couple!boogyu! + reader ♡ smut [18+ mdni] #important warnings: unprotected sex, cumming inside, threesome, fingering (f & m), oral (f. & m.), vaginal & anal. gyu!top-softdom, boo!switch.
summary: your best-friend couple wants to have fun with a third person…
being a couple’s firend has its perks (and downsides) like sitting on your friends' couch right now, sharing a charcuterie board and some wine.
you saw mingyu and seungkwan start to flirt shyly, you saw mingyu feel insecure about whether the flirting actually meant something or was just seungkwan teasing him, you were there when they shared their first kiss, and even after becoming an official couple, the two of them never “abandoned” you.
talking to them is always so easy, about any topic, in any situation. maybe that’s why you don’t mind ditching a club on a saturday night just to hang out with them.
“want more wine?” mingyu asks, heading toward the kitchen.
you nod, watching the dark-haired guy head toward the kitchen, pretending not to notice when he rubs himself against his boyfriend’s big ass. and you don’t judge, for one, it’s their place, and for another, seungkwan’s big ass drives you crazy too, if you were dating him, you’d be no different from mingyu.
you watch mingyu mime a thrusting motion, whispering something you can’t quite hear but know is dirty. then they head back to the sofa as if nothing happened.
"seungkwan’s got it into his head that he wants to have some fun with someone else."
the words make you choke slightly. sure, you’re friends, and sure, you know about each other’s sex lives, but... a third person?
"he’s kind of obsessed with the idea of fucking pussy while i’m fucking him."
you nod, as if paying attention to the conversation, watching seungkwan arrive a moment later.
"obsessed? nah! but damn, i really wanna a wet pussy."
you try not to react, sure, they’re your friends and you’re rooting hard for their relationship, but it would be a lie to say you’ve never imagined yourself with them. lately, for the past few months, it’s been happening often: before bed, when you wake up, when you go out to lunch with them. you’d imagine what they were like in bed, picture yourself watching, or even joining in...
"if you guys are comfortable with it, i don't see why not," you reply casually, trying not to show how much that affected you.
"yeah, we’re just thinking carefully about *who* because it can't be just anyone," boo smiles, picking a piece of cheese off the board and taking another sip of wine. "actually, we do have someone in mind."
and you could swear his eyes are traveling over your body. all over your body. it’s probably the alcohol making you imagine things, but it’s enough to give you goosebumps, enough to make you feel wet.
"i hope she says yes." you raise your own glass to your lips, feeling the wine warm your body even more.
"us too," mingyu replies, his tongue wetting his lips.
a few minutes pass, more wine, and the charcuterie board is nearly empty again.
and you feel dirty.
because yes, you’ve always been turned on by your friends as a couple, but now, knowing they want a 'third person', it’s like you’re in heat. your mind is racing, imagining mingyu’s large body thrusting into the other, wondering if seungkwan is as needy and affectionate as he looks, picturing that round little ass being squeezed.
and things get even worse when they start kissing.
mingyu’s large hand gripping the back of seungkwan’s neck, seungkwan looking so small against mingyu’s body, letting out soft, needy whimpers into his boyfriend’s mouth, sighing quietly.
you step away, heading to the bathroom to try and pull yourself together, it’s not the first time you’ve seen them kissing, nor the first time it’s turned you on, but this time, you feel like you’re losing your mind.
"shit!" you mutter, trying to deal with the mess starting to form between your legs.
and when you return to the living room, ready with the little scene you’d rehearsed so you could leave, the situation is even worse: seungkwan is kneeling, while mingyu remains seated on the couch.
they’re still fully dressed, the younger one’s hand rests on his own thigh, waiting for a command.
that’s when mingyu locks eyes with you.
the words he speaks next leave you unable to go through with your planned exit.
"come here. kneel down too, princess." ...and you don't even have time to refuse. you kneel beside seungkwan, obeying without a second thought.
"beautiful," he says, watching you join the other man, apprehension still evident in your eyes. "you were always the third person. from the very beginning, seungkwan has only talked about you, about how much he wants to fuck you, to taste you."
you look at him, watching the younger man bite his lip as he rakes his gaze over your body.
"mingyu said i was crazy, that you wouldn't go for it... but you will, won't you?" his hand touches your arm, sending a shiver down your spine. "i even got tested just for you, say you'll do it, please."
you feel the room spinning, his gaze burning into you, the scent of wine drifting straight from his mouth. then you nod, watching a smile spread across boo's lips.
he kisses you his hand on the back of your neck pulling you close, the taste of alcohol shared between your tongues.
you feel a hand in your hair a bit firmer, a tighter grip and feel seungkwan nuzzling against your lips, you open your eyes just a crack to understand: mingyu is controlling the two of you, pressing your faces together with a bit more force.
"s-so hot."
then you feel seungkwan’s arms pulling your sweatshirt up, leaving you in just a thin top.
"kwannie was losing his mind just thinking about your pussy," you hear mingyu say. "whining the whole time about how tight and warm it must be."
the thin top is removed as well, the lack of a bra leaves your nipples exposed. the smaller man looks at kim, a silent request for permission to touch you.
still on his knees, seungkwan leans in to suck on your nipples the moment mingyu nods, making you gasp at the sensation of his wet tongue. your gasps are silenced when mingyu kisses you holding you in place.
his mouth sucks at your hardened nipple with ravenous hunger, seungkwan driven by his own need to touch you.
"beautiful," mingyu hisses.
for a few seconds, you no longer feel the older man's hand, but moments later, you feel that same hand pushing your head down until it touches his hard cock.
"i wanna watch the two of you sucking me off," he commands, stroking both your heads.
mingyu remains seated on the sofa, pants down and legs spread wide, his hard cock slapping against his covered abdomen.
you lock eyes with seungkwan, and you both quickly begin licking from base to tip, mingyu growling at the sensation, your tongues meeting at the tip and sharing the salty taste in a clumsy kiss pressed against the slick, glistening tip.
the smaller man’s hand goes back to playing with your nipple, his fingers circling the peak while you both still share mingyu’s cock.
"fuck, that feels so good. yeah, suck it just like that!"
and when you take him deep all at oncefeeling the swollen head pulsing inside your throat, boo takes the opportunity to suck his boyfriend’s heavy balls, driving the older man wild.
mingyu doesn't last long like that, he soon comes in your mouths, and you share it all in a sloppy kiss, feeling the mixture of cum and saliva dripping down your chins.
you take off your own pants, watching the other two strip down as well.
"sit over there!" boo asks you to sit on the sofa, right where mingyu had been.
you obey, sitting down and spreading your legs, and the very next second, seungkwan whimpers without even touching you.
"pretty pussy," he coos, admiring every detail of your wet folds, all slick and ready for him. "i wish you’d sit on my face," he admits.
before he can touch you, mingyu spreads your cunt wide with his fingers and spits right onto it, a thick stream of saliva runs down.
"you can use it now," he taunts.
seungkwan dives in, caring little about the grotesque amount of his boyfriend's spit, he moans and murmurs his thanks as he tastes you, everything he’s dreamed of these past few weeks.
"perfect. beautiful. so beautiful."
you cling to the couch, your legs turning to jelly. mingyu watches his boyfriend losing his mind, all while stroking his own cock to the sight of the other man eating you out.
then he joins you on the couch, pressing wet kisses to your lips and playing with the tits, taking advantage of you in your needy, submissive state.
the younger one slides two fingers inside to loosen you up, delighting in the way your tight hole sucks at his fingers, feeling his cock harden with every little slutty moan you let out.
"beautiful little sluts." mingyu gives your cheek a light tap before looking at his boyfriend.
"i need to fuck you. please, let me fuck you," seungkwan begs, his hard cock slapping against his own stomach.
"we have a deal: you only fuck her pussy if i’m eating your asshole." mingyu’s words are filthy, affecting you just as much.
seungkwan nods, willing to do anything for your pussy.
mingyu disappears for a few minutes, leaving his boyfriend to revel in the moment, literally rubbing his face against you, getting your scent all over him, wanting to keep that smell on his skin.
"i’ve wanted you for so long. fuck, thank god you’re such a dirty slut." he rubs his nose against your clit, feeling your fingers clench in his hair.
the orgasm begins to wash over you, and you grind against him, seeking your own pleasure, wanting to cum knowing he’ll swallow every drop and thank you for it.
and when the larger man returns to the living room with a tube of lube in hand, he simply watches you cumming in his boyfriend's mouth, delighted by the sinful scene before him.
"you put in what i asked for, right? i’m not feeling very patient." he asks, and boo nods, moving from the edge of the couch to get on all fours on the shaggy rug, lifting his little ass high and showing off the silver jewelry buried in his hole.
you’re practically drooling, while you were tormenting yourself with wanting both of them, seungkwan had a plug inside him, stretching him out just right for mingyu.
that’s the moment you realize: it was all planned.
and fuck, seungkwan’s ass is huge, maybe you’ll want to fuck him in this position someday, too.
you step closer and deliver a sharp smack to his upturned ass, watching him whimper at the sting.
mingyu gives the tip of the plug a few taps, lighter than yours, teasing his boyfriend before pulling the object out and bringing it to your mouth.
you suck on it, tasting seungkwan’s little hole, blaming your long nails for keeping you from helping spread him wide open for kim. you lick every inch of the metal jewelry, savoring the taste of the younger man’s ass however you can.
after spreading some lube, mingyu spits on his boyfriend and easily slides two fingers inside, you watch as seungkwan grips the rug, taking those thick fingers so well and asking for another.
"so beautiful," you whisper to him before giving his upturned ass a hard smack.
"f-fuck," he gasps.
and before you know it, mingyu’s thick cock is sinking into that tight little ass, which accepts it so readily.
you find yourself instinctively rubbing your fingers against your own pussy, watching the two of them fucking so deliciously right in front of you.
"c-come here," seungkwan moans, still adjusting to the thick cock stretching him open.
mingyu lifts his boyfriend’s body just enough for you to slide underneath, lying on the shaggy rug with your body facing them head-on.
kim gives your cheek a playful little tap, laughing as seungkwan rubs the head of his cock against you.
“i thought you wouldn’t accept,” kim teases. “ but you’d even say yes if it were me eating your tight little ass, right, babe?” the last word dripping with acid.
“fuck me,” you practically beg the younger one, your sanity hanging by a thread.
seungkwan aligns the head of his cock with you, making you gasp, his slender body is the complete opposite of that thick dick.
“—so hot,” he whimpers, burying himself deep, thrusting without gentleness into your tight pussy, his thick cock throbbing. that needy, whiny voice in your ear makes your whole body pulse.
and when he finally slides all the way in, locking eyes with you, mingyu thrusts roughly into *him*, making him moan against you and pressing his slender body against yours.
it takes a few seconds to find a shared rhythm, but they settle into a back-and-forth motion that feels amazing for all three: your pussy getting fucked by seungkwan while his tight little ass gets eaten out by his boyfriend.
you never even imagined this in your dirtiest dreams, seungkwan on top of you, moaning like a little slut on mingyu’s cock, while using his own thick dick to take his arousal out on your pussy.
“little slut.” you don’t know if mingyu is talking about you or his boyfriend, but you feel it when he shoves in with even more force.
“fuck, tight pussy,” he whimpers. “s-so good.”
seungkwan wants to scream, the thick cock is stretching his tight ass without mercy, and his boyfriend’s balls are slapping against his like an animal’s. meanwhile, your warm pussy is sucking his cock deeper inside, clamping down wetly while you moan loudly.
he kisses you, no set rhythm, not really knowing what he’s doing, but kissing you as he tries to relax into his own intense arousal. “i wanna eat that pussy later,” mingyu growls, biting the younger one’s ear, “cum inside that stretched-out little cunt.”
his fingernails dig into mingyu’s arms, the large body pressing seungkwan against you makes you feel him, their bodies swaying as one, ready to ruin you both.
“did you like his cock?” he teases. “i’m sure you can handle both of us next time, we’ll train you for it.”
train you, fuck, your pussy trembles just at the thought of fucking them again.
“s-so good,” seungkwan whimpers loudly, you can feel his legs shaking.
his hands squeeze your tits, rough, almost painfully so, he just wants relief. it’s too much, a torture far better than he’d imagined.
“i’m gonna fill your little hole,” seungkwan whines, choking on his own arousal as he grinds his body against you.
mingyu’s pressure is intense enough for you to feel it, just imagine the havoc that big cock is wreaking inside the younger one’s ass.
“tight pussy,” he whimpers one last time before cumming inside.
the thick, sticky jet spreads inside you, even though seungkwan has stopped thrusting, kim’s massive body keeps his cock moving inside you.
boo whimpers, a mess of moans and tears, too weak for anything else, while your pussy is still being punished simply by the pressure of their bodies.
"cum for us, you slut," mingyu growls.
"c-cum, p-pretty," boo urges.
and you do cum, coating seungkwan’s cock, your legs trembling and breath hitching, without even realizing that seungkwan has come again.
cum trickles down as the younger one’s tears fall onto your face, he kisses you clumsily, trying to stifle his own moans.
then mingyu pulls out, still without having come.
"fuck, i held back like crazy, okay?" he laughs, explaining himself.
seungkwan’s body shifts off yours to the side, and that’s when kim slides into your mouth, a somewhat awkward 69 position while the younger one catches his breath.
you taste the faint flavor of seungkwan’s ass mixed with kim’s cock, and it’s the same for him, your messy pussy blending your juices with his spurts of cum.
mingyu doesn’t let you breathe, burying his cock deep in your throat, thrusting hard as if it were just any hole, all while continuing to ravage your messy pussy, he sucks up every drop of the thick cum there, swallowing it and savoring the taste of the incredible sex you just had.
and when he cums, filling your throat without a shred of mercy, you gag as the fluid spills out the side.
mingyu pulls away, and you don’t think twice before kissing seungkwan—sharing mingyu’s cum once again.
"beautiful," he says proudly, joining the kiss immediately, the chaotic rhythm highlights the mess you’ve made.
"next time, i want you sitting on my face," seungkwan says firmly. "i’m gonna eat your pussy before you take us both."
★ | member — jeonghan x waitress!fem reader
★ | genre — romance, smut with plot
★ | word count — 10.2k
★ | synopsis — working as a waitress in a high-end restaurant, you've grown used to catering to rich people's needs. but there's one customer who's made it his mission to serve you instead.
★ | warnings — a hint of miscommunication, denial of feelings, excessive champagne consumption, nicknames (reader: angel, darling, baby), gross happy ending because i am who i am. not beta read.
★ | smut warnings — switch!jeonghan, service top jeonghan, competitive sex (is that a thing? yk how he is…), cunnilingus (#hanniemunchagenda), cowgirl style, hair pulling & slapping (jh receiving/very briefly), Lots of praise + body worship, unprotected sex
★ | notes — it's been a while but i'm officially back to writing - brand new junkissed content in 2026 wow!! of course i had to write something in honor of hannie's return :) also tried smth new with the banner pls lmk what you think >.< everybody who reblogs this gets a sticker that says "i survived jeonghan enlistment" so do your duty guys
“Psst. Hey.”
You don’t hear her the first time. Hissing your name under her breath a second time, Jennie grabs your arm as you walk past with a fresh bucket of ice, pulling you towards the nearest side station.
“Hey! That guy's in your section again.”
You freeze and set the bucket down behind the counter, watching her tilt her head towards the back corner of the restaurant. It’s hard to resist the urge to turn around and stare, but you manage to look nonchalant as you glance over your shoulder, pretending to scan the room. Sure enough, there he is: menu sitting untouched beside his plate, hands folded atop the table, and staring right at you.
Feeling your cheeks begin to burn, you quickly turn back around and busy yourself fidgeting with a stack of rolled-up napkins. You haven’t even talked to him yet, and somehow he still manages to fluster you. Suddenly you’re grateful that your coworker intercepted you, relieved to have at least a few more seconds to pretend to be focused while you have a chance to collect yourself.
“Have you gotten his number yet, girl? Or at least his name? Because I don't think he's gonna stop coming until you do.”
“No,” you tell her sheepishly, risking a discreet glance over your shoulder at him. Still staring. “I could’ve looked at his card when he signed the check, I guess. But that feels kinda invasive. He didn’t offer, so I didn’t ask.”
She narrows her eyes playfully at you in disapproval. “Oh, come on, he’s been making ‘fuck-me’ eyes at you for weeks. That counts as him offering!” She shifts her weight, her lips pursed into a thin line like she’s thinking hard. “If you don’t wanna ask, then just… write your phone number on the back of his receipt or something. That would be—”
“—Unprofessional,” you finish for her. With a rag you wipe the condensation from the ice bucket, throwing out a glare at her when she huffs at your refusal. “He probably just likes the booth seats. Some people are weird like that, I don't know. I don’t even know if he’s available, either. That’s the more important question here.”
She gives you a doubtful look. “He shows up alone, every Wednesday night, and asks to be seated at the same table. You’re telling me you seriously think it’s because he likes the furniture? Why do you really think that is?”
“Then it’s the privacy, probably.” You shrug and move past her, dumping out the bucket and refilling it with fresh ice. “It’s the farthest away from the bar. Maybe he doesn’t like the noise.”
“Noise?” She scoffs and puts her free hand on her hip, one eyebrow raised as she goes silent for a few seconds. Even at the peak hours of the night there’s little more than a light chatter in the air, mixing with quiet jazz music playing from the building’s speakers. It’s a bullshit reason and you know it. But you aren’t going to give in to her pestering, and she must be able to sense that because she finally sighs and wipes her hand on her waist apron. “Fine. Whatever. But you can’t avoid him forever. Clearly he’s gonna keep showing up to see you.”
You give her a scowl, but she’s right. You totally are avoiding him, but realistically, what does she expect you to do? Ask him to fuck you on the table in the middle of your shift?
She hands you a chilled bottle of champagne, wiping the neck before draping the hand towel over the side of your bucket. Even she’s started to recognize his routine, ready with the bottle of Dom Perignon that he always asks for ahead of his meal, before anyone’s even taken his order yet. “Quit stalling and go over there, before he leaves us a bad review. He could be an undercover food critic or something, and then Joshua would really kill us.”
The threat of your boss throwing a fit over negative publicity is too real, so you glare at her one last time before inhaling a deep breath. You smooth down your apron and grab a folding stand for his drink. When you turn to start toward his table he’s still staring, but he perks up ever so slightly when he recognizes you starting to head in his direction.
As usual, you greet him with a smile and begin setting up the bottle, slicing open the foil and twisting the cage at the top of the champagne bottle to loosen it. And as usual, he sits back and watches, quiet and observant to your every move in a way that makes you more anxious than any other customer you’ve served.
“Hi— er, good evening. I apologize for the wait. We’ve been a little… slammed tonight.”
It would be impossible for him not to notice the fact that half the tables are empty, but to your relief he doesn’t mention it. There’s only one other party in your section right now, and they’ve been chatting over post-dinner coffee for nearly an hour. Compared to the nights when Rêverie is fully booked, your shift has been practically dead.
“That’s alright.” His voice is smooth, a hint of a low drawl to it that always makes you think of syrup for some reason: sweet and thick, with just the right amount of warmth. This man has the kind of voice that people fall asleep to. “I’m a patient guy.”
You try your best to ignore the tension between you, but it continues to build as he orders: a Steak au Poivre with the salad of the day. Something about the way the French names roll easily from his lips just does it for you, apparently. It takes all your energy to focus on keeping a straight face and not doing something to embarrass yourself.
Just as you start to walk away to relay his order to the kitchen, you hear your name in that familiar voice and you freeze, whipping around to face him. He’s sitting up straighter, leaned over the table to get a better view. He gestures to the nametag on your apron, repeating it once more as you look down at it in confusion. “Am I saying that right?”
Warmth burns in the tips of your ears. Why are you suddenly so shy? But deep down you know exactly why, and it’s no use trying to pretend you don’t. It’s because your name sounds so good on his tongue, long and leisurely and sexy. It’s a sound you wouldn’t mind hearing him say again, and again and again and—
“Yeah.”
“Alright. Great. I’ve been here so many times, I figured I should at least know your name by now.” He smiles and gives a small nod, relaxing back into his seat. There’s a mischievous look in his eye, a mix of coy and confident. “I’m Jeonghan.”
For a moment you let his name roll around in your head, attaching itself to your memory. As much as you hate to admit that Jennie was right, it feels good to finally have a name to go with the face that’s been haunting your workplace for weeks.
For the rest of the evening, something in the air feels different. Your glances across the room at his table are met with self-satisfied grins from him, always catching your eye and holding contact for a few seconds longer than he should. You find any excuse to linger at his table, refilling his water glass or bringing him another basket of bread so you can talk with him a little more. You can almost hear your manager Joshua’s voice in your head, scolding you for spending so much time with a customer instead of leaving them alone to enjoy their meal, but Jeonghan clearly doesn’t seem to mind.
“Why don’t you sit and have some champagne? There’s still half a bottle left,” he asks you at one point, patting the booth next to him with a smirk. “Plenty of room here for two.”
You sigh, putting your hand on your hip with a teasing smile, though the idea doesn’t sound as terrible to you as it probably should. “I’m working, Jeonghan. They’d fire me.”
“Fine,” he pouts, though he doesn’t press any further. You’ve begun to notice that while he loves to joke around, there’s a fine line he won’t cross when it comes to being serious. He pushes your buttons, but never to do any actual harm. Still, he winks at you as you grab an empty plate from his table to make yourself look busy. “Next week, then? I might need your opinion on the menu.”
“I’ll still be working next week, too,” you say with a roll of your eyes, but even that doesn’t dissuade him.
“Perfect. Then I’ll see you next week, same time, same place.”
Jeonghan stays far later than he usually does, picking at his food so he has more excuses to talk to you whenever you make your rounds to check on your tables. After a while the late crowd begins to filter in, and reluctantly he takes the hint, signing the check and leaving a much larger tip than he should, nearly equal to the cost of his meal.
As much as you’d like him to stay and chat all night, there’s other reservations and Joshua would definitely throw a fit if any customers were kept waiting. There are only a few upscale restaurants in town besides Rêverie, and its reputation makes it difficult to get in. Reservations are so sought-after that they have to be booked at least a month in advance. Which means that either Jeonghan has connections that are important enough to pull some strings and get him a table every week, or he’s been booking them himself all this time. Either way, you have to give him a little bit of credit; his dedication is impressive.
When he walks out the door, coat slung over one arm as he waves goodbye, there’s a little nagging feeling in your chest that starts to build. You push it away and try your best to refocus on work, but before you know it, once the emptiness has settled over the night as you finish out your shift, you realize what that feeling is. You miss him. And that’s how you know you’re screwed.
The following Wednesday passes with another fairly quiet shift, so tonight you’re standing at the side station watching as Jeonghan walks through the doors, sneaking glances at him as he follows the hostess to his regular seat. This time you don’t procrastinate, moving away from your spot to take out a chilled bottle of his usual champagne and a fresh bucket of ice.
You try not to stare as you work, quickly setting up everything you need for his evening, but it’s hard not to let your eyes wander in his direction. He’s in a different suit tonight, a three-piece with a sleek vest underneath that makes his dark colored tie stand out.
As soon as he sits down he pulls out his phone, typing quickly before setting it face-down on top of the table. Taking it as your cue, you grab everything and head over to the booth, surprising yourself with how eager you are. It’s been nice, having something at work to look forward to, now that you aren’t denying how fond you’ve grown of Jeonghan.
You unfold the stand and place the bucket on it, positioning a towel as you prepare to uncork it, but he quickly waves his hand in the air to stop you.
“Oh, not tonight. Sorry,” he says. You frown a little from being surprised, but it’s nothing to worry about. Sometimes people want to switch up their routines. But he goes on, shifting in his seat. “I’m expecting company. But you can put everything on my card like usual.”
You freeze, trying not to show how taken aback you are. Company? It’s been nearly two months of this, of him showing up like clockwork every week, but you can’t expect him to not have friends to go out with. Or maybe a business dinner for work. Your ego is a little wounded from not being able to anticipate the change in his habits, but there’s definitely an explanation. Don’t jump to conclusions, you tell yourself.
“Right. My apologies. I shouldn’t have…” You trail off, but quickly cover it with a cough and bring back the friendly smile on your face. “Would you like me to come back when you’re ready to order, then, or should I grab drinks for the table while you wait?”
“We’ll wait to order together,” Jeonghan says assuredly. His phone vibrates on the table, and he picks it up and types something out quickly, not looking up at you again.
You stand there awkwardly for another few seconds before you finally nod and fold the ice bucket stand back up. “Sure. Yeah. I’ll go grab another place setting for you.”
Feeling more reluctant than before, you take the bottle back to the counter, fumbling to quickly collect an extra set of napkins and silverware along with a second menu. You know you shouldn’t have assumed, even if the customer is a regular like Jeonghan, but you still can’t help feeling blindsided. He isn’t acting any different, but something about tonight still feels strangely off.
You’re even more sure of that when you turn around again to start making your way back to his table. A few steps ahead of you, there’s a woman striding towards him: tall, elegant, her hair pulled up into a loose bun with small black strands framing her face like waves. You can’t help but stare; it feels like everything’s happening in slow motion, shell-shocked as you watch her duck down close to him to say something in his ear before she takes her seat across from him. You stand still for a moment, unable to move as he flashes her a wide grin and leans back in his seat. His body language is much more open now, one arm laid over the back of the booth with his legs splayed beneath the table, wide and casual.
It shouldn’t hurt so much—it shouldn’t hurt you at all—but it does. Weeks of shameless flirting, and for what? Was he just staking out restaurants for good date night spots all this time, waiting to find the right place to take his partner? Does that count as cheating, and should you let her know the way he’s been eyeing you up and down for the past couple months has been anything but professional?
You hesitate for just a moment longer as they talk animatedly, and eventually you have to swallow your pride and go interrupt them with the list of tonight’s specials. “Good evening. We’re happy to have you at Rêverie tonight. Can I get you both started with some drinks?”
Your usual monologue comes out stilted and cold, the same way you’ve rehearsed for what feels like hundreds of times every shift. In your peripheral you almost think you see Jeonghan narrow his eyes in a frown, but you keep your gaze directed at his guest so it’s hard to tell for sure. It’s easier to focus on her than to try to meet his eyes, still feeling embarrassed.
If he does notice it, though, then his partner does not, because she replies quickly and easily, ordering plain sparkling water with a friendly smile. Jeonghan does the same, but unlike every other night he’s been here, his voice similarly comes out flatter than normal, using as few words as possible.
After taking their orders and sulking back to your station, you resolve to avoid that end of the restaurant for the rest of the night. You don’t want to risk overhearing their conversation and whatever romantic bullshit they’re probably talking about. You’ve served enough couples in your time working in fine dining to know that they’re the worst type of customers. People think no one notices what they’re getting up to, but the staff are always aware. Whether it’s a first date, an anniversary, a birthday, or some other stupid occasion, no one is ever discreet about what they’re doing.
To make it even worse, your favorite coworkers aren’t here tonight. God, you really wish Jennie was working. She wouldn’t mind running interference for you. She’d understand better than anyone, now that you have a real reason to pretend Jeonghan doesn’t exist.
By the time he and his “date” leave for the night, you’ve made up your mind. No matter how flirty he is, no matter how much chemistry you have with him, from now on you’re going to act like he means nothing to you. It’s for the best, honestly. You should have known better than to get involved with a customer, and this was the warning you needed to get your priorities straight. As nice as he was, whatever was going on between you and Jeonghan is over, starting now.
Most days you look forward to the weekend and the well-needed time off that it offers, but this time you spend most of it anxiously awaiting the coming days. It’s not like you’ve ever particularly loved coming to work, but there’s a newfound sense of dread now that you know you might have to talk to Jeonghan again. At one point in time, the idea of seeing him almost would have excited you, but not anymore. Not after last week’s embarrassment.
When you get to Rêverie on Wednesday for your shift, you try to get lost in your work, making way more trips back to the kitchen than necessary. You know you’re lingering too much and probably getting in the way of the chef team, but it’s all you can do to stop yourself from watching the clock, counting down the hours.
Still, nothing you do stops Jeonghan from arriving at his usual time and requesting to be seated at his usual table. Across the room you can see him arguing with the maître d', a new hire that’s barely finished her training, who timidly tries to explain that she isn’t allowed to do that. You haven’t had very many conversations with Mina yet, but you’ve gotta hand it to her, she’s been dedicated to the house rules. It’s just too bad that there isn’t any rule against customers making requests, no matter how annoying they are.
Before you can do anything to help her out Jennie appears at her side, empty tray in hand, and whispers something in her ear before pointing to the booth in your section. She nods, bowing slightly to Jeonghan and reluctantly leading him to the back corner of the restaurant.
Damn. And you’d almost thought that you might get out of this unscathed after all.
He’s alone again, but it’s hard to tell just from a first glance whether he’s expecting company again or not. You’re tempted to feign sick and beg Jennie to take over your section for the rest of the night, but you couldn’t do that to her. She’s busy enough with the tables in her own section. And besides, she’d just end up convincing you to go talk to him anyway, and you’re not in the mood for another pep-talk.
Mentally preparing yourself, you leave the bottle behind this time as you make your best attempt to walk over to his table with your head held high. The rejection from last week still stings a little, and you’re not eager to repeat the encounter by bringing along something unwanted for a second time.
As usual he greets you with a smile, and as usual your stomach fills with butterflies, despite your best efforts to push them down. This little crush on him you’ve developed clearly isn’t going to lead anywhere, you remind yourself. After so many weeks of seeing each other it’s hard to ignore the instinct to crack jokes, flirting at every opportunity, but the air feels different now. You just need to accept that you read the situation wrong, you made a mistake, and it’s time to move on. It’s better to be professional, anyway. Flirting too much with a customer is dangerous in the long run. It’s not worth losing your job over him.
Before you can even think about starting your customer service script, Jeonghan speaks right away, leaving you no room to skirt around the issue. “Why are you ignoring me?”
His voice is smooth like you’re used to, that low sound from deep in his throat that always makes you feel special for some reason, like he’s talking to you and only you. Chewing on your lip, you have to remind yourself that that’s not true. It never was.
In a split second, you have to decide whether to play along with your faux-friendly waiter voice or confront him, but the importance of keeping your job prevents you from doing the latter. Making a scene in public is the last thing you need, on top of everything else. Instead, you internally give yourself permission to be as passive aggressive as you want to him. You’re fairly good at letting it roll right off your back, but working in this industry sometimes you need more than a friendly smile and a good attitude. No, this is the attitude you usually save for rude, entitled, spoiled, rich, bratty assho— well, er, difficult customers. Either way, right now Jeonghan is being one of those “difficult customers”.
So you plaster on an even brighter, even faker smile and stand up straight, your hands folded formally behind your back. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what you mean. Shall we start with drinks, or are we still waiting for the rest of our party to arrive?” That last line is spiteful and comes out more snarky than you mean it to, but you can’t lie that it doesn’t feel good to say, not after the roller coaster of emotions he’s put you through.
“Right.” Jeonghan sighs and nods once, as if he finally understands. At least he has the decency to look a little wounded at your words, but you know by now that it’s an act. “I guess I deserved that.”
He pauses for a second like he’s debating his next words. “No,” he answers finally, tilting his head back to look up at you. God, those eyes. Your stomach flips at the sight of his bashful face, faintly hidden behind his thin, wire-rimmed glasses. “I’m here alone. Last week…” he lets out another long sigh as he pauses. Does he think it’s amusing to have to explain this to you? You want to slap him right across his gorgeous, perfect face.
“That was my boss. She’s retiring. Last week—Wednesday—was her last day, and I’m taking over her position at the company. So we had dinner to celebrate.” He glances down at the table, and if you didn’t know any better you might almost think he was being sheepish. “And she’s happily married, by the way. To her wife. Not me.”
“Oh.”
After a few seconds of silence you realize how dumb you sound, standing there taking in this news. Come on! All you have to say for yourself is ‘oh’? But his explanation actually makes sense, and his honesty catches you so off guard that you can’t think of any other reply.
If he’s humored by your reaction, he doesn’t show it. In fact, the next words out of his mouth are the last thing you’re expecting to hear. “Look, I get how it probably seemed, and that’s my fault. I wasn’t planning on taking her here, but she’d never been and she’d heard me rave about the food so many times before, so…” Jeonghan exhales, nostrils flaring a little bit as he trails off. “I’m sorry. I mean it. I wasn’t trying to give you the wrong impression.”
“And what impression is that?” FInally getting control of your tongue again, you fold your arms over your chest as you stare down at him. A small part of you is proud of yourself, for managing to recover and string together a coherent reply. But deep down, his apology is appreciated. It’s not every day that a man in your life accepts blame, especially when he’s the one who’s been leading you on.
“The impression that I’m not single. And not wondering if you are, too.”
You nearly choke, struggling to process what he’s just said. The worst part is the sincerity in his gaze as he looks at you, how he meets your eyes and doesn’t back down, as if challenging you to keep denying your feelings for him. It’s the most forward he’s ever been in all the times he’s come here, a buildup of weeks of flirtation and shy back-and-forth. The confidence with which he finally acknowledges it, out loud and explicit, gives you a rush you’ve never felt before.
He just continues to sit there staring up at you, waiting expectantly, and suddenly you realize you’ve been silent for way too long. What do you even say to follow up to that?
Afraid of getting too far ahead of yourself, you shift your weight, arms still crossed defensively. “So then what’s the reason you keep coming here so often? The food, or me?”
“Both.” He smirks, pleased with his answer when you pretend to frown at him. “But mostly you. There’s any number of fancy places I could throw money away at in this city, but there’s only one that has you.”
And just like that, you feel yourself melting. It’s a cheesy, overused line, but somehow coming from his mouth it works. It should be studied, the way his voice makes you feel like the most important person in the room.
“Fine. I’ll bite. What is it you want? Besides annoying me every Wednesday night.”
“Well, first of all, I’d like to order my dinner. Still a paying customer, after all.” There’s that grin again, the one that makes you want to strangle him to death and then kiss him afterward. “But I wanna see you after your shift tonight, if you’d let me. Maybe go somewhere. Dessert’s on me.”
You sigh, checking your wristwatch. “I don’t get off for another… three and a half hours. You aren’t really gonna wait here that long, are you?”
“I’d wait forever for you, beautiful. Told you I was a patient guy.”
You pretend to make a gagging sound, but he only grins at your reaction. You have to admit, he’s kind of endearing. “We have other customers, you know. You’re taking up space.”
“I’ll leave a nice tip, don’t worry,” he chuckles, not a bit offended. “Maybe I’ll demand to see the manager so I can tell them how good the service was. Do you think that’d win me some points?”
“Alright, alright! I’ll decide whether I’m feeling up to it or not once I get off. I’ve been here all day already. That’s all I’m gonna promise.”
Jeonghan flashes a smug smile as he crosses his arms, a casual gesture, but it emphasizes the broadness of his shoulders. “I’ll take what I can get.” He gestures with his head, nodding towards another party a few tables away who are making it extremely obvious that they’re looking for somebody to give them a drink refill. “Hey, go finish your shift. Just don’t forget about me.”
You roll your eyes, but he shoots you a wink as you walk away. As you turn towards the next table, you prepare your customer-service voice once more, but inside you couldn’t be happier with the way things played out. Well, maybe if he had tried to make a move sooner then it would’ve saved you a weekend of heartbreak, but you have to admit that you’re partially at fault for not saying something earlier too.
As promised, three hours later Jeonghan remains glued to his seat, nursing a cup of coffee.
The rest of the evening seemed to fly by, without any problems — except for the strange looks from your coworkers, and the new maître d' who’d asked a couple times if you wanted her to find Joshua for help getting rid of the guy, thinking he was harassing you. It was a fair assumption, especially considering how many times he’d waved you over to his table to chat with him it might as well be harassment, but you assured her you didn’t need help.
Finally you finish checking out the last party in your section, and you’ve never been more grateful not to be closing tonight. If you had to do all your regular work on top of cleaning and sweeping and helping prep for tomorrow then there’d be no chance of you having enough energy to meet Jeonghan afterwards, but whoever had created the schedule this week must’ve been on your side. Jennie’s the one working the closing shift for tonight, so you make a mental note to text her later to fill her in.
Making eye contact with him from across the room, you look at your watch and then tip your head towards the exit, and he scrambles to stand up, shrugging on his coat. You disappear through the doors marked ‘employees only’ for a moment to grab your belongings, balling up your apron and throwing your purse over your shoulder. When you re-emerge you find him waiting at the entryway of the restaurant, resting his arm on the counter as he chats with Mina. You wave and give her a brief good night, and her eyes dart to Jeonghan for a second before returning the goodbye, a subtle pink creeping into her cheeks.
Though the restaurant is still open for a few more hours, the parking lot is sparse at this hour and it doesn’t take long to find your car. Jeonghan walks with you, standing beside your parking spot with his hands tucked into the pockets of his slacks.
“So were you thinking your place, or mine?”
You turn and scoff at him, raising an eyebrow as you begin to fish around in your purse for your keys. “I never agreed to that. I don’t sleep around on the first date.”
Jeonghan smirks. “Who says this is our first date? In fact, this is our…” He counts on his fingers one by one, tallying them off as he speaks. “… ninth. The first date I had pork belly, the second one I had the seafood platter, then the third one—”
You smack his arm. “You call that a date? I don’t think it counts as taking me out to dinner if I’m the one serving it to you.”
“Then let me serve you this time.” He grins mischievously, his eyes darkened with lust. “Is that fair enough?” His hands settle on your waist, and the weight of his touch makes you shiver.
“Only if you promise to take me on a real date next time.”
“I’ll take that deal.” He grins. “Actually, I was going to wait to ask you out until I’d tried the whole menu. Just to make sure I took you somewhere that was up to your standards. Since you’re the food expert here.”
You snort. “Well then, no wonder it took you three months to do something. We do have a pretty big menu.”
He runs his tongue along his teeth, making a thoughtful little sound. “You know, there’s still something I haven’t tried yet…”
His eyes remain fixed on you, but there’s something darker in his gaze as he stares deep into your eyes and slips his hand behind the base of your neck, intentionally slow to give you a chance to push him away. When you don’t move, the corner of his mouth quirks up in a satisfied smirk, and he finally closes the distance and presses his lips against yours. Reciprocating comes naturally to you, and you easily adapt to welcome his kiss, lips moving together in tandem with his.
You feel the pressure from his fingertips increase as he grips your head a little harder, guiding you against him and pulling you in closer. With a little gasp you finally wrap your arms around his body, and you feel him smile into the kiss at your touch. You can tell from the way he devours you how experienced he is and how cocky that makes him, and although the last thing you want to do is stroke his ego, he’s admittedly really good at it. The way he takes control is effortless, dominating the kiss and moving you in exactly the way that makes you feel good without even having to think about it yourself.
His hand on the back of your neck adjusts to explore your head, and you kiss him deeper as his fingers start to trail upwards to tangle in your hair. When his nails dig into your scalp and you let out a whimper into his mouth, he reluctantly pulls back to let you breathe for a second, but you quickly shake your head and try to chase his lips. “More—”
“More?” He quirks up an eyebrow tauntingly, and it’s so attractive it makes you want to smack him again. If this were anyone else you wouldn’t change your mind so quickly, but you’ve been holding back from him for so long that you don’t care even if it breaks your made-up dating rules. “Mm… I see. Well then, if that’s the case, are you really gonna make me ask again?” He pauses, watching the confusion register on your face as he looks on with raw, burning pleasure. “Don’t deny yourself. Answer me this time, darling. Your place or mine?”
“Whatever you want, it doesn’t make a difference to me.” You swallow thickly as you wipe at your bottom lip with your thumb, a futile attempt to fix your lipstick that you’re certain is now smudged beyond repair. Slowly your senses return to you, and you remember where you are: pressed against the side door of your car under a streetlamp. “Wait, but— my car…”
He points to the only other car nearby, a little black Corvette parked sitting quietly across the lot. You’d never thought to wonder what kind of car he drives, but somehow you aren’t surprised. The model seems to fit him. “We could take mine tonight. I’ll drive you back here to pick yours up tomorrow.”
You scoff, but it doesn’t have as much bite in it as it did before. “Tomorrow? You seem pretty confident that you’re getting laid.”
The corner of his mouth turns up in a cocky little smile. “I don’t like to be indirect with what I want. Waste of time, in my opinion. You know what I’m asking. If you want to dance around it, I’m not going to force you.” Jeonghan takes a step back from your car, but there’s a hint of smugness in his expression that says he already knows exactly what you’re thinking. “You know what? I’m sure you’ve had a busy evening, working on your feet all night. You should go home. I won’t keep you.”
He takes another half step backwards, and before you can stop yourself a pathetic little whimper tears from your throat as you move to follow him. It instantly makes you cringe how needy you sound, but he seems to only take satisfaction from your reaction as your hand shoots out to grab his wrist. “No. Hold on. I…”
You sigh, finally admitting defeat. Teasing and dropping subtle hints has always been your style, but he’s managed to break you down and have you begging for him in the span of a few hours. It frustrates you to no end, but it’s also kind of turning you on. This clingy, desperate feeling in your chest is new to you, almost queasy from how badly you want more of his attention.
You’ve never felt this way with your past relationships, always coming to an end too soon because of how quickly your attachment faded. The red-flag alarm in your head should probably be screaming at you right now, but the nonchalant way he brushes you off and the simultaneous determination in his gaze only makes your heart flutter. He doesn’t hide that he wants you — the look in his eyes alone is enough to tell you that — but at the same time he acts like he couldn’t care less whether you reciprocate or not. And something about that works for you.
Something deep inside, something primal in you, wants him to care. You need him to crave you; you want to make him beg, too. You want to fluster him so bad that he caves, like you did, and just gives in and takes what he so clearly desires. The embarrassment from your own reaction has faded into something more passionate, a competitive yearning to make him feel this pathetic, depraved desperation the way you do. He may think he’s winning, but you’re not going to be satisfied until you’re not the only loser in this game.
His expression is still as smug as ever, but he stands there patient as promised, waiting with your fingers wrapped around his wrist. It’s a strange feeling to swallow your pride and go along with his games, but you’re sure that if you play your cards right this night will go the way you want.
You clear your throat and ease your hand away from his arm, though it pains you a little to let go of him. His skin is soft under your fingertips, with subtle hints of firm muscle hidden by his lanky frame, and you want to keep touching him. You need to keep touching him, to explore every inch of his body and find all of his pressure points, to discover every spot that makes him weak and—
“Did you want to say something?” Jeonghan coaxes, cutting off your rapidly derailing train of thought, and even though he pisses you off you’re grateful for the snap back to reality.
“Yeah,” you finally manage, and force your gaze upward to meet his eyes—those piercing brown eyes that you’ve found staring at you from across the restaurant, week after week. In public he was always subdued, a little flirtatious but always respectful, lingering only just long enough to make sure you noticed but never anything more. But the look in his eyes now is completely different, like he wants you to start tearing his clothes off right here in the parking lot. Pursing your lips, you give him a smirk of your own, and you relish in the way his gaze darkens in response.
“How close is your place?”
Before the door of his penthouse is even fully shut, you’re shoving Jeonghan backwards against his kitchen counter as your lips connect again, your moans mixing together and echoing off the walls throughout the wide open room.
“Oh, I like this.” He flashes a toothy grin before diving back in, equally as passionate. That smirk again; you swear, if he gives you that stupid cocky look one more time, you might slap him. But then his slender fingers cup your chin to draw you closer to his mouth, and the light pressure of his fingertips on your cheeks makes your head spin, making you forget all about how easily he manages to get under your skin. For a split second the thought occurs that those hands would probably look gorgeous wrapped around your throat, but your brain is moving about a million miles per minute and it isn’t long before another, hornier thought replaces it.
You barely even notice him leading you out of the kitchen, step by step pulling you with him into the living room, until you feel your calves hit the back of something firm. You break away just for a moment to look down at his couch, and he gently presses down on your shoulders to guide you to sit.
He starts unbuttoning his shirt, and you take the hint and quickly begin stripping off your own top as well. Once you’re seated on the couch he sinks to the carpet in front of you, nudging your legs apart to kneel between them and unbutton your pants. Again you’re transfixed by his fingers as he works: the bulging veins that trail across the back of his hand down toward his wrist, his neatly trimmed fingernails. You get so lost in watching the way his knuckles flex that you only belatedly realize what he’s doing once he shimmies your pants down your legs and adjusts his position to press his face between your legs.
“What are you…?”
“I said I was gonna serve you, didn’t I, darling?” Jeonghan finally shrugs his shirt all the way off, revealing an expanse of soft pale skin. But you don’t have time to focus on admiring his body before he leans in close to your inner thigh, his eyes taking in everything in sight with obvious delight.
He leaves an open-mouthed kiss on your clit through the fabric, and you feel a new wave of slick pooling in response. You don’t even need to see for yourself to know that you’re absolutely soaked. He trails his fingers up your slit, pressing against the fabric to feel your warmth. You’re positive that he can feel your cunt pulsing, leaving two fingers tauntingly between your legs to keep you on edge. When he finally pulls his hand away after teasing you for what feels like hours, the pads of his fingertips are already damp just from touching you through your panties.
Jeonghan hooks a finger around the waistband of your panties on each side of your hips and tugs them away. He moves unbearably slowly to the point where you’re nearly about to start crying and begging him to do something, anything, to you.
But thankfully, he doesn’t make you wait much longer. Once your lower half is completely naked, he groans at the sight of you and leans in even closer. The tip of his nose brushes against your inner thigh, and his breath is burning hot against your skin as he whispers into you. “You know how long I’ve been thinking about this? Dreaming about eating this perfect fucking pussy? How hungry I’ve been for you?”
You moan and let out a hiss, arching your back off the couch as he pushes your legs apart even more forcefully. He still hasn’t done anything yet, and you don’t know how much more of this you can take.
“Jeonghan!” you whine, scrunching your nose as you concentrate. “Please…”
That smirk returns once again, but it doesn’t linger like it usually does, quickly replaced with a look of desperate lust. “You sound so sexy when you say my name. So much better than I imagined.” He presses his face into your pussy with a pleased sigh, mumbling into your lips. “Wonder if you taste better than I imagined, too.”
And without another second of hesitation, he pulls your clit into his mouth, sucking hard. Instinctively your legs tense and try to close around his head, but his hands are surprisingly strong as he keeps you held open for him to feast on. Jeonghan flattens his tongue against your pussy, curling it to scoop through your folds and collect as much of your slick as he can, then begins to flick it up and down across your clit. If you thought he was good at kissing, then holy fuck, he’s even better at this. Within mere seconds his tongue has you seeing stars, and it’s impossible to keep your mouth shut to stop the endless stream of pathetic noises leaving you.
His hair tickles the top of your stomach as he moves back and forth, and you reach down with one shaking hand to brush it back from his forehead, but it just flops right back down again. He dislodges his mouth from your pussy for long enough to croak out, “Please, baby. Pull my hair. Make me do whatever you want. Wanna make you feel good.”
It takes a minute for his words to register, because he says them in such a whiny, pleading voice that you don’t immediately recognize it as coming from him. You’re so used to the confident, suave voice he uses in public that the man currently devouring your pussy seems like a completely different person.
You scramble to comply, threading your fingers through his hair and giving his scalp a gentle tug. Instantly his jaw goes slack against your core, letting out a frustrated but very pleased sounding groan. “Fuck, yeah, just like that,” he says, and it’s the last thing you hear before he goes back in for more.
You know you’re done for once he introduces his fingers into the mix. Keeping his lips pursed around your clit, he prods gently at your entrance with his middle and ring finger, shallowly thrusting up to his first knuckle. It takes a few seconds to adjust, but when he feels you relax and loosen up he pushes deeper, until both fingers are fully engulfed inside you. He continues slowly thrusting until he’s satisfied with the lack of resistance, then adds a curling motion each time he pulls his fingers out. If you were a religious woman, you’d swear you were about to meet God.
The stimulation is both too much and not enough at the same time, no matter how desperately you try to rock your hips in rhythm with his tongue. But you can feel it building, getting closer and closer to reaching a peak you can’t come back from, and you know it won’t take much more before you make a mess on his face. As if he knows your orgasms like a sixth sense, his motions become a tiny bit more intense, his tongue pointed more purposefully at your clit and his fingers thrusting just a tiny bit faster. And finally, like a dam breaking loose after a storm, you’re gone.
Your release is loud. Shaking, panting, sweating, and swearing, your hips move on their own to frantically grind against his face in a reckless haze, chasing the high that seems to stretch on and on and on. Jeonghan just sits there and takes it all, sopping up the flood of your slick with his tongue like a starved man as you yank on his hair even harder than before, desperate to keep his mouth in contact with your pussy through the duration of your orgasm.
After what feels like a full minute of cumming, your clit is still throbbing like crazy, your thighs feel like Jell-O, and your toes are cramping a little, but you would be lying if you said that wasn’t the best head you’ve ever received in your entire life. Man, he wasn’t kidding when he said he wanted to serve, that’s for sure. It’s way too early to be catching feelings, but all of a sudden there’s a fervent, burning desire in your chest to not let him go. You’ve never admitted to being a jealous person, but the tiny inkling of possessiveness that you feel now mirrors how you’d felt when he showed up to the restaurant last week with someone else.
With legs still trembling you manage to stand up, pulling him up by his shirt collar and shoving him down onto the couch in the same spot you’d just been sitting. Your lower half feels like pure TV static, but you eventually get your knees onto the edge of the cushion and clamber onto the couch, sinking down to straddle your aching pussy over his lap. You slip your hand down between your bodies to palm his bulge, and he rewards you with a loud, choked moan.
“Greedy thing, aren’t you? You want my cock that badly, angel?”
Jeonghan smirks, and you’re so wound up from the lingering effects of your orgasm that this time you actually do slap him, your hand darting out across his cheek out of instinct. Not hard or meant to hurt him, just a light playful smack, but it’s still enough to make a sound. Immediately your face falls in shock, and you open your mouth to start profusely apologizing for crossing a line. How could you get so caught up in the moment like that? But before you even have a chance to be embarrassed, he just smiles even wider.
He grabs your wrist, which still hovers awkwardly in the air between your bodies, and brings it to his lips to kiss your palm, moaning against your hand. “God, that was hot. Do that again once I’m inside you.”
His gentle lips tickle your skin, and a shudder runs through your body as he bites playfully. He glances up at you through his lashes, an almost taunting look on his face, and it might be the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen in your entire life.
Keeping eye contact you slip your other hand back down to his crotch, fumbling with the button on his pants, and he lets go of your hand to let it join the other so you can undo it faster. All the while he just sits comfortably in his seat, letting you do all the work as he watches, enamored. His head rests against the back of the couch, his neck on full display, and his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat when he lets out a little chuckle of satisfaction. He doesn’t even say anything, but his reaction is enough praise to make your cunt pulse, a warm and pleased feeling erupting in your chest from the positive attention.
You finally manage to undo his pants, and wordlessly he lifts his hips to help you push them down past his knees, freeing his hard cock to rest lazily against his stomach. He spreads his legs wider beneath you, sinking deeper into the couch cushions as he slouches down to give you a better angle. The faint grooves of his abs make your mouth water, but as much as you’d like to spend hours running your tongue along every miniscule crevice of his body, there’s more important matters on your agenda right now. Pressing your hands against his chest instead, you rake your nails gently across his skin, and he shivers a little at the feeling as he begins to stroke his cock.
After a few seconds he lets out a shuddering sigh and releases his hand, and his cock stands at attention between your bodies, flushed and strained with need. He moves his hands to your waist, tapping his fingers against you to signal you to sit up. You lift up onto your knees above him and reach beneath you to wrap your hand around him, and he lets out an involuntary little whimper at the contact that makes you smirk. Giving him a couple strokes of your own, you guide the head of his cock between your folds before pushing him inside, both of you groaning in pleasure as you sink down onto his length.
Jeonghan allows you a few seconds to adjust, breathing heavily as that wonderful feeling of fullness washes over you. Without thinking you begin to rock your hips, not moving up and down but simply rolling them forward and backward, grinding against him with his cock buried firmly inside of you. You can feel the tip pressing a little bit deeper with each movement as you start to relax, your walls throbbing and fluttering around him.
For now he’s content to sit back and let you play with him however you want while he lies beneath you, enjoying the view. Each rotation of your hips pushes your chest closer to him, your hard nipples sitting tauntingly at his eye level. You lean forward to hold onto the couch behind him for leverage, pressing your breasts even further into his face, and he smirks up at you in response.
After a minute he lifts his hips a few inches off the couch, experimentally thrusting into you. It’s not much, but it’s still more than enough to take your breath away when you realize how deep he can hit. Your whimper makes him grin as he feels your walls clench around him like a vise, as if trying to pull him in even more.
“Sensitive, hmm?” he coos, though it comes off as more teasing than sincere. You purse your lips into a pout, nodding, but you don’t change your movement. “Still feels good though?”
Instead of replying you lean down and crash your mouth against his once more, starting to lift your hips in a shallow up-and-down motion to test the waters. His cock is still almost all the way buried inside you, only letting an inch slip out before pushing back in, just a hint of extra stimulation.
Your nose is pressed awkwardly into his cheek as you kiss him furiously, but it’s the last thing on your mind as his hands grip your waist more firmly, helping give you a little bit more leverage to continue the slow, rolling movements. His tongue nudges against yours, your lips opening to welcome him.
One thrust hits particularly deep in a particularly sensitive spot deep in your cunt, and you have to pull away quickly for a second to exhale a drawn-out moan before filling your lungs with fresh air. But in that moment, without warning Jeonghan pushes his hips up into the air, bouncing you on his lap, and the force of his thrust cuts off your sound, trailing off into a broken whimper mid-way through. His fingers squeeze your waist harder, digging into your muscles before sliding down to grip your ass for a better angle. It knocks the breath out of you, your core tightening around him.
The rhythm he sets is difficult to keep up with, but luckily for you it doesn’t seem like he expects much effort on your part. All you have to do is sit there on his lap, pliant and relaxed, and let him fuck into you as hard as he wants. His hands supporting your ass are firm, and you can see the strain flexing in his lean biceps as he holds you up. The angle still puts your tits directly in front of his face but he’s staring up into your eyes, his eye contact unflinching as he pants for breath with parted lips.
“Look at you,” he huffs, his voice thick and rough, just loud enough to be heard over the wet sounds of skin slapping against skin. “So tight. God, you’re so beautiful, riding me just like that. Wanna stay buried in this pussy forever.”
Despite the unfiltered praise he’s giving that makes your stomach twist with butterflies, there’s still that hint of teasing in his words: too genuine to be sarcastic, but at the same time too smug to be completely heartfelt and without ulterior motive. Either way, you can’t deny how good it feels to be worshipped so openly like this, especially by him.
The change in Jeonghan’s attitude doesn’t escape your notice; the way he’s gotten more and more dominant as the night goes on, but somehow at the same time less dominant too. It’s a refreshing change of pace, how naturally your dynamic shifts back and forth at will. His lack of expectations soothes something deep inside you that you weren’t aware needed to be soothed; his easy disposition that lets you take control when you want it and give it back when you don’t. Maybe it’s because he can read you so well, or maybe it’s because he can’t. Either way, his effortless ability to switch between roles is something you didn’t know you were missing in your life, and it makes his actions all the more intense and exciting and unpredictable.
Your throat tightens as you feel the early waves of another orgasm beginning to crash into you, but you can’t get the words out to warn him before one more well-timed thrust sends you hurtling over the edge. You fall forward, catching yourself on his shoulders and gripping him so hard it’s got to hurt, but he says nothing but praises as you cum with your thumbs digging into his collarbone.
“That’s a good girl, keep going. You feel so fucking good, angel. Let me have it, all of it. C’mon— yeah, right there, there you go.”
When the initial shock fades, the high from your second orgasm subsides even more slowly than the first time. You’re still struggling to deal with the effects yourself when Jeonghan frantically pulls you off of his lap, his cock haphazardly recoiling against your stomach as milky white spurts leak from his tip. His eyes are wrenched shut in bliss, his mouth hanging open and his hands squeezing your ass even harder.
Somewhere deep in the recesses of your memory, you make a note that Jeonghan whimpers when he cums. It’s such a beautiful, passionate, strangled sound, and you never want to forget it.
A few moments of silence pass, the room quiet except for the sound of you both heavily panting for breath. Jeonghan finally opens his eyes again, his gaze unfocused for a second before it lands on you, and he breaks out into a smile. A real one this time, not his usual arrogant smirk or teasing grin. He lets out a long, slow, pleased hum and releases his grip on you, sliding to rest on top of your thighs instead.
“Wanna take a shower with me?”
After an hour (maybe a lot longer than an hour…) you’re clean and comfortable and content, both of you lying naked in his bed together. It hadn’t been difficult for him to convince you to stay over for the night and let him spoil you a little more. You’d pretended to be on the fence about whether or not to stay, just to tease him, but his promise to make you breakfast is what had finally won you over.
A half-empty bottle of Dom Perignon rests on the bed between you both, wedged against a couple of pillows. With the sheets messily tossed over your lower half, you balance your glass on your lap as you sit leaned up against the headboard of his bed.
When you’d confessed earlier that you’d never actually tried his favorite brand yourself, despite how often you have to serve it at work, he’d immediately hopped out of the shower to bring you a bottle. His effort was admirable, making a whole show out of uncorking it and pretending to be your waiter, before subsequently spilling most of it on his bathroom floor.
Now, Jeonghan sits propped up on one elbow, holding his own glass of champagne in one hand while resting the other across your hip. You didn’t initially label him as being a touchy-feely kind of guy, but the way he hasn’t let you out of his sight all night has been kind of endearing. Maybe you’re both clingier than you thought.
You sigh, exhausted but relaxed, and take another sip from your flute. “I guess you’re right. This is totally better than the cheap stuff.”
He lets out a tipsy little giggle, grabbing the bottle and pouring the rest of it into your glass to top it off. “I told you, I know my wines. Only the best for you. That’s why I always ordered it.”
You roll your eyes, but you don’t argue with him. By now, you believe he really does mean all the cheesy crap he says. He did promise to actually take you on a real date next weekend, not a “stalking you at your workplace” kind of date. Maybe it’s just the champagne talking, but after tonight, his sincerity about has put a warm, fizzy feeling in your stomach. (But then again, that might be the champagne.)
Either way, you’re not denying your feelings anymore, and neither is he.
“Cheers,” he says after a minute of content silence, holding up his glass in front of him. The look in his eyes mirrors your own, something bright and soft and happy that makes your heart flutter.
“What are we cheers-ing to?” you laugh.
“Hm. Well…” He pauses and bites his lip.
It’s been too long since you last kissed him, you think to yourself as you wait for his answer, watching him absently pull his bottom lip between his teeth. You need to change that.
“To good food and good sex. Both of which you can provide.”
You grin back at him and raise your glass to clink against his. “Sure. To the finer things in life.”
this is the first fic i've been able to finish after a long hiatus and i'm genuinely so proud of how it turned out, so i truly hope you enjoyed reading!!
if you did please reblog with your thoughts, or leave a comment or send an ask! reblogs are legit what makes tumblr work: it shows me that people are interested in this content, and knowing people liked it makes me more inspired to write more! i put a TON of time, love, and effort into my fics, so feedback is really appreciated and motivates me to keep posting :) thanks for reading!!
— the willowed line between abhorrence and fixation was sending him into a state of mania. a continuation of training wheels.
𑣲˙ smut tags & warnings: mean!wonwoo, obsessive!reader, virgin kink, DUBCON, spanking, choking, cumshots. mingyu is a plot device huhu sry not sry. reader is slipped aphrodisiacs.
𑣲 read my guidlines. don't like don't read. block me if this isn't your cup of tea. not beta-read.
𑣲 part one, 𑣲 part two.
Only God knows what happens here.
When the lights are off, when the sun has set, Wonwoo is left with his own thoughts. The rage in his abdomen is fueled further as he spends time stalking your Instagram. He daren’t make a noise, quiet as a mouse, his phone screen the sole illuminator in his room. Only God knows what happens here, when his slender fingers curl over the bulge in his sweatpants. The illusion of choice was there. The assumption that he can turn off his phone, exit your profile, sleep till his erection deflates. He could decide to ignore you and move on, yet he couldn’t put his phone down.
The scoff that leaves him is the first sound he has made in an hour, pupils dilated and his tongue constantly swiping over his lips to catch his drool. Flitting constantly over his screen, he analyzes every detail of your posts, your highlights, everything. Knowledge of your desperation, your constant plea for his attention, should have made the raunchiness of your photos less surprising. Although he knows all these things, he can’t help but rove his eyes over your cleavage or the way you pose to show off your curves. Virgin, his ass. You could act as innocent as you wanted, but he knows how much of a whore you become under him.
Anyone else had to be blind or downright stupid, because he can see you for what you truly are. The short skirts, the lacy lingerie you conveniently always wear under your clothes. There’s no way you didn’t want him to fuck you. There was no fucking way your idea of spending time with him was to only go on enchanting, angelic little dates with him.
The thought that you had played Wonwoo like a fiddle made the veins under his skin scorching hot. He had to stop, yet that anger did not cease; it only had him tenting his pants with a raging boner. Sticky, wet and red at the tip is the best way to describe his dick right now. A groan leaves him, covered by an exhale of breath as his hands find their way under the waistband that restricted him from falling into the pit of his own sins.
At the first touch of his sensitive length under his boxers elicits a hiss from him. Before he could overthink his actions, he gathered saliva in his mouth, the string of spit dropping into his palm. The split second he drops his phone to tuck his waistband under his balls is the moment he realizes how deep a hole he dug himself into. There was no going back now, too awake to go to bed, too aware to ignore the gnawing discernment in his stomach.
Before he could blink, his free hand was scrambling to screenshot your Instagram story. The way his eyes flit from your tits to the lace panties peeking between your thighs. What a fucking tease, Wonwoo thinks. The memories of sinking into your sloppy pussy evoked a terse inhale, then a whisper of your name. The weight of his cock in his palm was heavy, warm as he tried to recall the slick juices your pussy dripping onto his balls. Adrenaline pulses through him, because no matter how much you aggravate him, you still manage to get him rock hard.
Only God knows what happens here.
…
Aside from the bass pounding in Wonwoo’s eardrums, the sound of his two friends snickering beside him felt like nails scraping against a chalkboard. Three pairs of eyes are trained on you, but you only have your attention on one person. His jaw tenses, teeth grinding as the malice stabbed him repeatedly through aching pulses at the back of his neck. Before he could break the staring contest, you had already scurried off to god knows where. Not that he cared, if anything, he was fucking relieved.
Wonwoo didn’t want to have to see you anywhere. It was already bad enough that you were haunting him through your Instagram posts. The sight of you in a mini skirt and silk polka dot halter top was burned into his brain. Incapable of avoiding the images that flashed before his closed eyes before bed was torture.
There were two sides of him, splitting his psyche into pieces. One part wanted to choke you out, while the other wanted nothing but to see how easy it would be to fuck you in that stupid mini skirt.
“Not gonna go and save your girl?” Mingyu mutters beside him.
Wonwoo wanted to slap the smirk right off his face; instead, he grunted and shook his head.
“No, and she's not my girl,” Wonwoo replies curtly, his red solo cup creasing under the tense muscles in his palm.
Mingyu chortles at that, rolling his eyes before patting Wonwoo's shoulder hard.
“Suit yourself, man. But I came here to get laid. Let’s see how desperate your little fan is.” Mingyu’s eyes glint; the grin on his face despicable.
There was an ugly, putrid churn in the pit of Wonwoo’s stomach. He plays off his best friend’s words as a joke. Stiff as a reed, he forces a laugh.
“Go ahead. Find out for yourself if she's willing to play.”
Wonwoo watches his douche bag of a friend seek you out. With feet planted to the ground, he couldn’t bring himself to stop Mingyu.
…
The urgent knock at his door disturbs his train of thought.
He left that party an hour ago. The mental image of Mingyu getting a taste of what he himself had made his blood pressure spike. The cold glass of water burned his fingertips despite the temporary relief it gave him, washing away the scorching heat along his throat. There’s a bitter taste in his mouth as he imagines his best friend getting to you, pulling you close.
All he did was fuck you once, twice, whatever. Semantics. Yet it only took two times to get him absolutely deep into a cognitive dissonance centred around you. The willowed line between abhorrence and fixation was sending him into a state of mania.
The resounding echo of the constant knocking on his door was starting to agitate him. He was already wrung so tight he thought he was about to burst. Glass clinks against the coffee table as he stands to answer whoever thought it was a good idea to be disturbing him this late into the night.
“What the fuck do you wa—,” the sentence dies in his throat.
There you stood, cheeks flushed, long lashes brushing against your cheeks. The strap of your lace tank top slips down as his gaze fans down from your face to your body. It was like he was being tested, yet the temptation was too strong to ignore. Sounds of your heavy breathing filled the hallway of his apartment. He doesn’t even want to begin to ponder how you got his address, but he can’t judge you when he did the same thing only a few weeks ago.
Glancing at each end of the hallway, Wonwoo pulls you in before anyone can discover that you were here. The door slams shut, pushing you against it before he has a second to think his actions through. A smirk immediately appears on his face as he examines your debauched appearance, your tiny skirt barely covering your ass and your tits pressed against his chest. You could never stay away for too long; he never doubted that.
“Now look who's coming back for more,” Wonwoo mutters, his breath fanning over your face.
A whimper leaves you when his hand wraps around your neck, pushing you impossibly further against the door. Soft lips brush against your ear as he leans into you. The heat radiating off your body, the sweet scent of your floral perfume, was suffocating him just as his hand was undoing onto you.
“Little bunny got herself caught in a trap, huh?” Wonwoo snickers, his bulge brushing against your stomach.
You stood there in silence, eyes rolling back when his fingers would give small squeezes to the sides of your neck. He could sniff the desperation on you, just the way he liked you. Begging for his attention.
“W—Wonwoo… please. I feel so warm, and it hurts,” you whine softly. God, he practically revolted at the sound of your voice.
“Oh? You’re hurting?” The deep timbre in his voice causes your knees to buckle.
A singular nod is all you can do to answer back. Before he could think, his strong arm wrapped around your waist, keeping you from fawning onto the floor. Smaller fingers wrap around his biceps, nails digging into his skin. He didn’t mind it at all; if anything, it invigorated him.
“C’mon baby, let's get you on the bed,” he mutters.
Your arms wrap around his neck as he grabs your ass under your skirt, palming the fat there as he lifts you into his arms. Wonwoo grunts against your ear, unable to resist squeezing you and spreading your asscheeks in his palms.
“You’re heating up like crazy. What the fuck did you take at that party?” He whispers in your ear.
The palms of your hands curl into his shirt, pushing your chest against his as you moan in his ear. It was hard to focus when the sensations of his groping were getting to your head.
“Mingyu gave me a drink… it was after you left. I had a sip, then I started feeling dizzy and so hot. I didn’t mean to come here. I'm sorry. I didn’t want to stay there… and you’re just across the street.”
Your spiel on what had happened after Wonwoo went home urged him to grip your ass harder. Despite your state, he doesn’t leave room for pleasantries, throwing you onto the bed. Leave it up to an ass like Mingyu to slip you an aphrodisiac.
“First of all, you’re an idiot for drinking anything from Mingyu. Should’ve known not to go and play around. Now look at you. Begging me to help you.”
Wonwoo grunts again, shoving your panties to the side, revelling in the way the damp fabric soaks the pads of his fingers. You were sopping wet, just how he liked you. His thumb slides between your slick folds, the sounds of your arousal music to his ears.
“Mnghh… Wonwoo, please.” You plead with him, hips bucking off the mattress, skirt hiked up around your waist. “Take it off. It's sticky, and it’s bothering me.”
The sound of your moans fuels the fire within him, his hands tugging your skirt and panties in one go. You were already peeling off your tank top, leaving your body bare for him to play with as he pleases.
A second barely passes, your fingers curling around the collar of his shirt to pull him into a kiss. Wonwoo almost forgot the softness of your lips, plump, wet, and always wanting him. His tongue slips past to tangle with yours. The palms of his hands glide down your soft thighs, squeezing them before wrapping around his waist. Plush cotton from his sweatpants brushes against your pussy, staining them with a dark patch of sticky arousal.
“Fuck, what a desperate thing you are.” Wonwoo groans against your lips, hands running up your thighs to your ass. He squeezes it appreciatively before flipping you abruptly onto your stomach.
Hips in the air, you cant your ass back and forth, head turned over your shoulder to entice him further. He could barely recognize your guise. Wonwoo’s never seen you look so conscientious of your desires. A part of him was completely irate, yet the other was yearning to be inside you again.
A sharp spank echoes in his room, his handprint burnt into the soft skin of your ass. The look of your pussy from behind almost had him drooling, spitting onto the hot and slick skin to show you how much more dominant he can be.
“Wonwoo, I wanna get fucked so bad. Haven’t had your cock in so long.” You mewled.
Wonwoo spanks you again in retaliation. His palms grab your ass cheeks to spread them apart, inspecting both of your tight little holes. All for him. Like you even had a choice, he thinks as he smirks to himself while you're too busy moaning into his pillow.
“Never seen you so needy before. Whatever Mingyu gave you was strong.” Wonwoo gripes, spanking you till your ass was burning from his touch.
He can see how impatient you're getting, pushing your ass back onto him in an attempt to get him to fuck you. Whatever self-control he had at the beginning of the meeting with you has been thrown out the window. Now, he can’t go a day without recalling how deliciously tight you always feel around him.
There’s a moment where you relax, hearing him shuffle behind you as he slips his clothes off. Your eyes travel back over your shoulder again as Wonwoo towers over your shivering body.
“Gonna fuck me now…?” You ask, pouting as his hand comes back to your hips, adjusting the angle of your body.
Wonwoo nods. There’s no tenderness to his touch, nor in the look in his eyes. He’s fueled by pure lust and hunger as the tip of his dick slides between your ass cheeks. From your puckered rim to your searing hot slit. He teases you by repeating those motions, drawing whiny moans from your lips while he plays with you.
“Mhm, gonna fuck you real good, baby,” Wonwoo mutters.
Niceties were never a part of his personality, his cock bottoming out in one go as he slid himself into your wet cunt. Both of you moan at the same time, your back arching as Wonwoo snaps his hips forward.
“Ahh— please.” You beg relentlessly.
Wonwoo’s hand forces your face into the pillow as he continues to pound your sweet pussy just like you had begged for. Skin slaps against skin, his eyes zeroed in on the way your walls stretch to accommodate his girth. Your ass jiggling every time his hips press against you. He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but the pride blooms in his chest when he sees how easily you submit.
“Shit, you’re always so fucking tight.” He murmurs, slapping your ass again just to see the fat of your cheeks ripple.
The grip in your hair finally relents, manoeuvring your body in the perfect position to watch you ride him. The naivety in your eyes is clouded by the arousal that overwhelms every inch of your skin, the drugs seeping into your mind.
“You’re gonna ride my dick. Show me how good you can be.” Wonwoo demands.
The tone of his voice urges you further; not wanting to disappoint him, you begin to bounce on his lap.
“Just like that. Knew you had it in you.” Wonwoo praises you. The rarity of his compliments goads you into bouncing on him faster.
In an attempt to find your rhythm, your fingers dig into his broad shoulders, grounding yourself as he stretches you out at a new angle. Wonwoo can feel how deep you’re taking him, his head falling back against the headboard as his eyes flit from your bouncing tits to the sheer pleasure painted all over your face.
“God, your pussy is so fucking sloppy from my dick.” He grunts, noticing how your juices are tainting his thighs.
“Just wanna bounce on your cock like a good girl.” You moan, speeding up.
On the crest of your own orgasm, you try to get Wonwoo to cum inside you. Before you could even think of milking him into creaming your wet pussy, he pushes your back onto the mattress. As he climbs on top of you, he can't help but chuckle, observing the lewd expression on your face. You were drunk on his cock, which is exactly how he wanted you to be. Begging for him to fill you.
Wonwoo doesn’t give you the satisfaction you crave, pulling out of your tight hole with a wet pop. Knees bracket you in as he jerks himself off while you pout under him. He’ll let you cum when he feels like it, but it won’t be tonight. For now, he’s more concerned with feeding his ego. Splatters of his white seed cover your tits moments later.
“Get out before I come back from my shower.” He mutters, stalking off to his washroom.
Left on the mattress to fend for yourself, you quickly wipe yourself off with a discarded shirt on the floor. By the time Wonwoo returns, you’re gone. What doesn’t seem to leave with you is that sharp stab in his gut.
Only God can know what happens here.
note: sorry this took so long! you can all thank @vapidlynn for this cuz she sent me inspo off twt lol ٩(｡•́‿•̀｡)۶. no special colours cuz im too lazy to go thru the html editor hehe.
✧✎ synopsis: wonwoo knew what it was like to meet your parents - a total shit show. unfortunately, he doesn't have the best rapport with his family, either. but you're already in seoul, changwon is just one car ride away, and you need to wear your new wardrobe somewhere.
pairing: fem!reader x wonwoo
word count: 10.1k
genres/tropes: meeting parents for the first time, angst, emotional soup, comfort, smut
(!) warnings: tense family dynamics, arguing, reader throws up - likely more but it's pretty light in terms of my usual angst xD
✧✎ a/n: this is the epilogue i vaguely mentioned releasing for my wonwoo series, HER, posted summer 2024 :D consequently 🤓☝️ i will say it's important to have read the series first bc inevitablyyy the epilogue references back to the series. who woulda thunk.
this kinda sprung abt unexpectedly but i needed a teensy break from my seungcheol fic which hahahahah is NOWHERE NEAR DONE but i'm steadily chipping away at it (not really).
AS ALWAYS, one thing you need for this raggedy ass blog is patience and for that - my meandering, dilly-dallying self thx you!
PLEASE NOTE: bolded text implies the characters are conversing in korean! just like the og series!
❤️ LASTLY - GIVING BACK ❤️
as it is the holidays, and in the merry fairy spirit of generosity, i am including a donation aspect to this fic, similar to ghost ride! for every comment this fic receives (including comments in reblogs obvs) from today to dec 31st, i will make a $1 donation to The Ottawa Mission! during this time period, the mission matches ur donation!
i've seen firsthand how rapidly disseminating the homeless population has become in ott. donations help the campaign continue to provide support, resources, and shelter to the homeless!
ty everyone <3 🎊
When Wonwoo saw his older brother standing across the expanse of bright, sinisterly white airport, a part of him caught fire like a sleeve held too close to a candlestick. Bohyuk, already grinning without end (a perfected grin at that) as Wonwoo maneuvered his way between the crowds, hauling along his single, practical suitcase meanwhile his arms burned with the strength of also carrying your numerous bags. But he wouldn’t complain. You were slicing through the airport like you owned it, your brisk, intentional walk the same kind of perfect as his brother’s smile.
You reached Bohyuk, then paused, staring over your shoulder in demanding question until your eyes stuck to the diligent boyfriend readjusting a backpack slipping off his shoulder.
“Wonwoo!” you called, waving him over.
He wanted to drop all the bags to the floor the second he joined you, his arms continuing to ache. Bohyuk was still smiling—more of a smirk, now—when you helped Wonwoo untangle all the dangling weight, arranging the bags around your feet in that typical prim nature. Quickly, you dusted his hair off, like you were attempting to make him presentable to meet his own brother. Like Bohyuk hadn’t been the one to give Wonwoo a haircut in their aunt’s washroom when they were children. A haircut that resulted in Wonwoo’s entire head getting a rabid-looking chainsawed buzzcut.
Wonwoo sighed. “Stop smiling.”
And Bohyuk grabbed him, pulled him in tight with a guttural slap on the back that caused Wonwoo to cough up half an oatmeal cookie he ate on the plane. The embrace was awkward at first, but then Wonwoo started to relax. He could hear the passing flitters of his birth language. Recognize his brother’s heartbeat. Smell the faintest tinges of a native Korean dish lingering on Bohyuk’s clothes.
His brother’s big hand immediately ruffled the hair that you had just brushed into place. “A face I thought I would only see over screens for the rest of my life,” Bohyuk hummed, at last giving Wonwoo some space. “Good to see you.” He then proceeded to eye you, surrounded by bags, waiting calmly for your introduction.
You had been practicing your Korean quite piously. It frustrated you, turned your mouth in circles, had you jumping up and down on his bed, screaming at your language app like there was someone underneath your phone screen cowering in peril for making the lesson too confusing. But you stuck with it, Wonwoo doing his best to teach you what mattered and not all the complicated frills.
Bohyuk smiled when your pronunciation was just right.
“Very good,” he commended, firmly shaking your hand. “Lots of practice here. Has my brother been a pleasant teacher?”
You nibbled your lip for a moment. Bohyuk repeated himself and your face lit up. “Oh! Yes! He is a good teacher!” you replied, bobbing on your heels, clearly a bit proud you understood.
Bohyuk laughed. He then bent down, gathering your bags. “Great. You can tell me how he really is in English.”
Although his older brother still carried a thicker accent, he was pretty well-versed in English as a second language. Wonwoo had almost lost his accent entirely at that point, although it slipped out between particular words on occasion, or during jumbled, heated arguments (often, with you), over stupid things. “My family always played stacking! It makes the game more fun!” – “Fun? I don’t wanna have the entire deck in my fucking hand after five minutes.” – “Then be more skilled!” – “It’s chance. Not skill.” – “That’s exactly what an unskilled person would say.”
You and Wonwoo followed Bohyuk toward the exit. He felt your hand nudge his and he promptly interlaced your fingers.
“Well?” Your eyebrows wriggled. “Are you feeling alright?”
Wonwoo nodded. “Yeah.”
“He seemed happy to see you.”
“I’m sure he’s missed bullying me.” He couldn’t help but deflect from the intimate moment, tonguing the inside of his cheek.
“Don’t deflect.”
How acute.
Wonwoo sighed. “I know he’s happy. We’ve talked a lot on the phone about things. He’ll dig into me more later. He’s surgical.”
You squeezed his hand, always the gentle cue to rewire his mind from being cynical to human. “He cares,” you pitted tenderly.
For the first week, Wonwoo and you were staying with his older brother and wife, Nari, at their chic, top-floor, two-level penthouse amongst a lavish hub in Seoul.
They both made good money, the kind that earned them gaping glass windows, a kitchen fit for an entire brigade of chefs, silk-sheeted bedrooms, and a washroom with a large enough counter that you physically gasped upon peeking inside. Dinner was on them, Bohyuk insisted, and the fragrant smells of fresh spring onion, roasted sesame oil, and steaming salmon pulled the travel sickness straight from his stomach and replaced it with hunger.
You relaxed on the bed, toes twiddling, taking in the room, while Wonwoo zipped open his suitcase, pulling out his laptop.
“Nari is so kind. Did you see the hot towel she gave me?”
He nodded, unwinding his charger. “She loves having people over. I think they haven’t had guests in a while.” Reaching under the desk, he plugged his block into the outlet. “And, uh…” Wonwoo grunted, attempting not to bang his head. “Via my passing anecdotes of you, they may possibly have the impression you’re… high maintenance.” Wonwoo was back on his feet, about to grimace.
But your lips were pursed, and you merely shrugged. “I am.”
“I know you are.”
“Why did you say it like it’s a bad thing?”
“It’s not,” Wonwoo responded, wandering back to his suitcase and pulling out a camera you had bought him. “It’s just different to what Jeanie was like. I think I was giving them a little whiplash.”
“Well, I’m glad they know,” you declared, clucking. “That’s why I got a hot towel and you didn’t.” He watched in amusement as your tongue poked out at him, your foot toeing his arm. “Loser.”
“Say cheese,” Wonwoo said, bringing the camera to his eye, taking a brief second to focus the lens. The shutter snapped. “Great. I now have a photo of your beautiful smile right after degrading me.”
“Degrading men makes me smile. And you like it.”
“Why don’t you see if Nari needs any help with dinner?”
“Why? Because I’m a woman? And women belong in the kitchen?” you teased, beginning to shuffle off the bed, unhurried.
“Please go ask.”
“Now you’re bossing me around. I’m not your doormat.”
He stuck a kiss to your cheek on your way past him. “Thanks.”
Although you had left the bedroom, Bohyuk replaced your presence a few minutes later. He waltzed toward Wonwoo, his slicked hair not moved an inch, hands tucked into the pockets on his ironed pants, white t-shirt sculpted to his torso in a way that wouldn’t work for anybody else but him. Bohyuk was always so put-together. It was like he came that way, straight from a manufactured box. That had always consistently annoyed Wonwoo because on the contrary he felt as though he came disassembled and had spent his entire life looking for his own instructions. But Bohyuk was his brother, and despite their arguments, their differences, petty squabbles, he was once the steadfast compass Wonwoo took guidance from.
“Still shoving everything into one suitcase?” Bohyuk humoured. “You’re here for more than a month, you know.”
Wonwoo shrugged. “I don’t wear that many things.”
“You’ve always been quite minimalist.”
He pulled out a tiny toiletries bag. “Mom’s ways.”
“It’s great that you’re here,” Bohyuk said, staring at his younger brother with a sunny warmth Wonwoo pretended not to feel.
“Yeah.”
“Means you’re healing.”
Wonwoo scoffed, smirked a little. “Shut up, Bohyuk.”
He moved past the tender insult in a heartbeat. “I was so worried about you over there, even when you were staying with Uncle Geom. Even when you became so capable, I still couldn’t stop worrying. I would try to call you, even though I knew you wouldn’t answer, because at least you’d decline me and I’d have some semblance you were managing. Now you’re here. Not just a name.”
Wonwoo flipped his suitcase shut, rubbing into his eye so that his brother became uncoordinated stars. “You’ve told me this already, over the phone,” he sighed cumbersomely. “I know, Bohyuk.”
“But I wanted to say it to your face,” he affirmed. “Your stupid, silly, oddly mature little face,” Bohyuk started teasing, reaching out to pinch Wonwoo’s slender cheek. “Not as much fat here.”
Consequently, Wonwoo swatted his hand away.
“I can see you’re trying,” Bohyuk noticed. “Not hiding. Not pretending. Not dipping in your toe and calling it quits. You’re trying.”
Wonwoo nodded, hoping he wouldn’t flush. Bohyuk’s compliments were always purposeful. There wasn’t any gaudiness, or flattering. He could deconstruct the one thing you wanted to hear and roll it out at your feet before you even took stock. Wonwoo could feel his smile flickering. He promptly rubbed the back of his neck and let the smile take over despite his coyness; his way of thanking Bohyuk without forcing awkward, stilted acceptance from his teeth.
“I’m looking forward to understanding more about this eclectic girlfriend of yours who was walking through the airport like a runway,” Bohyuk pointed out, not bothering to minimize his smirk. “She has presence. I like that.” Glancing at his glitzy watch, Bohyuk proceeded to mumble about checking on dinner. Before he left Wonwoo to continue sorting through his suitcase, he paused at the door, tapped the frame. “By the way, upstairs is more soundproof than you think. Take that as you will.”
Nari certainly hadn’t skimped on the cooking. The dining table was intricately organized; an assortment of dishes that were colourful, steaming, and painfully familiar to Wonwoo in a way that almost made him teary-eyed as he pulled out his seat next to yours.
She had prongs in her hand, pointing out every dish, some not as cultural compared to the hearty budae jjigae stew, others a little easier to palate for a newcomer, such as the geotjeori that Bohyuk was already eyeing. There was a sweet salmon dish. Classic mashed potatoes. Glistening pork dumplings. Wonwoo felt like he was at the forefront of a personalized buffet and his appetite-dappled-homesickness was pulling all the strings. Still, he collected your plate and served you first, making sure to explain everything a little more thoroughly in his hushed English while Nari and Bohyuk began filling their plates. Of course, you were willing to try everything.
Upon Wonwoo’s first bite of warm stew, he melted back in his chair, tempted to moan because the flavours were destined bliss on his tongue and his body felt the immediate surge of comfort. Bohyuk was smiling at him, watching, knowing his brother like a fingerprint.
“Fuck me. Oh, fuck.”
Everyone paused in their slurping and chewing.
Your eyes widened subtly. “Oh, sorry. Um—this here—I can’t remember the name. It’s just really good. Pardon my language.”
Bohyuk laughed, exchanged a tender glance with Nari as she shook her head in amusement and went back to her spicy noodles.
“It’s a dumpling soup,” Bohyuk added.
You nodded. “It’s delicious.”
“Do you drink wine?”
As if you weren’t sated enough, you grinned. “I do.”
“Perfect,” Bohyuk said, excusing himself from the table. “I’ll grab some. We have a friend who makes their own wine, actually. We were sent this new flavour.” He opened the double-doored fridge and pulled out a chilled white bottle. “Oh, strawberry mango. Does that sound good? Honey, have you tried this one yet?”
Nari shook her head.
Bohyuk fetched everyone glasses.
“Oh, Wonwoo, are you drinking?” his brother asked upon pausing the perspiring bottle just above his crystal.
“I won’t have any right now.”
“Tea, Wonwoo?” Nari questioned; her expression thoughtful, considerate, always attentive. “I can make green tea.”
“No need. We can finish eating first.”
Dinner was everything Wonwoo needed. It wasn’t too conversation heavy, which he was thankful for. He just wanted to stuff his face with childhood delicacies and not have to worry about threading together his entire story since leaving Korea. Still, there were some questions every now and then, mostly directed at the newcomer, you, already on your second wine glass, your plate a decorated mess, your leg twitching with the urge to pull it up onto the seat and tear the food apart with your hands—or as Wonwoo called it—“goblin mode”—when you were at your most comfortable.
Bohyuk would have loved it.
Nari, however, was a bit more buttoned-up.
Everyone did their part in washing dishes, putting containers away, and wiping down the table after supper was done. Rather than a late night, there was an unspoken decision to turn in early, a general sense of fullness, laziness, deep in the atmosphere like a thick snow.
Wonwoo poked back into the upstairs bedroom. You were fanned out over the seafoam sheets, one of your clay face masks brushed to your skin, fitted in a pink headband to keep your hair away.
“I’m about to go comatose,” you muttered, fighting a yawn.
“It’s possible you ate more than Bohyuk.”
“I think he was avoiding the potatoes for me.”
He chuckled, coming to sit next to your ankle, still fixed with a delicate bracelet you forgot to remove. “Well, Nari makes excellent mashed potatoes. But I think he’s cutting back on starch.”
“It was all so good,” you hummed.
Wonwoo nodded, sliding the bracelet off your ankle. “It was.”
Settling an arm behind your head, you peeked down at him, the beginnings of a faint smile wrinkling under the clay mask. “You looked happy… really happy,” you murmured. “I’m glad we’re here.”
He shifted your ankle into his lap, began to rub the sole of your foot with firm movements from his thumbs. “Me too,” Wonwoo agreed, enjoying the manner in which your body mellowed even further. “I’m glad you came with me. It takes some of the pressure off, you know? There’s another person. Way more interesting than me.”
You giggled, wriggled your toes. “No problem.”
“They like you,” he decided to assure.
You shrugged. “Bohyuk does.”
“There’s just more of a language barrier with Nari,” he reasoned, pressing along a sinewy groove of your bare foot that made your chest arch in delight. “Her English is around the level of your Korean. And you’re quite bold. She’s not exactly like that, so it’s something you have to give some time.” Wonwoo then leaned forward, close to your face, studying the wide, observant wells of your eyes before softly brushing his lips to yours. “You’re doing great.”
“Thanks,” you whispered, placing a hand to his cheek and running your thumb just under his glasses. “I should wash this off.”
He smiled, giving you space to squirm off the bed.
The week to follow was a whirlwind for Wonwoo, although he already knew you would be keen to explore as opposed to staying most days in at his brother’s penthouse. He brought a book to read during his downtime. Since he stepped foot in Seoul, into his brother’s opulent, twinkling home, Wonwoo hadn’t read more than ten goddamn pages.
Nonetheless, he still brought the novel everywhere he went, hoping he could be afforded just one paragraph.
He was in and out of shopping centres, cosmetic shops, shoe stores, cafés, and tourist attractions as though he were tethered to your hip, but you needed somebody to hold your bag, help you slide into heels, give you advice on which perfume smelled best even when his head was an aching hurricane of rose and vanilla and hibiscus and sandalwood. You needed someone to take your photograph. Carry even more shopping bags. Buy your lunch. Help translate ingredient lists. Turn you in the right direction. Fetch your credit card.
Wonwoo spotted Bohyuk seated outside a clothing store you were currently surfing, guarding your hoard of bags while drinking leisurely from his coffee. At last, you had dismissed him, because evidently, he was not educated enough on the nature of cool versus warm tones, gold versus silver, summer versus winter, and whatever the hell that amounted to when choosing a halter top. The salesclerk helping you could speak English, anyway. He wasn’t really needed.
He slipped into the chair adjacent to his brother’s.
“Does she want to return something?” Bohyuk asked.
“No. Apparently I don’t know anything about colours,” Wonwoo sighed, feeling ever so slightly bitter.
“Oh—” Bohyuk grunted, setting down the book he brought with him and folding his slim reading glasses into a pocket on his t-shirt, “—cool versus warm?”
“Why does everyone know about this but me?”
“I didn’t know either until I met Nari. She used to work in retail. Knew a lot about that colour-matching stuff.”
Upon eying his older brother’s coffee, Bohyuk nudged it toward him. The flavour was slightly sweet, caramel-like, akin to something you would enjoy. Wonwoo preferred his coffees straight. Still, he needed the caffeine. The mall was desiccating his energy.
“No need to be hard on yourself,” Bohyuk reassured, swiping a hand along the clean groove of his gelled hair. “You’ve been quite submissive to all her whims this week.”
Wonwoo scooted the coffee away. “I like helping her.”
“You’re something like an unpaid personal assistant,” his brother humoured, leaning forward on his elbows, meaning to impose his younger brother in a way he knew would irk him.
But Wonwoo shrugged, uninterested, tired.
“Not the reaction I was expecting,” Bohyuk chuckled.
“Because I know what you’re doing.”
“What’s that?”
Wonwoo proceeded to throw Bohyuk a dry, coarse look.
His older brother smirked; lip pursed. “It’s nice that you’re not so defensive. There was once a time I’d say something far less provocative and you'd nearly be at my throat."
“I’m well aware.”
“You know how much worse it will be with Mom.”
At that, Wonwoo tensed. With you keeping him busy all week, such thoughts only skimmed the surface of his ruminating without ever puncturing. But now there was a lapse. Now Wonwoo was remembering how straightforward his mother could be, a knife that always hit its target no matter the angle it was thrown from. He still felt the sharp winces in his spine from some of her previous comments—mostly judgements about his decisions, comparisons to his successful older brother who ‘didn’t need to go grovelling somewhere afar because he knew where home was’, how Wonwoo’s apathetic pallid was laziness, never depression—and he felt the nail of his index finger automatically push against the scar on his thumb.
Wonwoo exhaled, scratched his head. “I know.”
“But I’ll be there,” Bohyuk mollified, softening his expression. “She thinks your defensiveness has always been proof she’s right. You can’t give her that. I think, honestly, what she wants is for you to stand up to her, show her you’re confident and trying. Otherwise she’ll just peck and peck. And…” Bohyuk glanced across the mall, toward the store you were now leaving with a tiny bag hanging from your wrist. “You know she’ll have something to say about her.”
Wonwoo started bouncing his knee. “I know.”
“Hey, hey—guess what?!” you squeaked, throwing yourself into another chair at the table. “I got the perfect halter top! That lady really knew a lot about colours. She had this sheet, full of swatches, and she damn near gave me a full consultation for free!”
Bohyuk nursed his coffee. “Colour-matching is big here.”
“Seems so. Hey—where did you get that drink?”
He pointed down the mall. “There’s a small café.”
“Really? Is yours good?”
“Try it,” Bohyuk said, passing you his now communal cup.
After an inspecting, throaty sip, you nodded. “I love that.”
“I can get you one.”
“Really? Okay. That would be awesome. Thank you.”
Bohyuk offered you a polite, dazzling smile, then tucking his book away into his favourite cross-body bag before leaving you alone.
You glanced at Wonwoo. “You okay? I noticed your leg.”
“Just trying to keep myself awake,” Wonwoo hummed. He didn’t quite feel like bringing up the tribulations with his mother amidst the noisy mall. “Sorry that I couldn’t help out in there.”
He felt your soft, smooth hand settle over his. “You don’t have to apologize for that. I figured you needed a moment anyway when you almost walked straight into a mannequin and didn’t notice.”
Wonwoo smiled a little, shaking his head.
You scooted your chair in closer, your knee pushing purposefully into his under the table. “Once Bohyuk grabs my coffee, we’ll head back. I promise no shopping or wandering tomorrow.”
“No, you don’t need to promise that,” Wonwoo chuckled, wrapping his finger around yours. “I want you to get the most out of this trip; do whatever makes you feel happy.”
“Yes, shopping obsessively and bossing you around does make me happy,” you agreed, nodding factually. “But when it’s just us, I’m even happier.” The hand slipped from over his and found Wonwoo’s knee instead, fingers squeezing, a shiver lingering along his neck.
He smiled at you, loving how lissomly you made the world around him fall away until the ache in his head flurried.
“I can’t wait to see the top,” Wonwoo murmured, flirtatiously pushing his knee into yours. “You’ll have to show me tonight.”
“Just the top?”
He shrugged; a bit cocky. “Up to your discretion.”
As promised, the next day was lazy.
Neither of you set an alarm. There was no urgency to wake up early and cram the day with costly adventuring and sightseeing.
Yesterday’s shopping bags swarmed your side of the room.
The bedsheets were a tangled, sloppy mess. Wonwoo was just coming to, feeling the spry behind his eyelids, faintly overhearing your muttered, unconscious ramblings that drifted in and out of sensible. He rolled onto his other side, sliding his arms deep underneath the cool, silk pillow, and enjoyed observing the bare curve of your exposed back. The sleep talk never really bothered him. He liked listening to the odd drawls that your sluggish mind somehow managed to communicate, even when you were impossibly asleep.
“Not that… no… not… I want it there… not that…”
Wonwoo rubbed into his eye, half-smiling.
“There… when you go over, it’s not there. Please.”
It rarely made sense.
“I’m going… turn it off, then tell me to go.”
Sometimes he would try to interpret. Give your unconscious ramblings a real story. You were never aware of what you said. The sleepy haze of your morning discussions always spread with laughter as you brayed in disbelief at his retellings—“I did not say that! You stupid liar!”—followed by a pillow smacked ungraciously against his face. Nonetheless, it turned Wonwoo’s general lacklustre for mornings into something ineffably fond. A moment of hearing your groggy voice, feeling your skin warm and rubbing against his, smelling your soap. It was poetic. Love sharpened to a point, but still soft. Wonwoo reached for his glasses, giving your frame pronunciation. When you didn’t set an alarm, you could sleep well past lunch. There was no indication you were going to wake up.
Wonwoo decided to leave you be, parting ways from the bed with a chaste kiss to your shoulder. He got dressed, picking up discarded clothes from the night before, at last sliding into an oversized quarter-zip that smelled more like your signature strawberry scent than his own cologne. Down in the kitchen, Nari was already preparing breakfast. She was typically the first one awake, of the same productive, neat, steady nature as Bohyuk.
“Need any help?” Wonwoo queried, his voice still hoarse.
She turned, baring her seraphic smile. “Sure.”
He helped Nari cut some vegetables for an omelette. There was already coffee brewing, a nutty dark roast, and the smell stuck comfortingly in his nose. A few minutes later, she slid him a mug.
“Thanks.”
Nari had a quaint, fragile-looking cup in her hand, stirring around a teabag. “I can’t believe this week is almost over.”
He pushed aside some chives with his knife. “Yeah.”
“I really do hope the two of you have enjoyed your stay. We’ve been looking forward to it all summer.”
Wonwoo smiled, briefly adjusting his glasses before chopping a pepper. “It’s been amazing, Nari. We’re so grateful.”
She nodded, accepting the compliment, although her fingers rubbed together for a moment, a bit stiff. “Has she been enjoying her stay, too? I can’t read her very well. I suppose it’s the language barrier. She’s been out of the house so much.”
He decided to put the knife down, figuring this conversation might spring up when you weren’t around. “I can assure you she’s been enjoying her stay, Nari,” Wonwoo laughed. “I promise you. It’s not often we get to be this downtown in Seoul, and there’s a lot she wanted to do and see. But she’s very grateful. Just like I am.” He swung his coffee closer, blowing at the steam and appreciating that first careful sip.
Nari nodded, seeming at ease. “Thank you, Wonwoo.”
After eating breakfast together, admiring the Seoul cityscape, and catching up on some Bohyuk lore he probably shouldn't know, Nari at last sent Wonwoo upstairs with some sort of fruity green tea she brewed especially for you. But when he pushed open the bedroom door, wondering if he should wake you, he was abruptly caught off guard by your hushed, tentative crying, the bedsheets pulled into a large lump over your lap. Wonwoo hurried to your side of the bed, leaving the hot tea next to your water bottle on the nightstand.
“What’s wrong?” he urged you in a gentle tone, leaning in close and instinctively reaching for your damp, blotchy cheek.
You huffed, shoulders limp. “I’m fucking nervous.”
“Okay,” Wonwoo murmured. “About what?”
Another big, quivering huff. You met his eyes, and there was a vulnerable, sensitive energy he seldom saw from you. “About meeting your parents,” you confessed, another tear hitting his hand. He stroked it away, listened to your congested fears. “I’m afraid they’ll think I’m terrible for you. That my Korean isn’t good enough. I thought I was doing well but I can hardly hold a conversation with Nari. And they’ll probably think I’m so materialistic and shallow. I mean, look at all the fucking shit I have to bring to Changwon—” you flung out a hand toward the cluttered shopping bags, “—I look like a gold digger! And what if I say something stupid? Or do something stupid? I don’t want to give them any reason that I’m not good enough for you, but I’m so fucking scared I’ll do it anyway, Wonwoo.”
You shook your head and leaned over, losing the warmth of his hand against your supple cheek. “It’s making me think back to my mom, you know. How everything had to be so perfect. How much it tormented me. And I want to be myself. I want to be honest with your parents. But what if they hate that? What if they don’t like the fake me or the real me? Then what? I’m just fucking screwed, aren’t I?”
Wonwoo squeezed beside you on the bed.
“Come here,” he whispered.
Although you were hesitant, rigid with worry and the looming uncertainty of the Changwon trip, you were never any good at neglecting his touch. Gradually, you unwound. You climbed into his lap, reached an arm around his neck, felt the thick fleece of his blue quarter-zip especially fluffy against your bare skin. Wonwoo held you close, one hand settled on your knee with familiar steadiness.
“My dad’s pretty mellow,” he sighed. “My mom isn’t the easiest to win over. She’s got teeth. But do you remember what I said to you when you were freaking out at your family dinner last year?”
Sniffling, you nodded. “I’m not going to abandon you.”
Wonwoo gripped your knee. “Exactly. Nothing’s changed.”
“I know…” you mumbled in begrudging acceptance. “But my own family doesn’t even like me that much. I don’t know what the fuck I’m supposed to do if your family doesn’t like me either.”
“Bohyuk and Nari are my family, too,” he chuckled. “They like you. They’ll be on your side. Whatever happens, you’ve got us.”
“Yeah… I guess.”
He kissed your forehead sweetly in the centre. “Okay?”
You nuzzled into his neck, finding the crux of an attractive musk that dilated your chest with stillness. At last, your shoulders unpinned.
“Okay.”
“Nari made tea for you, by the way.”
“She did?” you perked up; your breath warm on his skin.
“Yeah. Green tea. Pomegranate or mango or something.” He helped hand you the mug from the nightstand, tucking some matted hairs away from your forehead and cheeks as you took a tiny sip.
During the drive to Changwon, you were quieter than usual, keeping your hands tucked together in the lap of your floral white sundress. Bohyuk was driving with his window down, Nari beside him in the passenger seat, eating chopped dragon fruit using a toothpick, her hair occasionally fluttering amongst the stronger gusts of a summer breeze. Wonwoo had his book. It was a good opportunity to read, but his mind couldn’t have been less interested. Every time your shoulders rose, every time you scratched your face, every time you toyed with the heel of your sandal, Wonwoo’s concern was blistering.
Although he tried not to make it obvious.
He would mostly side-eye you, or give you a proper glance and a stupid, smudgy little smile that you blinked weirdly at because why the hell are you staring at me like a Cabbage Patch Doll?
Then his phone buzzed.
A text message from you: i’m okay stop staring
His reply: 👎
“Any places you two will be visiting, hm?” Bohyuk asked from the front seat, his steely designer sunglasses glinting in the rear-view.
Wonwoo shrugged. “The waterpark, maybe.”
“It’s closed now, you know.”
You scratched your nose again, ankle bobbing. “Like no one’s ever trespassed before.” He could sense an undertone of impatience.
Bohyuk guffawed. “True. Don’t say that to our Mom, though.”
“There’s lots of lovely parks,” Nari added. “There’s a hot spring, isn’t there, dear? And you took me to Yeojwacheon Romance Bridge on my first visit.”
“Lots of beautiful parks,” Bohyuk agreed, catching his brother’s eye in the mirror. “They’ll manage just fine.”
However, the closer everyone came to Wonwoo and Bohyuk’s childhood home amongst the rural greenery of Changwon, the stranger you started to act. You had rolled down your window, practically gulping in the wind as it came scything through, clinging to the verdant smell of the creeks, the sun-warmed dirt kicked up by Bohyuk’s SUV, the late blossoms losing their colour. Nari kept eying you. Bohyuk offered you water at least three separate times. Wonwoo knew you didn’t want to be bothered, so he sucked back his worry.
Less than a kilometer from his parents’ house, however, you inexorably cracked, suddenly imploring Bohyuk to pull over along the bush-stippled road. The second the car stopped, you damn near kicked open the heavy door, rushing off behind a tree.
“God—is she okay?” Nari warbled, cupping her mouth.
Bohyuk gripped the steering wheel hard. “I noticed she was looking pretty ill about half an hour ago. Poor thing.”
A moment later, you stepped away from the tree, the back of your hand wiping winsomely against your mouth, your skin shining with perspiration when you returned under the August sun.
“Don’t say anything,” Wonwoo warned sharply. “Bo, give me the water.” His brother stuck the bottle backward.
You gripped the car door left ajar.
“Here,” Wonwoo offered.
Without a word, you snatched the plastic bottle from his hand, tore the cap off, and took a large swig that filled your cheeks.
Then you turned around and spat it all out.
Another wipe of your mouth. A very feeble, “thanks.”
You settled back into the car, the door pulled shut.
“Fuck. Anyone have gum?”
Bohyuk passed you a container of mints.
Not a word was said until Wonwoo and Bohyuk were home.
It was all a bit incongruous, to stand in the poorly lit, slim entryway of a home he had nearly exiled, feeling like he didn’t quite belong despite the surging memories that proved otherwise. That one stained, foggy photograph of his maternal great-great grandparents hadn’t moved from the wall. His mother’s slippers were even more worn than he remembered, the heels somehow flatter than paper. Even the air persisted to smell the same: like a plain wax candle melted down to a glossy lump, washed starch, and an aged oil his mother rubbed on her hands every morning.
Their single washroom was tinier to Wonwoo. His head was half cut-off in the mirror above the sink. The kitchen hadn’t experienced this many bodies tightly minnowing around each other since a childhood Christmas party. Nari and Bohyuk weren’t staying for more than a few days. They had important jobs in Seoul. True professionals. No time to avoid work and make people wait.
“My beautiful, handsome sons!” his mother had professed, practically squishing Wonwoo and Bohyuk’s heads together as she kissed each of their cheeks. “And my effortlessly gorgeous Nari!” Another hug to her only daughter-in-law.
“Nice to see you didn’t forget us,” Wonwoo’s father hummed amidst their more personal embrace in the living room, his body feeling bonier, thinner, and yet Wonwoo hugged him tighter anyway, grateful to hear that dry, familiar rasp in his ear.
You introduced yourself to Wonwoo’s father first. He was immensely pleased, smiling wide the entire time, gripping both your hands in his and offering a fairly steep bow despite his knotty back.
“Welcome to our home. It’s not much, but anything we can do to accommodate you, please let us know.”
Wonwoo briefly translated for you.
All you could earnestly repeat were cheerful thank you’s.
There was much settling to do. Spaces to figure out. As children, Wonwoo and Bohyuk shared a single bedroom at the end of a hallway, but as they grew older, more defiant, keen for individualism and independence, Wonwoo moved upstairs into a sun-baked room with a slanted ceiling that had once been a storage space.
He took you inside.
Thankfully his father had installed an air conditioning unit just outside the window a month before the trip. Unlike the brutal, sweltering summer days of his childhood spent wriggling around in his own sweat, the space was much cooler. It seemed some stray boxes had been moved back into the room, piled up in a corner.
However, not much of Wonwoo remained inside.
Nothing but a crude, crayon drawing of his old cat.
You dumped yourself onto the creaky bed.
He sat beside you. “Feeling any better?”
“I don’t know…” you muttered, thumbs massaging underneath your eyebrows. “I mean, your Dad seemed to really like me. He looked super happy I’m here. But your Mom has hardly breathed my way. She was all over Nari. I wanted to introduce myself but she was so busy helping us move shit from the car.”
Wonwoo huffed, amused. “She hustles.” He then settled his hand onto your thigh, breathed in the room’s coolness and your sweet, peachy sunblock. “I’m sure she wants to talk to you. I know she does, actually. There’s always a moment. She waits for it.”
“Yeah…” you sighed; cheek slumped on his shoulder. “Sorry I was being so moody during the car ride. I was trying to talk myself down but that somehow only made my nerves expand.”
“I get it,” Wonwoo said with an easy smile. “I sorta felt the same when I was meeting your parents. I snapped a little at Vernon.”
You splintered into laughter. “What is it about meeting parents that makes us fucking demonic? They’re just people, really, like us. Albeit people we’re trying to impress, but still people. My mom has a goddamn DUI. Who cares about impressing her?”
Wonwoo’s grin pressed against the crown of your head, still a bit warm with lingering nausea, his fingers wrapping thick around your inner thigh. “I know. It’s cruel, isn’t it? But I couldn’t even be bothered to care if you don’t impress them. I’m fucking impressed by you.” He nuzzled a kiss to your temple, started to chuckle. “Was it weird that you made throwing up stomach acid look attractive?”
“No. Not at all. Hey—should I go goblin mode at dinner tonight?”
“Yes. Definitely.”
“Alright... now you’re just setting me up for failure.”
He shrugged, his fingers dancing along your spine. “Failing in front of my parents is nothing I haven’t already done. Go ahead.”
Dinner was almost over. Plates were rather bare, nothing but streaks of sauces, clean bones, and crumpled wrappers from the chilled plantain tarts Wonwoo’s mother prepared. The conversation started loud and animated, then slowly peddled into a languorous lull the more people ate. Subsequently, amongst the slaked silence, his mother at last let her eyes fall over you for more than a thin moment and she offered a smile bereft of the softness everyone else received.
She said your name in an inquisitive, accented coo.
At once you snapped into complete alertness, distracted from licking some sauce off your finger. You straightened, looked calm.
“What’s your family like?”
You blinked. Wonwoo knew you understood the question but the moment was so sudden that the words were strictly foreign.
Bohyuk murmured a translation into your ear and Wonwoo almost glared at him for not giving your brain the chance to click.
“Uh… selfish, I think. And opportunistic. Which I guess might fall under the category of selfish. Childish, too. Rarely organized, although from the outside that sounds unbelievable. I don’t really enjoy being around them, and they don’t like being around me, so we haven’t spoken a lot. But… it’s right. I can’t give in because then I would be enabling everything. How they treat me. Uh, yeah.”
Immediately, Bohyuk’s eyes were beading into his younger brother with an unspoken question of are you actually going to translate that? Wonwoo returned his brother a simplistic half-shrug.
He translated every word, as precise as possible.
His father nodded along, his face attentive but sympathetic.
“It seems like you don’t communicate well,” his mother was quick to reply. “Wonwoo knows about that,” she said, lifting up a wrinkled finger and slightly pointing across the table at her son with a deceivingly kindred look. “I can see your connection.”
Bohyuk shot Wonwoo another hard glance, the type of subtle, non-verbal conversing only siblings could master: don’t get defensive.
“I can be like that,” Wonwoo hummed, only mildly accepting to keep the conversational flow in favour. He translated for you: “She says you must not communicate well.”
“Oh? With my parents? Not at all,” you nearly bellowed. “But it’s not due to ineptitude on my part. I am a good communicator, actually. Maybe it’s weird to say about yourself, but I do wear my heart on my sleeve. But my parents are so… unyielding. They can’t possibly stomach making a mistake, saying the wrong thing, having their shortcomings pointed out. It’s suddenly an attack. And I can communicate well all I want, but if they don’t hear me… then why should I waste my effort on them? I have a life of my own. Goals of my own. Family’s important. But it’s not my only value.”
Bohyuk pursed his lip, nodded, as if to say good answer.
While Wonwoo translated your response, his mother’s eyes drew slimmer, never straying from the newcomer her youngest, misguided son brought to her home. It was a needling stare he was familiar with, the kind that felt like an insatiable itch you writhed to scratch but could not because the itch would only burn back worse.
“Then what are your values?”
Wonwoo translated.
“I value individualism. Courage. Freedom. Authenticity. I value your son,” you added, and Wonwoo’s lips twitched with the urge to smile. “His patience, determination, and reliability.”
He began to translate, although his mother cut through, keeping you focused under her silver fox-like stare. “What kind of life are you planning to live with my son? He’s always suffered from a lack of clear direction. He won’t thrive with someone who lives too nonsensically.”
Bohyuk was sedating Wonwoo from a trenchant reply with his stern gaze. Settle. You know what she’s going after. Don’t bite yet.
So he swallowed, translated for his mother with diligence.
You glanced sharply at Wonwoo, and then back at his mother, clearly attuned to the backhanded slipperiness of her question.
“A fucking good one,” you answered in exasperation, a fist curled up like a rock in your lap. “A happy one. I love him. I’d do anything for him.” Your eyes were now of the same tactful knives as his mother. “Would you?” you dared ask, furrowing your brow.
There was a palpably sticky silence.
Something in Wonwoo’s gut told him he didn’t need to translate what you had said. It was Bohyuk who cleared his throat, stood from his seat, and started collecting dishes.
“It’s been a long day. Lots of travel,” he mitigated with his usual smile, attempting to push ease into the pressure, just one more hairsbreadth from a landslide. “I think it’s biting nerves. Mom, I’ll help you clean with Wonwoo, okay?”
At that, she nodded.
Nari was already up, gesturing for you to follow her because the length of your fuse was already short and the cutting remarks from a cynical, testing parent did nothing but singe its length.
When it was just Wonwoo, Bohyuk, and their mother alone in the kitchen, a molasses sunset staining through the windows, the conversation kicked up again. Bohyuk was stood at the sink, scrubbing and rinsing soapy dishes, meanwhile Wonwoo helped his mother wipe down the table.
He breathed out, relaxed his jaw.
“You don’t like her.”
His mother chuckled. “Wonwoo, I know the kind of woman she is. I've been watching closely all day. She will make everything harder for you.”
“We’ve been dating for almost a year, Mom.”
“Should it last longer than that, I’ll be surprised.”
Bohyuk called out from the sink, placing another plate into the dry-wrack. “Mom, you’ve had one conversation with her, okay? And you were slighting her the entire time.”
“She’s lightning in a bottle,” she reasoned, rubbing a particular spot on the table with unceasing vigour. “And not in a good way. Wonwoo, I want the best for you. I want someone who has a strong, clear vision of their future. Keep you in line. So you don’t get upset again. But with this girl, her bruteness, her dangerous flare, that temper. She’ll knock you right over. We’d never hear from you again.”
Wonwoo scoffed.
Bohyuk took off his rubber gloves, carefully ready to be his brother’s armour, to stop him from getting bulldozed.
However, Wonwoo shook his head, and Bohyuk paused.
“Mom, you know why you’re saying this? You don’t understand her because you don’t understand me.”
She merely grunted, walking over to the kitchen countertop, cleaning up the messy splashes of water by the sink.
Wonwoo continued. “You make me out to be something tragic and frail. And at one point, I was like that. But I’m far away from that now. I’m here to try and repatch our relationship and have you meet the girl who’s the biggest reason for my growth, but you’re shunning her. You’re treating me like I’m the same kid. How come I’m the one whose done all this reflection, stretched myself so thin to understand you, but you just… can’t do the same? Why is that so hard to ask? Why can’t you bother to meet your son halfway?” He slicked a hand along his hair, then folded his arms, chewed his lip with the itch to let his emotion bubble over. But he folded it down, remembered his purpose. “I’m going out there to spend time with my girlfriend.” Wonwoo was on the verge of slipping out the room, but he fixed his hand on the threshold. “If you won’t give us any grace, we can be gone by tomorrow. It’s your choice.”
He then left Bohyuk alone in the kitchen with their mother. She was still rubbing the countertop, although the spot was already bone-dry.
Neither you nor Wonwoo slept well that night, and it certainly wasn’t because his bed was a puny twin abrasively creaking upon the slightest movement, although such factors certainly hadn’t helped.
You were both restive, holding onto the uncomfortable vestiges of supper and the laconic evening that followed.
Wonwoo’s mother hadn’t joined the rest of the family in the living room for an old movie courtesy of his father’s collection. Instead, she traipsed off to her room where she kept the door open the smallest degree, probably knitting or reading or occupying herself with any task that might distract her from the fact her typically downcast, desultory son had finally put his foot down. Before bed, as Wonwoo brushed his teeth, his had father pulled him aside for a quiet conversation about how: you know she wants the best for you; she’s still feeling hurt by your departure all those years ago and tonight she can’t help but let it show.
Rather than accepting face value, Wonwoo could only shrug.
At a certain point Dad, it can’t be my problem anymore.
Wonwoo wasn’t sure what the time was. There was no clock apart from your phones charging on the windowsill behind him. His arm had gone numb an hour ago from the weight of your warm body.
He breathed in, “I’m sorry.”
You wriggled, and the bed creaked.
“There’s nothing to apologize for…” your murmur was half-swallowed by the pillow. “M’not mad at you. I’m proud.”
Wonwoo stared at the back of your head, an inky silhouette in the juvenile bedroom. “We won’t stay if she can’t give us a chance.”
The bed heaved dramatically. You had shifted your body around to face him, and he could ever so slightly trace the glossy whites of your eyes. “Your parents feel different than mine…” you said. “And I think there’s something deep in your Mom that wants to drop the toughness. I can see it. Through the guise of whatever she has going on. Her love for you is just too strong. I think she’ll realize it.”
Gradually, his vision began to adjust, and your expression was clearer, starker than the bedroom's shapeless shadows. “She hasn’t seen me in forever. I suppose it’s a clusterfuck of feelings.”
“You were one way when you left and now, you’re something completely different. You showed her that and she felt it.”
He sighed, shaking his head a little. “I wish she would just project all her bullshit onto me instead of you… I wish my parents could somehow heal the wounds from your parents, be this perfect little nook, you know? I hate that it’s more alienation.”
There was a fragile, sweet smile that graced your face. A hand reached out, brushing against Wonwoo’s cheek. “Hey—in a perfect fucking world—we wouldn’t have been this screwed up, and we wouldn’t have ever found each other. I don’t want that,” you clucked, running your fingers in a tender sweep along his jaw. “I want this version. I would choose it every time.” With a simple stretch forward, your mouth slotted against his and Wonwoo smiled quite foolishly into a kiss that was still reminiscent of your melon lip balm.
He proceeded to pull his phone off the windowsill to check the time. The screen was bright and stinging, although through his abrupt squinting he noticed it was just past two in the morning. Everyone should be sleeping, unless they were still chewing the gritty atmosphere and drinking the bleeding awkwardness of supper like you were. Contrarily, however, Wonwoo didn’t particularly care.
“You bored?” he asked.
Resting your cheek against your fist, you shrugged. “I guess.”
His arm was finally loose from underneath your hip and the rush of needled prickling was beginning to subside. Wonwoo pulled his glasses off the sill and the room took more shape than just ebbing blobs. You hadn’t stopped gazing at him, waiting for the ball to drop.
He bit his inner cheek. “Wanna ride me?”
The request had you sitting up, leaning on your arm instead of a lazy elbow, eyes narrowed at the boy through the indigo.
You scoffed. “In this fucking loud insufferably creaky bed?”
“Uh… yeah?”
There was less than a second of contemplation.
“Sure.”
It was a rather perfect storm—stress, family, travel, and an upstairs bed that would most certainly betray any indication of movement—one that Wonwoo was surely grateful for in the strangest way. There was something about your kisses that shut off the world, almost like a mental remote control. There was something about the tender warmth of your thighs bracketing his hips that plucked an electric cord deep in his gut, something about your circular, smooth, perfectly sensual grooves against his erection that made him want to become more than just pathetic. The bed creaked. Scraped. Sounded like it might buckle apart into pieces every time your hips undulated.
But it didn’t matter.
Wonwoo had you close. He had your long t-shirt pulled up and over your head. His hand desperately scratched the wall for the shutter string so he could slant them open and allow the beautiful glow of late summer moonlight to ignite your bare skin.
There was no thinking involved—only carnality—as his head practically thunked forward into your soft breasts, eagerly inhaling the faint scent of your day’s perfume and hearing your heartbeat.
You giggled, always eager to be the seductress, helping push your breasts against your simpering boyfriend’s face. His mouth strayed and his tongue licked, the hard, cold edges of his glasses somewhat biting but not nearly enough to care. He always wanted to see you. Every inch. Every crease and fold. A nipple was deep in his mouth, fingers captured around your other breast and squeezing relentlessly. Wonwoo didn’t understand how he could have you on his tongue and between his teeth. Sometimes it still didn’t feel real. A cruel dream he hadn’t woken up from yet. He might die if he did.
“Enjoying yourself?” you teased as Wonwoo suckled his way across the expanse of your chest to tongue your other pert nipple.
“Mmm,” was all he could grunt, too concentrated to speak.
Something about his desperation, his neediness, he knew, always made you fawn. Your doting fingers came to brush away his satin-black tresses while he purred in throaty satisfaction around your stimulated breast. Every sweep of your fingers was akin to a magic wand, alighting his scalp, neck, and spine with shivers.
“You’re such a good boy…” you breathed unsteadily into the moonlit room, enjoying the sensation of his heated palms sliding along your bare back. “Always make me feel so damn good.”
“Inside now?” Wonwoo whispered into your ear, his breath warm and damp, his mouth so close, so soft, against your skin.
Your fingers combed through his hair again, purposeful with their every tug and graze. “Want me to ride you, sweetie?”
His tone was huskier, fractured at the edges. “Please.”
Upon biting your lip, you murmured, “please, what?”
“I want to feel your pussy wrapped around my cock, how fucking perfectly you grip every inch,” Wonwoo groaned, his thumbs digging at your hips. He had never surmised himself to be very submissive, especially not when he was dating Jeanie. Then, his words were few and far between. But you were a domineering livewire, sometimes punishing, sometimes sweet, or an infuriatingly arousing mix of both that he couldn’t help but writhe for.
Consequently, your giggle proceeded to flutter around the room like a windchime. “You’re so fucking pathetic.”
His length pulsed stiffly underneath his sweatpants.
You then cupped his dazed face in your hands, grasped his cheeks tight, leaned in close, your lips just ghosting his in a way that made his adam’s apple tense. “Will you lay here nice and pretty for me while I fuck myself on this desperate cock of yours?”
Wonwoo swallowed tight. “Y-Yes.”
As he leaned into the rather thin, inadequate pillow propped against the wall, you gave his cheek a loving caress. “Good boy.”
In fact, maybe you should have been a bit more cognizant of Wonwoo’s frail childhood bed. But you were fierce, hungry, and your every wicked slap down to the base of his exhausted length was a ruthless pressure that tested the bedframe. It’s not like Wonwoo had any idea the top right bed leg was going to snap—not with your breasts shimmering and bouncing so hypnotizingly, your hair a sweaty, matted mess, your thighs inadvertently trembling and clenching hard whenever you managed to hit the sweet spot, tired breaths escaping your mouth with each effort to milk him dry.
“FF-Fuck, Wonwoo—m’gonna cum s-so fuckin’ hard!” you cried, nails stinging along his chest. Another powerful slap enveloped his erection deep inside and you careened, gasping in a way that could almost sound painful, as he felt your muscle undeniably furl and a gush of something liquid leak from between your bodies.
Snap!
The bed tilted ever so slightly.
Yet neither of you noticed.
He caught your body in his arms. The slipperiness of your sweat was sticky, uncomfortable, but Wonwoo only pressed you closer into his chest, breathing the sex-soaked humidity thick in the air.
“God…” you croaked a few minutes later. “So fucking good...”
Wonwoo smiled against your forehead. “You’re insane.” Then his hand smoothed over your tangled, frizzed hair. “Fuck. I love you.”
With what little strength you had left, you raised the weight of your shaking head and just managed to half-plant your lips against his mouth. “Love you too, baby,” you sighed, inevitable tire creeping in. “Didn’t realize I was holding onto all that stress. Sorry.”
He smirked. “I like when you use me, my love.”
“Hey—what was that sound, by the way. Did you hear it?”
Wonwoo kissed his teeth. “Uh… yeah. You broke the bed.”
“Me?!”
“I mean—we—us,” he amended, chuckling nervously.
While Wonwoo and you slept upstairs, the rest of the family awoke one by one. There was breakfast, a sunny walk throughout the neighbourhood, visiting little nostalgic landmarks: the cobble well that Bohyuk lost his first paycheck down during a windy day; the shrunken creek where the brothers used to catch frogs; a rotting gazebo in a forgotten park, once the place of numerous birthdays.
Morning melted into late afternoon.
Bohyuk and Nari went out shopping in order to handle dinner for that evening. Wonwoo’s father took his daily nap lazed along the living room couch while his mother watched the fat bumblebees sway drunkenly from flower to flower in her tiny garden.
His bedroom shutters rattled against a gentle breeze, fragrant with pollen, and Wonwoo’s eyes creaked open in reluctance. Light glowed through the slants, bathed his bedroom, reintroduced him to dusty shelves, your assortment of bags, and the miscellaneous stack of boxes propped in the corner. His mouth felt dry. When he rubbed his head, he thought his hair must be a stubborn, rumpled mess.
Then Wonwoo glanced down to the weight steady against his shoulder, thinking you might still be sleeping, except your eyes were already open and twinkling.
He attempted to wriggle, remember his limbs.
“And for how long have you been ogling me?” Wonwoo questioned, his voice hoarse from the thickness of sleep.
Your finger tapped a bruise on his collarbone. “Not long. I think your mom is sitting outside. I heard her sneeze.”
“Oh, yeah. Her patented Garden Time.” His head flopped toward the window. Though the stained shutters, he could visualize lines of a bright, cloudless sky, perhaps the purest blue he had seen.
You whispered against his neck, “it’s past noon.”
“Fucking Christ—really?”
Then you snorted. “Yeah.”
He scrunched his nose. “Surprised we didn’t get woken up.”
“Well,” you huffed, pushing up onto your arm and staring down at Wonwoo from between fluttering lashes, “we weren’t exactly quiet and behaved.” The tip of your finger traced a scratch on his chest, carved by your nail the night before. “I don’t blame them.”
“God—” he smeared hands down his face, bumping off his glasses such that they slid onto the covers, “—why did we do that?”
“If it wasn’t last night, then probably tonight.” You shrugged.
Wonwoo chuckled in disbelief. “No wonder they left us alone.”
You leaned down, your nose hovering above his, breath a skittish willow’s tickle against his lips. “Are you saying you regret it?”
He kissed you. “No. We’re stuck here for quite a while. I guess they should get used to it. Not that I’ll be any less embarrassed.”
“You’re so cute,” you giggled, grabbing firmly onto his jaw and shaking it as though he was your pet. “Not their fault their son likes to be mercilessly dominated by none other than myself.” Picking up his glasses, you carefully nudged them back onto his face. “Or maybe it is? Because, you know, butterfly effect and all that.” You then stretched, arms curving high into the sunlit air, your chest arching forward with a gentle groan, and Wonwoo thought you could be a goddess worthy of immortalization into the finest marble.
“Hey, mind passing me the camera?” he asked.
You pulled the compact Nikon off the windowsill and handed it to him. He removed the lens cap and turned the camera on, then fiddled with some of the settings to help mend the glaring lighting.
“Spotted something worth taking a picture of?” you couldn't help but lilt knowingly while staring down the lens, your fierce eyes pinning his through the tiny screen.
Wonwoo smiled. “Care to pose for me?”
“Pose how, exactly, Mr. Photographer?” You leaned closer toward the camera, your smirk no less than sinful and your tone a slithering, smooth snake. “I'm capable of many poses, you know?”
“Raise your arms again, like when you were stretching," he decided to instruct, willfully ignoring the jarring spike in his heartbeat.
You followed his request, somehow managing to enhance your radiance and beauty in a manner Wonwoo couldn't possibly calculate while he snapped a few photos, trying not to get lost in where he was subsequently aiming the camera.
“Beautiful,” Wonwoo hummed. “Thanks.”
“Can I try?”
He shrugged, passing you the Nikon.
You quickly swung an arm around his neck, tugged him into your bare, sun-warmed skin, and held the pose of a kiss being pressed against his cheek. Wonwoo's skin crawled with heat and he couldn't help the slightly dazed, star-spotted look he must have been giving the camera. But his feelings for you were impossible to ignore or deny or reshape in any way. He shyly readjusted his glasses as you handed him back the camera, any ounce of dialogue caught in his windpipe.
“Should we eat?” you groaned. “I'm feeling ravenous.”
Wonwoo cleared his throat with an obvious cough. “Sure.”
The kitchen was bright and quiet. Wonwoo’s father was still napping on the couch, completely oblivious to the noisy squeaking of the wooden stairway. You were back in one of Wonwoo’s oversized shirts that you pestered him to pack. Leftover fruit was sitting in the fridge and some dried pieces of silver-looking fish were left out on a napkin.
“Not much,” Wonwoo sighed. “We can always go out.”
“If I don’t eat before going out, you’re going to be very miserable and upset,” you warned while pulling out a chair at the dinner table, sitting with your foot curled up on the edge.
That wasn’t a lesson he cared to relearn.
“Where’s Bohyuk and Nari?” you wondered, yawning.
“Dunno.”
When Wonwoo closed the fridge door, he was surprised to see his mother standing on the other side, dressed in her favourite lounge dress and his father’s old fisherman’s hat to help keep the sun off her face. At first, he was frozen. There was a stick lodged in his throat. But she didn’t carry the same toughness in her small shoulders, nor the stubborn glint in her grey eyes. She was smiling a little, perhaps nervous, and Wonwoo noticed an envelope in her hand.
“Bohyuk and Nari are shopping,” she said. “They should be back soon. I have dumplings in the freezer I can reheat if you’re hungry.” Wonwoo glanced at you briefly from across the kitchen as his mother took the dumplings out. “These ones here. There’s some honey sauce in the fridge.”
“That sounds good,” Wonwoo replied. “What’s that?” He then pointed to the envelope she placed on the countertop.
“Will you get a pan ready for me, Wonwoo?”
“Sure,” he complied, swallowing uncertainly.
While he dug a scraped-up pan out from the crowded cupboard, he watched peripherally as his mother approached you, holding the white envelope close to her bodice. Once he clanged the pan onto the stove and started the clicking gas, Wonwoo quickly moved to stand behind the chair you were crouched on.
He watched his mother extend the envelope to you.
“Please, take this,” she offered, smiling. “I’m sorry.”
You blinked. Rubbed your lips together. But when you accepted the envelope, Wonwoo could see that both your names were written across its surface with an elegant, practiced cursive.
“I asked Bohyuk to help me translate a lot into English,” she added, her tiny, wrinkled hands wringing together and some part of Wonwoo hated to see her this nervous, doubtful. “I wanted you both to be able to read it simultaneously. It doesn’t need to be opened now. Whatever you want to do.” Tentatively, her hand settled on your shoulder. “Please accept my apology,” she entreated of you, her smile worrisome but earnest. “And welcome to our family.”
Wonwoo’s heartbeat was hot lead in his throat.
He thumbed the back of the kitchen chair.
You returned a gentle smile, a polite dip of the head. “Thank you.”
His mother then reached out, brushing Wonwoo’s cheek in that solacing, careful manner, her old way of saying goodbye to both him and his brother before they would leave the house for school. The touch was more than just nostalgia. It felt like acceptance. He wished it hadn’t been so painful getting to this point, but he remembered what you told him the night before—your rejection of a perfect world if it meant you could be together—and that eased his soul.
“I’ll get the dumplings ready,” his mother said.
Wonwoo pulled out a chair for himself at the dinner table, enjoying the smitten smile you angled his way. There was a notable wateriness lining your eyes, and Wonwoo wondered if his mother’s apology and acceptance might possibly mean even more to you.
happy new years everyone! i thought i’d share some good parts of 2025 with you all and if you want, please share your accomplishments with me thru my ask box! 𐔌*ˊᵕˋ*𐦯
2025 was a travel year for me! i went on 3 amazing trips!!
- paris in february, korea in may and a carribean cruise in auagust ♡⸜(˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)⸝♡
I also spent the last of 2025 working full time while also finishing up my second to last year of my undergraduate degree while maintaining a fairly high gpa (for my standards lol)
i worked 2 jobs while being a full time student and i was definitely burnt out by the end but i feel proud of myself to getting through all of it (˶' ꒳ '˶)
i got a job that i absolutely love, and finally decided on what type of masters degree i want after my undergrad!
working at a non profit in my city that creates programs for equity deserving youth, and striving towards an MEd with a concentration in guidance counselling (,,>ヮ<,,)!
okay, that’s all for me! i want to hear about everyone else’s year, good, bad, and everything in between ♡
hbd to in front of me 🥹 I love that fic so much !!!! (it was also the reason i started sending asks in the first place lol)
- 🍊
thank you tangerine anon! and so true omg i rmbr all of that happening 🥹 i always get so excited when u send me asks!! i love it too, im thankful im able to share my writing with you and everyone that enjoyed the fic
sorry if this feels like an odd or rude question but do you not write x readers anymore? ik you’ve been talking abt ship fics (which im sat for) but i was just wondering!
hello anon! this isn’t an odd or rude question at all so dw abt that!
and yes i don’t write x reader anymore, i think i’ve just lost my interest in writing or even reading it :< idk, after a while i just got tired of writing in second person and i love love loveeee yaoi in general so the fact that i get to write about yaoi with my fav group is also what really interests me now.
tbh i don’t even rmbr the last time i read a long x reader fic, personally i had just grown out of it 🥹 the writing on tumblr is amazing but im a fujoshi at heart ig lol
i did make a twitter and an ao3 and am currently working on a soonwoo fic but i do have drafts for a few wonhui fics too!
thanks for the ask :) if anyone wants to know what my usernames are for my ao3 or my twitter for my mxm writing pls lmk!
