi murmurs to Jongho, but you heard him anyway.
Jongho turns to whisper sharply to him. You don’t hear what he says, but it’s enough for Mingi to groan and turn back to the conversation being had at the table.
“The contract states that the relationship will last about a year…”
You practically choke on your saliva. A whole year?! You’re going to be tied to Song Mingi for almost a year? You’re not sure what you did in your past life to earn this kind of punishment, but you look up to the ceiling and silently ask any God out there to end your suffering.
Of course, that’s you just being dramatic, but you really don’t want to do this for five minutes, let alone a year.
“Did princess not read that in the fine print?” Mingi chuckles, surveying your reaction.
You stick your tongue out in retaliation and suddenly become very aware of your actions and feel incredibly embarrassed. What is wrong with you? Why are you acting like you’re five? You’re better than that.
“The contract includes required public outings, aka dates, at least once or twice a week, social media posts on Instagram and TikTok. Lee Junghoo from Dispatch,” San points toward the man, “will be notified of when these required outings are happening and hire a team to come take pictures. We will then publish the pictures on the internet.”
“So, what? She and I are supposed to go on coffee dates and hold hands and laugh at shitty jokes to sell a relationship? This just sounds like bullshit.” Mingi complains.
“You think I want to do this?” You ask, incredulously. You can feel Wooyoung’s hand on your knee, trying to calm the bouncing you had no idea you were doing. “I’m here because you need me to help fix your shitty image.”
“You don’t know anything about me,” Mingi grits out.
“And I don’t want to.”
You cross your arms across your chest, shaking your head and looking towards San.
“When is this happening?” You wonder.
“Next week. You two will go on a date, have pictures snapped and published, then both compaines will release a statement confirming the relationship.” Jongho explains.
Your ears start ringing, you’re getting overwhelmed by this entire situation and try to calm yourself. A year. It’s just a year and then you can move on. You can do that.
The meeting lasts another forty-five minutes. You dissosociate most of the time and Mingi says nothing. He makes noises such as groans and grunts, and there is a nasty part of your brain that thinks the way he sounds is so attractive. Giving yourself grace, you have to remind yourself that you are just a girl and can only withstand so much.
Jihyo and Heejin are definitely going to chastize you so badly when you get home.
You step outside of the room when the meeting is adjourned, sending a text to the girls that you’ll be home soon.
A presence settles in next to you, smelling of coconut and musk. You bite your lip as you glance to the side, seeing Mingi’s silhouette out of the corner of your eyes.
“Look,” he begins, sucking his teeth. “Outside of our required dates and whatever,” he flaps his right hand around. “I am a busy guy and don’t really have time for actual ‘girlfriend’ things so, don’t fall in love with me.”
The huskiness of his voice is enough to make you want to keel over out of attraction, but you are stronger than that. Plus, it’s not lost on you just how insufferable Mingi seems. You could never date someone like him seriously.
You send him a disgusted look. “Yeah, too busy getting high out of your mind and becoming a walking STD. Trust me, you’re the last person I would fall in love with. Don’t flatter yourself, Song Mingi.”
You hear him make a noise of disagreement and look to see him pursing his lips, nodding his head as he looks out of the window. He turns to look at you.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you, angel face.” He winks, smirking at you, before walking after Hongjoong and Jongho.
Fucking asshole.
Later that night, as you’re comfy in your bed, the other girls are probably fast asleep — you do something that you felt somewhat ashamed of.
You take your phone and with a deep breath, type “Song Mingi” into TikTok. This was your first rookie mistake because, of course, people on TikTok are going to be posting edits about how hot, sexy, handsome, attractive, yadda yadda yadda…he is.
Most edits include him on stage, chains pulled into his mouth, tight shirt with no sleeves showing off the contours of his upper body, his deep…dark gaze that he gets before raising the microphone to his mouth.
You get a little lost in some of these edits, watching a bit too closely, too intensely, you barely feel your body start to warm up at what you’re seeing.
What is wrong with you? Is he attractive? Sure, but you know one think for sure: Song Mingi is a full of himself asshole.
You pull your blankets up higher onto your body, worried someone might come in and see what you’re looking at online. Watching edit after edit, you finally stumble on clips of just him doing an interview a few years ago.
He smiles genuinely in the interview, laughing too. What happened? You guess, fame happened.
The caption reads: oh my god he’s such a cutie patootie plsss
Yeah, maybe back then he was. But now? The Song Mingi you were barely familiar with was a force to be reckoned with.
You’re out of breath, sucking in air, with a smile on your face as the crowd at Jamsil Stadium screams.
You’ve just finished your last song of the night (besides the encore) KNOW ABOUT ME, and your heart bursts with the love and energy you feel around you and the girls tonight.
The lightsticks paint the stadium a beautiful, bright purple.
“Thank you so much, Seoul!” Jihyo yells into her mic, earning more screams.
“We love you!” Harin smiles, waving to the crowd.
“Thank you for coming and spending your night with us!” Heejin says, out of breath, too.
You look towards your members, reaching for their hands and as they come towards you, the sparkles on their outfits catch your eye.
Jihyo and Heejin grab your hand while Jihyo also grabs Harin’s.
“Carrying the crown!” You call and all four of you bow deeply. “We have been ROYALS!”
The crowd becomes defeaning, probably because you took out one in-ear so you could hear them better during ending-ments.
When you all pop back up, you wave to the crowd as the lights dim and you make your way backstage.
Stage managers shine flashlights towards the walkway so you know where you’re going and immediately, you have your wardrobe design team coming to help you out of your tight, jeweled corsets.
They move your mic pack from your body to avoid getting in the way of you putting on your encore outfit. Luckily, your encore outfit is a baggy pair of jeans and a tour t-shirt, ripped up slightly and pulled together with different colored ribbons to make it unique.
Once you’re fully dressed, you pull your headset back onto your head and tuck your in-ears by your ears so that they’re easy to put it when you go back onstage.
Wooyoung is saying something closely to Jihyo and Harin when you hear the countdown to line up by the stage again. Your eyebrows knit together in confusion, but that dissipates when Wooyoung catches your gaze and winks at you.
The butterflies in your stomach never go away during a show. It may seem strange to some people, but to you, you love that feeling. It reminds you that you’re alive, that this is real, that this is your life.
You play Sticky and Easy for the encore. The crowd eats it up, screaming your names, going wild.
This is what makes everything worth it for you and for the girls. Having your Rebels reach out to you on social media saying that your music changed/saved their lives; that your behind-the-scenes content makes you feel like their friends instead of just idols; you make your fans feel less alone, and that is worth everything in your opinion.
The concert ends with you thanking all the fans for being there for your last show of the world tour, blowing kisses, waving, and saying you love them.
You and the girls do a send off at the end of the night, signing things for fans, saying hi and thank you.
One male fan catches your attention wearing a headband with your butterfly character. You and the girls came up with little characters called ROYALTIES. You have a cute purple and green iridescent butterfly character named Nabibi, Jihyo’s is a snow leopard named Jini, Heejin’s is a dragon named Fizz, and Harin is a ladybug named Ryu.
This fan has dyed blonde hair and it makes you think of one of the Mingi edits you watched late last night. He looked so good with the blonde too…
“Y/N! I love you!” The fan squeals, snapping you back to reality.
You reach forward and grab his photocard, smiling gently as you sign it.
“I love you too,” you respond, moving over to other fans and sigining more things.
“Do you know Song Mingi, the rapper?”
That question makes you freeze slightly and buffer because there’s no fucking way. Well, of course there’s always a fucking way but truly, you didn’t think anyone was going to bring him up.
“Yes, I do,” you smile sweetly, not giving anything away about how you actually feel.
“I think you guys should do a collab!” The male fan suggests, smile so big and phone pointed right at you.
You move to someone else and sign whatever they brought to the send off, you can’t even remember what was just thrust in your hands.
“That would be an interesting collab!” You laugh, trying to brush the question off.
Luckily, that’s the end of that and no one else says anything about it, but deep down you wonder if someone is trying to put two and two together.
No, that’s ridiculous, how could they? The only time you’ve been in the same room as Mingi is at the company. There is no way.
When the send off is over and you’re all set to go home, you hear a knock at the dressing room. You cannot see who it is since your eyes are closed with cotton rounds pressed into them doused with makeup remover, the makeup remover soothing your dry, tired eyes.
You assume it’s one of the girls or Wooyoung, coming to check on you after the show, asking if you’re ready to head out, but the person at the door clears their throat and you freeze.
It’s a deep keheum, one you’ve heard before but never in this setting. It’s one you instantly recognize as someone who shouldn’t even be here. Your skin sets alight with fire as you pull the cotton rounds from your eyes and look up into the mirror.
There, staring back at you, are those pointed, sharp, dark eyes that belong to the one and only Song Mingi.
“What are you doing here?” You squeak, surprised.
You don’t even care that your mascara has gathered underneath your eye, making you look like a raccoon.
Mingi’s dark hair is pulled back into a small half up/half down situation, eccentuating his facial features more than usual. He’s wearing a large denim bejewled jacket with a white tank top and baggy black jeans with three chains hanging to the right of his hip. He looks, dare you say, really…really good.
“I’m supposed to take you home tonight.” He responds, leaning against the door frame exasperatedly.
“What do you mean?” You ask, thoroughly confused. “We aren’t having our date tonight.”
“No, our date is tomorrow, but Hongjoong-hyung said it would be a good idea if maybe we sparked up speculation before the date happens.” Mingi says,
Of course, of course, this would happen to you.
The man that you have to fake date to better his career, who cannot leave your mind since you laid eyes on him, is now here after your concert has ended to take you home.
Of course.
Your lips turn up at the idea of this happening right now, but decide that you’ll just go and get it over with.
“Fine,” you smile sarcastically. “You can carry my bag on the way out.”
“What the fuck? No.” Mingi spits, seemingly finding the idea stupid.
“You’re supposed to be my boyfriend,” you smile again. “You’re supposed to be enjoy doing things for me. Carrying my bag is a small gesture of that.”
Mingi grimaces at what you’re saying but sighs, poking his tongue into the side of his cheek and holds out his hand.
You stand from the dressing table, grabbing your stuff, including your very heavy duffle bag, and walk over to him with a pep in your step.
Gingerly, you place the duffle into his large hands adorned with rings, and squeeze past him, getting a strong whiff of cologne.
He smells like he did the other day, musky and coconutty. That scent combo is going to drive you insane, you can feel it.
Mingi follows behind you, matching your stride.
His arm brushes yours gently and you shiver, what the hell is wrong with you?
“Did you see the show?” You wonder.
Mingi hums absent-mindedly. “It was cool.”
You eye him, squinting. “Just cool?”
He shrugs.
“Your members are super talented.”
“And I’m not?” You scoff, blood simmering slightly.
“I didn’t say that.”
“But you didn’t not say it.”
“Y/N, come on.”
The way he says your name has you faltering in your step.
“Whatever.” You say, not even willing to argue about it.
It’s clear that he is just trying to get under your skin and unfortunately, it’s working. You would think after being an idol after so many years, little comments wouldn’t even phase you. For some reason, those comments are different coming from his mouth.
You don’t like the way he makes you feel and you’ve barely interacted. This is going to be a lot harder than you originally thought.
You get outside, following Mingi towards his car since you have no idea where he parked.
He takes his car keys out of his pocket and clicks the unlock button on the fob. The headlights to a Porsche illuminate the surrounding area and you snort. Typical.
Reaching for the door handle, he beats you to it and opens the passenger door for you.
You look up, watching his expression.
“I’m supposed to enjoy doing things for you, right?”
Right. Right.
You press a palm to your chest to try and push away the fluttering feeling you are experiencing, and simply thank him, getting into the car.
You take a deep breath.
Mingi puts your bag in the backseat before rounding the front of the car to get into the driver’s side. You pull your phone out of your purse, noticing just how many notifications you have.
royalty forver
zyozyo: we already left the stadium in a company van. wooyoung said mingi was going to pick you up??
rinrin: sorry unnie :( this situation sucks
heejinie: yeah fr this situation stupid as hell
heejinie: let us know when you’re on your way home
You send a text to let them know you are indeed with Mingi and on your way home.
manager youngie: I don’t want to wake up and read any mean text messages in the morning. get some rest, Y/N, you’ve worked for this tour.
mt. san: don’t hate me, I am just doing my job. you know I love you Y/N :(
unknown number: Hi Y/N, this is Choi Jongho at KQ. We understand this might be slightly incovenient, however…
You don’t even read the entire text, there’s no point. What’s done is done and there is no coming back from this anymore. Looking up, you realize the car hasn’t even begun to move and you look at Mingi.
He immediately catches your look and sends you a face. “I don’t know where you live.”
“You didn’t get my address from Wooyoung? Along with my personal schedule?” You snap.
Mingi gives you a bored look and shoves his phone in your direction, Naver navigation up and waiting your address. Once you plug it in, it gets pulled up onto the screen in Mingi’s car, showing him exactly where to take you.
The streets of Seoul are rarely quiet. There’s always people on the roads, people taking a walk by the Han River by themselves or with a dog. You love Seoul, you love the life you live and wouldn’t do anything to mess it up.
Unfortunately for you, a big wrench that has just appeared in your life is sitting right next to you, driving you home. You’re not really listening to the radio, but you watch the way the lights and shadows move across Mingi’s face, highlighting different features and areas.
Once again, proving Heejin right, you can’t help but call him hot. He is.
“What are we doing tomorrow?” You ask, curious.
“I don’t know, I don’t really fucking care.”
“Tell me how you really feel.” You roll your eyes.
“I didn’t agree to this shit, so sorry if I’m not exactly thrilled about any of this.”
“Oh, and I did?” You bark.
“You could’ve told your company that you didn’t want to.”
“I did!” You practically yell. “Why the fuck would I want to be in a fake dating arrangement to help some problematic rapper who can’t keep his dick where it belongs?”
“How do I know this wasn’t all your idea? Maybe you crave something other than your perfect little fucking idol life; maybe you want some excitement without the committment; maybe because you are so desperate to be wanted, you don’t even care if it’s real.”
Oh. Oh. Oh.
Your eyes burn as tears rise and you take a deep breath. Fuck, that was brutal. A choked sob wants to claw its way through your throat, trying to fight its way to the surface, but you swallow it down. There is no way in hell that you are allowing him to see how much his words just affected you personally.
You chose to be an idol because maybe finally there would be someone who would choose you. And someone did choose you. Jihyo chose you, Heejin chose you, Harin chose you, your millions of fans chose you.
You didn’t hear from your parents often, them not approving of you being an idol instead of what they wanted you to be. Your siblings reached out every so often, too busy and caught up with their own lives in the different countries they live in, barely keeping you informed.
This career, the years you slaved away dancing, singing, rapping, hoping to debut— it wasn’t for nothing. And it was something that you chose for yourself.
You turn your body away from Mingi, allowing all your attention to be on the streets outside, going by in blurs.
“You don’t even know me,” you whisper, not even sure if he heard you, your hot breath fogging up the glass of the window.
“I don’t want to know you.”
You recall saying something along those lines to Mingi in the press conference the other day. You didn't even blink when you said them, but hearing Mingi say them...it hurts more than you care to admit.
Why is it so easy for him to get under your skin? You guys barely know each other unless it’s something that the general public has knowledge of but honestly, you agree with Mingi — you don’t want to know him either. Unfortunately, it seems unlikely for that to happen when you’re stuck together for the next year.
You need to not take his words to heart, like you said, he doesn’t know you and he doesn’t want to know you. Who cares? Who cares what he thinks in that stupid, stupid brain of his?
You’ve calmed down enough to not burst into tears if you were to say something again, which is a win in your book. Just ignore him, he’s an asshole. There’s a reason his company wanted you to be the one to help clean up his image.
“Ask me again,” you hear.
You turn your head, looking at Mingi, mere confusion filling your features.
“Ask me what we’re doing tomorrow.”
You’re silent for a minute, not sure what’s happening. But, you decide to play along for the hell of it.
“What are we doing tomorrow?”
“Well, that would take all the fun out of it, wouldn’t it, angel face?”
You practically gag at the nickname. Ugh, gross. Weirdly though, you think that was his own way of apologizing to you. Okay, maybe not apologizing per se..but throwing the tip of an olive branch your way. Rolling your eyes, you look out the window to see that you are turning on the street of your apartment.
The car rolls to a stop in front of the apartment building and Mingi looks up at the building, almost assessing.
“This place is kinda nice.”
“Kinda? We are worldwide successful musicians. It is nice.”
Mingi doesn’t say anything. He just puts the car in park and gets out, grabbing your duffle bag from the backseat. He even opens the door for you again.
Very gentlemeny, to your dismay and with how much of a jerk he’s been to you on the ride over.
He follows you silently with your duffle bag over his shoulder to the front door. You put in your code and the door beeps open. Turning to face him, you reach out for your duffle. Luckily, he allows you to take it so you can go inside.
“Thanks for the ride,” you whisper, the air feeling awkward between you two.
He’s standing there, hands shoved into the pockets of his pants, just looking at you.
“Well, it’s not like I had a fucking choice.”
Right. How could you forget? (Spoiler alert: you didn’t). He was also told something along the lines of “go to ROYALS’s concert tonight and drive Y/N home. We have to start rumors before the date.”
“Well,” you begin, feeling salty again. “Thank you for getting me home safely.”
Mingi nods, literally saluting to you like a soldier before he turns around and walks to his car.
This is going to be a long year.
You’re messing with your hair for the eighth time since you saw your reflection in the windows of the cafe you’re at. It’s a very cute French inspired interior, but that also means surfaces have a lot of mirrored qualities and you’ve caught your appearance multiple times now.
Should you have worn a different blouse? Maybe a different skirt? Should you have worn pants instead?
Jesus, why are you so nervous all of a sudden? It’s not like this is a real date, you are not trying to impress Song Mingi. It’s not like he cares anyway, so why do you?
Honestly, it’s just who you are as a person. Sometimes, you really wish you could flip that switch off, especially for someone who doesn’t deserve it.
Speak of the Devil, Mingi walks into the cafe wearing an oversized suit jacket, light wash baggy jeans with a belt and chain, and a graphic tee. His chunky sneakers echo against the cafe’s tile floors.
You look down at your outfit. You skirt is denim and very short and your shirt is pink and flowy. You’re wearing cute dark brown Mary Jane’s with a slight block heel and scalloped edge white socks.
You and Mingi could genuinely not be any more different. His eyes scan the cafe, stopping when he meets yours and comes over to your table.
“Hey,” you smile gently, trying to really sell it for the people who might be looking at you and Mingi.
Mingi squints, confusion taking over his face. Don’t blow it, you idiot.
You raise your hand to hold up your chin against the table, clearing your throat. Your eyes widen slightly, trying to send him a message like — hey, we’re supposed to be dating.
It takes a second, but something finally clicks in Mingi’s brain and he nods, mouth opening slightly as he understands the situation.
“Um,” he clears his own throat. “Hey, dollface.”
You try not to allow your eye to twitch at the nickname even though deep down it irks you.
He takes the seat across from you and sits awkwardly, like he doesn’t know what to do with his body. It’s genuinely the first time you’ve ever seen him in something so out of his comfort zone. You stretch your arms across the table top, making a move, seeing if he would pick up on it.
He does, luckily, doing the same with his arms in order to brush his fingertips against your sleeves.
“I didn’t know what you wanted to drink,” you start gently. “Americano?”
Mingi nods, not meeting your eyes. “Um, yeah…I’ll go…I’ll go grab us drinks. What do you want?”
“Iced vanilla latte, please.”
He doesn’t say anything and just stands, going to order.
As he waits for your drinks at the counter, you wonder how this is all going to pan out today. Hopefully, you can just be civil and pretend to like each other so that you don’t suffer from any more verbal wounds.
Your phone buzzes, lighting up as you left it face up on the table.
A KakaoTalk message from Jihyo catches your eye.
zyozyo: if he says something mean to you again, let me know and i’ll rip his testicles out and shove them down his throat. love you y/n
Mingi comes back with both of your drinks and places yours in front of you. You thank him quietly and take a sip of your drink from the open hole in the lid.
Mingi gulps down half of his drink, condensation barely appearing before his drink is halfway empty. He tweaks his head to the side, black hair falling into his eyes.
“If we are going to do this,” Mingi begins, voice low. “We need some rules.”
“Rules? For dating?” You raise an eyebrow.
“Well, yeah, because we’re not really dating.”
You exhale harshly, but don’t disagree. Crossing your arms, you wait for more.
Mingi leans in, chest brushing your fingers and you have half a mind to not jerk away impulsively.
“In public, everything we do is for the cameras. We can hug, hold hands, whatever. In private, I don’t want you touching me, I don’t want you invading my personal time.”
You bite your tongue. Personal time, huh? Probably all the personal time he has, he uses it to screw whatever clout chasing girl he can get his hands on, literally.
“Should we exchange phone numbers?” You ask, trying to remain unaffected from his previous statement.
He stares at you deeply, causing you to look away by how intense it is. He eventually slides his phone over to you, contacts app open and ready for you to put your number in.
When you finish and send yourself a text message so you have his number too, you push it back across the table towards him.
“Text me before you randomly show up at my place and I will be courteous and do the same thing.” Mingi explains.
You nod, both of you on the same page regarding that. You definitely do not want Mingi anywhere near your home if you are not prepared/in the mindset to handle him mentally.
“Only text me if it pertains to plans regarding dates.”
“Why else would I be texting you?” You wonder, raising an eyebrow.
“Because you’re needy? I don’t know.”
“Me?” You scoff. “That’s rich.”
You notice out of the corner of your eye, a phone tilted suspiciously in your direction, the owner trying to be nonchalant as they take sneak glances at their screen. Mingi opens his mouth and you can see the fire in his eyes. Nope, can’t happen.
Shifting gears, you smile at Mingi, trying to think of something to say that seems natural.
“What are you doing today?” You ask, taking some sips of your latte.
The sweetness hits you just right and it makes you feel less on edge about everything going on at the moment.
Mingi doesn’t even blink at the question, seemingly noticing the same thing you did.
“Going to the studio, I have some lyrics I need to write down.”
“What kind of lyrics?”
“Just…lyrics.”
“Riveting.”
Mingi takes his balled up straw wrapper off the table and chucks it in your direction.
“Hey!” You screech. “Don’t be annoying.”
Mingi grabs the wrapper from where it bounced off your cheek and opens the lid off of his cup, throwing the wrapper inside his empty cup.
You finish your latte, putting it down and hearing the ice shift in the cup.
Mingi is staring at you, but not at your eyes — no, your lips.
“You have…um,” he vaguely gestures to his own lip.
You can see something flicker in his eyes and he leans forward, reaching towards your face.
Yeah, no, not happening.
You smile tightly, going to wipe your own lip with a napkin.
“Touch me like that and this fake date becomes a real funeral,” you chuckle sweetly, trying to make it seem as if you were saying something very different.
Mingi sucks his teeth and leans back, arms crossing across his broad chest. You look away, turning towards the window when you feel a foot touch your own. You pretend not to notice and let whatever is happening, happen.
Mingi’s feet cage in your own under the table and to onlookers, you think that it might look incredibly, irresistably cute. Internally, you are swallowing down your heart that has started to beat faster than normal.
As you’re looking out of the window, you notice some guys outside, trying to hide themselves. Taking a closer focused look, you realize they have cameras and something dawns on you. Dispatch.
Right. Because you’re supposed to be leaking photos today to stir up the media about your “relationship.”
“Dispatch is here,” you say quietly. “Should we make our exit?”
Mingi nods, standing and stretching his arms. As he stretches, his shirt rises, exposing a strong, defined cut V in his waist, disappearing into the band of his underwear. You sniff, blinking rapidly before going to stand on your own.
As your chair scrapes across the tile, you feel like everyone in the cafe is looking at you. They’re staring at you and Mingi, they see through your rouse, you aren’t fooling anyone—
“Dollface?”
You snap out of your strange spiral to see Mingi looking at you with an annoyed look.
Leaving, yep, yep.
Mingi throws both of your cups away and peers at you curiously.
“Should I hold your hand? Your fans will think it’s cute.” He says.
“And yours will probably keel over and die if they think you’re not in the club every night being a menace to society.” You mumble.
Mingi doesn’t say anything in retort and reaches for your hand. Your heart stops, genuinely. When he laces your fingers together, you feel how warm his hands are.
They’re big and swallow yours easily, the rings he wears biting into your skin. There’s a small callous on the inside of his thumb that you can feel and honestly, even just holding his hand feels incredibly intimate. You don’t like it. You don’t like this.
As you step outside, you can hear the clicks of the cameras across the street and take a deep breath. No going back now.
“Did you drive?”
You nod, not trusting your words.
“I’ll walk you to your car.”
You don’t argue with him, knowing that it makes sense and will be good for pictures. You walk in the direction of your car, Mingi’s hand weighing heavily on your own.
You haven’t held hands with someone “romantically” in such a long time. You dated someone during your trainee years, but that crashed and burned into something really ugly. When you think about it, it almost makes you feel touch starved. You’re touchy with the girls of course, but that’s different. You’re not romantically attracted to any of them.
Mingi…well, Mingi is attractive. You would never be interested in him romantically, obviously, given the person he is, but he would be someone that you would go for.
You get to your car and when you unlock it, Mingi reaches for the car door, guiding you in and almost shielding you with his body once you get into the driver’s seat.
He’s so close to you, boxing you in, suffocating you with his scent. It makes your brain feel fuzzy.
“Don’t crash.” He simply says. “That would be super annoying to deal with.”
You roll your eyes. Asshole.
“See you.” You say.
“Yeah, whatever, see you.” He steps away and shuts your door for you, waiting until you drive away to walk towards his car.
A whole year of that, great. Just great.
You’re slurping up some ramen, eyes unfocused on on the show in front of you. Harin wanted to sit down and spend TV time with you after your long day.
Jihyo and Heejin are at the studio, working on something that they were inspired with a bit earlier in the day.
The TV sound is just background noise at this point, you focusing on finishing your ramen and setting the empty carton on the coffee table. You lean back against the couch, exhaling and closing your eyes.
You’ve had quite the week and your body is beginning to yell at you.
Hey, I’m tired! it’s saying.
Before you fully doze off though, Harin’s laughter lulling you to sleep, you feel your phone buzz against your thigh.
manager youngie: twitter.co.kr/dispatch-news
manager youngie: we are issuing our confirmation statement alongside KQ tomorrow morning
You groan, clicking on the link.
No turning back now.
a/n: thank you for reading! not sure when pt 2 will be up but I am currently working on it. pls be patient - i have a life too :)
synopsis: In the quiet hours of a late-night tour schedule, global idol Wooyoung finds himself miles away from his wife, the distance only amplifying the ache of separation. What starts as a playful video call quickly escalates into something far more intimate when she teases him with glimpses of her body and whispered confessions of how much she misses him. Wooyoung, unable to resist, guides her through every touch, every gasp, matching her rhythm from afar as their shared desire builds to an overwhelming peak. Through heated words and mutual vulnerability, they reclaim the closeness they’ve been craving—proving that no amount of distance can dull the fire between them.
The hotel room was silent except for the low hum of the air conditioner and the distant murmur of city traffic far below. Wooyoung sat on the edge of the bed, phone propped against a pillow, the screen casting a soft glow on his tired face. Another late-night schedule, another city, another night without you.
His phone buzzed, and your name lit up the screen. A video call. His heart did that familiar flip it always did when he saw you, even after all this time.
He answered immediately.
“Hey, baby,” he said, voice low and warm, a tired but genuine smile spreading across his lips. “I was just thinking about you.”
On the other end, you were curled up in your shared bed at home, wearing one of his oversized hoodies that still smelled faintly like him. The room felt too big without him in it.
“I miss you,” you whispered, pulling the hood up over your hair. “So much it hurts.”
Wooyoung’s eyes softened. “I know, love. I miss you more. Every second.”
You smiled sadly. “Tell me about your day?”
He launched into a quiet recount—rehearsals, interviews, the usual chaos—but his gaze never left you. The way he listened when you talked about your own day, the little nods, the soft laughs… it was these moments that kept you both grounded, no matter the miles.
But tonight, something shifted in the air. Maybe it was the way his voice dropped lower when he said your name. Maybe it was the way you caught him staring at your lips a little too long.
You shifted on the bed, pulling your knees up. “Wooyoung…”
“Yeah?” His voice was gentle, but there was a spark in his eyes now.
“I can’t stop thinking about you,” you admitted, cheeks warming. “About… touching you. Being touched by you.”
His breath hitched almost imperceptibly. “Y/N…”
“I know you’re tired,” you said quickly, “but I just… I need you. Even if it’s like this.”
He leaned closer to the screen, dark eyes intense. “You have me. Always.”
You bit your lip. “Then let me see you.”
Slowly, deliberately, he pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it aside. The hotel lamp highlighted the sharp lines of his collarbones, the lean muscle of his chest and stomach. He was beautiful, and he was yours.
Your voice came out softer, breathier. “God, I miss touching you.”
“Show me how much you miss me,” he murmured.
Your hands moved to the hem of his hoodie—your hoodie now—and you pulled it off, leaving you in just a thin camisole. His eyes darkened as he took you in.
“Touch yourself for me, baby,” he said, voice husky now. “Let me watch.”
You slid one strap down your shoulder, exposing your breast to the cool air. Your fingers brushed over your nipple, already hard, and you let out a soft whimper.
“That’s it,” he praised, his own hand moving to the waistband of his sweatpants. “Pinch it for me. Like I would.”
You obeyed, rolling the sensitive peak between your fingers, imagining his mouth there instead. Your hips shifted restlessly.
“Wooyoung…” you breathed. “Tell me what you’d do to me if you were here.”
He groaned softly, palming himself through the fabric. “I’d kiss you so slow, baby. Start at your neck… work my way down. Suck on these pretty nipples until you’re begging.”
You arched into your own touch, circling your nipple harder. “I’m already begging.”
He pushed his sweatpants down just enough to free himself, stroking slowly as he watched you. “Spread your legs for me, love. Let me see how wet you are.”
You angled the phone lower, pushing your panties aside to show him. You were soaked, glistening for him.
“Fuck,” he hissed. “Touch your clit, baby. Slow circles. Pretend it’s my tongue.”
Your fingers found the swollen bundle of nerves, and you gasped at the contact. “Wooyoung… it feels so good, but it’s not enough. I need you inside me.”
“I know, princess,” he soothed, stroking himself faster now. “Slide two fingers in for me. Fuck yourself like I would.”
You did, moaning his name as you pushed inside, curling just the way he always did to hit that perfect spot.
“That’s my good girl,” he growled. “So pretty when you fall apart for me. Add a third—stretch yourself open like you do for my cock.”
You whimpered, obeying, the slight burn only heightening the pleasure. Your thumb rubbed your clit in tight circles as you thrust your fingers deeper.
“Look at me,” he commanded.
You brought the phone back up, meeting his heated gaze. His lips were parted, cheeks flushed, hand working himself in long, firm strokes.
“You’re so beautiful,” you whispered. “I love watching you touch yourself knowing it’s because of me.”
“Only ever because of you,” he panted. “Come for me, baby. Let me hear you say my name when you fall apart.”
Your movements grew frantic, chasing release. “Wooyoung—oh god—I’m so close—”
“Come on my fingers, love. Pretend it’s me filling you up.”
The words sent you over. You cried out his name, back arching as pleasure crashed through you in waves, your walls clenching around your fingers.
He followed seconds later, groaning deeply as he spilled over his hand, your name on his lips like a prayer.
For a moment, there was only heavy breathing and soft smiles.
He cleaned up quickly, then pulled the phone close again, expression soft once more.
“I love you,” he whispered. “So much.”
“I love you too,” you murmured, pulling his hoodie back on like a blanket. “Come home soon?”
“As soon as I can,” he promised. “And when I do… we’re not leaving that bed for days.”
You laughed quietly, the ache in your chest a little lighter now.
summary: yunho’s a respectful alpha, the kind of guy that might notice you, the omega next door, but also notices you have a boyfriend. he smiles politely in the hall, he tries to stay out of your way, and he definitely does not listen through the wall to the way you sound when you’re in heat. but when your alpha is nowhere to be found, yunho does his best to keep you safe, and keep himself from crossing too many lines.
section one | section two
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note: i know this one is coming a bit out of left field, but i had about half of this sitting in the drafts and finishing this has really gotten me back in the swing of writing after my break. i hope this one is a fun one!! outside of tnt i don’t really write omegaverse often, but when i do…. it definitely gets a little feral. i hope you all enjoy.
please also note, there's a lot of consent talks in this one given that yunho and reader don't really start interacting until she's already in heat. that means there's a ton of push and pull, a ton of yunho trying to be a good guy, and some worry about line crossing from him after they do have sex. you should consider reader's consent here explicit and on page, however, i added the dubcon tag just in case to cover how you may personally interpret consent during a heat haze.
warnings: omegaverse dynamics, alpha!yunho, omega!reader, fem!reader, heat / heat cycles, knotting, neighbors to lovers, reader has a boyfriend at the start but the relationship is already bad before her heat, NO cheating, yunho is so respectful it’s almost annoying, mildly dubious consent, curvy reader, masturbation (f and m), lots of slick, dildos, oral f receiving, fingering, rough sex, switch!yunho (he gets pretty whiny and subby in this one guys….), gratuitous cum, no refractory period, creampies for days, low key high key breeding kink, praise kink for her and him, size kink (he calls her little omega but not in a specifically 'tiny' way more affectionate), aftercare, and an allusion to a negative sexual experience around a particular position that makes reader afraid, as well as openly discussing yunho’s concerns about the safety of her boyfriend/ex-boyfriend both while she is in heat and after heat
pairings: alpha!yunho x omega!reader
genre: romance, fluff, strangers to lovers, omegaverse a/b/o, smut
word count: 26k
please note, this fic was too long for tumblr! please make sure you continue to section two or read it in full on ao3!
Yunho has been wearing earplugs to sleep for eight months. For almost exactly as long as you’ve lived next door to him, your bedrooms sharing a too-thin wall. He likes living in an apartment building with other people, in a big city surrounded by bodies. It’s comforting at night to hear footsteps above or a door swinging shut from the unit across the hall. The walls have never been so thin he can hear much detail from any of his neighbors, but the presence of people around has always made him feel comfortable and a little less alone.
The woman who lived in your apartment before was older, extremely quiet and kept to herself. He rarely ran into her in the shared hallway let alone heard her through the wall. He never once had to think about filing a noise complaint or trying to find another unit in the same building until you. He never once had his sleep disturbed or his patience tested. Not once. Until you.
He didn’t mind having a noisy neighbor at first, the faint sound of your voice or the music you’d like to play through the drywall didn’t bother him. Most of the time he liked it. For the first couple of weeks he enjoyed the way your sharp laugh would carry, and once he heard you singing k-pop in the shower and he caught himself smiling about it for the rest of the day. He’d bump into you in the hall, a few words exchanged here and there, a pretty blush in your cheeks that he wanted to be responsible for putting there. You quickly became his favorite neighbor even though you really didn’t know each other.
It changed after May. He remembers it all too clearly, back to his place after a long weekend away with friends. He had collapsed into bed wanting to fall asleep and stay asleep for as long as possible, a hangover still nagging at him, when he heard your whine through the wall. It was desperate, thready and laced with pain, and he felt his alpha responding to the very clear sound of an omega in distress before his mind caught up with itself. He was on his feet in a second, frozen and listening intently.
When you whined again, voice caught in a pleading sob he took a deep breath. That’s how he knew you were in heat. Even through the wall the smell of you was thick, syrupy and intoxicating. He cataloged it quickly - brown sugar and butter, rich vanilla, and he could practically taste the blueberries bursting on his tongue. The feeling in his body was all encompassing, he wanted. He felt his cock grow hard at your scent, at the sound of your pretty mewling.
Please, alpha - The sound of you begging ripped him from fantasy and brought him closer to the wall. Were you alone? Thoughts flipped through his mind at lightning speed. Were you in pain? Touching yourself to ease the ache? Were you wet?
The sound of a man’s voice had ruined the illusion, shame dousing him like ice cold water and jolting him back away from the wall.
Present.
Yunho’s stomach rolled. He knew you lived with someone, an alpha, he knew you were taken. He’s known it since he saw the two of you walking into the building together carrying heavy boxes labeled bedroom, bathroom, kitchen, but for a moment he forgot. In that moment he heard too much, and he certainly shouldn’t have this kind of a reaction to an omega that simply isn’t his.
At the first chorus of your loud moans through the wall he grabbed his already packed duffle bag and spent three nights in a hotel. All the while he tried to forget the way his mouth watered at the idea of your sweet cunt. He gets it out of his system with a fast fuck with a beta from the hotel bar and about a dozen cold showers.
When he gets home he starts sleeping with earplugs all the time. He doesn’t want to hear your voice through the wall anymore, or his, and god forbid he has to hear another man fucking you again. He’s not taking the chance.
He tries his best to avoid you after that. You bump into each other of course, that’s what living side by side will do, but he keeps it even more brief and polite than before, he gives you distance. He’s sure you must think the worst of him, he caught your sheer embarrassment when you saw each other after that weekend, but he really can’t let himself care. It doesn’t matter how good you smell or how sweet he thinks your face is, you have a boyfriend.
Your next heat comes like clockwork three months later, and he starts to consider how quickly he could sell his condo. He doesn’t want to, he loves this apartment, but he’s not sure he can take it. In the end though, he stays. The week after your second heat you smile shyly at him in the hallway, caught out in the hall in your slippered feet with a messy haystack of hair, and he thinks he might just have to find ways to run into you more often. He buys a blueberry muffin on the way to work and tells himself it doesn’t mean anything.
It’s your third heat that drives his instincts into overdrive.
He realizes you’re due for another while he’s cooking breakfast on a Saturday morning, he can hear you deep cleaning next door and his eyes go a little unfocused while he stares at the wall calendar on his fridge. He does quick math, curses under his breath, and starts to think about making hotel plans. You’re at least a week away though, so he keeps it in the back of his mind like an item on a to-do list.
That Sunday he hears you and him fighting through the wall. It’s not the first time he’s heard raised voices from that side, but this time is different. It’s loud and angry and full of bitterness, and even though he can only catch every few words when you’re towards his wall of the apartment, he gets the distinct impression that this alpha of yours isn’t taking care of you the way you need to be taken care of at all.
On Tuesday he notices that your alpha’s car is gone longer than his normal work hours, and come Wednesday morning it’s still nowhere to be seen. It gives him an uneasy feeling, a tense knot in his gut that nags him relentlessly.
You’ve made up your mind. If Hyunshik can’t make it back in time for your heat, you’re leaving him. As soon as your head is clear and it’s safe to leave this apartment, you’re done. You were so hopeful about living together, the idea of it being such a clear next step for your relationship, but to watch it crumble around you despite all the effort you put in was really starting to take its toll.
Your heat had been circled on the calendar for months. You reminded him about it so many times, trying to make sure he had his own leave approved. He brushed it off every single time, he had it covered, it was fine, it would be fine, you were just worrying. None of that made you feel secure, and none of it made you want to spend another heat here with him. Except Hyunshik has always been good at apologies and even better at making you think a problem was all inside your head, so you let it go. Then he told you about the trip, a week long business trip to Japan. Panic had flooded your body, and you begged him to find a way out of it but he refused. It was too important for his career, and the idea of taking heat leave would just make him look bad to his bosses. Besides, he had told you, he would be back on Friday.
In the moment you had wanted to remind him that your heat was scheduled to start properly on Friday and leaving you alone for your pre-heat and cutting it that close was cruel, but you knew it wasn’t worth it. He was going to do what he was going to do, and you were just going to have to wait.
On Thursday you wake up in a cold sweat with a distinct throb between your thighs. You don’t even think about what it means, you just think about how badly you need to get off. You roll from your back onto your stomach and stuff a balled up pillow between your thighs, rolling your hips in a needy, rutting rhythm until your skin is slick with sweat and the bed beneath you creaks, coming with a choked moan that you do your best to aim into the mattress to muffle the sound.
Your heat is a day early and very suddenly you want to cry.
The only thing you can think to do is seek out your alpha, it’s only natural even though in your rational mind you want to curse out Hyunsik for leaving you. You call him again and again, but he doesn’t pick up a single call. Texts go unanswered. You whine into your bedding, the first pulse of a real cramp starting to build in your belly.
Hours pass as you ride out your first real heat spike, fucking yourself over and over again, and while it helps it doesn’t soothe the deep intrinsic ache inside you. Your sheets are tangled and damp, and if you’re being honest you need to figure out how to get out of this bed and into some clean clothes that don’t smell of slick and panic, but it’s so much harder to sit up than it should be.
After what must be your fifth orgasm, you start to cry. Your messages with Hyunsik lie open next to you, a chain of unanswered pleas for your side and absolute silence from his. Your body is tired already, your muscles shaking and achy, and despite your endless orgasms your body still throbs with need. You’ve always had hard heats, but in the past you’ve always had a partner, and a knot is a knot even with a less than perfect partner. Without one, you’ll never be able to tamp down the spikes.
A sudden pounding on your door tugs you right out of your doom spiral. A chill runs up your spine. There’s no way you can open the door in your state, dripping with heat pheramones and looking like a fucked out mess. They’ll go away.
The pounding comes again, and you scramble up to your feet so you can pull on a robe as if that will give you some kind of protection from whoever’s insistently knocking on the other side.
A third knock comes, but this time the person on the other side speaks, “y/n? It’s, well, it’s Yunho from next door,”
Your stomach twists, of course he’s here. He probably heard you through the wall and is coming to tell you to quiet down, something to put a cherry on top of this truly terrible day. He’s been so strange with you since you moved in, and you wonder if it’s because he could tell you had been harboring a bit of a crush, despite the boyfriend in your bed.
“y/n?” He calls again, and you realize you never responded.
Your brain feels sluggish, “It’s not really a great time,”
There’s a long beat and then he knocks again, this time much more softly, “I know, but I just wanted to check in on you, make sure you were okay,”
Your omega preens at that, so desperate for a little comfort after the stress of your week, but your rational brain reminds you that despite your neighbor’s kind face and pleasing scent, you don’t actually know him. You step a little closer to the door, “I’m fine,” you tell him, “thank you for your concern.”
The next pause is longer, and you wonder if he’s already gone, but then you hear him say, “You don’t sound fine,”
Your stomach knots, your head throbbing with a desperate ache, “Well, I am, thank you again,”
He sighs, and there’s a light, non-threatening thump on your door, “Omega, I know your heat is starting. I know you’re alone,”
You take two wide steps back from the door, your hand finding the edge of the sofa to hold onto, “I think you should leave.”
“Sorry,” He groans, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for that to come out so… wrong,”
“W-what did you mean?”
“Just… listen I don’t want to come in or anything, I just noticed that your boyfriend’s car is gone, and I heard you through the wall,” Blush heats your cheeks but he continues, “I can hear that you’re in pain, and I just wanted to see if you need anything.”
Your hands are on the door handle before you can really think it through, but you can hear him on the other side. You catch his deep scent, and ice passes through you, “I’m opening the door,” you tell him, “can you step back?”
You hear him move immediately, his footsteps shuffling back, “Okay, I’m away,”
This is risky, kind of stupid and frankly impulsive, but something about his voice tells you he’s safe. You’re safe. That’s the thought you hang onto when you crack open the door and peer through the narrow slit. He looks stressed, his dark hair a bit of a mess and there’s a purplish shadow under his eyes, but you also think you’ve never seen someone look better. You swallow tightly at the sight of his broad, wide shoulders and the way his t-shirt fits his shoulders and hugs the indentation of his pecs.
He raises his hands in a non-threatening gesture and his eyes soften when you open the door a little further, “Hey, neighbor,”
“Hi,” You glance behind him down the hall but there’s no one else.
“Am I right?” He asks softly, “Is your alpha gone?”
You can feel the tautness growing in your belly at his tone, the sign that another round of cramps isn’t far. You need this to be quick, “He’s away for work,” you nod, “it’s bad timing,”
“Your heat’s early?” He asks.
“A day,” You nod, “he’s supposed to be back sometime tomorrow,”
Yunho frowns, shifting a little from foot to foot as he thinks, “He can’t come any earlier?”
Your jaw tightens as you think of the string of unanswered texts and calls, “He’s not answering his phone,” you didn’t mean to sound quite so bitter, but maybe you are.
The alpha in the hall drops his hands to his sides, and you watch as they tighten into fists before relaxing again, “Okay, so here’s what we’re going to do,”
“We?” Your breath quickens, and you fight the urge to jump back into your apartment and shut the door.
“Relax, omega,” He soothes you, “I won’t touch you, I give you my word.”
Your heart feels fast like a rabbit’s, fluttering in your chest, and you wish your primal brain wasn’t so sensitive and reactive.
“You’re going to make a list of anything you need and put it right outside your door,” He nods towards your doormat, “I’m going to go get dressed, and in ten minutes I’ll come back and get the list. I’ll get you any things you need, any things you might want, and drop them off for you.”
“You’d do that?” Your hand slips away from the doorknob so you can step a little further out into the open to see him.
His eyes flick over you as you do, his throat jumping as he swallows, “Of course, I will,”
“Why?” You manage.
His shoulders drop, “You’re hurting,” he says simply, “and I can help, I’m not going to let you struggle alone.”
You feel tears pooling behind your eyes, and you nod, “Thank you, Yunho-ssi,”
“Just Yunho,” He smiles and your stomach flip flops pleasantly, “I’m sorry I didn’t introduce myself better sooner, and I’m sure this is scary for you, but I promise, you’re safe with me.”
Yunho. You like the sound of it, you like the sound of him.
You push your feral little omega thoughts down though and nod, “I trust you,”
“Good,” His smile widens, “now go back inside and you write that list. Nothing’s off limits, don’t worry about the cost, anything you need you’ll get.”
You don’t know how he’s so adept at saying exactly what you need to hear at this moment, but you’re grateful for it. The panic and inconsistent heat spikes feel a little calmer after even just this short conversation with him, and you nod. He gestures for you to go inside and shut the door, and you do. He doesn’t move until he knows your door is shut tight, and then you hear him cross the hall back to his own apartment.
A list.
This alpha wants you to make a list of anything you might need to withstand your heat alone.
You find a pad of paper and a pen on your kitchen table and you start writing it out as quickly as possible, trying to follow his guidance of not worrying about what you write down. The list pours out of you faster than you thought possible.
water bottles
a few ready to serve meals? pasta, soup, instant rice?
ice cream (strawberry matcha if they have it, cookie dough if they don’t)
energy drinks / electrolyte supplements
three packets of red ginseng
honey lozenges
raspberry leaf tea
a soft blanket (if you see one)
vibrator
You almost cross the last two off the list or start all over again, but before you can really give it any thought you make it back to the door, leave the note folded under the edge of your doormat, and close yourself back in the safe cocoon of your apartment.
When your heat is over you’ll never be able to look this alpha in the eyes again, but that was a problem for future you.
You huddle up on the corner of your couch and wrap a blanket around your shoulders, this one is lovely when you’re not in heat, but when you are you just feel every fiber of the scratchy wool against your skin in a way that makes you want to shed your skin. You hope he gets something really soft, something fleece or velvet, something you can bury your naked body in later and just fall asleep.
You listen intently and a few minutes later you hear his door open, footsteps, and then quiet. You blush into your hands at the idea of him reading your list and actually going out in public to buy you a sex toy, but there’s nothing you can do about that now. What’s done is done.
You wait a while, you check your phone again and again, you pace.
You don’t know how much time passes between Yunho picking up the list outside your door to the knock you’re hearing now, but it feels like it’s been hours.
You hear his voice through your door in the throes of another spike, only this time you’re writhing on your couch with a hand down your sleep shorts. His voice makes you freeze, “Hey,” he says, “I’m back, I’ve got plenty of provisions for you,”
Your chest is heaving, your body sticky with sweat and slick, and you don’t know what to do.
He knocks softly again, “You alright in there?”
All you feel is panic, the idea that he might find you like this, but then the sudden thought that he might leave. Your brain feels foggy and hot, and you need a knot but no matter how many fingers you stuff inside yourself it’s just not right. A stuttered sob breaks through your lips, and your heart pounds faster and faster, you're frozen solid.
“Omega?” His voice is warm and rich and too far away, “I have everything you need, can you open the door?”
Tears fill your eyes, and you shake your head against the couch even though he can’t see you.
He waits a little longer and then knocks again, “Can you hear me, y/n? Can you come to the door and let me help?”
Another sob bubbles up out of your chest, this time louder and more desperate.
“Fuck,” You hear him curse, “fuck, fuck,”
He’s angry, upset with you and you curl into yourself, tucking your knees up to your chest and pressing your eyes shut tight, he’s so disappointed and it fills you with dread.
“I’m…” His voice sounds distant, “omega, I’m coming in… please, fuck, please don’t hate me for this,”
You brace yourself, tears coming hot and fast, and you don’t know what your body is so tensed up for and expecting, but your front door swings open softly and you hear his heavy footfalls.
“Omega?” He calls into your open apartment, and you hear the moment he sees you in the way his voice changes, “Oh, sweetheart, it’s alright, you’re alright,”
“Hurts,” You bite through the rippling cramp, “it hurts so much,”
His voice is closer now, “You didn’t lock the door,” he says, a soft chastisement, “that’s not safe, little omega,”
“I’m sorry,” Your voice is thready, “I’m so sorry,”
“Shit,” He curses again, “no, sweetheart, I’m sorry. I took too long getting you what you need, but I’m here now. You’re doing fine, alright? You didn’t do anything wrong,”
The tight fist of panic around your heart loosens, just a little, and you hiccup and breath in and out.
“Right,” He soothes, “you’re doing so well, I know it hurts,”
You nod, your eyes still pressed tightly closed.
“Okay,” He says, “I’m going to bring everything in, just breathe,”
Your eyes flash open, “Don’t leave,”
“Not leaving,” He promises from his position sitting on your coffee table, at least a foot of space between you, “just getting you a present,”
That makes your inner omega calm in a moment. He’s not disappointed with you, he’s pleased, he has something special for you just like you need. Your body is a trembling mess the minute he steps out of your eye line, and rationally you know that this reaction to him is a problem considering you have a boyfriend, you don’t know this man, and you’re about as vulnerable as a person could be, but you don’t care.
You watch as he hauls in an armful of bags in various shapes and sizes, and despite your needy spike, it makes you smile.
He shuts your front door and locks it tight and then he takes back his seat on the coffee table.
“I got everything you asked for,” He smiles warmly, “and some other things I thought might be helpful,”
“T-thank you,”
“I’ll help put everything away and get you settled,” He says, “how bad are you spiking now?”
“Um,” You try to keep yourself centered enough to answer him.
“It’s alright,” He murmurs, “there’s nothing to be scared of or embarrassed about,”
You want to cry again, but instead you just nod, “It’s pretty bad,”
He nods, “I can leave,” he offers softly, “but if you’re okay with it, I’d like to make you something to eat. Can I touch your forehead for a moment? I just want to see how warm you are,”
“Okay,” You breathe.
He gives you a small smile and leans forwards slowly, gently resting the back of his fingers along your sweaty forehead. His mouth downturns as he withdraws his hand, “Okay, change of plans,”
“Why? What’s wrong?” Your throat feels dry, your skin prickling.
“You’re burning up,” He tells you honestly, “a little warmer than I’m comfortable with. I won’t come in with you, or do anything you don’t want, but would you let me get a cool shower or bath started? I’ll cook you something while you come down.”
“You won’t come in?”
“Not unless you ask me to,” He nods, “I’m not here for that, sweetheart,”
“Keep calling me sweetheart and I might think you like me,” You sigh, your limbs feeling softer and easier the longer his warm scent passes over you.
It’s Yunho’s turn to blush now, his ears dark pink, and he clears his throat, “The shower,” he diverts, “it’s back that way?”
“Yeah,” You nod, “to the right,”
“Alright,” He says, getting to his feet, “stay put,”
You nod, and as he disappears from view your eyes settle on the bags. Some of them are clearly grocery bags, but some are from other stores, and you crane your neck to try to catch labels.
You hear the water click on in the other room and the sound of your neighbor shuffling around, your linen closet door opening and shutting.
“y/n,” He calls from down the hall, “are these the only towels you have?”
It’s such an odd question, and your brows draw together, “What?”
He pads back out into the hallway and smiles, just enough to keep you feeling comfortable, “The ones in your bathroom aren’t very soft,”
Your stomach flips but you press the natural response down, “They’re fine,”
“Hmm,” He brushes past that comment and offers you a hand, “just to help you stand,”
Your eyes flick over him, gauging his honesty once again, but within a moment you’re pressing your hand into his and letting him gingerly pull you up to your feet.
“Ow,” You tighten your first at the pulse of a cramp, doubling over at the sudden sensation, “fuck, this sucks,”
“I’m sorry,” He offers, still careful to only touch you with his one hand, “I’m sure the shower will help,”
“Maybe,”
“Can you walk?” He asks softly after a moment.
The sharp pain has dulled a little, and you nod, straightening up as best you can and starting to walk. Everything aches, and you’re running so hot and so cold it’s making you dizzy, but something about his steady hand is keeping you moving.
When you make it to the bathroom, you notice he has one of the smaller shopping bags in his hand, a shock of bright pink that you’re surprised you hadn’t noticed before.
“What’s that?” You nod towards the bag.
His cheeks turn a little red again and he clears his throat, “Thought it might help,” he sets the bag on the counter and drops your hand, “I’ll just leave it for you.”
You wonder what kind of sex toy he bought for you, a stranger in heat.
You manage a nod.
He shifts from foot to foot and then sighs, “Just yell if you need me,” he says, “you’ll be alright?”
“Mhm,”
“Good,” He steps over the threshold and back into the hall, his eyes never leaving you, “well,”
“Hey,” You catch him as he starts to turn, and he looks back, “thank you for doing this,”
“Of course,” He answers without a thought, “now you relax and cool off, and I’ll be in the kitchen when you’re ready,”
He pulls the door shut as you thank him softly again and then you’re alone. Your body still feels like a live wire, but something about having an alpha close is making you feel a thousand times more secure. You look up into the mirror and nearly groan at the sight of yourself, sweaty and matted locks of hair frame your face and your cheeks are flushed, mottled, embarrassed splotches. Your clothes look mussed, and you’re realizing now that you haven’t had a bra on this whole time. Your nipples stand hard at attention through the thin fabric of your shirt and you groan in embarrassment.
You hadn’t caught him looking, but there’s no way he didn’t notice.
Your sleep shorts are sticky and stuck to your inner thighs too, a clear dark patch of slick visible from the outside.
You sigh, dropping your head into your hands, and then you catch the little flash of pink again.
It takes you a single second to tear into the bag and you clap a hand over your mouth when you see what’s inside. A sizable silicone cock in swirls of pastel pink and blue, complete with a generously sized knot at the base. A pulse runs through you at the sight of it. You can’t believe you put a vibrator on the list and not a knotting dildo considering you’re about to face this heat alone, but somehow he had known.
In a flash you click the lock on the door, strip out of your sleep wear, and stumble into the shower, cock in hand.
You hiss sharply at the temperature of the water, a little too cold for how you’re feeling, but a few adjustments leaves it just right to re-regulate your fever and you drop back against the tile wall to recenter. If you weren’t holding this brand new toy, you might have forgotten the alpha outside the door. Inside the little cocoon of your bathroom you aren’t able to hear him, but the toy is a reminder that there’s something different about this heat.
Yunho.
You like his name. You like a lot of things about him. His shaggy, dark black hair. His arms, his shoulders, the plush pout of his mouth and the way his brows draw together in concern for you every time you so much as whimper. His scent is something different too, you haven’t been able to figure it out yet, but every now and then you catch a whiff of something earthy and electric.
Slick pools between your thighs, a pulse in your core and you find your clit with your fingers immediately, rocking circles into your sensitive bud. You can’t fight the moan that bubbles out of your throat, not now and certainly not when you start to push the thick toy inside you.
You hitch your leg up and open onto the edge of the bathtub and brace yourself against the wall as best you can. It doesn’t take long, you’re an omega in heat who’s been begging for a knot for hours, so the second you feel even the faux sensation of one, you come apart at the seams.
Pushing the toy in as far as you can, letting your body lock around the knot, you feel suddenly clearer than you have in hours. It’s bizarre the way heat spikes ebb and flow, and you’re suddenly painfully aware of how needy and out of your mind you were behaving on the couch just ten minutes ago. Now you’re really going to have to move, you’ll never be able to look this man in the eyes again once this heat is over. Knowing that he heard you through the wall is one thing, this is most certainly another.
You finish your shower as quickly as possible, edging the toy out of your channel as soon as you feel sated and calm enough to do so. You wash it clean and leave it on the edge of the bath before making short work of washing your skin and hair soft and scent free.
When you finally shut the water off and wrap a towel around yourself, you listen at the edge of the door to hear him. You expect him to be gone, or maybe to be at the door, but from the clinking sounds you can tell he’s exactly where he said he would be. Quietly you slip out of the bathroom and across the hall to your bedroom, searching in your closet for the one piece of perfect luxury that you know you have. Your robe is buttery soft, dark black and long, and you quickly dry off with the scratchy towel before slipping into the robe and a pair of house slippers. With your hair secured back in a clip, you take a deep breath and start for the kitchen.
You can hear something boiling or bubbling on the stove before you even get to the kitchen, and then Yunho curses and you find yourself grinning.
“So, you are still here,” You observe as you round the corner.
He starts a little at your sudden presence, setting one of your large wooden spoons aside and turning towards you, “Still here,” he confirms, “feeling better?”
You watch blush creep up his neck and into his cheeks again, so you’re sure that he heard you, but you clear your through softly and nod, “Yes, thanks,”
“Absolutely,” He seems to relax a little now that you’re not a whining mess and he smiles, “you should sit down, this will take a little bit longer,”
You stretch up to look across the kitchen and into the pot, “Curry?”
“I hope you like that,” He grabs up the spoon again to stir, “it’s easy and it’s comforting,”
“It’s perfect,” You assure him, “I’m honestly surprised, when you said you were cooking I wasn’t sure, I could have been getting ramen,”
“No protein,” He notes, “and you need your strength right now,”
Warmth blooms in your chest, “You’re good at this,”
He shrugs, “It’s natural,” he says, “I’m just doing what feels right.”
You smile, biting back a bitter comment about your boyfriend and his absolute lack of caretaking skills.
“Well,” He steps back to let the sauce thicken, “go sit and relax, I’ll get you some water.”
You open your mouth to protest but he gives you a little shake of his head. It’s easy to listen to him, part of that is probably your needy, clingy omega, but part of it is clearly that he’s anticipating your needs before you know them yourself.
You settle back on the couch and find your phone, still void of any contact from your boyfriend, and then your eyes fall back onto the bags. Several of them are gone now, likely the groceries that he’s now whipping into a meal, but the others are still there, taunting you. You’re itching to open them.
Yunho crosses the room and passes you a cool glass of water before taking a seat in the far chair, ensuring as much space between you as possible without leaving the room. His eyes flick over you and he shifts in his seat. You must smell appealing to him, at least a bit for him to be so careful with proximity, but you’re frankly grateful for it given how unpredictable your spikes have been so far.
“Do you need anything else?” He checks.
You shake your head and take a long sip of water, “I’m alright for now,”
He nods, his knee bouncing slightly with unsettled energy.
“Are you okay?” You ask.
He huffs a laugh, nodding, “Yeah, I’m sorry, I’m just trying not to overwhelm you,”
“Overwhelm me?”
“Mm,” He murmurs, “I’m not really supposed to be here when I know you have a partner, but my instincts are pushing me to take care of you, and I just don’t want to make you uncomfortable,”
“I wouldn’t mind a little caretaking,” You blurt out.
His leg stills and he swallows tightly, “I’m not sure that would be appropriate,”
“Right,” You feel the tense pang of rejection in your chest and you look down.
You hear him shift, leaning forward in his chair, “Omega,” he says your designation so softly it makes your mind warm and soft, “it’s not for any other reason than him, alright? I would if you were unbonded,”
Your head snaps up, “I’m not bonded to him,”
His eyes narrow the smallest amount, “You’re not?”
“Can’t you tell?”
He shakes his head, “I don’t see a mark, but your scents are all mixed together here, I just assumed.”
“Ah,” You shake your head again, “well, no, I’m not bonded.”
“Why?” One of his eyebrows quirks high.
A flicker of anger ignites in your gut and you can’t stop the bitter truth this time, “You’d have to ask him.”
Yunho’s jaw sets hard, and for a moment he looks like he’s fighting off saying something he’ll regret before he settles on a sigh, “I’m starting to think I don’t like this guy,”
“Yeah,” You laugh sharply, “get in line.”
“In that case,” He smirks a little, teasing this time, “I won’t feel so bad about buying a beautiful girl a dildo,”
“Oh my god,” You bury your face in your hands, “I thought we had a silent agreement to never speak of that,”
“I definitely did not agree to that,” He laughs, “especially now that I know what an idiot your boyfriend is,”
Your stomach flutters and you smile, looking at him through your fingers.
“Sorry,” He offers a moment later, “I shouldn’t say that, I don’t know him.”
“It’s fine, honestly,” You lean back into the cushions and shrug, “it’s been bad for a while, pretty much since we moved in together,”
His expression softens, “I’m sorry,”
“It’s not your fault,” You say, “but for an alpha, he doesn’t really seem to like omegas very much. Or maybe just me, I don’t know. When he gets home, it’s over.”
“Leaving your omega in heat is pretty unforgivable,” He agrees.
“Yeah,” You glance down at your phone, still void of any new messages, “honestly, I’m wondering if he’s with someone else.”
“Cheating?” He clarifies.
“Mm,” You nod, “and you’d think I would be jealous, especially now, but I just…” You gesture towards the space in front of you, at a loss for how to phrase it.
“Don’t feel anything?” He supplies.
“Exactly,”
“I’m so sorry,” He says again.
“Still not your fault,” You correct, taking a long drink of your water.
“I never like to see anyone going through a tough time,” He says, “and what you’re going through right now is definitely tough.”
Warmth pricks at your eyes for a moment, the truth of how you’ve been feeling for months being so easily acknowledged by this stranger sinks like a stone in your gut. Your friends, your family, everyone who encouraged you to just give Hyunsik another chance, but this man can see the truth of it with just a look.
“Thanks,” You manage.
He’s still across the room, but he holds your gaze and nods, nothing but tenderness radiating from him. At the sound of a timer in the kitchen he breaks his focus and clears his throat, “That’s the rice,”
“Right,” You watch him jog into your kitchen like he’s done it a hundred times before.
Heat flushes your cheeks again, and there’s a little bubbling knot of tension in your belly, but it’s still background noise enough that you can shake it off. You swipe away any trace of tears that might have bubbled up, and push yourself up off the couch, “So, you cook, you clean,” you noticed how he had cleared away the mess in your apartment, “you buy gifts for omegas in need… what else do you do, Yunho?”
He smiles at the stove as he stirs the curry, “Let’s see,” he places the spoon back in the rest and leans against the kitchen counter, “I’m a dancer, a choreographer, that’s what I do for work. I like gaming, I play soccer with a couple of school friends a few times a week,” he trails off and then smiles, “I have a dog, I love dogs,”
“You do?” Your brow furrows, “I haven’t seen a dog around,”
“She was with my parents while I was doing military service,” He nods, “but I’d love to bring her here soon now that I’m settled again.”
“That’s nice,” You smile.
“Mm,” He turns back to stir the curry, “this is just about done,”
“It smells delicious,”
“I can’t take credit, it’s my friend’s recipe,” He shrugs, “if you want to see a man who can cook, well, then I should probably never introduce you to Wooyoung because you’ll definitely like him too much,”
You laugh sharply at the transparency of his comment, and the clear intention that he does in fact have some kind of interest in you, but he’s doing a fantastic job of giving you space while your relationship disintegrates in your hands.
“But what about you?” He asks, recentering the conversation, “Tell me something and I’ll fix you a serving.”
You ease yourself onto one of the kitchen barstools and think, “Well, I’m an omega in a terrible relationship, but you already know that one.”
He nods, a smile still on his lips.
“I’m a teacher,” You start simply, “first and second grade,”
“Ah,” He nods, “that explains the fridge, I thought you had kids hiding somewhere with all this artwork,”
You glance over, taking in the absolute gallery of crayon drawings stuck to your fridge and on the adjacent corkboard, “No,” you laugh, “no kids, just a huge class of very talented seven year olds.”
“I bet you’re great with them,” He offers while he navigates your cupboards and puts together a plate.
“Well,” You shrug, “I am an omega,”
He glances sidelong at you and shakes his head as he ladles out some food, “I didn’t mean that, though I guess that might help. I just meant you seem kind, patient. That’s good for kids,”
“Oh,” Your stomach flutters, “well, thank you.”
He slides the dishes in front of you and then steps back, “Feeling alright?”
“Good so far,” You promise him, “Yunho, this looks so good, you really did too much.”
“It’s no trouble,”
Eagerly you spoon up a bite of the curry and rice and sigh when the warm, familiar flavor passes over your tongue, “It’s perfect,”
“Good,” He smiles, “I’m so glad you like it.”
You eat in companionable silence for a few minutes while he clears away some of the cooking dishes, but eventually he moves back to the conversation from before, “So, what else about you? You teach, but that’s not everything,”
“Oh,” You swallow a bite and shrug, “there’s really not that much to tell. I read a lot, I love the beach. I love dogs too, but Hyunsik is allergic, so,”
“Really no points in his court right now,” Yunho smiles.
You laugh and shake your head, “You’re not wrong,”
“I hate to…” He starts and then stops himself, like he’s thinking he might not say what he’s about to say, but he sighs, “why are you dating him?”
A great question.
“We met in college,” You explain, “and we didn’t date for a long time but eventually we were the only two in our friend group not coupled up and I guess… I don’t know, it seemed like a good idea at the time.”
He nods, “I get that,”
“What about you,” You turn the conversation again, “you don’t have an omega?”
He shakes his head, “No, I really hadn’t connected with anyone before I left for service, and then I was away,”
“And now?” You prompt him.
He’s quiet for a moment, but then he shakes it off with a smile, “And now I’m too busy taking care of my lovely neighbor,”
“Ha, ha,” You roll your eyes at him.
You shift in the seat as he passes by, reaching for your empty plate and your body clenches just enough to leave you stiff and aching. You exhale low and slow through your nose and gingerly change positions.
“How’s the pain?” He notices adeptly.
“Slight,” You brush him off, “I’m alright for a little bit.”
He looks you over as if he’s trying to gauge your honesty, but then he nods, “Well, there’s at least two more servings of curry in the fridge for you and plenty of rice still warming. I got everything you wanted from your grocery list, so if you have any kind of craving, it’s here.”
“Thank you,” He’s going to leave soon, and that makes your stomach flip hard.
“Do you want to see what else I got for you?” He asks.
You had almost forgotten, but you nod and push yourself up from the chair, ignoring the throb inside you to move back to the couch.
“Here,” He ferries the bags over to you and then takes a few wide steps back, still giving you as much room as possible.
The bags are full, nearly overflowing with items. When he said he got a few more things he wasn’t kidding and your mouth drops open as you pull things from the bags one after another. Blankets in the softest, most luxe material. A soft foam body pillow that bends into whatever position you need. Cooling pads for the spikes and a heating pad for the chills. A weighted plush puppy with a tag boasting its ability to lower nesting anxiety, and multiple sets of the most buttery soft pajamas you’ve ever touched in your life.
There’s not a receipt to be found or a price on a single item.
“This is far too much,” You tell him, even though a moment ago you were practically grinning at everything. Your fingers knot into one of the blankets. He is not your alpha. He’s not.
“It’s really not,” He repeats.
“Yunho,” You sigh, your cheeks warm, “this is more than a couple of provisions…. this is…. I mean, this is something an alpha would do to dote on their own omega,”
“Well, we already established I don’t have an omega,” He says simply.
“But I have an alpha,” You imagine Hyunsik coming home early and seeing this scene, a stranger with his omega in heat, courting gifts spread from couch corner to couch corner.
“I thought you were breaking up with him?” Yunho points out.
“Well,” You groan, “yes, but you didn’t know that before you bought all this.”
“I’m confused,” he admits, “you don’t like them?”
“No!” You drag the blanket up over your knees, tugging it close as if to defend it, “No, I like everything very much, I just don’t know if you should… if we should be…”
His eyes flick over you, studying your flushed cheeks and your blown pupils and he relaxes his posture, opening his hands to you in a gesture of calm, good faith, “y/n,” he murmurs, “please accept the gifts, they don’t mean a thing. I just wanted you to have a bit of comfort during a difficult time, and I don’t often have people around I can take care of,”
You feel like you can hear your own heartbeat in your ears, but you nod along with his words.
“But,” He smiles, “I think it’s time for me to step out and leave you be. Let me help you to your nest, if you want I can even bring some of this to the doorway for you, but I promise I won’t come in.”
A cramp ripples through your belly and you swallow tightly, “I don’t,” You shake your head to get things clear, “I don’t have a nest,”
His brows draw tight together in confusion, “You what?”
“I don’t have a nest,” You repeat, “I’m usually good without one,”
He blinks slowly, processing your words for a moment, his jaw jumping when he tightens his teeth together. His eyes glance past you and across the rest of your apartment before he centers his focus back on your face, “Who told you you don’t need a nest?”
A cold pang hits your chest, “Nobody,”
His head falls slightly to the side, “Did he say you don’t need one?”
You don’t reply, you can’t. Shame twists in your gut.
“He doesn’t know the first thing about omegas,” Yunho says, his voice a little firmer than before, “and that’s his job.”
Another cramp pulses in your belly. He needs to leave.
“A nest is natural,” He says, leaning forwards with his elbows on his knees, “it doesn’t have to be fancy, but it should be someplace warm and soft and safe for you, ideally it would be separate from your actual bed, and,”
“I know what a nest is.” You cut him off, words sharper than you intend. You need him out, “Look, I appreciate everything you’ve done, and you can get me the receipts for all this stuff and I’ll figure out paying you back later. I think I need to be alone now.”
His face falls, “I didn’t mean to offend you, I just wanted to,”
“You wanted to come swoop in and save the poor neglected omega next door,” Tears bubble hot in your eyes, “I get it, it’s only natural.”
“Sweetheart,” The endearment slips out as he shakes his head.
“Yunho,” Your hands are trembling where they grip the blankets, “you are not my alpha. I need you to get out,”
He shrinks back, visibly paleing as your words finally connect with him, and he nods, “I’m so sorry, I overstepped.”
“Please, just go,” Slick is pooling in your underwear already and if he doesn’t leave you’re going to jump him for a knot, you know it.
“Alright,” He grabs his phone and his bag and steps out of your sight towards the front door, “if you need anything at all, I’m still here. My number is on the fridge, or you can just bang on the wall, I promise I’ll come if you call.”
Tears start to track down your cheeks.
“I have a nest too, it’s never been used. If you need it, it’s yours,”
“Get out, Yunho!” Your nails dig into your palms.
An unbonded alpha that offers a random omega a nest? It’s too good to be true, too perfect that he would fall into your lap today of all days. You’ve made so many mistakes in your life when it comes to your designation, your boyfriend the biggest one. Your mind feels dizzy and hot and you can’t conceive of what to do except that you need to be alone or you’re going to throw yourself at him.
The sound of your door opening hits you like a brick and you hold your breath waiting for the sound of it shutting closed.
“Lock it after me, alright?” Yunho says quietly, “It’s not safe,”
The door clicks firmly shut.
You wait, but you don’t hear anything else. Sniffing back tears you stumble towards the door, hands shaking when you finally reach the deadbolt and flip it into place. You stiffen when you hear the sound of him on the other side of the door, his weight shifting from one foot to the other, and then his door is open, shut, locked, and he’s gone.
In hindsight, it’s definitely the most depressing orgasm you’ve ever had. Wrapped up in blankets that he bought you, sobs wracking your chest, but still an insatiable need to be knotted. When you finally settle down and out of your spike a bit, you feel like the reality of the day is staring you directly in the face.
Your soon to be ex-boyfriend still hasn’t messaged you, you’ll be in full blown heat by tomorrow morning, and the one person who showed you a bit of genuine kindness you essentially told to fuck off. You’re about to start crying again at the sight of a full tub of strawberry matcha ice cream in your freezer instead of the small pint you always buy yourself every time Hyunsik forgets, when you realize something that sends a chill up your spine.
On the corkboard to the side of the fridge is a note with his flight information. He’s supposed to be home from Japan tomorrow, while you’re still deep in the throes of your heat. You don’t want him anymore, for so many more reasons than just this, but if he comes home to you in the middle, would you ask for his help? Would you be so dizzy and desperate for an alpha knot that you’d beg for his? Would he touch you even if you didn’t want him to? You know in the back of your mind that he would.
Your heart starts pounding at the thought, too many unknowns swimming around you and nothing to tether onto.
Yunho’s name pulses in your mind like a drum, somehow the image of him is steady and sure even in the midst of your anxiety. He never pushed once from the moment he knocked on your door. The way he stepped far back every time he brought you something, every moment of care for you even though you’re a stranger. If had wanted to take advantage of you, he had ample opportunity to. You need someplace safe. You need someone safe.
You tear through your apartment fast before you can overthink this. He said he would be there if you need him, and you just hope for once in your life you’ve found someone reliable.
In a flash you’re standing in the hallway in front of his door, and you knock fast and firm. Only silence greets you, and you take a steadying breath before you knock again, a little firmer this time.
“Come on,” You plead quietly to the door, “please, please, be there,”
You’re about to knock again when you hear movement, steps getting closer, and then the door swings open.
“What are you doing out here?” He looks you over fast and glances up the hall.
“Did you mean what you said?” You press him.
He blinks, looking back down to you and working through your words, “What’s going on?”
“Did you mean it,” You repeat, “the part about the nest?”
“O-of course,” He stumbles over his words, clearly still confused but he nods.
The sound of a door down the hall opening startles you both, and he takes you by the arms to pull you inside his apartment before shutting the door tight. You make a sharp noise of surprise as he moves you, landing against the wall just inside his door, his arms on either side of you as he cranes his neck to look through the peephole.
“Yunho,” You manage.
“Sorry,” He releases you immediately, holding up his hands in an apology, “but you really can’t be wandering around right now, someone could have scented you.”
“You’re right next door,” You gesture towards your apartment, just one little wall away.
“You’re going to give me a heart attack,” He sighs.
“I’m alright,” You assure him, and for good measure you check out the peephole yourself, only to see the elderly beta woman from 4D who uses a walker and moves about one mile per hour. You smile at that, “No big bad alpha found me, it’s just Mrs. Kim,”
“Please, don’t joke about that,” He crosses his arms, “it’s really not funny.”
You have such an innate urge to soothe him, to touch him and calm the tension that just tied his muscles up tight, but you hold yourself back and cross your own arms in an unconscious mirror.
After a moment he relaxes just a little, “What do you need?”
“Can I stay here?” You ask softly.
He nods immediately, “You can, but what’s changed? Last time we talked you wanted me far away from you.”
You shift in his entryway, shaking your head, “What you said about the nest hurt,” you tell him, “not so much what you said, but… everything with Hyunsik.”
He listens intently, nodding for you to continue.
“Honestly, I genuinely don’t know why you’re being so nice to me,” You admit, “but it’s a bit of a painful reminder that my boyfriend is kind of an asshole,”
He smiles, wide and genuine, “Oh,”
“Don’t be so happy about that,”
“I’m not happy your boyfriend is a dick, I’m happy you’re here,” He says, “I really thought I hurt you,”
“No,” You drop your head back against his wall, “no, you’ve been everything.”
He warms at your words, unconsciously leaning a little closer to you.
You wait a beat, and then you clear your throat, “So, can I come in then?”
Yunho blushes, stepping back from crowding you protectively in the entryway to let you into his space. “Please, come in,” He opens his arm to the apartment, “sorry about that,”
It’s strange how much more comfortable you feel in his presence, an instant balm to your heightened emotions. You wave off his apology and make it a few steps inside before the heady scent of him washes over you. In his home, it’s hard to miss. His scent is rich, woodsy and masculine. Warm and rich, like cedar and wet earth after a downpour, and something sharper running through it. Under it all you taste a bit of sweetness on your tongue, a tangy bite of white peach that leaves you stumbling into his large kitchen island.
“Whoa,” He steadies you with his hands on your elbows, “you okay?”
“Mhm,” You lie, “a little dizzy for a second,”
His scent feels good around you, and you’d make a joke about it sending you into heat if you weren’t already right there. A rush of slick pulses from your core and you tighten your legs together to try and not embarrass yourself immediately in his kitchen.
When his fingers tighten on your skin, the warmth of his body drawing a little closer to your back, you know he knows. His breath catches and you feel his head drop against yours as he collects himself, exhaling long and low before stepping far, far, away, “God, I’m sorry,”
“I-it’s fine,” You lean heavily on the counter, “I clearly understand,”
He laughs a little.
“Not embarrassing at all,” You have the sudden urge to wrap yourself up in bed and never look him in the eye again.
He runs a hand through his messy hair and clears his throat hard. Out of the corner of your eye you can see him adjusting his pants to conceal the clear start of an erection, “You’re sure you want to stay here? You’re comfortable with that?”
“I think so,” You nod, looking down at your hands to give him a moment to collect himself. “I’d be more comfortable here than at home, Hyunsik gets back tomorrow and I… I really don’t think I want to be near him right now.”
Yunho swallows tightly, “Definitely not.”
“I don’t mean to make trouble for you,” You look back up at him.
He smirks, “Sweetheart, I’ve seen your boyfriend, I think I can take him.”
Tension rolls off your shoulders at his casual confidence and you nod, “Thank you,”
“Let’s get you set up in the nest,” He says, “and then I’ll run back to your place and get everything you need from there.”
“You’re sure I can use it?” A space like this is so private for omegas, and you can hardly imagine his future partner wanting it if it’s clearly been used by someone else before.
“Absolutely,” He says, “come on, I’ll show you,”
The last bit of hesitation starts to melt away, and you nod, “Lead the way,”
You follow him through the back of his apartment to a long hallway. You ache to reach out and take his hand, but this time you both keep a comfortable distance until you turn the corner, an open door waiting at the end of the hall.
“Go ahead,” He gestures for you to continue forward without him, “take a look,”
You step forward, glancing back at him, “You’ve really never had an omega in here before?”
He shakes his head, “You’re the first,”
With nervous knots, you cross the threshold. It’s a small room, just how a nest should be, cozy and dim with warm ambient lights that create a lovely glow. The entryway floor is wood with two steps up onto a raised platform. Here, the surface is a thick, mattress-like cushion that reaches from wall to wall of the room. Everything is a lovely soft purple and blue, with what feels like dozens of pillows at your disposal. There’s a humidifier running that spins a cloud of unscented vapor into the air, and a nook in the corner for any supplies you might need.
Your mind is going out of control, it’s like he plucked the room from your mind’s eye.
“Is it alright?” He calls to you from the hall, “I had a friend help put it together, but I’ve never made a nest before.”
“Yunho,” You turn, finding his eyes, “why do you have this if you don’t have an omega?”
He shrugs softly, a little red in the cheeks when he answers, “I wanted it ready when I found her,”
Your insides melt, but you have to remember, this isn’t for you.
He looks down, away from your eyes and nods, “I’ll get your things,”
He’s gone before you can protest at all.
With a moment of quiet, you take stock of your body. Your insides are starting to ache again, not badly but just enough that you want to take a seat, so you ease yourself down onto the plush cushion to wait. There’s no way you’re far from another heat spike, and you know from experience that periods of lucidity are going to start decreasing with every one. By tomorrow you’ll be in almost constant need of a knot.
You wait quietly, letting the coolness of the room soothe you until he returns.
You hear him before you see him, the sound of things bumping against each other with every step, and when he turns the corner you see his arms are full, bags lining each forearm and a laundry basket in his hands piled high.
“What’s all this?” Your eyes widen
“Some more stuff from your place,” He says, lifting the laundry basket as proof, “I got you some clothes, toiletries, and I took a wild guess on what other stuff you might normally want for your nest so…. you can pick through it.”
You watch as he sets everything down about a foot from the doorway to the nest before taking two sizable steps backward down the hallway.
You smile, “You can come in,”
He shakes his head, “I really shouldn’t,”
“It’s not really my nest,” You shrug a little and make your way towards the bags and basket.
“It is now,” He replies, “and I wouldn’t presume an invite. I’ll let you get settled, get you some water while you get acclimated.”
He disappears again, leaving you alone with bags upon bags of provisions. Your palms start to itch. You haven’t had a nest in ages, you can hardly remember what you used to like and what used to bring you comfort. Hyunsik had whittled you down over the years until a smaller nest became no nest at all. All the things you craved, the blankets and pillows and the warm safety of it all became luxuries you didn’t need, burdens on him he didn’t want to carry.
Slowly, you reach back into the bags and find the blanket that you had clung to only an hour ago.
Without the pressure of doing things someone else’s way, nesting comes back to you in a whirlwind. Once you move your first set of pillows it feels like your hindbrain takes the reins and before you know it you’re in the center of dozens of blankets and pillows. Your chest warms as you move things from spot to spot, creating a cocoon of safety for yourself in the middle of the soft platform floor. When it’s nearly done, you feel a sharp pang. The room feels right, it even looks right, but there’s something deeply essential missing that claws at your throat.
“Yunho?” You call down the hall, anxiety lacing your voice as you stay fixated on changing the position of the pillows on the left from flat to stacked and then down to flat again.
“Here,” he says, appearing once again a few feet from the door, “what’s wrong?”
“Something's missing,” You feel like you could cry.
He steps a little closer, still mindful of the threshold, and leans against the hallway wall. He nods, crossing his arms, regarding you almost a little warily as he tries to figure you out, “Not enough pillows? I can get more,”
You shake your head immediately, “No, no, everything's perfect, it’s more than perfect, I don’t know what it is, there’s just something missing,”
He sighs, rubbing a broad hand across his mouth and jaw, “I didn’t think you’d want his scent here,” he explains, “I didn’t grab any of his things.”
“I don’t,” You agree, your stomach dropping at the thought of Hyunsik here, in this space, “I don’t want him.”
“That’s alright,” Yunho soothes you, his voice dropping to a smooth warm place naturally, “but I think that’s what your omega is missing. Just try to get comfortable and,”
“You’re an alpha,” You cut him off, pushing up off the floor and stepping towards him, the need for his scent overtaking your ability to filter your thoughts.
For once, he falls completely silent. His throat bobs with a tight swallow, his eyes flicking over you and over the nest you’ve made. The warm smile that was on his face a moment ago is missing now, and your nails dig into your palms unconsciously at the thought that you’ve displeased him.
“That’s,” He starts but trails back off, “omega, you’re testing my ability to be a gentleman here.”
You feel hot blush flush up your chest, “I’m sorry,”
He shakes his head, “I’m the one that’s sorry, I’m doing my best to keep my distance; you’re in heat, you’re stressed, and you have a boyfriend,” he says, “even if he’s a total bastard,”
You smile at that.
“But you have to understand,” He explains, tense control radiating from him, “inviting me in your nest, asking for my scent, it’s too much,”
“I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable,”
“That’s not the word I’d use,” He sighs, “I’m just trying to hold out until your heat is over and your boyfriend is out of the picture,”
Fluttering nerves light up in your belly, “Hold out for what?”
“I’d like to ask you out,” He says it plainly, “but I’d prefer it if we were just neighbors when I do that, completely clear-headed, unattached neighbors.”
Your body feels like it’s alight, singing at the idea that he wants you, that it wasn’t all guesswork and assumptions. You can’t stop the smile that breaks over your face, “You want to ask me out?”
“When you’re ready for more than a rebound,” He answers, “I’m there.”
It makes sense now why you’ve been drawn to him, why he’s been such an instant source of safety for your heat instead of what a stranger should feel like. He could be yours — you could so easily belong to each other if you just let it happen, and part of it is surely your heat-brain, but part of it is an absolute need to start living the life you have for you.
“Why can’t that be now?”
He exhales slowly, collecting himself and taking a step further back from the door, “This morning I had a silly crush on my neighbor that I was trying to ignore because I thought she was already bonded,” he says, “and now we’re here? We need to slow things down, sweetheart.”
“There you go again with the sweethearts,” You catch him, “we’re both giving each other mixed signals.”
“You’re right,” He drags a hand through his mop of dark hair, “I’m not helping,”
“I’d say you’re helping, I feel much more steady when you’re with me.”
“That’s not what I meant,” He sighs again.
“Okay,” You wave your hands, stopping things where they are so you can regroup, moving back to the center of your new nest, “let’s think about this logically for a minute.”
He waits for you to continue, just a slight nod of his head.
“You were interested in me before my heat?” You ask him.
He nods again, no hesitation.
“And I‘ve had a crush on you since I moved in,” You confess.
His eyes widen.
“I thought it would go away,” You explain, “I wasn’t about to break it off with my boyfriend just because I thought you were cute, but… I’ve definitely thought about you, I… I don’t know, I’m just saying it’s not a one sided attraction here.”
“Right,” His arms unfold from their tightly crossed position.
“So we like each other,” You put two and two together for him, “that’s a good sign,”
“Yes, but,” He starts but you cut him off.
“I guess there’s the problem of Hyunsik,” You chew the inside of your lip, trying to think about how to assure this man that your boyfriend is truly an afterthought, that you haven’t wanted him in a long time and this is just the final straw. When the idea clicks, you look up, “Do you see my phone anywhere?”
His brow furrows and he leans forward to look around, “Um,”
You start checking under pillows, blankets, searching the floor.
“There,” He says, pointing across the room at one of the shelves.
You dart over, snapping it up and opening up your texts with Hyunsik, still painfully void of any messages back even though you can see that he’s read them. That stings, you won’t lie, but it does make your decision far easier when you start to tap out a message.
We’re finished. If you come home at all, it won’t be to me. Please don’t contact me, I don’t have anything to say to you and don’t want to hear any excuses. I’m done. I hope you learn to treat your next relationship with the respect it deserves.
It’s surprisingly easy to press send. The relief is instantaneous, like a weight has fallen off your shoulders and you reread your words just to make sure they’re real, that they’ve sent.
After a moment you nod and walk towards the door. Yunho waits there with his arms crossed again, tension back in his body, “y/n?”
“Here,” You hand over the phone to him unlocked with your messages still up on the screen, “read it. Scroll up and read more if you want, but believe me when I say I’ve been done with him for a long, long time.”
You watch his eyes skim over the message at least twice, and you can practically feel the indecision in him.
“Yunho,” You push him, “I’m not asking you to fuck me, I’m asking for your shirt.”
His jaw tenses and releases, but on his exhale he reaches one arm back over his shoulder to grip the back of his t-shirt and pull it free over his head. He reaches it out to you, but you can’t stop staring. Now that’s taken off the oversized t-shirt, leaving only a fitted ribbed white tank top underneath, you can see how muscular he really is.
Your mouth is dry, your heart starting to pick up the pace.
He smiles, “You wanted my shirt, sweetheart?”
“Fuck,” You shake your head to stop staring and collect yourself, reaching out for the garment, “sorry,”
“I’ll take it as a compliment,” He tosses the shirt to you.
The fabric is still warm, and the minute his scent is properly in your nest, you feel your body melt.
“Better?” He murmurs.
“Much,”
“How are you feeling?” He checks, coming back towards the door a little.
“Single,” You tease him.
“You’re trouble,” He laughs.
“Maybe,” You relax back into the cushions around you, his shirt still clutched in your hand, “have I scared you off yet?”
He shakes his head without hesitation, “Not at all,”
“Good,” You realize in the back of your mind that if this works out, if he really does want to ask you out on a date after your heat, if that’s not just lip service, someday this could just be your nest.
Your stomach cramps tightly and you breathe through it as subtly as you can. You can feel yourself starting to sweat again, and you need to communicate what you want clearly to him before your mind gets foggier.
“Thank you for letting me come here,” You tell him honestly, “really,”
“You don’t have to thank me,”
“Can I tell you something?”
He nods.
“I like you,” You confess, “and if you do ask me on a date someday, it’ll be a yes.”
“When I ask you,” he interjects.
“When,” You smile, “but until then, while I’m here… I just want you to know that you’re invited in my nest,”
He shifts a little closer, still mindful of the threshold.
“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” You say, “but I’m going to be in this room for a couple of days, and there’s almost no way I don’t beg you for a knot at some point,”
He listens, his body language nearly unreadable now.
“I just want you to know that whatever happens, I’m okay with it. More than okay with it,”
He’s quiet for a moment, his eyes searching yours, “I appreciate that,” he says, “but I’m not going to take advantage of you like that. I wouldn’t do that.”
“I already know that,” You grip his shirt a little tighter, “I wouldn’t have opened my door this morning if I thought you were that type of man. I’m trying to tell you that it wouldn’t be taking advantage,”
“I disagree,” He starts, but you keep going.
“It’s not wrong if I’m telling you I want it,” You need him to understand, “you feel more right to me than anyone I’ve met in a long time. That’s not my heat, that’s just how it is. If you’re not as interested in me, or if it doesn’t feel like that to you, then thank you so much for the safe place to stay… but if you want me, I’m telling you now while I’m still in my right mind, you have me.”
He’s still for a long moment, holding your gaze like maybe there’s something more that you need to say. Finally he nods and turns away from the door, “You should get some sleep, sweetheart,”
You watch him walk down the hall and round the corner and then you fall back into the cushions. He’s as stubborn as you used to be before Hyunsik, and even though you’re lying alone in a strange place for your heat, you just can’t stop smiling.
There’s only so long an alpha can listen to an omega in pain before they have to do something about it, but all things being equal, Yunho is really stretching the bounds of his control.
His options are simple, leave or stay.
Within those two options though lie endless branches, but even so, he knows that every decision he could make would lead him right back to the same place, sitting outside your nest’s door and trying to fight every instinct bubbling inside him.
If he leaves, giving you his apartment for the duration of your heat while he stays in a hotel, there’s still the problem of Hyunshik. Yunho got as far as packing up a duffle bag while he tried not to listen to you moaning two doors down before he realized that if Hyunshik returned and heard you, scented you, figured out somehow that you were just next door, that meant he might be able to get to you. You came to Yunho for help, for a safe place to ride this out, and he won’t leave you defenseless in that even if it’s painful.
If he stays, it’s a matter of his own will. Over the course of a few hours he’s made himself busy. He’s deep cleaned his kitchen, reorganized his bookshelf, and tried (unsuccessfully) to lose himself in a video game. Around hour five, he starts going back and forth between your apartment and his, telling himself that all the things he’s packing up and bringing back are items you might need or call out for, and he wants to be sure they’re accessible. It takes twelve trips and a living room full of boxes to realize he’s doing his own kind of nesting, moving you out of your apartment without even asking you.
He can’t explain it right, but the thought of you leaving after this makes his throat thick and his chest tight.
He keeps himself away from the hallway that leads to your nest for a long time, ignoring the sounds of your climaxes, your whimpers, and even your tears. He’s relegated himself to the guest bathroom twice to jerk off painfully into his own hand, and he’s bitten down on a towel each time just to keep his own sounds from echoing out and blending with yours. It’s an exercise in diligent control, but at least for now he tells himself that you only sort of smell compatible, that biology is just biology, and it has nothing to do with the months he’s spent thinking about you.
And it has absolutely nothing to do with the way he started buying nesting supplies for his empty second bedroom only a week after you moved into the building. He told himself then that it was just coincidence, that this nest would be for his future omega once he got his shit together and got back onto the matching apps to find the one, ignoring how the color of the sheets reminds him of your eyes.
It’s the middle of the night, many hours into the thick throes of your heat that he finally goes up the hallway, and only in a snap instinctual response to the sound of pure, genuine distress coming from inside.
“Please,” He hears your hoarse voice as you whine, “please, please, I just want it to stop,”
He braces himself with a hand on either side of the closed door, his heart hammering so loudly he can hear his own pulse thrumming in his ears.
“I can’t, I can’t,” You’re crying, he can hear that too.
He listens to the rustle of sheets, the slap of your palm against the wall, and he imagines you bracing yourself, tears raking down your cheeks.
Yunho’s hard in an instant, the assault of your rich scent flooding his senses the second he settled outside the door, but his mind is razor sharp on the sound underneath it all; discomfort, grief, and pain.
A sharp cry pulls from your lips and he hears you choke out words that stop his heart, “H-hurts so much,” you sob, “alpha, please, please, I can’t,”
His fingers dig into the wood of the door frame, sweat dripping down his back.
I just want you to know you’re invited to my nest.
He all but throws himself back against the wall, trying to put a foot of space between himself and the door.
“Need your knot,” You whine, and he hears the sudden wet sound of you pumping a toy in and out of your slick heat.
Whatever happens, I’m okay with it.
He squeezes his eyes shut, willing himself to stop hearing your words. You were clear headed when you said it, but something still twists in his gut at the idea of taking you for the first time in the middle of your heat. There’s no time an omega is more vulnerable, more open and pliant, and to insert himself into that just to sate his own alpha, his own needs, is not something he’d ever do to anyone, least of all you.
It wouldn’t be taking advantage.
Yunho’s chest tightens, the scent of your syrupy slick hitting him full force, and he switches to deliberately breathing through his mouth to fight the urge to open the door, to ignore his primal brain that chants endlessly — mate, claim, breed.
“Yunho,” You cry, a desperate edge to your voice, “please knot me, please knot me,”
The sound of his name on your lips almost drops him to his knees. From your words alone, he can’t tell if you’re fantasizing about him or begging for him, but it doesn’t matter, intrinsically he knows. You need him.
It’s not wrong if I’m telling you I want it.
“No,” Yunho shakes his head, his throat thick with your scent as tries to push past the memory of your words, “no,”
You whimper on your side of the door, and he feels every ounce of your disappointment and your desperation in the sound.
He’s a second away from turning back from your nest and walking down the hallway when the sound of your body hitting the floor steals the breath from his lungs. At the pained sound that leaves your lips, he’s moving, twisting the handle and shoving his way into the nest before he can even second guess himself.
The heady scent of you and your arousal slams into him as he stumbles into the nest, but the sight of you naked, twisted in blankets and sprawled on the wood floor focuses every instinct in his body.
“Omega,” He drops to his knees, pushing your hair back where it falls over your face, “sweetheart, are you hurt?”
You launch yourself into his arms, or try to, but with your legs still tangled you collide into his lap, face pressed against the smooth plane of his stomach.
“Hey, hey, shh,” He gathers you up into his arms properly, “I’ve got you,”
“Yunho,” You whine into his shoulder.
His cock throbs, but he stays focused, freeing your legs from the tangled blankets and lifting you back up onto the mattress, holding you close as he slides into the sheets alongside you, “I’ve got you,” he murmurs again, “you’re safe,”
You take a long, deep inhale of his scent and he shivers at the aching whine that leaves your lips.
Yunho shifts you back, brushing the damp hair away from your face and trying to see your eyes, “Omega,” he says gently, trying to maintain a soothing tone, “hey, hey, omega, listen to me,”
Your hands are too busy tugging at the tie on his sweatpants.
“Omega,” He sharpens his tone, a command laced in each syllable, “look at me,”
Your head snaps up.
“Good girl,” He finds the words easily, resisting the urge to pin you down when he sees the way you soften in compliance. Trusting instinct, he lets his next words come naturally before he’s even really thought it through, “I’m here, I’m going to help you,”
Your eyes widen.
“I need you to be good,” He cups your face, thumb running tenderly over your cheekbone, “so can you tell me, when you fell, did it hurt?”
You shake your head fast.
“Did you hit your head?” He softens, studying your expression.
“No, alpha,” You breathe, and the feeling of relief that floods him is indescribable.
“Alright, sweetheart,” Yunho lets his forehead drop to yours, taking a moment to breathe you in.
He lets his eyes close, sinking into the feeling of your body in his hands, on his lap. Your skin is hot, fiery and slick with sweat, distress is laced in your scent this close, and he knows crossing the threshold into this room made his choice. He’s staying. He’s seeing you through this heat, he has to.
“Alpha,” Your voice is soft, cracking a little as you shift in his hold, “Y-Yunho?”
“What is it, little omega?”
“Please stay,” Your hand grips his shirt, tugging just once as the weight of your hand drops, your body too exhausted and spread thin to do anything more, “please don’t leave me again,”
If you want me...
He hears your words from before clear as day in his mind as he shakes his head, “Omega,” he shakes his head against yours, “I’m not going anywhere,”
He feels your shoulders drop with relief, your fingers going slack, and you let out a soft sob, hot tears tracking down your cheeks, “Thank you,”
“I’ve got you,” Yunho shifts and presses a kiss to your forehead, gathering you closer in his arms, needing more of your body against his, “I promise, I’ve got you.”
“Thank you,” You whisper again, shuddering, “thank you,”
Yunho cups your head, drawing you in closer to his throat, “Just breathe,” he rocks you unconsciously, just a little sway of his body back and forth, “I’m here, I’m right here,”
Your arms loop around his shoulders, and with a soft sound he feels you bury your face in his neck, the sound of your inhale, your whimper of need, the way your body melts in his hands. Nothing in the world could make him turn around and walk back out that door, not now.
You have me.
It echo in his mind as he holds you close, his own alpha finally settling as he feels his skin on yours.
You have me.
You have me.
You have me.
He knows deep down, there’s no way he’s letting you go.
Established relationship, Angel as a petname (for Yeosang), fluff, they're so soft for each other.
Word Count: 940
A/n: Have I ever mentioned that Yeosang is the most person ever. Like he is an actual case of spiritual sightings on Earth. Especially Yeosang with red hair. I pray everyday that I could go back to the day when I first saw him with red hair at that award show.
The bedroom light was a warm colour, comfortable on the eyes. It had been nighttime for a few hours now.
You layed on the soft bed, on top of the fluffy comforter as you laid on your stomach, keeping your head up by keeping your chin in the palm of your hand.
Your eyes followed the red haired man who walked out of the shower, drying his hair. He had been punished to using one specific towel for his head until the red dye was gone. The reason was pretty much that three of your white, pristine towels were stained red because of that cherry head.
Your eyes chased his steps like sunflowers did to the sun. He walked to the bathroom to put the towel back and came back quite soon. He was most likely going to do his skincare now.
"Is there something you want to tell me?" The beautiful man said from the vanity table, where he was rummaging through the products because his ones and yours were mixed again.
"Nothing, you look pretty" You said, a gentle smile on your lips. That gentle smile slowly widened as you noticed his flushed cheeks.
“You just say things," He mumbled, you could hear the slight pout in his voice, as he started applying products.
The thing was that you would've never seen yourself in this situation 6 years ago. But during your third year in University, you had met this really nice Mathematics major, and after a few dates, you two had just…stuck. So now you had the prettiest boyfriend to ever exist.
As Yeosang hummed softly from where he stood at the vanity table, you closed your eyes. Not to sleep, not yet, the night was still young. But to just…take everything in.
The street outside of your shared apartment was quiet, except for the 24 hour cafe that was right across the street. A place you and Yeosang had had hundreds of dates by now. The owner and her wife had even invited them to their vow renewal party.
Outside the apartment window, there'd be a cat napping on the windowsill. She wasn't theirs, but she had decided that your windowsill was worthy enough to be her sleeping spot. Who were the two of you to deny her the right?
The lamp post in front of their building would be flickering, weak, yes, but not as weak as the one in the next block.
You had remembered all this without ever putting an effort to. When something happens repeatedly, it basically just settles in your head, like a memory you do not care enough to recall but you cannot forget it either.
Living with Yeosang meant living a quiet life, which was perfect, as both of you were introverts. You left for work at the same time every weekday morning, separated at the third block to the right. You usually came home before him, so you had time to wash up before he came back.
Yeosang didn't usually shower right before bed because he was always sleepy, but it was late June, and the heat was brutal, so even with the air conditioner cooling the room, he needed a shower.
“Asleep?" The soft deep voice made you open your eyes. Two beautiful brown eyes were staring at yours as he leaned over you.
"No, angel, just thinking.” You said, reaching out to run your fingers through his hair. When his eyes nearly fluttered close, you smiled, and scotted over under the comforter, holding it open for him to get inside.
He got inside and immediately nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck. “What are you thinking about?"
“Just how lucky I am to have my angel." You said, continuing to play with his hair.
“Well, your angel wants some things…” Yeosang smiled against your neck, mischievous. “A lot of things."
“Oh yeah? And what are those things?" You asked, wrapping an arm around his waist.
Yeosang replied by putting his whole weight on top of you, pressing you in the bed—not necessarily in a sexual way, he found comfort in doing that—and cuddled even deeper into your neck, as if he wanted to disappear inside you.
“Come on, baby, use your words. What does my angel want?" You asked, feeling every part of his body. Every dip, every curve, every muscle.
"Mmm, wanna know?” He asked, softly nibbling on your neck, making you huff. "Tell me already, angel."
“Your Angel wants a kiss, will you give it to him?" He said in his soft but deep voice, the ruby-toned hair falling softly on his eyes as it was still slightly wet.
You pretended to think for a while before turning your head to the side, “I don't think I will." You said, trying not to notice how the light from his eyes basically disappeared.
“Why?" He mumbled, pretending not to be hurt and failing pathetically because of his pout.
“You asked for a kiss. I can't give you that. What I can give you however…” You dragged your word on purpose to savor in the sight of how wanting he was.
“...Are many kisses!" You said, pulling him close to peck his cheek and making a ‘mwah’ sound as he giggled softly.
"You're so mean” He said, voice muffled as your lips joined in that familiar dance. His lips felt so soft, you could never just get used to them.
“How could you think I'd ever deny your request?" You said, pulling away to breathe. You also took that moment to kiss his birthmark, and felt him melt against you.
Your angel, so perfect.
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