SPECIAL: valentineâs day (not part of timeline)
drabble #1: when you first met
â” PART ONEÂ (m)Â
âł the one where jungkook realizes youâre not a 15-year-old girl with a silly crush anymore, but rather a seductive, young woman with her eyes set on him. youâre tempting but is it worth the risk for jungkook?
warnings;Â swearing, slight choking, oral sex (m. receiving), fingering, dirty talk, degrading names (jk calls reader a slut and a brat), bit of dom!jk, slight exhibitionism, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, guys!), creampie, cum eating
wc;Â 9.2k
â” PART TWO (m)
âł the one where jungkook finds himself stuck between doing whatâs morally correct and giving in to his feelings and desires. what will he choose?
warnings;Â swearing, mentions of alcohol + being drunk, arguing, so much teasing, bit of dom!jk, making out, grinding, fingering, dirty talk, nipple play, oral (f. receiving), overstimulation, cum eating, handjob, unprotected sex (donât do it), degrading names, creampie, theyâre holding hands, aftercare + cuddles <3
wc;Â 22k
drabble #2; you ask about the nickname (m)
drabble #3; jungkook plays with fire (m)
drabble #4; midnight call (m)
drabble #5; the teasing photos (m)
â” PART THREE (m)
âłÂ the one where serious feelings start to blossom and jungkook slowly begins to understand what he has gotten himself into. however, just as things start to fall into place, his boss returns to the office earlier than expected.
warnings;Â mentions of alcohol and cigarettes, swearing, dirty talk, kissing, nipple play, dom!jk, grinding, fingering, oral sex (f & m), multiple orgasms, light bondage, ass play, spit, rimming, choking, manhandling, degrading names, unprotected sex (wrap it up yâall!), cream pie
wc;Â 22.2k
drabble #6; both of you are too impatient (m)
drabble #7; a lazy, hot morning (m)
drabble #8; look at you (m)
drabble #9; stupid move (m)
â” PART FOUR (m)
âł the one where Jungkook and you are facing the consequences of sneaking around behind your fatherâs back. Now Jungkook is left with a decision to make: forget about everything he had with you and move on or let himself be truly happy even though it means risking everything heâs worked so hard for?
warnings;Â swearing, mild vi*lence, making out/grinding, bre*st play, or*l (f. receiving), slight dom!jk, unprotected s*x, more holding hands :(, praise/d*rty talk, cr*ampie, absolute heartbreak :( itâs time to #cancelcami yâall
SUMMARY: There's no love, there are no fights with Jungkookâjust a twisted addiction that keeps you crawling back. You tell yourselves itâs not toxic. After all, you never argue, never get jealous. Just fuck, lie, and slip back into the arms of the people who will never know.
the drabbles in this story are part of the DownLowVerse, so i highly recommend reading them to get a deeper understanding of the plot. as the story unfolds, new drabbles will unlock, and theyâre designed to enhance the experience. i suggest reading the chapters in order, and in the authorâs notes, iâll let you know whenâs the best time to dive into each drabble, as theyâll be posted after certain chapters.
but donât worry â reading the drabbles isnât a MUST. they wonât change the story, but theyâll add extra layers to it, helping you connect with the narrative in a more meaningful way.
DISCLAIMER:
Listen, if I did own Jeon Jungkook, I wouldnât be writing this ficâIâd be too busy staring at him in awe like a fool. But alas, I do not. BTS? Also not mine (shocking, I know). This is purely fiction, and if you think this is an accurate representation of Jungkook or any BTS member, I have some bad news for you. This is a toxic, messy, morally questionable story born from my weird imagination, not a documentary. So donât take it seriously, and for the love of all things holy, donât send this to the real Jungkook. Letâs keep our delusions in this safe little corner of the internet, okay? Cool. Now, enjoy the chaos.
all works published here are created by me (@writesvani on tumblr). i own all rights to my original works, including any written content, original characters, and plotlines. copying, redistributing, translating, or posting my works on any other social media without my explicit permission is strictly prohibited. all rights reserved.
âȘïžđđđđđđđđ: "if you could curse one day of your life, it would be the day you met him. because himâhe's fucked up fucking for you, forever."
When your search for affordable NYC housing leads you to apartment 6B, you think you've hit the jackpot. That is, until you realize your new roommate is the guy from that one wild night on January - the one who ruined you for anyone else. Now you're stuck sharing walls with the living embodiment of your worst mistake, and the sexual tension is thick enough to choke on. Between his emotional damage and your trust issues, this arrangement is a disaster waiting to happen.
â” that first night: her POV*
â” that first night: his POV* [WIP]
â” rules of engagement (yeji meets irya)
â” griffinâs survival guide on stupid humans
â” the great coffee war
â” whiteboard chronicles
â” polaroid memories (tae and jk)
⧠playlists: âą fmu the soundtrack âą songs fmu!jk plays on his đž
⧠moodboards: general | characters | relationships | drawings
⧠floor plans: layout ⹠jungkook's bedroom ⹠6B visuals (vid)
⧠asks : ask the disasters (open) | asks about the fic
⧠readersâ requests â through asks!
‷ pov reversals (requests: open)
‷ drabbles (requests: open)
⧠dÍiÍsÍcÍlÍaÍiÍmÍeÍrÍ â§ please be reminded that members are purely used with visual purposes. this is a work of fiction merely written for entertainment purposes.
summary: in a dystopian future where the government enforces arranged marriages to combat plummeting birth rates, youâre assigned a husbandâchoi yeonjun, a stranger youâve never met.
warnings: explicit sexual content, soft breeding kink, language, forced marriage system, emotional vulnerability, pregnancy, domestic intimacy, power imbalance due to forced pairing, first time sex, creampie, dirty talk, oral sex,
wc: 19,1k
notes: hi everyone! âš so recently this idea popped into my headâiâve been wanting to write something with an arranged marriage trope but the whole cold ceo x neglected wife thing was starting to feel a bit repetitive, especially since iâve already written something in that genre (which i still LOVE btw, but i just wanted to try something new) đ„Č then i remembered this anime called koi to uso â itâs about this dystopian world where the government assigns you a partner and yeah⊠i never finished it because it turned super harem-y and thatâs not really my vibe AJSJHSKJJH but the concept really caught my attention, so i thought hmm maybe i should give it a try đ«Ł
hope you guys enjoy it!! đ«¶
everything begins the day you turn twenty.
you wake up to the faint noise of birds outside your window, sunlight filtering through the pale curtains, painting quiet shadows across your bedroom floor. your mother is already in the kitchen, humming lowly, but thereâs something off in her tone. a tremble, maybe. or maybe itâs just you. maybe youâre imagining it because todayâs the day you have to register.
the day you officially surrender your right to choose who youâll love.
in this country, love is not a decision. it is a number, an equation, a state-mandated obligation for survival. for years now, the countryâs birth rate has been plummeting. desperate to avoid demographic collapse, the government instituted the pairing system: when you turn twenty, your dataâgenetic markers, temperament, emotional intelligence, compatibility ratesâis run through the database. the algorithm does the rest. your match is chosen, your future locked in, and within the year, you are expected to marry and attend compulsory family planning. you have one job: produce offspring.
love is banned unless sanctioned by the state.
you walk into the government building with your hands shaking, your mother squeezing your fingers too tightly, her eyes red-rimmed but dry. sheâs been crying in secret, you know. she didnât want this for you. no one does.
and yetâthere is no other choice.
the registration is swift. a photo, a signature, your blood drawn for one final compatibility cross-check. they tell you the letter will arrive in three to five business days. the envelope will be yellow. unmistakable.
âplease return home and prepare for assignment.â
you try to keep your days normal after that. university lectures. cafeteria lunches. walking home with your head down, ignoring the couples holding hands across campus, each one with an official barcode tattooed on their ring fingersâa symbol of government approval. your own hand feels heavy just looking at them. branded love. manufactured desire. they never really chose each other.
sometimes you wonder if any of them are happy.
three days later, the yellow envelope is in your mailbox.
you freeze when you see it. fingers trembling, breath caught, skin going cold. the paper almost burns in your hands. you donât open it right away. you walk straight to your room, lock the door, sit on your bed with your heart racing so violently you think you might throw up. and then, slowly, carefully, you tear the seal.
your eyes skim the top. the official logo of the bureau of demographic affairs. your name, your assigned number. and then:
assigned partner: choi yeonjun. age: 20.
a small, passport-sized photo is attached to the right side of the letter.
you stare.
heâs... beautiful.
cat-like eyes, tilted just enough to make him look a little wild. dark lashes, long and thick. a soft, upturned nose with a gentle slope that suits the elegant structure of his face. lipsâfull, plush, the kind that look perpetually kiss-bruised even in monochrome. his jaw is sharp but not too much, softened by a slight pout in his mouth. heâs unnervingly symmetrical. thereâs a balance to his features, a harmony, like he was designedâcraftedâto be attractive.
your throat feels dry.
beneath the photo, thereâs a line of text confirming the date of your preliminary meetingânext friday at 2 p.m., government center, family conference room 2B. both sets of parents are expected to attend. your wedding will be planned based on that meetingâs outcome.
you lie back on the bed, letter pressed to your chest, and stare at the ceiling.
it feels... wrong to think thisâbut heâs attractive. unfairly so. and that terrifies you even more. because you were always taught not to feel. not to dream of fairytales or meet-cutes or falling for someone in the rain. love at first sight is a myth now. it's forbidden. it would disrupt the system. too much emotion, too much unpredictability. and yetâ
yet here you are, cheeks warm, heart skipping, staring at the grayscale face of a boy youâre about to marry.
a boy youâve never met.
friday. 2:00 p.m.government center, family conference room 2B.
youâre early.
your dress is navy, modest, but it hugs your figure in a way you wish it wouldnât. you didnât pick it to be prettyâyou picked it because it was formal, appropriate. your mother insisted on curling your hair, and your father didnât speak the entire ride over. only your little brother tried to smile at you, but even his usual mischief was subdued. he kept playing with the sleeves of his hoodie in the backseat, pretending not to be upset.
the building is tall and silent, cold in a way that doesn't come from the air conditioning. it's the sterility of a place that sees life as a series of documents and laws. a place that doesnât care about dreams.
you sit on one side of the long glass table, your family beside you. your mother keeps wringing a tissue in her lap. your fatherâs jaw is clenched, his hands crossed tightly. this is the last time they will sit with you like thisâbefore you are someone else's.
and then the door opens.
you hear his voice before you see him. low, warm, laughing quietly at something one of his parents said. and when he walks in, itâsâ
itâs hard to breathe.
heâs wearing a black suit that fits too well. slim, tailored, crisp like a page never touched. his hair is pushed back, soft and styled, a few strands falling delicately onto his forehead. and his faceâhis photo didnât do him justice. his features move with his expressions, eyes gleaming like obsidian, mouth curved just slightly at the corners as if heâs always on the edge of a smile.
choi yeonjun.
his mother is elegant, her hair in a low twist, expression unreadable. his father looks composed, dignified, already halfway through a handshake with the government official present. this isnât their first pairing. you remember reading his fileâthird son. theyâve done this before.
you feel like youâre being auctioned off.
âthis is my assigned partner?â yeonjun asks, voice lilting, curiousânot judgmental. heâs looking straight at you. and then he bows.
you stand and bow too, polite. your voice stays caught in your throat.
âyouâre pretty,â he says softly, once he straightens. âiâm glad.â
it shouldnât affect you. it shouldnât. and yet your stomach flutters, just for a second, before you kill the feeling dead.
you donât say anything. not because youâre rudeâbut because this isnât real. this is a performance. this is a sentence.
the government mediator begins to speak, outlining the stages of the arrangement: the preliminary meeting. the planning process. the mandatory cohabitation. the one-year marriage trial before reproduction is expected.
you zone out after a while. your mother is crying again. your fatherâs voice is hoarse when he answers the legal questions. your little brother wonât look at you. and across from you, yeonjun looks like heâs done this in another life. calm. collected. but not cruel.
then, the mediator clears her throat.
ânow, if the parents could please give the pair some time to speak privately. it is customary.â
your mother hesitates. she squeezes your hand until her knuckles turn white. she whispers somethingâ"donât let them take your heart too, okay?"âand then lets go.
and just like that, you are alone with him.
just the two of you, in a silent room that smells like paper and polished wood.
yeonjun exhales once your families are gone. his shoulders relax a little.
âwow,â he says. âthat was intense.â
you nod. your hands are in your lap, clutching the fabric of your dress.
âyou donât talk much, huh?â
you glance up at him. heâs watching you with a soft kind of curiosity. not the kind that pries. more like heâs observing the weatherâtrying to guess if rain is coming.
âi do,â you say finally, voice quiet. âjust... not today.â
he smiles. âthatâs fair.â
a pause. he sits across from you again, legs crossed, posture easy, like heâs not under the weight of state surveillance. like this is his decision.
âi know this is strange,â he says. âiâm not gonna pretend itâs not. they pick someone for you, give you a name and a photo, and youâre supposed to start building a future. it's... a lot.â
you say nothing. youâre watching the way his fingers tap on the edge of the table. rhythmical. patient.
âiâm not here to make this harder for you,â he says, gentler now. âi know some people get assigned to assholes. i promise i wonât be one.â
your brows knit together, surprised.
he leans forward, elbows on the table, chin resting in one palm.
âif we have to go through this, we might as well not suffer through it.â
and you look at him then, really look.
his gaze is steady. not forceful. not manipulative. heâs not trying to make you like him. heâs just... honest.
"youâre used to this,â you murmur.
his smile falters. ânot really. iâve just watched my brothers go through it. and i learned what not to do.â
thereâs something about the way he says it. like heâs seen what happens when the system doesnât pair people right. like he knows how love can die before itâs even born.
you swallow, throat tight.
âi didnât want this,â you admit.
he nods. âme neither.â
silence settles between you again. itâs not awkward. just full. like both of you are trying to breathe in a place with no air.
âbut...â he says softly, after a while. âi think youâre interesting. and youâre easy to talk to. even if you donât say much.â
your cheeks flush, and you hate that you can feel it. he notices, of course. but he doesnât tease you. he just smiles to himself, quiet and pleased.
âso,â he says, tilting his head. âcan i know something real about you? not government data. just... you.â
you blink.
he waits.
slow burn. thatâs what this is. heâs not rushing. heâs not playing pretend. heâs offering you a chance to make something human out of something cold.
and even though everything in you is screaming donât trust itâ
you speak.
you tell him a little. not much. just enough.
and he listens. attentively. sincerely.
maybe thatâs how it starts. not with a kiss. not with a confession. but with someone sitting across from you, asking who you are when no oneâs watching.
two weeks later.
the wedding is on a thursday.
you donât get a white dress. thereâs no music, no flowers. no ceremony beyond a document and a pen and the sterile voices of government officials making sure everything is binding and accounted for.
you wear beige.
yeonjun wears black again. no tie this time. his hair is messier, like he didnât bother too much. he looks good anyway, like he always does. like someone who never had to try.
the room is almost identical to the one where you met: glass, steel, a flag in the corner.
your mother sobs quietly during the signing. your father doesnât let go of her hand. your brother tries not to look, but when you lean down to hug him goodbye, he hides his face in your shoulder and mutters a broken, âplease donât forget us.â
and thatâs when you finally cry.
not loud. not messy. just silent tears running down your cheeks as you sign the paper that says you no longer belong to them. your name next to yeonjunâs. your status: married. active participant in national repopulation initiative.
they even stamp it. a red seal. final. absolute.
you don't remember the ride to your new shared apartment. only the sound of the car, the blur of the buildings, your hands gripping the hem of your coat in your lap like itâs the only thing tethering you to reality.
yeonjun doesnât speak for a while. and when he does, itâs soft. careful.
âyou donât have to pretend around me,â he says, eyes on the road. âi know this hurts.â
you donât answer.
he pulls into a residential complex. government-provided. modern, quiet. two bedrooms, a shared kitchen, everything fully equipped. it smells like fresh paint and new plastic. not like home.
your boxes are already inside. so are his.
the apartment is... neutral. beige walls. grey couch. chrome kitchen. thereâs a small balcony, but it faces another building.
you walk into your assigned bedroom and close the door without saying a word.
and to his credit, he doesnât follow you. not right away.
but now, days pass like fog.
thereâs a schedule pinned to the fridge now. a printed routine from the bureau: acclimation period, cohabitation adjustment, health preparation. underlined:Â mandatory hospital check-up before family planning begins.
you go to the hospital together a week later.
the nurse greets you by your couple ID number.
yeonjun jokes to break the tensionâsomething dumb about feeling like a robot in a factoryâand you donât laugh, but you glance at him sideways. just a little. he notices.
you both go through blood work, fertility testing, infectious disease screening. the nurse asks personal questions. too personal. about cycles and hormone levels and sexual historyâ
you flinch.
yeonjun speaks for you when you freeze.
âsheâs not comfortable,â he says simply. âask me first.â
his voice is calm, but there's steel beneath it. the nurse adjusts her tone after that.
on the ride home, you stare out the window. he drives with one hand on the wheel, the other tapping his thigh, nervous energy he never shows in his posture. itâs the little things youâre starting to notice.
âyou didnât have to speak for me,â you say, finally.
âi know,â he answers. âbut i wanted to.â
and againâthere it is.
that kindness you didnât ask for. that warmth he keeps offering, even though you havenât given him much back.
nights are the hardest.
you pretend to sleep early, even when your eyes stay open in the dark for hours. the room feels too still, too foreign. the bed smells like the laundry detergent they gave you in the relocation kit. the ceiling fan turns slowly, quietly. your chest feels tight, like grief has found a home inside your ribs and refuses to move out.
sometimes, you press your ear against the bedroom wall. you canât hear much. just the occasional soft shuffle, the hum of yeonjunâs voice when he speaks on the phone in hushed tones. he never speaks long. never laughs out loud. not anymore.
you miss your motherâs voice echoing from the kitchen, your brotherâs heavy footsteps running down the hallway. the scent of warm rice and grilled mackerel. the sound of your father clearing his throat before calling everyone to eat.
now, thereâs only silence.
until one night, a knock.
not loud. not urgent. just... present.
âhey,â comes his voice through the door. âyou donât have to open. i just wanted to say... i know this feels like the end of everything, but it isnât.â
you sit up slowly. your hand hovers near the handle but doesnât reach it.
âi know we didnât choose each other,â he continues, voice low and careful, âbut maybe that doesnât mean we canât choose to be good to each other.â
you swallow. your throat feels raw.
after a pause, your voice comes out in a whisper, hoarse but steady. âokay.â
you donât open the door. but you walk to it, lean your back against the cool wood. and thenâalmost imperceptiblyâyou hear the sound of him lowering himself on the other side. sitting with you. just like that. no pressure. just presence.
you stay like that for a while. breathing the same air, separated by a few centimeters and a thin barrier. but somehow... it feels closer than anything else has in weeks.
you donât talk more that night. but when you finally slide back into bed, you sleep without crying.
thatâs a first.
the next morning, thereâs tea waiting on the counter.
he doesnât say itâs from him. but heâs the only other person here, so you thank him anyway.
a nod. a tiny smile. you sip it, and itâs sweet.
from that night on, something shifts. neither of you says it aloud, but the air is different now.
you start having breakfast together. simple stuffâtoast, boiled eggs, fruit. you sit across from each other at the tiny kitchen table and talk about nothing. weather. uni schedules. news updates.
one afternoon, you both arrive home soaked from the sudden rain.
you were out grocery shopping. he met you on the walk back by chance. no umbrella. you ran together. you laughedâreally laughedâfor the first time since being assigned. your clothes clung to your skin, your breath short from the sprint.
in the elevator, he looks at you and says, a little breathless, âyouâre kind of cute when youâre mad at the rain.â
you blink at him. cheeks warm. you don't know what to say.
that night, he passes you a hairdryer through your door.
âso you donât catch a cold.â
you murmur thanks. he lingers in the hallway a moment, like he wants to say something else. but then he leaves.
the next few nights, he knocks more often. never asks to come in. just talks through the door. sometimes you join him on the floor again, your backs pressed to opposite sides of wood. you start to open up. a little at a time.
one night, just past midnight, you both end up in the kitchen again.
you couldnât sleep. neither could he. you make tea, he brings a packet of cookies.
the city outside is asleep. your apartment is bathed in soft fridge light.
you find yourselves sitting on the floor, backs to the counter.
he asks, voice low, âdid you ever fall in love before all this?â
the question feels heavy. you stare into your cup.
âno,â you answer honestly. âi didnât let myself. what was the point, if it was forbidden? if we were all going to be assigned anyway?â
he nods slowly. you notice the way his eyes flick toward the window, as if remembering something far away.
âi did,â he says finally.
your heart stirs.
âin high school,â he goes on, âi fell for this girl in my class. she had this ridiculous laugh and used to bring snacks for everyone. i liked her for three years. never told her. i thought... i donât know. part of me really believed sheâd be assigned to me.â
you watch the way his lips twist into something halfway between a smile and a wince.
âi used to daydream about it,â he admits, almost embarrassed. âour names printed together on the envelope. hers next to mine. like it was meant to be.â
you donât say anything. you let him speak.
âand then she got married last year. to someone else. she posted a photo with her husband and... i laughed. like, really laughed. because it was so stupid. how much hope iâd put into something that was never mine to decide.â
you imagine it. the version of him in a classroom, heart racing every time she turned around. young, hopeful. painfully innocent.
you donât know her name. youâll probably never meet her.
but you hate her a little.
you hate that she had his love, his dreams, his belief. something you were too scared to even touch.
and you hate that your chest aches when he says her name without saying it.
âiâm sorry,â you whisper. âthat it didnât work out.â
he looks at you, and thereâs something tender in the way his eyes soften. âiâm not,â he says after a beat. âi wouldnât have met you if it had.â
the silence after that is heavy, electric.
you donât answer.
but you stay there with him. knees almost touching. the scent of tea between you. eyes a little too full. hearts slightly ajar.
the email arrives quietly, with the mechanical ding of a notification breaking the silence of your morning. itâs nothing dramaticâjust a government seal, a cold subject line:Â YOUTH EMPLOYMENT PROGRAM FOR NEWLYWEDS.
youâre still in your oversized sleep shirt, hair loosely tied up, your fingers wrapped around a warm mug of barley tea as you sit at the small kitchen table. the place smells like toasted bread and laundry detergent. yeonjun walks in a few minutes later, yawning, dressed in sweatpants and a faded university hoodie, a slice of toast clenched between his teeth. he glances over your shoulder to see what you're looking at.
you click the email open. itâs from the ministry of social and familial affairsâanother mandatory policy. another thing the government arranges for you, like youâre pieces on a board.
âbecause both parties are currently enrolled in higher education,â you read aloud softly, âthe government will provide access to part-time employment opportunities and offer a financial subsidy for essential living expenses during the first year of marriage.â
you donât say anything for a long while after that. the words hover in the air, bureaucratic and impersonal. but somehow, they make this life feel more real. more permanent. like youâre not just living in a temporary dreamâyouâre expected to stay here. build something.
âwell,â yeonjun finally says, mouth half-full, âthatâs... something. we should check it out later.â
you nod, even though your stomach feels hollow.
you still think about that night. the night he told you about his first love. about how he spent three years loving her in silence, convinced she'd be the one fate would give him. the girl with snacks and a bright laugh. the one who got married last year. not to him.
and no matter how much you tell yourself itâs ridiculous, it still gnaws at you sometimes. thereâs this faint, irrational heat in your chest whenever she crosses your mind. you donât even know what she looks like. you donât know her name. but something about the way he talked about herâwith such tender resignationâmakes something sour rise in your throat.
you hate that it lingers.
you hate that it hurts.
that night, the rain starts late.
it begins with a steady tapping against the glass, the kind that would normally soothe youâwhite noise for your thoughts. but then the wind picks up, howling through the narrow alley between your apartment and the building next door, and you know whatâs coming.
the first clap of thunder makes you freeze.
your fingers curl around the blanket. your chest tightens. you try to breathe slowly, like your therapist taught you when you were younger. but then comes another oneâlouder, deeper. it shakes the walls. it shakes you.
youâve always hated storms. they made you cry as a child, and when you were too old to crawl into your motherâs bed, you forced your little brother to sleep beside you just so you wouldnât feel alone.
now youâre in a place that doesnât smell like your motherâs laundry, that doesnât hold your brotherâs sleepy warmth.
youâre alone again. except youâre not. not really.
you donât think. you just move.
barefoot, your steps light across the cold floor, you open your bedroom door and cross the hall. you knock on yeonjunâs door twice, already feeling embarrassed, but unable to stop.
he opens almost immediately, wearing a gray t-shirt and sleep-tousled hair. his eyes are soft when they meet yours.
âare you okay?â he asks gently, already understanding.
you hesitate. âcan i⊠stay here tonight?â
thereâs a beat of silence. he nods, stepping aside without a word, and gestures for you to come in.
his room is dim, smelling faintly of his cologne and clean linen. itâs warmer than yours. thereâs a stack of books by his bed, an open laptop with half-written notes still on the screen, a navy blue hoodie slung over the chair.
he grabs an extra blanket and starts to lay it out on the floor, but you shake your head, already trembling from another rumble of thunder.
âi⊠donât want to be alone,â you whisper.
yeonjun pauses. and then, slowly, he walks back toward the bed and lifts the corner of the blanket for you.
you crawl in on one side. he lies down on the other. space between you, but not coldness. not indifference.
âiâve always been scared of storms,â you murmur into the dark. âwhen i was little, iâd run to my parentsâ room. then i made my little brother stay with me. i thought that when i grew up, i wouldnât be scared anymore. but i guess⊠i still am.â
you feel the bed shift as he turns onto his side, facing you. his voice is low, almost a hush.
ânothingâs going to break tonight.â
those five words feel like something heavier than comfort. they feel like a promise. and they make something fragile inside you twist.
youâre quiet for a long time after that. the silence is heavy but not uncomfortable. itâs the kind of silence that lets your heartbeat slow. the kind that feels full of something newâsomething you donât have a name for yet.
you fall asleep to the sound of rain and his breathing, even and steady beside you.
and when you wake up in the early morning light, his hand is resting over yours.
you slept like a baby.
it's the first thought you have when you blink your eyes open, bathed in the pale light of morning seeping through the curtains. the room smells like faint detergent and something unmistakably yeonjunâwarm cotton and the slightest trace of his cologne. the air is quiet now, no more thunder shaking the walls, no rain tapping restlessly against the windows. and your chest feels⊠calm.
it surprises you, how rested you feel. how deep your sleep was. how safe.
you remember all those nights with your younger brother, clinging to him as the storm rattled outside, whispering stories or counting sheep until your mind shut down from exhaustion. sleep was never easy back then. it was something you wrestled for, clawed your way toward, until it finally overtook you like mercy. but last night... last night, it came softly. it held you.
and now you realize why.
yeonjunâs arms are around you.
not tightly, not possessivelyâjust gently draped, like he forgot to move in the night, like his body instinctively curved around yours in sleep. one of his hands rests over your wrist, the other loosely against your waist, warm even through the thin fabric of your sleep shirt. and his face is so close, calm and boyish, lips slightly parted, his breath even and soft against your skin.
your heart pounds immediately, panic fluttering low in your stomachânot because youâre scared, but because this is unfamiliar. because you donât know what to do with this kind of tenderness.
you want to pull away. you should. you really, really should.
but instead you stay.
you stay because thereâs something about this moment that feels too fragile to break. something inside you, some cracked place, is being filled just by existing in this quiet closeness. and you realizeâthough youâve never wanted to admit itâthat youâve been touch-starved for a long time. that thereâs a part of you thatâs been aching for connection, for warmth, for someone.
his fingers twitch slightly in his sleep, adjusting against your hip, and your breath catches. the movement is innocent, unconsciousâbut your skin reacts like itâs been branded. you swallow hard, trying to still the storm inside you, even though the one outside is already gone.
you stay like that for several more minutes, listening to the soft hum of the apartment, watching the way the sunlight plays over his features. you trace the line of his brow with your eyes, the soft curve of his lashes, the shape of his lips. he looks so peaceful like thisâunguarded, almost boyish. and for a second, you wonder what heâs dreaming about. if he ever dreamed of something like this.
he stirs eventually, a sleepy sound escaping his throat as he blinks slowly awake. his gaze is unfocused at first, but then it lands on you, and something warm flickers in it.
ââŠmorning,â he mumbles, voice still gravelly from sleep.
âmorning,â you whisper back, suddenly aware of how close you are, of how your bodies are still tucked together like pieces of the same story.
neither of you moves.
thereâs a pause where his eyes search your face, slow and unreadable. and then, with a sleepy smile tugging at his lips, he lets out a soft breath.
âyou didnât run away in the middle of the night. thatâs a good sign.â
you laugh quietly, your cheeks burning. âi slept too well to even think about moving.â
he hums, pleased. âme too. i usually toss around like crazy, but i guess⊠you were a good influence.â
you want to joke. to deflect. but instead you find yourself whispering something real.
âi felt safe.â
his eyes soften.
you donât say anything else. you just lie there a while longer, not moving, not rushing. thereâs a peace in the way your bodies still fit together, in how neither of you seems quite ready to let go.
but the world, eventually, pulls you back. responsibilities, the clock ticking louder in your head. breakfast. classes. life.
yeonjun stretches lazily and finally pulls back, giving you space without question, his smile sleepy but kind. âiâll make us coffee.â
you nod, watching him slip out of bed, hair tousled, shirt riding up slightly at the back. you press your hand to where his body had been, still warm, and you sit there a little longer, your thoughts spiraling in slow, confused circles.
because even though last night was about fear and storms⊠this morning feels like the beginning of something else entirely.
the waiting room smells like antiseptic and soft lavender, a strange combination that doesnât manage to calm your nerves. you sit side by side with yeonjun on a sleek government-issued bench, your fingers clasped tightly on your lap, trying not to let your knee bounce with the anxiety pressing into your chest.
he seems more composed than you areâback straight, hands relaxed, legs slightly spread in his usual confident postureâbut when you glance sideways, you notice how he keeps licking his lips, how his jaw clenches just a little every few seconds.
the appointment with the planning officer had been scheduled right after your weddingâclinical, efficient, emotionless, like everything else in this system. you hadnât talked about it. hadnât even wanted to think about it. but now itâs here, and thereâs nowhere to hide.
âchoi yeonjun. choi y/n,â a nurse calls softly from the doorway, clipboard in hand. âfollow me.â
you walk side by side into a white, spotless office where a woman in a pale beige suit greets you from behind a desk. she looks to be in her forties, composed, direct, her nametag reading ms. kang â reproductive health officer.
you sit across from her. the air feels heavier now.
âso,â she begins, smiling in that polite, unyielding way government workers do, âyouâre about a month into your union. howâs the adjustment been?â
you blink, unsure how to answer. yeonjun speaks first.
âweâre getting used to it. slowly.â
âgood,â she nods, tapping something on her tablet. âyouâve both passed the health screenings, no genetic flags or fertility concerns. so the next step is to begin trials of compatibility-based conception.â
you shift in your seat. trials.
âhave you already begun your sexual relationship?â she asks, her tone calm, like sheâs asking about the weather.
your breath catches. your eyes widen slightly, and your face goes hot. âuhâno. not yet,â you manage, your voice too soft, almost guilty.
yeonjun straightens a little, eyebrows twitching, his tone sharper. âweâve only been married a few weeks. there hasnât been time.â
ms. kang doesnât flinch. she only nods and types something on her screen. âi see. while itâs natural for some couples to take time, we recommend initiating intimacy soon. it will help establish the rhythm of your connection and allow us to track progress for planning interventions if necessary.â
your ears are burning now. her words play back in your head like static:Â initiate intimacy, track progress.
you glance at yeonjun without meaning to, and heâs already looking at youâbut his expression is unreadable. his jaw is tight again.
âweâll⊠take that into consideration,â he says curtly.
the rest of the appointment passes in a blur. you nod and agree to things you barely hear, accept pamphlets on fertility monitoring and hormonal optimization. by the time you walk out of the clinic, your skin feels too tight for your body.
you donât speak on the way home.
you sit beside him on the train, trying to focus on the passing buildings outside the window, but your thoughts keep circling the same place. the way she said it. the expectation of it. and worseâthe idea of it.
because the thing is⊠youâve thought about it. even before this meeting, in the quiet moments, in the space between shared breakfasts and brushing past each other in the kitchen, in that night you slept in his arms like you belonged there.
youâve wondered what his mouth would feel like pressed to your neck.
youâve wondered how his hands would move if he werenât just offering comfort.
youâve wondered how his voice would sound if it wasnât so composedâif it cracked with want.
but that was all private. safe in your imagination. not something stamped into paperwork. not something tracked by government programs and fertility logs.
and now you canât not think about it.
when you finally get home, itâs too quiet. you move around each other like magnets unsure if they should attract or repel. you both pretend youâre just tired. that it was just a long day.
but the silence drips between you, thick and unspoken.
you head to your room without a word, tossing the clinic folder on your desk like it burns. you try to sleep. but the image of yeonjun, tense and handsome in the cold clinic light, wonât leave your mind. his voice, defensive. his fingers, twitching on his knee. and most of all, the memory of his arm around your waist from that nightâthe heat of his skin under your palm.
an hour passes. maybe two.
you shift in bed, restless. you toss the blanket off. put it back on. stare at the ceiling. you hear footsteps in the hall.
a soft knock at your door.
you sit up, heart hammering. âcome in.â
yeonjun stands there, messy hair and hoodie half-zipped, eyes unreadable in the dim light. he doesnât come in right away. just leans against the doorframe and runs a hand through his hair.
âsorry,â he says after a moment. âabout earlier. the clinic.â
you nod. âitâs okay.â
he looks at you then, longer, and something flickers in his expressionâsomething caught between curiosity and hesitation.
âthey make it sound like itâs supposed to be⊠mechanical,â he murmurs, crossing the room slowly. âbut itâs not, right? itâs not supposed to be.â
your breath catches.
he stops by your bed. close enough for you to see the flutter of his lashes, the nervous line between his brows. close enough that you feel the heat radiating off his body.
you donât know who moves first. maybe itâs you. maybe itâs both of you at the same time. but suddenly, the space between you disappears.
his hand brushes your cheek, soft and hesitant, and you lean into it without thinking.
âi donât want it to be just⊠a task,â he says quietly, voice barely a breath now. ânot with you.â
you donât answer. you just let your forehead rest against his chest, your heart beating too loudly, your breath catching in your throat.
and when he wraps his arms around you againâwarm and strong and familiarâyou feel the storm rising again.
but this time, itâs not outside.
itâs you. itâs him.
and itâs not fear anymore.
itâs something else entirely.
you donât kiss that night.
you couldâve. maybe you almost do. thereâs a moment where his thumb brushes the corner of your mouth and your eyes lift to meet his, and you feel itâthat shift, like the world holds its breath. but then he steps back, gives you a small smile that doesnât quite reach his eyes, and says goodnight in a voice thatâs too soft, too careful.
he leaves your door cracked open behind him. and somehow, thatâs worse than closing it.
after that, the tension lingersâthick and quiet like smoke.
in the mornings, you find yourselves together more often than not. your coffee mugs sit side by side now. sometimes you forget whose is whose. he steals sips from yours and you pretend to scowl, but your heart trips every time your fingers brush when you both reach for the sugar at the same time.
you fall into a rhythm. not romantic. not domestic. but something else. something intimate in a quiet way.
when the job placement emails come through, you sit together on the couch, scrolling through them on your shared government-issued tablet. yeonjun lands a spot as an assistant at a community cultural center downtownâflexible hours, reasonable pay. you get placed in a local library, part-time shelving and cataloguing.
itâs not exciting. itâs not your dream. but itâs⊠stable.
âat least we wonât starve,â yeonjun says one evening, his arm slung lazily over the back of the couch behind you. âthanks, government.â
you snort. âmaybe next year theyâll assign us a kid and a dog, too.â
he laughsâreally laughs, loud and fullâand something about the sound makes your chest ache. it makes you want to say something dumb just to hear it again.
but what sticks with you, what haunts you, is that night after the storm. not because of what happenedâbecause of what didnât.
and what happened at the clinic. what the officer said. what yeonjun said after.
you think about it too much. think about him too much.
and you think about her.
the girl he loved once. the one he talked about in that quiet, midnight voice, when the rain had softened and you were wrapped in his hoodie like armor.
you remember how his gaze turned distant as he spoke of her, how he confessed that he truly believed sheâd be the one assigned to him. that he waited. that he hoped.
how the disappointment burned when he found out she wasnât.
and you shouldnât feel anything about it. itâs in the past. he told you that.
but sometimes, when you catch him staring into space or fiddling with that little leather bracelet he always wears, your chest twists a little. and you donât know why.
youâre not in love.
youâre not supposed to fall in love.
yet it keeps slipping inâquiet and slow. like water through cracks.
one evening, it rains again. not a storm, just a steady drizzle that makes the air smell clean. youâre both tired from work and university, but neither of you wants to be alone in your room.
you sit on the windowsill together, knees touching, sharing a bowl of strawberries yeonjun bought on the way home. the fruit is sweet and cold against your tongue.
âi used to love the rain,â he murmurs, watching it trail down the glass. âwhen i was a kid, iâd sit on the porch for hours just listening. it felt like⊠everything else stopped for a while.â
you glance at him. his profile is soft in the dim light, his hair falling slightly over his eyes.
âit used to scare me,â you admit quietly. âstorms, i mean. as you may know...â
he smiles without turning to you. âyou were scared.â
âyeah.â
thereâs a pause.
âyou werenât scared the other night,â he says. ânot with me.â
you shrug. âyou made it easy not to be.â
the silence that follows is gentle. not awkward. just⊠full.
âdo you think itâs still possible?â he asks suddenly. âto fall for someone? even with all of this?â he gestures vaguely, and you know he means the system, the laws, the matching algorithms and fertility checkups and pre-written life paths.
you donât answer right away. you donât know how to.
âi think weâre not supposed to,â you say after a long pause. âbut maybe⊠that doesnât stop it from happening.â
his eyes find yours then, and they donât look away.
your heart stumbles.
neither of you speaks. the air feels like itâs crackling againânot with lightning, but with something just as dangerous.
the next night, you fall asleep on the couch together. not planned. not anything.
you were watching something. you donât even remember what. but you woke up with your head on his chest, his arm wrapped around you, heartbeat steady against your ear.
you donât move. you canât move.
it feels too good. too right.
his shirt smells like laundry soap and skin. his fingers shift in his sleep, brushing lightly along your back. it makes you shiver. it makes you think about things you shouldnât.
you stay there until the sun begins to rise.
you pretend to be asleep when he finally stirs and lifts his head slightly, blinking at your face. you feel the weight of his gaze.
but he doesnât move either.
and neither do you.
because somethingâs changing. you both feel it.
you just donât say it. not yet.
not until itâs too loud to ignore.
and maybe that moment is coming faster than either of you is ready for.
you try not to overthink the moments.
you try.
the accidental sleep on the couch becomes less accidental. the next week, it happens againâthis time during a shared late-night study session. you're both exhausted, papers and notebooks strewn across the coffee table, half-finished cups of coffee gone cold.
you wake up tucked under the same blanket, the light off, the tablet blinking low battery on the floor. yeonjun is beside you, his legs tangled with yours, his breathing soft against the crown of your head.
he doesnât say anything when you open your eyes. heâs already awake, watching you, and when he sees you stir, he whispers a faint âmorningâ like itâs a secret.
you nod, throat dry. âmorning.â
neither of you moves.
and maybe itâs the silence. maybe itâs the way his hand is resting lightly on your hip, not possessive, not boldâjust there.or maybe itâs because of the way your name sounds in his voice latelyâgentler, more familiar, too intimate for two people who were supposed to be strangers made spouses.
whatever it is, it roots itself deep in your chest, wraps vines around your ribs, and refuses to let go.
but things are still complicated.
you remember the appointment at the family planning center far too clearly. how the sterile walls and uncomfortable chairs felt like a sentence being handed down. the woman at the desk, clipboard in hand, speaking in clinical terms while smiling too much. the questions.
âhave you two begun sexual relations yet?â
your body stiffened so fast it hurt. youâd shaken your head, cheeks burning.
âno,â you said, barely above a whisper.
and then yeonjun.
his voice didnât waver. didnât shrink. but there was a hint of somethingâoffense, maybe, or just discomfort buried beneath practiced calm.
ânot yet.â
not yet.
those words echoed for hours after.
the woman nodded, unbothered, flipping her pen in one hand.
âyou should consider beginning soon,â she said, checking off a box. âintimacy will help strengthen the emotional bond and allow us to begin identifying which fertility path will suit your needs. the government recommends couples begin within the first ninety days of union.â
you had never wanted to disappear more.
the walk home was silent.
yeonjun didnât mention it. you didnât either.
but it sat between you like a stormcloud, buzzing with electricity, waiting to crack open.
you catch him watching you more after that. not in a bad way. not in a way that makes you feel unsafe. noâit makes you feel too safe, and thatâs somehow worse.
heâs careful. always. but heâs still a boy. and youâre still you. and your bodies know things your minds are afraid to say.
the small space you share only makes things more dangerous.
his cologne clings to your pillows. your lotion starts appearing on his arms. he hums the songs you listen to in the shower. he buys your favorite snack without asking.
you start wearing his shirts to sleep without realizing. you only notice the third time it happensâwhen he stops in the hallway and his eyes dip, linger, then flick back up with a quiet clearing of his throat.
âis that mine?â
you glance down at yourself. itâs an old oversized gray tee. soft. worn. familiar. his scent baked into the fabric like sunlight.
âuh⊠yeah. sorry. it was just on the chair andââ
âkeep it,â he says, not letting you finish. âlooks better on you.â
you go to bed that night with your skin buzzing.
and things only build from there.
he starts cooking more, pulling you into the kitchen with an easy âhelp meâ that really means just stand here while i talk to you. you lean on the counter while he cuts vegetables, while he stirs sauces, while he tells you about his classes and how boring statistics is, how he almost fell asleep mid-lecture. you laugh and call him dramatic. he grins and tells you itâs your fault for not waking him up when he left.
âyouâre supposed to be my wife now. you have responsibilities.â
he says it like a joke. you laugh like it is one.
but your heart stutters anyway.
one night, it rains again. not a storm, just heavy and constant, soft thunder echoing in the distance. you find yourself awake at midnight again, restless, curled on the couch in the living room with your knees tucked to your chest.
yeonjun finds you there.
he doesnât say anythingâjust sits beside you, close but not touching, and watches the rain drip down the windows.
âcanât sleep?â he asks.
you shake your head. ânot really.â
âyou okay?â
you nod, even though youâre not sure.
the air between you hums. itâs familiar now. this closeness. this heavy, unsaid thing growing slowly between shared silences and sidelong glances.
you lean your head on his shoulder, unsure why. maybe itâs because the rain feels lonelier tonight. maybe itâs because it feels like something is shifting again.
his breath hitches almost imperceptibly, but he doesnât move away.
âdo you think theyâre watching us?â you ask softly. âthe government, i mean. checking how fast we fall in love. how fast we sleep together.â
heâs quiet for a moment.
âmaybe,â he says finally. âbut they canât measure the parts that matter.â
âlike what?â
he tilts his head toward yours. âlike this.â
you feel the words like fingertips down your spine.
you close your eyes, and his shoulder under your cheek feels like solid ground.
this is the moment where maybe everything could change.
but you donât kiss. not yet.
you breathe in together.
and for now, thatâs enough.
the power cuts out a little after ten. it happens suddenlyâan abrupt flicker, followed by darkness swallowing the apartment whole.
you blink, heart skipping, your body already tightening with reflex from the sound, from the silence that follows too quickly.
then the soft sound of rain begins again.
but unlike the last time, this one is gentle. no thunder, no flashes of light through the windows. just rain, steady and calm like fingers tapping against glass. itâs the kind of rain that makes the night feel softer than usual. quieter.
yeonjun lights a candle he keeps in the drawer near the kitchen, its flame swaying in the center of the living room table, casting shadows on the walls. he brings it over to the couch where you sit curled up under a blanket, your knees pressed to your chest, already waiting.
he joins you without asking.
âguess weâll have to pretend weâre in the 1800s,â he murmurs, glancing at the candle.
you laugh softly. âat least youâre not reading me poetry.â
âdonât tempt me,â he grins.
the silence that follows isnât uncomfortable. it rarely is now. something about the rain, the flicker of light, the way youâre seated side by side with your shoulders barely touching, it all feelsâŠÂ close.
your gaze drifts to the window, where the raindrops race each other down the glass. and before you can stop yourself, your thoughts start circling again. youâve been doing that more and moreâever since that night. ever since yeonjun told you about her. the girl he loved in high school. the one he thought would be assigned to him.
you swallow. your chest tightens, not with pain exactlyâmore like an unfamiliar ache. something raw you havenât named yet.
âcan i ask you something?â you say, voice quiet.
yeonjun hums, eyes still on the candlelight. âof course.â
âi havenât stopped thinking about her.â
he turns to you, brows faintly furrowed. âwho?â
âthe girl you were in love with.â
his expression doesnât change much. he just blinks slowly, watching you. âwhy?â
you let out a breath you hadnât realized you were holding. âi donât know. maybe because⊠iâm jealous of her.â
that makes him laughâsoft, surprised. âjealous?â
you nod, heart pounding. âyeah. i guess itâs stupid. but⊠she got to be your first love. she got all of you when it meant something. and now, iâm justââ
âmy wife?â he cuts in, still smiling, trying to lighten the air. âyouâre my wife now. kind of a win, donât you think?â
but you donât smile back.
you turn to face him, the dim light catching on your lashes, your jaw tight. âitâs not the same,â you say softly. âi know this is supposed to be a marriage, but it doesnât feel right⊠hearing about your past like that. itâs not fair. itâs not fair that i have to be the one who came after.â
yeonjunâs smile fades. the playfulness drains from his face, replaced by something heavier. something slower. he looks at you like heâs really seeing you nowâlike maybe heâs been seeing you all along but didnât know how close you were to unraveling.
âhey,â he says quietly, voice low and careful. âyouâre not after anyone.â
you try to look away, but he catches your chin between two fingers, guiding your eyes back to his.
âsheâs the past,â he murmurs. âbut youâyouâre the present. youâre the one whoâs here. who sleeps beside me. who leaves hair ties on the bathroom sink and wears my shirts and steals my side of the bed.â
your lips part, but no sound comes out.
âdonât do that to yourself,â he whispers. âdonât compare. itâs not the same because this is real. and growing. and youââ
he leans closer.
âyou make me forget her name.â
you blink, breath catching. the air feels different now. the candlelight flickers between you, but you can barely see it. all you can see is himâhis face inches from yours, his voice warm and deep and trembling just enough to make your pulse race.
âyeonjunâŠâ
âcan i kiss you?â he breathes.
you nod.
slowly, his hand slides to your jaw, his thumb brushing the soft skin beneath your cheekbone. he closes the space between you inch by inch, giving you time to pull away, but you donât. you lean in.
when his lips finally meet yours, itâs not fireworks. itâs gravity.
you sink into it, into him, into the warmth and tenderness of it. itâs careful, at firstâtesting, soft, a question asked in the silence. but then you tilt your head, fingers finding the collar of his shirt, and he answers with a deeper kiss, one that pulls a sound from the back of your throat you didnât expect.
itâs too much. itâs not enough. itâs everything all at once.
when you finally part, youâre breathless.
he presses his forehead to yours. the candle crackles gently nearby. the rain keeps falling.
âiâm sorry,â you whisper.
âdonât be,â he says, brushing his nose against yours. âi shouldâve known. i shouldâve said something sooner.â
you shake your head. âno. i needed to feel it. to say it. i think iâve been holding everything back since this marriage started.â
âme too.â
you both fall quiet again, but this time, itâs different.
youâre not two strangers trying to survive a system anymore.
youâre two people finally reaching across the space that was never meant to last.
and outside, the rain sings soft lullabies to the city, and the candle flickers like a heartbeat, and in his arms, you no longer feel like a second choice.
you feel chosen.
the next morning, something has changed.
itâs subtle. nothing overt. not at first.
you wake up earlier than him and find yourself just⊠watching him for a moment. the soft rise and fall of his chest. the curve of his lashes against his cheek. how he frowns slightly in his sleep, like heâs still half in a dream. you should look awayâyouâve always looked away beforeâbut now your eyes linger.
when he stirs, blinking against the light, he sees you watching. he doesnât flinch. he just smiles, sleep-warm and real, and your heart does something uncomfortable and sweet in your chest.
âmorning,â he murmurs, voice rough.
âmorning,â you whisper back, your voice catching a little.
he reaches out lazily, his fingers brushing your arm beneath the blanket, and even though itâs nothing, just that, your breath hitches. you tell yourself itâs the closeness. the aftermath of the kiss. but the warmth in your chest says something else.
and then the day goes onâbut not quite the same.
at breakfast, he sits closer than usual. your elbows touch when you both reach for the sugar. he doesnât apologize like before. doesnât pull away. just grins and bumps your shoulder on purpose this time.
you roll your eyes. âyouâre annoying.â
âyou kissed me last night,â he says, way too casually. âyou donât get to call me annoying anymore.â
âyou asked first.â
âstill counts.â
the banter is light, teasing, familiar. but under it, thereâs a new current. an awareness. every glance feels heavier. every touch lingers a second longer than it should. when he hands you a dish, his fingers brush yours, and neither of you lets go right away.
the silence between you becomes something else entirely. no longer filled with obligation or awkwardness. now it feels like a question that neither of you is brave enough to answer out loud.
until it happens again. in the kitchen, late at night, as youâre washing dishes and he comes up behind you. at first itâs innocentâhe says something dumb, you laughâbut then his hand finds the small of your back, and you freeze, not because itâs wrong but because itâs not. it feels too good. too natural.
you turn, slowly, water dripping from your hands, and heâs already looking at you like he wants to kiss you again.
he doesnât. not yet. he just leans in and gently tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. his fingers graze your cheek, his eyes drop to your lips, and thenâhe walks away.
you stand there for a moment, heart pounding, wondering how the hell he keeps doing this to you.
a few days later, youâre invited to visit your family.
itâs your first time back since the marriage. your parents had called to check in, of course, had even video called once or twice, but nothing replaces being home. your motherâs cooking. your fatherâs quiet warmth. your brotherâs chaotic energy.
the moment you walk through the door, your mom pulls you into a hug so tight you almost cry again. your dad claps yeonjunâs shoulder, awkward but trying. your brother, now twelve, looks like heâs grown taller.
he eyes yeonjun up and down, squints a little, then smirks at you.
âso, are you pregnant yet?â
you freeze.
your dad chokes on his tea. your mother lets out a gasp so sharp it could cut metal. yeonjunâs eyes go wideâlike someone just yanked the floor out from under him.
âyoonho!â your mom yells, already reaching for the nearest dish towel like itâs a weapon. âyou canât ask that!â
âwhat?â your brother yells as he runs from her, laughing like a maniac. âi just wanted to know if the government systemâs working!â
your dad is still coughing. youâre standing there redder than a tomato. burning with mortification.
yeonjun, after a stunned beat, laughs. really laughs. full chest, head-tilted-back laughter thatâs so contagious you canât help but giggle through your hands.
âdonât encourage him,â you say, smacking his arm lightly.
he grins down at you, eyes sparkling. âiâm sorry, that wasâreally something.â
âheâs an idiot,â you mutter, still mortified.
âheâs your idiot,â he says, voice softer now.
you glance up at him and smile, something warm spreading in your chest. it surprises you, just how much that smile feels like home.
and even after the chaos settles, even after your mom manages to drag your brother back by the collar to apologize properly, even when you sit around the table laughing and eating and telling storiesâthereâs a small, secret current running beneath it all.
the way yeonjunâs hand grazes your lower back when he leans past you to grab a dish. the way you lean into him just slightly when your mom starts talking about your childhood, and he listens like he wants to know everything.
and when the night ends, and you both return to your apartment, itâs quieterâbut itâs a good quiet. that kind of peace you only feel when someoneâs truly, finally getting under your skin.
the drive back home is quiet, but not in a bad way. itâs the kind of silence that lingers after too much laughter, after too much emotion crammed into too little time. the windows are fogged slightly from your breaths, and the hum of the road is the only sound between you. outside, the city lights blur in soft halos, the streets wet from the rain earlier in the day, reflecting neon and moonlight.
youâre leaning against the car door, eyes heavy, body full from dinner, from memories, from everything. your family had insisted you stay the night, but you knew it wouldâve made leaving harder. too emotional. too permanent. so you thanked them, smiled through the tightness in your throat, and left.
and now, here you are, beside him. yeonjunâs one hand is on the wheel, the other resting between the seats, fingers tapping idly against the console. you glance at it once. then again. his profile is calm, a faint curve to his lips like heâs still smiling at your brotherâs chaos.
you break the silence first.
âsorry about today⊠my family can be a lot.â
he lets out a soft chuckle. âi liked it.â
you turn to him, a little surprised.
âreally?â
he nods. âtheyâre⊠warm. chaotic, yeah, but it felt real. like they love you so much they donât even try to hide it.â
you press your lips together, looking down at your lap, suddenly blinking back something stinging in your eyes. you werenât expecting that answer. or maybe you were, but not the way it made your chest ache so gently.
âthanks,â you whisper.
you donât realize youâre still staring at him until he speaks again, this time softer.
âand your brotherâŠâ he smirks a little. âi canât believe he said that.â
you groan, hiding your face in your hands. âplease donât remind me.â
âiâm serious,â he laughs, and then looks over at you, his gaze lingering longer this time, âyou were so red.â
âbecause it was embarrassing,â you shoot back, but your voice is lighter, warm with the trace of a smile.
his eyes flick down to your lips.
âyouâre cute when you blush,â he murmurs, and itâs so quiet youâre not even sure he meant to say it out loud.
your breath catches. your heart stutters. suddenly the space between you feels smaller. the console is no longer an armâs lengthâitâs a breath. the air is thicker. hotter.
you look at him, really look at himâhis jaw sharp in the glow of passing streetlamps, the tendons in his neck tense, his grip on the wheel a little tighter now. he looks back, just briefly, but itâs enough. something electric pulses between you.
and then he pulls over.
not far from your building, not quite home yetâbut enough to be alone. enough to pause. the engine hums low, a steady heartbeat in the silence. he doesnât look at you right away, just stares forward, fingers tightening, loosening, tightening again on the wheel.
you feel your pulse in your throat.
âiâŠâ he starts, then stops. he turns to you, eyes darker than before. clearer. âcan i ask you something?â
you nod, heart racing.
âwhy did it bother you?â he asks quietly. âabout the girl i told you about.â
you stare at him. that familiar heat returns to your chest, crawling up your neck. you bite the inside of your cheek before answering.
âi donât know,â you lie at first. but then, you sigh. âmaybe because it was real for you. maybe because⊠you had someone you wanted, once. and i never did. and now iâm supposed to just⊠live with that. pretend like iâm not wondering if she wouldâve made you happier.â
he watches you for a long moment, expression unreadable. then, finally, he leans a little closer, voice low.
âdo you think iâm not happy?â
your throat dries.
âare you?â you whisper.
he exhales slowly, shaking his head like he canât believe heâs about to do this. and then he shifts, fully turning toward you. his fingers reach up, brushing lightly against your chin, lifting your face to his.
âyouâre not her,â he says. âyouâre you.â
and then, without waiting, without asking againâhe kisses you.
itâs not urgent. not rough. itâs slow, deliberate, tender with something sharp hidden beneath. like heâs been holding it back for too long and now that itâs happening, heâs pouring everything into it. his hand cups your jaw, thumb stroking your cheek. your lips part before you even realize, and his tongue grazes yours, soft, testing, like heâs still asking if this is okay even now.
you melt into it.
your hand slides up his arm, gripping his bicep, grounding yourself as heat spreads through your veins. your bodies donât move much, still confined by seatbelts and space, but itâs intimate. intense. and when he finally pulls back, breathing harder than before, he rests his forehead against yours.
âyouâre not her,â he whispers again. âand thank god for that.â
you sit there, breaths mingling, skin flushed, hearts racing in tandem. your hand is still on his arm. his thumb is still tracing your cheek.
and this time, neither of you says a word. because you both knowâsomething just changed again.
youâre not lovers. not yet.
but your hands brush again on the way to bed. he holds your gaze a little longer. and when you lie down, back to back, you find yourself pressing closer, just enough that your spine feels the heat of his chest.
you fall asleep like that.
and neither of you says a word.
you both had an appointment early in the morning. the ministry of civil labor had sent a formal notice last week, listing the available part-time positions for couples still enrolled in university, and now you were seated across from an administrative worker who barely looked up from her screen as she explained the contracts. yeonjun was placed in a logistics department for a government-run supply chainâsomething with inventory and system inputs. you were assigned to a small local archival center where they'd digitize old birth and marriage records, which felt ironic in a way that made your stomach twist.
âyouâll receive your first schedule by the end of the week,â the woman said without emotion, and you both nodded, signing at the bottom of the page, pens scratching the paper in tandem.
walking out of the building, yeonjun nudged your shoulder with his and whispered, âlook at us. signing contracts like a real married couple.â and you rolled your eyes, but couldnât help the smile pulling at your lips.
âyou mean we werenât real before?â you asked, raising a brow.
he smirked, unlocking the car and opening your door. âwe were married on paper. now weâre married... and employed.â
you both laughed, climbing into the vehicle, and the warmth lingered even after the engine hummed to life. it was a quiet kind of happiness, soft and simple, like the feeling of your bare thighs against the leather seat, like the sun warming the dashboard. you wore a dress that dayâcasual, nothing too fancy, but it clung lightly to your frame in the breeze when you walked out earlier, and you caught the way yeonjun had looked at you from the corner of your eye. not blatant. just... noticing.
the road was mostly empty. the hum of tires on pavement filled the silence as the laughter faded, replaced by something thicker. something weightier.
at a red light, he stopped the car smoothly, one hand still on the steering wheel. the other lifted, slowly, casually, and without looking at you, he placed it on your thigh.
he didnât squeeze. he didnât slide his fingers higher. just let his palm rest there, warm and firm, like it belonged.
your breath hitched.
you tried not to move, tried not to tense up, but the sensation crawled up your spine like wildfire. it was such a simple touch, so ordinary, but it landed somewhere deep in your bellyâhot, twisting, coiling. your skin tingled where his fingers barely pressed into the flesh, and your thighs felt suddenly, achingly aware of how little separated them from him.
he said nothing.
neither did you.
but your body betrayed youâthe way your chest rose a little faster, the way your knees shifted slightly, as if trying to find an answer to the question that touch had asked.
the light turned green.
he drove on.
his hand didnât move.
the silence stretched, but it wasnât uncomfortable. it was charged. heavy with something that neither of you dared name yet.
you exhaled, slow and shaky, and he glanced at you briefly, lips curvingânot into a smirk, but something softer. something fond. he rubbed his thumb in a slow arc, barely there, and your fingers curled around the hem of your dress to keep from shaking.
by the time you got home, the tension had woven itself into your skin like a second layer. you both stepped out of the car and walked toward the apartment quietly, but the air buzzed with every step.
inside, the routine resumedâshoes off, bags down, water poured into glassesâbut your thoughts were nowhere near the surface. every time he passed behind you, you felt his presence more than you saw him. every brush of his hand, every graze of his arm felt like a firestarter.
you stood near the sink, rinsing the cups, when he came up behind you. didnât touch you. just stood close enough that you felt the heat of his chest on your back, close enough that your breathing stuttered.
âneed help?â he murmured, voice low, mouth near your ear.
you shook your head, but your body leaned slightly into him anyway. traitorously.
his hands didnât moveânot yetâbut his presence surrounded you, a quiet pressure that built with every second. you turned your head slightly to glance at him, and the proximity was enough to make you both pause. your lips werenât touching, but they couldâve. your noses almost brushed.
and then he reached for the cup beside you, taking it slowly, deliberately, his fingers brushing yours. your breath caught again.
âthanks,â he said, voice still low.
you watched him walk away, your hands trembling under the water, and you knewâtonight, you wouldnât be able to pretend this tension didnât exist. it was burning its way into your bones.
that night, everything felt like it was humming. the silence between you wasnât really silenceâit was full of what hadnât been said, of what hadnât been done but nearly was. the ghost of yeonjunâs hand on your thigh still lingered, burned into your skin. your legs still tingled from the pressure, the weight, the heat. and when he brushed past you in the kitchen again after dinner, it felt deliberate. or maybe you just wanted it to be.
your heart hadnât settled since the drive home.
later, after youâd both changed into your sleep clothes, you met again in the hallway, the light above you casting a golden hue that made his skin look warm and soft. you paused at the same time, eyes locking. your breath caught in your throat, because he wasnât just looking at youâhe was seeing you. seeing the hem of your shirt, the way it clung slightly to your waist. seeing the bare stretch of your legs, your collarbone, the fine line of your neck.
you thought heâd say something.
he didnât.
he just stepped past you, heading to the shared living room like usual. the storm from earlier had passed, leaving a cool breeze in its wake. you followed, drawn to him like always. you both sat on the couch, feet tucked beneath you, shoulders close but not quite touching. it was dark. the power had gone out temporarily again, only the soft blue emergency lights casting faint shadows across his face.
âyouâre quiet,â you said, voice barely above a whisper.
âjust thinking,â he replied, his tone low, almost distant.
you turned your head toward him. âabout what?â
he hesitated. âabout earlier... the car. and how it felt.â
you sucked in a soft breath. âme too.â
silence again.
and then, slowly, as if guided by instinct, he reached over and touched your hand. fingers brushing the back of yours. the contact was small. barely anything. but it was enough to pull the air from your lungs. you turned your palm and laced your fingers with his.
it felt dangerous.
he looked at your joined hands like he didnât recognize his own, and then back at youâhis eyes darker than usual, hooded, like he was holding back a tide. you werenât sure who moved first. maybe it was him. maybe it was you. but one second you were sitting apart, and the next your bodies were angled toward each other, your knees brushing, your breaths tangled. his hand cupped your jaw gently, fingers trembling against your skin, and he leaned in, close enough that his lips nearly grazed yours.
your pulse roared in your ears.
his mouth touched yours like a whisperâfeatherlight, testing.
you responded before you could think, lips parting for him, heat blooming low in your stomach like wildfire. the kiss deepened slowly, wet and slow and dizzying. his tongue brushed yours, cautious at first, then more certain, like he needed to taste you, like he was starved. your hand curled into his shirt, tugging him closer, and he groaned softly into your mouth, deep and breathless.
his hand slid down your side, fingers skating over the thin fabric of your sleep shirt, and you gasped when they reached your hip. he pulled you into his lap, your thighs straddling him, bodies pressed together too close to ignore. the heat between you crackledâyour hips shifted without thinking, and you felt the hardness of him, solid and hot beneath you.
his lips broke from yours for a second, his breathing rough. âfuck... y/n...â
his hands gripped your thighs, sliding up, thumbs brushing the edge of your underwear. you whimpered, pressing closer, grinding down gently. it was heady. dizzying. perfect.
and thenâ
his phone rang.
the sound shattered the moment like glass.
you both froze.
you were on his lap, panting, trembling, your lips swollen from the kiss, your heart pounding like a war drum. he didnât move for a second. then he cursed under his breath and gently lifted you off him, muttering a strained apology as he reached for the phone. his voice cracked when he answered, trying to sound normal.
you stood there, stunned, breathing hard, still tasting him on your tongue.
after the call, which only lasted a few seconds, he didnât look at you.
âi think... iâll sleep in my room tonight,â he said quietly.
you blinked. âoh.â
he didnât explain.
he just walked away.
and something cold settled in your chest.
you crawled into your bed alone, wrapping the blanket around yourself tightly, but you couldnât sleep. not when you still felt the ghost of his hands on your body. not when your lips were still tingling from the kiss. not when he had looked at you like he needed you, and then walked away without a word.
you turned over. again. again. and again. your heart ached with confusion. was it too much? did he regret it? had you done something wrong?
you couldnât take it anymore.
you got up, padded down the hall to his room, and raised your fist to knock.
but then you froze.
because you heard it.
soft, muffled sounds, irregular breathing. your eyes widened.
a low groan, deep and drawn out.
then a quiet, wet soundârhythmic, unmistakable.
your breath caught.
you didnât mean to listen. but you couldnât move.
then, you heard it.
ây/n...â
your name, moaned outâquiet but desperate. raw. like a confession.
your knees weakened.
another moan, louder this time, almost a whimper.
and thenâyour name again, breathless, almost broken, followed by the sound of skin slapping softly against skin, faster now.
he was close.
he was touching himself.
thinking of you.
you pressed your palm to your mouth, trying not to make a sound, cheeks burning, body trembling. you shouldnât be here. you shouldnât hear this. but your legs wouldnât move. your breath came in shaky gasps, your heart thundering as heat rushed between your thighs, pooling heavy and hot.
you didnât know what this meant.
but you knew one thing.
he wanted you.
and now, you didnât think you could ever look at him the same again.
you didnât mean to lean closer.
you didnât mean to press your ear too tightly against the door.
but your balance falteredâjust a second too long standing on your toes, your weight shifting, your breath too shallowâand suddenly your foot slipped on the edge of the smooth hallway floor. a soft, startled sound escaped your throat as your body tilted sideways, your hand fumbling for the wall, failing.
and thenâthud.
a soft crash, your hip hitting the floor, your palms slapping down just in time to soften the fall. you gasped and quickly clamped your hand over your mouth, praying he hadnât heard, that you hadnât been loud enoughâbut inside, panic bloomed like fire. your chest heaved as you tried to stay perfectly still, your cheeks on fire, the oversized t-shirtâhis t-shirtâriding high around your waist from the fall.
then you heard the shuffle. footsteps. hurried. a sudden rush from the other side.
ây/n?â his voice was sharp. worried. confused.
before you could react, the door swung open.
and there he was.
yeonjun.
bare-chested, sweat clinging to his collarbones, his hair disheveled, lips swollen and flushed, his hand still adjusting the waistband of his boxers as if he hadnât had time to fix himself. and then he saw you.
on the floor.
his shirt up around your waist.
your bare thighs. your panties exposed.
your hand covering your mouth, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights.
time froze.
he stared at you, blinking once, then again. his mouth parted, but no words came out. his gaze droppedâjust for a heartbeatâbut you saw it. the flicker. the hunger. the tension that snapped into existence like a spark to gasoline.
you scrambled to tug the shirt down, cheeks burning, breath caught.
âiâi slipped, i wasnâtâi meanââ
âwere you listening?â his voice came out low. rough.
you opened your mouth, then shut it. your throat tightened. your heart was pounding so violently you felt it behind your eyes.
ây/nâŠâ he whispered, stepping closer.
your breath hitched.
âi heard you,â he said, his voice strained now. âoutside the door. you⊠you heard me too, didnât you?â
you nodded slowly, like it was all you could manage.
he knelt beside you without thinking, his hands hovering for a moment before one slid to the small of your back, the other cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing your skin gently, eyes searching yours. âyou heard me⊠say your name.â
you couldnât speak.
âfuck,â he whispered. âi didnât mean for you to know. i tried to walk away because i couldnât control it. i thought... if i gave us spaceââ
âwhy?â your voice cracked. âwhy did you walk away after kissing me like that?â
his jaw clenched. âbecause i wanted more. i wanted too much.â
your lips trembled. âme too.â
something inside him snapped.
he surged forward, his lips crashing into yours with a hunger that was no longer restrained. this wasnât careful. this wasnât gentle. this was weeks of stolen glances and soft touches and building need exploding all at once. his mouth was hot, possessive, his hand slipping to your thigh, then gripping, pulling you into him as you moaned against his lips.
you tasted everythingâdesperation, desire, the salt on his skin from sweat, the sound of his breath ragged and wild. you clung to him, your fingers digging into his bare shoulders as he leaned you back slowly onto the hallway floor, his body covering yours, fitting against you perfectly. your thighs opened for him without thought, welcoming the pressure of his hips between them, the hardness of him pressing directly against the wet heat soaking your panties.
âfuck, y/n,â he groaned against your mouth, âyou have no idea what you do to me.â
his hand slid beneath the hem of the shirtâhis shirtâthe one you wore to sleep every night, the one that smelled like him. his palm caressed your waist, your ribs, then cupped your breast softly over the fabric of your bra, his thumb teasing the sensitive peak until you whimpered, arching up into him.
âyou shouldnât be here,â he rasped, but didnât stop. âiâm trying so hard to do this right. to be careful.â
âthen donât,â you whispered back, your voice broken, needful. âdonât be careful.â
his eyes burned into yours.
his lips kissed down your jaw, your neck, biting softly at the tender skin just below your ear. âyouâre gonna make me lose it,â he growled.
âmaybe i want you to.â
his hand slipped lower, over your stomach, fingers grazing the band of your pantiesâwhen suddenlyâ
a sharp knock on the front door shattered the moment.
you both froze.
his chest rose and fell against yours, his forehead dropping to your shoulder.
another knock. then a voice from outside.
âgovernment delivery. lights restored. system check.â
âfuck,â he hissed.
he helped you sit up, both of you breathing like youâd just run miles.
you looked at each other.
your lips swollen. your skin flushed. your bodies aching.
you wanted to scream.
but instead you swallowed it down, tugged the shirt over your thighs, stood on shaky legs. he followed you in silence, running a hand through his messy hair, still visibly hard, still clearly affected.
âiâm sorry,â he whispered.
you didnât respond.
because you werenât sure you wanted him to be.
you werenât sure what you expected when you whispered, maybe i want you to. maybe you thought he would pull away, maybe heâd laugh and tell you to go to bed, that you were just talking nonsense, caught up in the tension of it all. but he didnât. instead, the room stayed still, save for the thrum of the rain against the windows and the sound of his breathing, which was slow, deep, heavier now, as he looked down at you with something dark and burning in his eyes.
his voice was low, but not soft. "do you know what you're saying?" he asked, barely above a whisper. you nodded, your throat too tight to speak. you could feel his body, warm and solid, pressed against yours as he leaned in again, and this time the kiss wasnât tentative. it was hungry, deeper, drawn out, and you could taste the restraint in him, the way he held himself back even as his hand gripped your waist tighter.
you barely noticed how he guided you back onto the mattress until your head hit the pillow. your fingers curled around the fabric of his shirt, the same one you'd stolen from him to sleep in, and now it was twisted between your hands as he kissed you again and again, lips trailing down the line of your jaw, the hollow of your throat, your pulse fluttering under his mouth.
every touch was slow, deliberate. when his hands slid under the hem of the shirt you wore, it wasnât rushedâit was reverent. he looked at you like you were something sacred, something heâd been aching for, something forbidden and now finally his. his fingers traced the line of your hip, the soft skin just beneath your navel, pausing just above the waistband of your panties. you shivered beneath him, your body responding before your mind could catch up.
"tell me if you want me to stop," he murmured, his forehead pressed against yours. you shook your head immediately, a breathy no escaping your lips before you could second guess it. and something in him broke. or maybe it snapped into place. he kissed you like it was the only thing keeping him alive, his hands roaming, learning the shape of you, the softness of your thighs, the arch of your back as you gasped under his touch.
he took his time. he whispered how beautiful you were, how long he had wanted you like this, how the thought of you in his bed had driven him insane since that first night the storm pushed you into his arms. every kiss lower was met with a pause, a glance, asking, confirming, cherishing. his hands didnât fumble; they explored, gentle and firm, his mouth hot against your skin.
you had never felt like this before. it was more than arousalâit was a kind of unraveling, a melting of all the fear and restraint you had carried for so long. the rules, the systems, the cold logic of the world outsideânone of it existed here. here, in his arms, you were just a girl wanting a boy. no laws. no assignments. no duties.
just him. just you.
and when he finally touched you, really touched you, the moan that escaped you was soft, stunned, your fingers digging into his shoulder as he kissed the side of your neck. you were wet, aching, needy in a way you hadnât even known your body could feel, and yeonjun seemed to know exactly how to handle youâteasing, stroking, whispering your name like it was a prayer.
his own self-control was fraying at the edges. you could feel it in the way his breath hitched, the way his voice broke when he groaned your name against your collarbone, the way his hips rocked against your thigh without even realizing it.
"you make me crazy," he whispered, biting gently at your shoulder. "since that kiss. since that first night. fuckâi think about you all the time. you wearing my shirt, you laughing in the kitchen, you sleeping next to meâ"
"yeonjun," you gasped, your back arching as his fingers slid beneath your panties, finally, finally touching you where you needed him most. he cursed under his breath, kissing you again as your legs parted naturally for him.
he kept you on the edge, slow, patient, as if he was memorizing every sound you made, every breath you took. he didnât rush to have youânot yet. this was still the prelude, the first taste, the careful unraveling. but you were close. too close.
and then.
he leaned over you again, lips brushing your ear, his voice hoarse. "can i make love to you?"
you nodded, heart pounding. "yes. please."
every movement after that was reverent, every sigh swallowed into a kiss, every tremble in your limbs steadied by his hands. he helped you out of your panties, gently, and shed his own clothes with a kind of urgency that was quiet, controlled, but full of need. when he settled between your legs, he paused, eyes meeting yours with a question so full of tenderness it made your chest ache.
his hand wrapped around himself, and your breath caught in your throat. he was thick, longâtoo much. your eyes widened without meaning to, and he noticed, chuckling softly as he kissed the corner of your mouth.
âitâs okay,â he whispered, but your voice came out shaky when you murmured. âit wonât fitâŠâ he hushed you gently, his palm stroking down your thigh.
âweâll go slow,â he promised, though the way his jaw clenched told you even he was struggling to hold back.
the stretch was new, unfamiliar, but he moved slowly, letting you adjust, kissing you through the discomfort, murmuring praises against your lips. he held you like you were fragile, like the world would stop spinning if he hurt you, and when you finally relaxed around him, he moved with a rhythm that spoke of restraint and reverence, yet underneath it burned a fire he could barely contain.
it was gentle, yes, but not shy. it was soft, but not without heat. the way he groaned when your nails scraped down his back, the way he whispered your name like it anchored himâit was everything. his hands never stopped touching you, his mouth never far from yours, and the way he looked at you made you feel like you were the center of the universe.
the pace picked up only slightly, but the angle shifted when he gently maneuvered your body, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder before whispering, âturn around for me, baby.â your heart skipped as you obeyed, rolling onto your stomach, your cheek resting against his pillow, flushed and dazed, breath hot against the fabric. he settled behind you, large hands caressing the curve of your hips, his voice low and rough against your ear. âyou look so good like this⊠fuck, i could lose my mind.â
you felt him guide himself back in, slower this time, deeper, and the gasp that left you was nothing short of a whimper, your back arching instinctively. the new position had him hitting that spotâthe spotâwith a precision that made your eyes roll back, your mouth dropping open against the pillow. âyeonjunâoh my godââ you choked, voice muffled, and he groaned above you, one hand gripping your waist as the other gently turned your face just enough so he could kiss your parted lips. âlook at you,â he breathed, panting, watching your blissed-out expression with dark, desperate eyes. âyou feel so fucking goodâso tight around me⊠you were made for me, werenât you?â
your voice came out broken, shaking. âit feels s-so good⊠i canâtâyeonjun, iââ but you didnât need to finish. he could feel it. your body clenching around him with every slow, deep thrust. he bent over you, chest pressed to your back, skin to skin, and whispered filth in your ear in between kisses down your spine. âsuch a good girl,â he rasped, âtaking me so well⊠fuck, iâm close. i canâtâi need to pull outâŠâ
you nodded weakly, barely able to breathe, trembling as he gave one more thrust, then anotherâand with a strangled moan of your name, he pulled out and spilled his release onto the dip of your lower back, hot and heavy against your skin, dripping down to your ass. he groaned, his forehead against your shoulder, panting hard as he tried to come down from the high. âfuck, youâre perfect,â he murmured, voice ragged. âso fucking perfect.â
when he collapsed beside you, he didnât pull away. his arms wrapped around you, pulling you into his chest, both of you still catching your breath. the rain still tapped gently against the windows, the room now full of the scent of sweat and skin, of something new, something sacred.
"iâve wanted you for so long," he murmured against your hair.
"i know," you whispered back, curling into him.
and for once, you didnât feel cold. you didnât feel alone. you didnât feel like someone forced into something by a cruel system. you felt wanted. chosen.
his.
yours.
the morning came too quickly, the sun bleeding gently through the curtains, casting a golden warmth across the tangled sheets. your body still ached in the most delicious ways, and your skin was marked with soft reminders of his mouth, his hands, the way he held you like you were breakable and wanted all at once. you hadnât said much when you woke. yeonjun had only kissed your forehead, helped you get dressed, and now you were sitting in the waiting room of the ministryâs planning clinic, the air sterile and overly bright.
the doctor, a warm-looking woman with gentle eyes and an enthusiastic tone, greeted you both like old friends. âah! newlyweds,â she smiled, scanning her clipboard. âi see youâve finally started your sexual life together. thatâs wonderful news!â
your cheeks flamed immediately, and beside you, yeonjun coughed, suddenly fascinated by a poster about prenatal vitamins on the wall. âuh, yeah,â you mumbled, barely able to meet her gaze.
âgood, good,â she said brightly, motioning for you to follow her behind a curtain for a quick checkup. âwe need to make sure everythingâs healthy and progressing normally. itâs still early, but we want to optimize for fertility, yes?â
you nodded, letting her guide you onto the examination table. her hands were professional, but the whole thing still made your stomach twist. you were soreâstill a little tenderâand she noticed, humming under her breath.
âyouâre fine,â she reassured you, adjusting her gloves. âsome sensitivity is natural after a first experience. but youâre healthy, everything looks good.â she smiled. âdo you track your cycle, darling?â
you nodded slowly, fingers tightening on the edge of the table. âyes⊠i keep a calendar.â
âperfect. when was your last period?â
you told her, and she did some quick math on her tablet before her smile brightened. âthen your most fertile window should be starting in about four days. if youâre trying to conceiveâand you should be, of courseâitâs best to be active every other day during that period. that increases the chances significantly.â
you wanted to sink into the floor. âo-oh.â
âdonât be shy. this is natural.â she patted your knee, then stood. âyouâre young and healthy. your compatibility score is ideal. You just need to be consistent now. and relaxed. it should be something enjoyable.â
you werenât sure what your face looked like when you stepped out, but yeonjun blinked and stood instantly. the doctor gave him a little wink and whispered something about keeping the environment fun, and you could practically feel the tension coil between your ribs as you exited the building together.
the ride home was quiet for a while. the hum of the engine, the soft buzz of traffic, the way your thighs were pressed together beneath your dress. he tapped the wheel with his fingers, sneaking glances at you out of the corner of his eye.
finally, you exhaled. âshe said iâm entering my fertile window soon.â
his hands stilled on the steering wheel.
âin four days,â you added, your voice too high, too soft.
âoh.â
another silence.
âand she said we shouldâuhâevery other day. during that window. for higher chances.â
âright.â he adjusted his grip again. âmakes sense.â
but neither of you looked at each other. because the thing was, last night hadnât felt like a scheduled duty. it hadnât felt like a requirement, or a step in a plan designed by the state. it had felt messy, desperate, slow, sweet, and hungry. it had felt human.
and now the idea of doing it again, like you were just checking off boxes on a clinical list, felt⊠weird.
âdoes it feel weird?â you blurted, staring out the window.
yeonjun looked at you, startled. âwhat?â
âthis. talking about it. like itâs a chore or something. when last nightââ you trailed off, cheeks heating.
he nodded slowly. âit feels weird because it wasnât just about the system. it was⊠about us.â his voice was quiet, unsure, but honest.
you twisted your fingers in your lap, the weight of his words settling between your thighs like the lingering ache from last night. you didnât know how to act nowâhow to go from that kind of vulnerability to pretending you were just following instructions.
âi want to do it again,â you admitted, so softly it couldâve been mistaken for a breath. âbut not because of the calendar. because⊠i liked how it felt. with you.â
his knuckles tightened on the wheel, his jaw clenching as he looked at you again. something in his eyes flickeredâwarm, molten, restrained. âgood,â he said roughly. âbecause i havenât stopped thinking about it since i woke up.â
your breath caught.
the red light ahead turned green, but neither of you were breathing normally anymore.
this wasnât just about reproduction.
not anymore.
and neither of you knew how to navigate that yetâbut the thought of exploring it again?
set your blood on fire.
you didnât even make it past the front door.
as soon as it clicked shut behind you, he turned to you like something had snapped loose inside himâlike the silence in the car, the weight of what had been said at the clinic, the image of you squirming in your seat all flushed and embarrassed, had pushed him past the edge. his hand cupped the back of your neck, pulling you in with a force that made your breath stutter, his lips crashing into yours with none of the hesitation from the night before. it was needâpure, undiluted needâand you melted into it like youâd been waiting all day.
your back hit the wall, your fingers clawing at the hem of his shirt, dragging it up over his abs while he kissed you like it was the only thing keeping him alive. his hands found your thighs, lifted you slightly, pressing your hips together in a rhythm already too hungry for the softness of conversation.
you moaned into his mouth, and that was itâhe growled low in his throat, carrying you the few messy steps to the living room, collapsing with you onto the couch in a tangle of limbs and breathless gasps. you straddled him instinctively, the dress you wore bunching at your hips, and the way you ground down against him made him curse under his breath, hands tightening on your waist.
"fuck, baby, you're driving me insane," he muttered, kissing down your jaw, your neck, your collarbone, dragging the straps of your dress off your shoulders as his thumbs traced soft, dizzying circles into your skin.
"then do something about it," you whispered, breathless, rocking your hips again just to feel him buck up into you, so hard already it made your mouth go dry.
he didn't need more encouragement.
he kissed down your chest, taking his time, pulling down the top of your dress to reveal more skin, his mouth hot and greedy as he licked and sucked at your breasts, tongue flicking over your nipple until you were gasping his name. his fingers pushed the fabric higher, baring your panties and the damp patch growing darker by the second, and he groaned, burying his face between your thighs like he needed to taste you just to stay sane.
you cried out, your hands tangled in his hair, legs shaking as his tongue worked slow, devastating circles against your clit, sucking gently, teasing you with the edge of release only to pull away. âso wet for me already,â he whispered, voice thick, lips glistening. âyouâve been thinking about this since the car, havenât you?â
you nodded, eyes fluttering shut, and he rewarded you by sucking harder, his fingers slipping inside to stretch you just right, his other hand holding your hips down while you rode the edge again and again until you whimpered, begging, thighs trembling.
âplease, yeonjun⊠i need you, now.â
he didnât make you ask twice.
he pulled you onto his lap again, kissing you deep, letting you taste yourself on his lips. and then he stood, shifting you onto the couch, turning your body gently, hands guiding your knees onto the cushions, your chest pressed to the armrest, your ass up for himâoffered, exposed, throbbing.
"youâre so fucking perfect like this," he whispered, one hand sliding up your spine, the other gripping your hip as he positioned himself behind you, dragging the tip of his cock along your slit, teasing, wet and hot.
you whimpered, pushing back slightly, and when he slid in, inch by inch, you gaspedâeyes rolling back, the stretch sharp and addictive all over again.
âfuck, you feel even tighter like this,â he groaned, sinking in all the way until your ass met his hips. âyouâre gonna ruin me.â
he started to move slowly, the position letting him hit deeper, every thrust punching little moans from your lips. the slap of skin against skin echoed through the room, his hands gripping your waist, your thighs, your hair. and still, he kissed your spine, leaned over you, whispered filth against your neck.
âyou like this, baby? you like being fucked like this?â
âyesâyes, fuck, yeonjunâit feels so goodââ
he reached around, rubbed slow circles against your clit as he fucked into you deeper, faster, making you cry out into the pillow, your body arching under him, thighs shaking again.
"let me see your face," he panted, one hand turning your head slightly so he could kiss you, so he could see your expressionâyour flushed cheeks, your lips parted, eyes unfocused.
âyouâre so fucking beautiful like this,â he growled. âyouâre gonna make me come just looking at you.â
you felt it building again, heat coiling low in your belly, your body tightening, trembling, your moans turning desperate as he kept you right on the edge, hitting that perfect spot inside you over and over.
âyeonjunâiâm gonnaââ
âme tooâfuckâi need to pull outââ
but you reached back, grabbing his hand, voice shaking. âdonât. please. come inside.â
he choked on a moan, hips stuttering, and then he was spilling into you with a groan so deep it made your toes curl, holding you tight as he filled you completely, shaking from the force of it. your own climax hit just seconds later, white-hot and blinding, and you collapsed onto the couch, boneless, his body draped over yours, both of you gasping for air.
his come dripped slowly down your thighs, warmth spreading between them, and he didnât moveâjust pressed gentle kisses to your shoulder, your back, your spine, whispering your name like it was the only word he knew.
neither of you said anything for a long time.
but you both knew.
there was no going back.
the following days slipped into a blur of aching need and restless nights. you both tried to keep the doctorâs advice in mind, to space out your moments, to give your bodies time to recover, but desire doesnât listen to calendars or rules. every morning, before you left for university, you found yourselves tangled together, breathless and desperate, fingers tracing familiar curves as if memorizing every inch again and again. afternoons after classes werenât any different; the moment you closed the door behind you, yeonjunâs hands were already on your waist, pulling you close, his lips claiming yours with the same fierce hunger that never dulled.
and every time he pulled you close, you let him come inside youâevery timeâforgetting the cautious rhythm the doctor had suggested, letting your bodies rewrite the rules in the heat of the moment. the cool logic of planning was swallowed whole by your hunger, your need to be closer, to feel him deeper, to lose yourselves entirely in the mess and sweetness of this forbidden, stolen intimacy.
sometimes youâd catch yourself wondering if the doctor would be surprisedâor scandalizedâto know how little control you really had, how much your hearts raced and how your bodies begged for more. but in those moments, all that mattered was yeonjunâs warm breath against your neck, the way his hands shaped you like a secret only he was meant to know, and the way your own voice trembled when you whispered his name.
it was messy, it was frantic, but it was yours. and for the first time since everything began, it felt like freedom.
you were wiping down the counter when one of your coworkers, a woman named hana, leaned over with a gentle smile. she was older than you, maybe 35, and had a quiet confidence about her that made people listen. she lowered her voice just a little, as if sharing a secret.
âyou know, i was assigned a husband too. i thought it would be awful, honestly. i was scared. but it turned out to be the best thing that ever happened to me. at first, i wasnât sure if i could love him, or if he even cared. but slowly, i saw who he really was. and now, iâm so happy. we have two kids, and weâre thinking about a third. itâs scary, getting older, but i go to family planning a lot, trying to make sure itâs possible. the government even recognized me for wanting to keep repopulating. itâs strange, isnât it? how these arrangements can lead to something real.â
you nodded, the thought settling deep inside your chest. could yeonjun and you be like that someday? sure, you cared for him. he was your husband, your partner in this harsh world. you pictured mornings waking up next to him, the soft light catching his face, the two of you building a life, maybe even raising children together. but love â real love? you had never felt it before, not like this. the feeling was foreign, like a story youâd read but never lived. still, yeonjun was everything to you, and that was enough for now.
later that day, when your shift ended, yeonjun was waiting by the door like always, leaning casually against his car. you slipped inside and immediately started talking about your day, the small victories, the tiring moments. he listened, eyes bright, then shared his own stories, laughter in his voice. the rhythm of your lives syncing quietly, comfortably.
and then, on a quiet street, just as the light ahead turned red, you suddenly blurted out, âdo you love me?â
the car jerked slightly as yeonjun slammed on the brakes, both of you moving forward with the momentum. the question hung between you, heavy and unexpected.
he was silent for a moment, gaze fixed on the road ahead, and you could almost see the weight of the thought pressing on him. love was a strange word, loaded with promises and fears. but then his eyes met yours in the rearview mirror, steady and sure.
âi do,â he said slowly, voice low but certain. âmaybe not like the stories you hear â wild and all-consuming â but i love you. from the moment i saw you, from that first kiss in the storm, from every day since. every laugh, every touch, every quiet moment. itâs real. and it will only grow.â
your heart fluttered in a way that was both new and familiar, and when the light turned green, he eased forward, hands gripping the wheel a little tighter.
back at the apartment, the world outside disappeared as yeonjun pulled you close. the night was gentle but full of fire, his hands exploring with a tenderness that spoke of trust and deep desire. lips brushed your skin with reverence, soft whispers mingling with quiet moans. you traced the curve of his neck, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips. every touch was a promise, every kiss a new discovery.
he took his time, patient and caring, making sure you felt cherished, safe. the moments stretched between you, slow and delicious, as if the world had paused just for this â for the two of you, tangled in sheets and warmth, sharing something sacred.
and as you finally melted into him, the love he had spoken of filled the space between your bodies, unspoken but undeniable.
âcongratulations,â the doctor said, her voice warm, glowing even, as if she had just handed you the entire sky. âyouâre pregnant.â
the world stilled.
you blinked, lips parting, heartbeat stuttering in your chest. yeonjun, who had just stepped inside the room after waiting anxiously outside, froze beside you. his eyes darted from your stunned face to the doctor and back again, like he was trying to make sure heâd heard correctly.
âwhat?â you breathed, voice barely there.
the doctor smiled, gentle and knowing, like this was her favorite kind of moment to deliver. âyouâre about six weeks along. everything looks good so far. the symptoms youâve been experiencing â the nausea, the cravings, the mood swings â they all point to a healthy early pregnancy. weâll begin prenatal care from today.â
you felt yeonjunâs fingers slip into yours, holding tight, like he needed to anchor himself. like you were both floating. he didnât say anything right away â his throat worked around words he couldnât seem to find â but his hand trembled slightly in yours.
the tears came slowly, not from fear or sadness, but from something else entirely. wonder. disbelief. awe.
a baby.
your baby.
with him.
âiâŠâ you started, then shook your head with a small, breathless laugh. âi thought it was just stress. i didnât want to hope.â
âand yet, here we are,â the doctor said kindly. âyour next steps will be regular checkups, nutrition monitoring, and continued intimacy when you feel comfortable. youâre doing great already.â
you could hardly focus after that â her voice faded to a background hum as your eyes lifted to meet yeonjunâs. he was already looking at you, completely undone. his gaze was soft, watery, reverent. like you were something holy.
he squeezed your hand. âweâre going to be parents,â he whispered, like saying it out loud would make it real.
and it did.
you nodded, blinking away fresh tears. âweâre going to be a family.â
the drive home was quiet, but not empty. yeonjun kept stealing glances at you at every stoplight, like he couldnât quite believe you were real â like he couldnât believe the little life beginning inside you was real. his hand never left yours on the console between you, thumb tracing absent-minded circles over your knuckles.
when you stepped into the apartment, he didnât let go. he guided you gently to the couch, like you might break if he wasnât careful. and then he was kneeling in front of you, both hands now on your stomach, even though there was nothing visible yet â just warmth. just possibility.
âthank you,â he whispered. âfor this. for you. for everything.â
you touched his hair, carding your fingers through the soft strands, heart swelling. âi didnât do this alone, junnie.â
he leaned forward, lips brushing your still-flat belly, and then rested his forehead there, breathing slow and deep. âiâm gonna do everything i can to be good to you. to them. we didnât choose this world, but iâll choose you every day in it.â
youâd never felt more seen. more loved.
later that night, he held you closer than ever in bed, your back to his chest, one hand cradling your stomach, the other tangled with yours. the rain tapped gently against the window again, just like it had the night everything between you shifted.
and now it had shifted again.
you werenât just husband and wife anymore.
you were parents.
you were a beginning.
and wrapped in his arms, with his heartbeat pressed against your spine, you let yourself dream â not of what the government wanted, not of duty or numbers, but of soft mornings and tiny fingers, of lullabies and laughter echoing through the walls.
of a future you hadnât dared imagine.
but now, it was here.
growing inside you.
growing between you.
and it was love.
the apartment smelled of cake and laughter. pink balloons were tied to every chair, streamers hung slightly lopsided from the ceiling, and tiny frosting handprints decorated the corners of the tablecloth. your baby girl â chaeyeon â had turned one.
she was currently asleep in your arms, a little drool soaking into your blouse, her tiny chest rising and falling in perfect rhythm. you'd never seen her smile so much in one day, or so determined to wobble around on her chubby legs while everyone clapped for her.
your parents had cried. yeonjunâs mother had brought enough food to feed an entire village. your brother had looked absolutely horrified when asked to hold chaeyeon and had instead stood frozen like she was made of glass. yeonjunâs older brothers had been more relaxed â juggling their own kids, swapping parenting tips with you and yeonjun, their wives giggling over how much yeonjun had softened in just a year.
it was a blur of love. of family. of a happiness you never expected from a life that had once felt forced upon you.
now it felt like the most natural thing in the world.
when the door closed behind the last guest, you let out a long breath and leaned against it. yeonjun was on his knees collecting bits of wrapping paper and cupcake crumbs, his sleeves rolled up and his hair a bit messy from carrying hana all afternoon.
âi think i have frosting in places i didnât know were possible,â he muttered.
you giggled and padded over, gently placing a hand on his head. âsheâs finally asleep. like⊠deep asleep. miracle of miracles.â
he looked up at you and smiled, slow and soft. âwe survived our first birthday party.â
âbarely.â
you both laughed, exhausted but giddy, and after tidying up the last of the chaos, you shuffled into your shared bedroom â the one that now held a rocking chair, a baby monitor, and the scent of lavender oil and baby lotion.
you sat on the bed, back against the headboard, and looked at yeonjun as he pulled off his shirt and tossed it aside. his skin glowed faintly from the sweat of the day, and his eyes were crinkled with something tender when he looked at you.
âhard to believe weâve made it here,â you murmured.
âi know.â he crawled onto the bed beside you, resting his head against your shoulder. âlong time ago we were just trying to figure out how to be in the same room without losing our minds.â
âor jumping each other.â
he snorted, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. âthat too.â
you fell quiet for a moment, fingers brushing through his hair. âwhen they told me we were being assigned⊠i hated it. the system felt so cruel. mechanical. like love didnât matter.â
âme too,â he admitted, voice low. âi kept wondering who youâd be. if youâd hate me. if iâd hate you.â
âand now⊠i canât imagine waking up without you next to me.â you turned your face into his hair, breathing him in. âyouâve become everything.â
he lifted his head, eyes dark with something more than just love. âyou gave me a family. you gave me her.â
âwe gave her to each other,â you whispered, lips brushing his.
he kissed you then â slow, deep, familiar in a way that made your toes curl. and when he pulled back, eyes half-lidded, he murmured, âi need you.â
âthen take me,â you breathed.
you barely finished speaking before he was on you, lips claiming yours again, more urgent this time, tongue teasing, his hands slipping beneath your shirt to cup your breasts. you gasped, arching into his touch as he rolled a thumb over your nipple.
âfuck, i love how sensitive you still are,â he muttered against your neck, biting softly before soothing the skin with kisses. âyou get wet the second i touch you, donât you?â
you nodded, already trembling as he dragged your panties down your thighs, fingers grazing your slick folds. âyou make me like this⊠only you.â
he groaned, dipping two fingers inside you, curling them just right, his thumb circling your clit until your hips were grinding against his hand.
âlook at you,â he said, voice rough, âneedy little wife. always so eager for me. i could fuck you for hours and it still wouldnât be enough, would it?â
ânever enough,â you panted, nails digging into his shoulders. âplease, junnieââ
he flipped you onto your stomach, lifting your hips until you were on all fours, head turned into the pillow. âyou know what this does to me, seeing you like this,â he growled, running the head of his cock through your folds before slowly pushing in. âfuck, still so tight for me.â
you moaned, face burying into the pillow as he filled you to the hilt, rocking his hips with slow, brutal precision. his hands gripped your waist, pulling you back to meet each thrust, hitting that perfect spot that made your vision blur.
âtell me how good i make you feel,â he said through gritted teeth, fucking you deeper.
âso goodâoh god, junnieâright there,â you whimpered. âyou fuck me like you own me.â
âbecause i do,â he hissed. âyouâre mine. every inch. every breath. and this pussy? fuckâthis was made for me.â
your cries were muffled into the pillow, tears prickling at your eyes from the pleasure building impossibly fast. he bent over you, pressing kisses to your back, your shoulder, your neck, never stopping his rhythm.
âgonna come, baby?â he whispered in your ear. âcream on my cock like you always do?â
you nodded desperately, clenching around him, your orgasm ripping through you with a strangled moan.
he followed right after, cursing low and dark, emptying himself inside you with a final thrust. âfuckâgonna fill you up again. maybe give chaeyeon a little sibling.â
you both collapsed onto the bed, boneless and breathless, his arms wrapping tight around you from behind.
and in that moment, as the warmth of him settled over your back and your heartbeat steadied with his, you smiled.
because this was the life you never asked for â and yet, it was everything.
and now, there was no one else youâd rather be loved by.
hii I was wondering if u could write something where daeho and reader are already in a relationship and they find eachother after the first round and maybe they are upset with eachother for going into the games.
anc if it could have a bit of fluff that would be nice!!
tyyđ«¶đ«¶đ«¶
At Least We Have Eachother
KANG DAE-HO X READER
Summary- Dae-ho and you both join the squid games for the benefit of the other. Neither of you know about it, until you find each other after the first game.
Warnings- Squid Games, mentions of blood, murder, and death
A/N- Thank you guys for the overwhelming support with my Daeho fic. I am so motivated right now, it's not even funny. He is such a sweet baby, MY SHAYLAAAA
Word Count- 1,192
Your debt was not something you were proud of. To be honest, it crept up on you. It started with medical bills, then Daeho ran into some Ex-Marines, who dragged him into a bad gamble.
From there it kind of went down hill. Struggling to pay bills, borrowing more money, making the wrong people mad. In other words, the two of you were in an extremely bad position.
When a strange man with a suitcase approached you on your way home, you were hesitant. In any other situation you might have ignored him and walked away. But, you had just had another invoice from a debt collecting company. Not to mention the loan shark that came up and threatened Daeho two days prior. The eviction notice was also putting a hole on your kitchen table.
The idea of following the funny-looking card, winning a bunch of money, clearing your (and Daeho) debts. It was too good to be true, you knew that deep down. At the end of the day, you were at rock bottom. Desperate people do desperate things.
So, while slipping Daeho a simple lie about spending the night with a friend... You took off to the discrete location alone. Where you were picked up by a van. You don't remember much after that.
The regret sunk in deep when you realized what you had gotten yourself into. When you awoke seeing hundreds of people around you, all in the same position, you were noticeably scared. You barely left the bed you woke in. Only to stand with the crowd to listen to the guards and sign the needed contract. It seemed too late to back out now...
The first game was lonely, intimidating, and revealing. The only reason you weren't lying head face in the sand dead, was your fear. It struck you stone-cold still on 'red light'. The ring of your ears pressured you to move forward on 'Green light.' Due to the deadly shots to other players. It pushed you to move so you didn't suffer the same fate.
You were much too nervous to talk to anyone, you saw little point in making friends at first. That was until the realization of any team games.
After the first game was officially over and you had returned to the common room, you'd taken a moment to think. To think how it would be if you were able to walk home now. How it probably wouldn't even matter if you had died, so many people were out for your head anyways. It was all looking dark, but Daeho was your light. He was always so positive, he kept you happy. You owed it to him to keep fighting.
To keep fighting for that adorable, handsome, sweet face. That same face that was currently staring you down....
"Daeho?" You questioned, just in case your mind was playing a trick on you.
"What are you doing here!" He ran over, pulling you further behind the layered beds. His grip was tight on your arm, once the two of you stopped, he seemed to notice. At that he quickly loosened his squeeze.
"W-why are you here! I-I thought you were sleeping over at-" You cut him off, your guilty conscience taking over.
"Daeho, what are you doing here?" You rebutted, frantically pushing your hair back. He knew you were nervous.
"To settle some of our debt, but that doesn't even matter anymore. People are dying, you can't be here!" He stressed over you. He did a few takes over your form, making sure you were not hurt in any way. You thought he was finished until he slowly brought his hand up. He stuck his thumb out and seared a few drops of blood off of your cheek. You hadn't noticed them before...
An argument against him was impossible to think of, but you managed. "Well I can say the same about you! You could get killed also. Where would that leave me!" He threw his head back, pressing both hands over his face. He dragged them down, an annoyed expression on his face.
"Ohhh, this can not be happening.. I-it doesn't matter, because you're here, where you were not supposed to be!" He started to fidget with his fingers, a sign he was distressed.
"Dae...I'm also here because... I got fired yesterday..." You looked down, picking at your nails. His head snapped to look at yours. "What?"
"They were... overstaffed and, apparently a younger employee could do the same amount of work for minimum wage... So, they just got rid of me..." He looked sympathetic, but still mad.
"You should have told me. We would have figured it out. You didn't have to lie."
You thought for a second, "Its not like I wanted to lie! I was trying to help us!"
"How reckless!" He said. It was almost comical!
A laugh pushed its way out, "Oh my gosh, don't act like you aren't here too!" You started to raise your voice, frustrated.
He took a single step back, hands on his hips. "You're supposed to be the smart one! I'm fun, loving, a burst of fricken light!" He said, his words contradicting his tone, not joyfully at all.
"Whatever! What matters now is that we were stuck in a death trap! The money is not even our first problem. We might not even be alive before the day is over! Or worse, you'll be dead and I'll be left to suffer!"
He gave another sigh, stepping forward and embracing you. It was exactly what both of you needed. His arms wrapped impossibly tight around you. You could only reciprocate the squeeze. His head fell on top of yours, he nestled in.
"I don't want to argue, I just want you safe... We will be fine." He said, keeping you in his grasp.
"I know, but I just wanted to help... The man seemed so promising, that we could have a normal life again." You wanted to let your tears flow, but you couldn't risk looking weak. You had to remind yourself that there were still a couple hundred other players in the large room.
He shook his head on top of yours, "I would live in a tent as long as I was with you.... I can manage anywhere, as long as you are by my side..."
You pulled back to look at him. Your arms still wrapping around each other. "I just, I know you're not happy... I wanted to clear everything up, one day own our own house. One that we can never get evicted from." He pushed a stray hair behind your ear.
"Oh Dae, I don't care about that. I just want you." You shoved your head into his chest.
"I love you.."
"I love you too."
"What the hell are we going to do here." You questioned, peaking up from his chest slightly.
"Were going to stick together. We're going to get out of this alive." He pulled back and down to press a firm and reassuring kiss on your lips. Maybe things would be so bad after all.
Oh, how naive you both were...
A/N- Honestly, I like my first Daeho fic better. But that's probably because I am a SUCKER for emotional hurt/comfort. Anyways, I hope y'all enjoyed this one. Pls lmk how I can improve!!!
hii can you pls do head canons for dating dae ho??
bf head canons w kang dae-ho / player 388 Ëâ±đâ°Ë
pt. 2 is here !!
pairing(s): bf!kang dae-ho x female!reader
warnings: femme reader, modern day au, language, nsfw, kissing, mentions of sex/oral sex, fluff
-touchiest/clingiest person ever and he makes sure everyone knows it
-biggest gentleman ever!!! <3
-steals your hair ties when he canât find his own bc he knows you donât mind
-will spoil you any chance he can especially for anniversaries/birthdays
-always complimenting you and reminding you how much he loves you
âyouâre the most beautiful girl in the worldâ âi love you so much babyâ
-has made playlists for you before and you listen to them religiously
-has a hard time going a couple days or even hours without you
âiâve missed you so much!â you heard dae ho yell as you walked through the door. he engulfed you in a hug before you could even react. âit hasnât even been a day babyâŠâ you whisper in his ear. he smiles to himself before replying, âi knowâŠâ he looked down shyly almost like he was embarrassed. you picked his face up in your hands making him look at you. âitâs okay i missed you too dae⊠i wish we could spend every minute together.â his smile widened at your words holding on to you tighter like you were going to slip away any second.
-always sending you texts throughout the day to update you on what heâs doing
-loves watching you do your makeup/hair just staring at you in awe of how he landed the most beautiful girl heâs ever seen
nsfw warning!!! (18+)
-def a switch idc!
-thinks about you while jerking off and likes to pretend itâs your hand instead of his
-loves cockwarming even if youâre just laying in bed together watching tv
-canât help but get hard every time youâre even remotely close to him
-loves it when you take control and act more dominant
-he seems so innocent but i feel like heâs def saying the nastiest things during sex
âtaking my cock so well babygirlâ âyou look so pretty like thisâ
-has a praise kink
-eating you out is his fav hobby and he can literally do it for hours on end
⟠be sure to checkout my masterlist if you enjoyed! any type of interaction is appreciated :â)
⟠dae-ho my belovedđđđ i hope you guys enjoyed and if you did i made a part two you can check it out here !! keep sending requests i love writing for him!!! thank you for reading i love you all :)
ËłàŒê ¶ summary: five sfw and nsfw general headcannons for dae-ho
sfw headcannons
â this sweet boy truly struggles internally with how to act within society. the toxic masculinity his father had pushed on him had left him ashamed to truly express himself with others; he isnât happy with how society wants men to act in such a superior and oppressive way, but is still sensitive to people catching eye of him acting in the opposite way (sensitive and compassionate)
â he also didnât receive any counseling or therapy after returning from the marines because he still held the internal belief that being vulnerable and expressing his difficulties wasnât âmanlyâ enough
â heâs the type of man thatâll help an old person cross the street, give his last dollar to a person at the register that was one dollar short, and would bring a jar of nuts to the park just incase he sees squirrels
â he mightâve not received any professional help, but his mom and his older sisters were always there for him; when his father wasnât around iâd like to picture them taking him out so they could play the games they played when they were younger - gonggi in particular because he liked to prove that âhe still got itâ
â heâs the best pet owner ever. in some ways i can picture him having one pet that the whole family loves and spoils - yes, they wear the little sweaters when itâs cold and the boots when the pavement is hot - or a random ass pet he adores and the family is grossed out by. i can picture one of his friends gifting him a pet rat or turtle as a joke, but he takes it seriously (#1 dad) ; he vents to them sometimes
nsfw headcannons
â sexual encounters is not a place where heâll allow his fathers toxic masculinity to dictate his actions; heâs definitely a sub. when heâd found it out though, he was ashamed. particularly because it was when he was having sex with another partner - he was on top yes, but the ecstasy he was feeling at the time caused him to look down at them and beg for them to praise him (they did, and he cried in their neck afterwards)
â heâs really sensitive, and i mean so sensitive that you could probably overstimulate him if youâd made him cum more than twice
â he likes having his hair tugged; especially in situations where you brush your fingers through his hair first before gripping onto it so you can direct his gaze towards your own or when heâs giving you head
â he enjoys the sex, yes. but he enjoys the aftercare more; having you wipe him down while you praise him for how good he was makes him feel so safe. he also seems like one who gets really sleepy after sex so i donât think youâll be able to make it to the bath. but when you do, he gets really shy and flustered
â he loves seeing you wear the lingerie sets youâd bought while you were out. it gets him hard yes, but he mostly just admires how it enhances your beauty, so youâd never really had sex with them on. he does have a polaroid picture of you wearing a piece in his wallet and he protects that picture with his life - and i mean heâd lay flat on the train tracks if heâd ever lost it cause he cares about you too much :(
Warnings: shy!reader, bullying, protective!daeho, he's so fit ughhh #needthat
âââ
The tense atmosphere in the room was suffocating, the air thick with tension and unspoken threats. You kept to the edges of the group, hoping to remain invisible.
It wasnât a new feelingâyouâd always been the quiet one, preferring to observe rather than engage. Here, in this cruel game, where alliances could mean survival, your shyness felt like a curse.
You pulled your knees to your chest, sitting on the cold floor as the other players talked, schemed, and argued. The sheer chaos of their energy intimidated you.
The louder voices, the ones who barked orders or jeered at others, made you feel small. Invisible was safer, or so you thought.
Then came the mocking.
Thanos was the first to notice you sitting there, quiet and still, avoiding eye contact. He nudged Nam-gyu with his elbow, smirking. âHey, look at her,â he said, his voice carrying across the room. âLittle Miss Shy over there. Whatâs wrong? Cat got your tongue?â
You glanced up, startled, but quickly looked away, hoping theyâd lose interest. But Thanos was like a shark scenting blood.
âAw, sheâs cute,â Thanos chimed in, his tone dripping with mockery. âToo pretty to talk to us, huh? Or maybe sheâs just too good for the likes of us.â
They both laughed, and you felt your cheeks flush with embarrassment. You tried to focus on the floor, to shrink into yourself, but Thanos crouched down in front of you, leaning in too close.
âWhy so quiet?â he asked, his tone teasing but his eyes sharp. âCome on, say something.â He began stroking your cheek, brushing a strand of hair out your face.
âPlease stop,â you whispered, your voice barely audible while you looked down.
Thanos chuckled, leaning closer. âOh, she does talk. Maybe we should make her talk a little more.â
Namgyu reached out, poking your cheek playfully. You flinched, jerking back, and their laughter grew louder. âDonât be like that,â Namgyu said, his grin widening. âWeâre just having a little fun.â
You stood up quickly, your heart racing. âI said stop,â you said, louder this time, though your voice still wavered.
Thanos grabbed your wrist, his grip firm. âDonât be so uptight. Weâre just getting to know each other." His grip grew harsher, "Form an alliance and much more..." He cooed.
âLet go of her.â
The voice that interrupted was calm but commanding. Dae-ho stepped between you and the two bullies, his expression cold and dangerous. âYou heard me,â he said, his gaze locking onto Thanos. âLet her go.â
"Relax man, she'll probably want to be in bed with me by tomorrow." Thanos smirked.
Dae-ho, grabbed Thanos by the collar harshly, lifting him slightly-off the ground, though still holding on to your wrist, "Don't make me ask you again."
Thanos hesitated for a moment, then scoffed, releasing your wrist with a sneer. âChill, bro. We were just messing around.â
Dae-ho responded by releasing Thanos, his focus shifting to you. âYou okay?â he asked, his voice softening.
You nodded shakily, rubbing your wrist. âThank you,â you murmured.
Thanos muttered something under his breath, but Dae-ho shot him a glare that silenced him immediately. âLeave her alone,â he said, his tone final.
The two bullies slinked off, muttering complaints, and you let out a breath you hadnât realised you were holding. Dae-ho turned to you, his expression still serious. âStick with me,â hi voice soft. âThey wonât bother you again.â
Your heart fluttered at his words, and you felt a wave of relief wash over you. âCan I?â you asked hesitantly. âI mean⊠can I stay with you? I donât⊠I donât feel safe alone.â
His expression softened further, and he nodded. âOf course. Iâll look out for you.â
Something in his voice, a quiet sincerity, made you believe him. He wasnât just saying it; he meant it. You felt a strange sense of safety settle over you, like a fragile bubble that only he could create.
Dae-ho introduced you to his group, a small but tightly-knit circle of players who welcomed you warmly. They were kind, in stark contrast to the harshness of the others, and you found yourself slowly relaxing in their presence. But it was Dae-ho you felt most drawn to.
He stayed close to you, checking in often, making sure you had enough to eat or drink. His protective nature made your heart ache in a way you hadnât expected.
You found yourself watching him, memorising the way his hair fell over his eyes when he leaned in to talk, or the way his lips curved into a soft smile when he reassured you.
And he seemed to feel the same pull. He caught your gaze often, holding it a moment longer than necessary, his eyes warm and gentle. When you laughedârare as it wasâhis expression would brighten, as though youâd given him a gift.
One night, as the group settled down to rest, you found yourself sitting next to him on his bunk bed, the quiet stretching between you. âThank you,â you said softly, breaking the silence.
He looked at you, his brows furrowing slightly. âFor what?â
âFor stepping in,â you said, meeting his warm chocolate eyes. âFor⊠everything. I donât know what I wouldâve done without you.â
He smiled, small but genuine. âYou donât have to thank me. I couldnât just stand by and let them treat you like that.â
You hesitated, then added, âI feel⊠safe with you.â
His eyes glistened with a mix of pride and adoration, and for a moment, you thought he might say something more.
But he only nodded, his eyes holding yours with an intensity that made your heart race, glancing from your eyes to your lips. âGood,â he said. âBecause Iâll make sure you stay safe. Always.â
The quiet promise in his words made your cheeks flush, and you looked away, your heart fluttering in a way you couldnât quite explain.
You finally felt like you werenât alone, and you hoped, that this, your newfound friendship with Dae-ho would blossom into something more.
summary: you thought you'd left dae-ho behind for his own good, but fate has a cruel way of bringing the past back to life; now, in the deadly arena of the games, avoiding him is no longer an option, even as old feelings threaten to overwhelm you.
warning: hurt/comfort, some tears here and there, a bit angsty, established relationship and breakup mentioned, loving someone so much it hurts, other players mentioned, also mention of bloody and deadly squid game themes, lovers to strangers to lovers again? please enjoy â„ïž
word count: 5k (oopsi, but you'll love it, promise <3)
You loved Dae-ho. You loved him with a depth that words could scarcely capture, and he, in turn, made sure you could hear it in his voice, see it in his eyes, and feel it in every touch just how deeply he loved you. But sometimes, even love was not enough, for love could not fill an empty stomach or silence the relentless ticking of overdue clocks. With each passing day, the small apartment you shared with Dae-ho felt colder and emptier, despite him always being there. The weight of your mutual debts loomed over every conversation, every glance, every touch.
You noticed how he'd come home later and later, his shoulders hunched as if the world rested entirely on them. He stopped smiling as much, and when he did, it didn't reach his eyes. You were no better. Your sleepless nights had you pacing, worrying over bills, debt collectors, and the way his kind heart made him try to fix everything for you, even at his own expense. You made the decision after a particularly brutal encounter with a debt collector. They'd come to your apartment, banging on the door, shouting threats. Dae-ho had stood between you and the door, his body rigid with tension as he told them to leave. That night, as he slept fitfully beside you, you stared at the ceiling, your heart breaking. You couldn't let him do this anymore, couldn't let him sacrifice himself for you, he deserved better.
That's why you found yourself remembering those exact thoughts while you were having dinner late at night. The small kitchen felt stifling, the hum of the fridge and the faint ticking of the wall clock amplifying the silence. You'd spent days rehearsing this moment, but now, as Dae-ho sat across from you, his familiar features etched with exhaustion and quiet hope, the words felt impossible.
But you had to say them. You had to let him go.
"We need to talk," your voice was firmer than you felt. Your heart raced, but your face remained a mask of composure.
He looked up from his bowl of rice, chopsticks hovered mid-air, his brows furrowing. "What's wrong?"
"I think..." You paused, the words catching in your throat. "I think we need to end this."
The chopsticks clattered onto the table, the sound startling in the quiet room. He stared at you, disbelief etched into every line of his face. "What are you talking about?"
"I'm saying this isn't working anymore," you said, gripping the edge of the table so hard your knuckles turned white. "We're holding each other back, Dae-ho. I can't do this anymore."
His eyes darkened, his voice low and trembling, "Holding each other back? Is that what you think this is? After everything we've been through?"
"You're drowning because of me," your voice cracking. Tears blurred your vision, but you didn't let them fall. "I can't let you destroy yourself trying to fix things for me."
"You think this is about you?" he asked, his tone rising. "You think my problems magically go away if you're not here? That's not true, and you know it. Don't do this. Don't push me away."
You couldn't meet his gaze, your fingers trembling as they dug into the table. "I'm doing this for you," you whispered, barely audible.
"No," his chair scraped loudly against the floor as he stood abruptly, his voice breaking, "You're doing this to me."
Frustrated, you stood up too, "I've watched you work yourself to death for me," your voice rising to meet his, "Every time something goes wrong, you're there, trying to fix it, trying to shoulder everything! I can't let you do that anymore!"
"You think I care about that?" he shouted, his hands slamming onto the table. His voice cracked as he added, "I want to carry it! I'd do anything for you, because you're- you're everything to me!"
Your chest tightened, his words hitting like a punch to the gut. "And what about you? What happens when you break under the weight of it all? Then what? I can't stand the thought of being the reason you-"
"You're not the reason for anything!" he yelled, his voice raw. "The debt, the stress, it's all mine. Don't you dare blame yourself for this."
"But it's not just yours anymore!" you shouted, tears finally streaming down your face. "It became mine the moment we decided to do this together. And that's why I have to leave. Because I'm holding you back, and you're holding me back, and we'll destroy each other if this keeps going!"
He stepped back as if you'd struck him, his hands falling limply to his sides. His voice, once so loud, now came out as a whisper. "You don't mean that."
"I do," you lied, your heart breaking with every word. "I don't see a future for us anymore, Dae-ho."
The silence that followed was deafening, the weight of your words sinking into the space between you. His jaw clenched, his eyes glistening as he struggled to keep his composure.
"If this is what you want," he said finally, his voice shaking, "then fine. But don't pretend this is for me. This is your choice. Own it."
You turned away, biting your lip to keep from sobbing. "I'm sorry," you whispered, your voice barely audible.
And with that, you just left in the middle of the night, bags already prepared beforehand, your heart shattering with every step. The sound of the door closing behind you was louder than it should have been, echoing in your chest like the final nail in a coffin.
Alone in the now-silent kitchen, Dae-ho sank into his chair, his hands trembling as they gripped the edge of the table. He stared at your empty seat, the half-eaten bowl of rice in front of him a stark reminder of your presence just minutes ago.
The tears he'd held back began to fall, silent and unrelenting, as he whispered into the empty room, "You're wrong. You're not holding me back... you're everything I need."
Years passed, three, to be exact, and you hadn't heard from Dae-ho since the day you parted ways. Sometimes, especially in those first months after the breakup, you found yourself longing for him with an intensity that felt unbearable. So many times, you wanted to call him, just to hear his voice, to tell him about your day, to ask how work had been, or even something as simple as what he wanted for dinner. Too often, you'd thought about taking a detour just to walk past his neighborhood, unannounced, clinging to the faint hope of catching a fleeting glimpse of him. But you knew it was for the best, his best.Â
People always said time heals all wounds, but that wasn't true. Time doesn't heal anything, it doesn't mend, it doesn't fix. All time does is teach you how to live with the weight of what's broken. And despite the years that had passed, you still yearned for him in the quiet moments, still missed him like a phantom ache. You'd come to accept the sheer vastness of Seoul, its endless streets and countless faces, and resigned yourself to the thought that you'd probably never cross paths with Dae-ho again, not by chance, not by fate, not ever.
That's why you were utterly stunned when you found yourself standing in the expansive arena looking straight at him, surrounded by strangers in identical green tracksuits in the midst of a nightmare. The doll's haunting song, the sound of gunfire, and the smell of blood filling the air, it was pure chaos. Some of them were already lying lifeless on the ground, their blood pooling beneath them. Your heart pounded violently in your chest, fear coursing through your veins as you tried to process what you'd gotten yourself into. And even more importantlyâ
He was here.
Dae-ho stood to your right, a few feet diagonally in front of you. His broad shoulders were tense, his stance alert as his eyes scanned the room with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. His hair was slightly longer now, tied in a half-up, half-down style, and his face carried a weariness that hadn't been there before, a hard edge born of time and struggle. But there was no mistaking him. It was him. Dae-ho.
During the whole cursed red light, green light game, you couldn't stop glancing at him. He was strong and steady, helping a few others stay calm and focused as the horror doll's eerie song echoed through the air. Among the chaos and panic, Player 456 stood out. His voice rang out over the trembling murmurs of the other players, guiding them on when to move and when to freeze.
You barely survived, your legs trembling as you crossed the finish line. Relief washed over you, not just from the sheer fact that you were still alive, but also because 456's instructions had kind of anchored you when panic threatened to take over. And even then, your eyes sought him out. Dae-ho. Relief flooded you again when you saw he'd made it too, his chest heaving, his gaze scanning the crowd as if looking for someone. As if looking for you.Â
You were certain, however, that he hadn't seen you, and you made sure it stayed that way for as long as possible.Â
It surprised you later when he pressed O during the voting. Your chest tightened. Because after witnessing the pure horror of the first game, you had immediately pressed X to quit and leave this place. The idea of staying in a place like this was unthinkable. That's why you had assumed Dae-ho would have done the same.
Why would he want to stay? Did he care so little about his life now?
And the worst part? With just one single vote tipping the majority, the games continued.
You made yourself invisible. First, to keep all the unpleasant people at bay, and second, because you simply weren't ready to face him. For now, you stuck close to an older woman and her son, Player 149 and Player 007. At the same time, you watched Dae-ho from a distance as he spoke with Player 456, the former winner of the games, as you had just learned. You owed him your second reprieve, too, his speech during the voting had drawn all the attention to himself. Dae-ho spent his time with him, as well as with Player 001 and Player 390. It seemed he had already found his group.
Watching him from afar, you couldn't help but notice how he still carried that same kindness, that same strength that had made you fall in love with him. But the game of hide-and-seek came to an end the next day when the second game forced you to split into groups. Before you even realized it, your group was already at the front of the line. You were all bound together, each of you tasked with completing a series of mini-games and needing to cross the finish line within five minutes. Otherwise, you would be mercilessly shot in front of the other players, as had happened with the group before yours.
Just seconds earlier, you had been watching Dae-ho as he practiced his Gonggi part, stretching his wrist. Despite the grotesque circumstances, it brought a fleeting smile to your face. For a brief moment, you saw the carefree, boyish Dae-ho you used to know. The one who tirelessly worked with his group, lifting their spirits and even helping a young woman with the number 222 (according to Geum-ja, she was pregnant, and you could see it). It somehow hurt to see him like this, still trying to be a savior even when he had nothing left to give.
When his eyes finally found yours, he froze. For a moment, the noise and chaos around you faded, and it was just the two of you, staring at each other across the room as the guards bound your leg to that of your teammate.
By some miracle, your team won the second game. If that wasn't a sign from the heavens, you didn't know what else could be. You had been the clear underdogs from the start. Even while preparing, you'd overheard some of the men muttering amongst themselves, convinced your team was doomed. "They'll definitely bite the dust," one of them had sneered.
But when the red tape of the finish line snapped, the room erupted into cheers. Not because they liked you so much, but because they thought, If they can survive this, we'll surely survive as well. It was obvious they'd written your group off; a fragile old woman, her aimless son, a timid girl who barely spoke, a trans player still finding her footing, and you. Yet somehow, against all odds, you had crossed that finish line together.
Your heart raced as your eyes instinctively searched for Dae-ho. Across the room, he stood among his team, his gaze locked on you. For a moment, it looked like he was about to rush toward you, arms open, ready to pull you into a celebratory embrace. Your chest tightened, and you quickly turned back to your team, reminding yourself to keep your distance.
You threw yourself into the moment instead, hugging your teammates as the guards ushered you five out of the room.
Back in the dormitory, time stretched unbearably. With every passing minute, your nerves grew more frayed. Dae-ho hadn't returned.
At first, you rationalized it. The early groups were expected to be back sooner. But as the tenth, eleventh, twentieth, and even fortieth group arrived without him, dread started to creep in. What if he hadn't made it? What if someone in his group had messed up? What if, God forbid, his body was already being wheeled away, zipped into one of those cold black coffins with a mocking pink bow?
The thought sent a shudder through you, and you shook your head, forcing it away. You couldn't let yourself go there. Not yet.
Just as you felt the edges of panic begin to take hold, the doors finally opened one last time. There he was, walking in with the final group, his face glowing with triumph. That familiar grin spread across his face, and he looked as though the weight had been lifted off his shoulders.
A breath you hadn't realized you were holding escaped in a rush, leaving you lightheaded with relief. For a moment, everything else faded, your fear, your doubts, the shadows of this hellish game. All that mattered was that he was safe, still standing, still him.
Of course, the games continued the next day. This time, the vote wasn't even close, over a dozen more people chose to keep playing. You were doomed to continue these death games. And yet, a small part of you was relieved to see an X on Dae-ho's chest. That didn't mean you stopped avoiding him, oh no, you were still committed to that strategy. Every time you felt he might be getting close, you darted in the opposite direction, struck up a quick conversation with someone nearby, rushed toward the bathroom, or climbed into your top bunk and pulled the blanket over yourself, determined to make it clear he shouldn't approach you. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn't shake the way your chest ached every time you saw him.
Was it childish? Most definitely. Was it foolish? Probably. Did it accomplish anything? You didn't even know. All you knew was that you weren't ready to face him, not yet. You weren't ready to confront the flood of emotions, the pain, and the memories that his presence would bring. What good would it do to talk to him now?
And so, the third game arrived. You prayed silently that it would finally be the last.
The circular room you stood in was overwhelming. The massive, spinning platform in the center loomed ominously, while the 50 numbered rooms along the walls felt impossibly distant. The air was thick with tension, players murmuring nervously as the female voice explained the rules.
Your heart pounded as you stepped onto the platform, your eyes scanning the crowd instinctively, and landing on him. Dae-ho was standing on the opposite end, his arms crossed as he took in the rules. His jaw was set, his expression unreadable, but you knew him well enough to sense the tension radiating from him.
You tore your eyes away, trying to focus. Stay sharp. Survive.
The platform began to spin, a hauntingly cheerful tune playing as you stood rigidly in place. When it stopped, the display above flashed a number: 10.
Panic erupted as players scrambled to form groups. You grabbed Hyun-ju, Geum-ja, Yong-sik, and Young-mi, holding onto them tightly as the timer began ticking down, and you only vaguely noticed as your group joined another group of five. Together, you pushed your way into a room, barely making it inside before the doors sealed shut.
Breathing heavily, you looked up only to see that across the room, Dae-ho stood with his group. 456, 390, 001, 222. No way. Dae-ho's eyes locked onto yours almost instantly, the proximity between you both the closest it had been in years.
"Are you okay?" he asked softly, stepping toward you. His voice carried that familiar warmth, even undercut by tension.Â
The words froze you for a moment. You hadn't expected him to speak to you directly, and certainly not with such concern. "I'm fine," you managed, your voice steady even as your hands tightened into fists at your sides. "We made it."
Before he could say more, Hyun-ju intervened, and you inwardly thanked her for that. "We're all fine," she said sharply, though not unkindly. Her eyes flicked between you and Dae-ho, clearly assessing the unspoken tension. "Let's focus on staying that way."
The room settled into an uneasy silence as the timer reset. You kept your distance, stealing occasional glances at Dae-ho as he conferred not only with his group, but also with your group. He still had that same steady energy, guiding Player 222 to sit down on the ground with a reassuring tone and helpful hand. It sent a pang through you, a strange mix of admiration, longing, jealousy, and bitterness.
Once the doors opened, you couldn't wait to leave it as soon as possible and be back on the platform. You exhaled, ignoring the bloodbath on the ground and waiting for the next round to begin.
"Still avoiding me, huh?" Dae-ho's low voice came from behind you, startling you slightly. You turned your head just enough to see him standing there, his gaze unreadable.
"I'm not avoiding you," you lied, crossing your arms defensively. "There are just... a lot of people here."
"Right," he said, his tone carrying the faintest trace of sarcasm. He stepped closer, lowering his voice even further to avoid drawing attention. "You didn't even look at me back in there. I'm not stupid."
You glanced quickly toward the others slowly and exhaustedly taking their places on the platform. No one was paying attention to you.
"What do you want, Dae-ho?" you asked quietly, keeping your voice even.
"I just want to know how you're doing," he said, his tone softening. "You're here, in this mess, and... it's not like I don't care."
The sincerity in his voice made your stomach twist. You turned fully to face him, your arms still crossed. "Why does it matter? You should focus on your group. They need you."
He studied you for a moment, his expression still unreadable. "And you don't?"
"I didn't say that," you said quickly, then shook your head, frustrated at yourself for engaging. "I'm fine, Dae-ho. I can take care of myself."
He exhaled softly, his eyes searching yours. "You don't have to."
The words hung between you, heavy and unspoken. For a moment, the room felt smaller, quieter. Just then, the platform beneath your feet began to rumble softly, the motion sudden and disorienting as it started to spin again. The unexpected movement threw you off balance, and you instinctively reached out, your hand brushing against his chest before you could steady yourself again. Dae-ho's hand moved as well out of reflex, hovering near you, but he hesitated, his fingers curling back before he touched you.
Everyone focused on regaining their footing, the air heavy with anticipation. No one spoke now. All eyes turned to the display above, waiting for the next number to be announced. The tension thickened, each second dragging as the platform continued to spin, the haunting melody playing once again.
Your pulse quickened, the unease growing. You stole one last glance at Dae-ho, but his attention was already on the display, his jaw set, his posture steady despite the shifting ground beneath him.
And then, the platform stopped, the number flashing ominously on the screen. 4.
Your heart sank as you realized you'd have to split off from your current group. Geum-ja and Yong-sik clung to each other immediately, and Hyun-ju put a protective hand on Young-mi's shoulder. Before anyone could ask what you'd do, you took a step back.
"I'll find another group," you said quickly, avoiding their gazes.
Hyun-ju frowned but nodded. "Be careful," she said, her tone laced with suspicion.
You didn't wait for anyone to say more, darting into the fray, hurrying to put as much distance between Dae-ho and yourself. You managed to gather three strangers, players who looked just desperate enough not to question you, as you secured a room in time. The door sealed shut behind you, and for a brief moment, you let out a shaky breath, pretending that the tightness in your chest wasn't from leaving him behind again.
By the final round, only 126 players remained. The platform spun for what felt like an eternity before stopping abruptly. The number on the display flashed: 2.
The room erupted into chaos. People sprinted, shoving and clawing at each other in desperation. You froze, your mind blank as you scanned the crowd. Panic blurred your thoughts, the timer ticking down far too fast.
Until you saw him.
Dae-ho was weaving through the throng of people, his movements sharp and precise. Before you could think twice, he turned, his eyes meeting yours. For a second, everything else faded, the noise, the chaos, the rising panic. It was just him, standing there, staring at you as though time had stopped.
But then he moved, closing the distance between you in two quick strides. Before you could react, his hand wrapped firmly around your wrist, and he pulled you toward the nearest room.
"Come on!" he barked, his tone urgent but unyielding.
The two of you ran, weaving through the crowd as the timer ticked dangerously close to zero. You barely registered the other players anymore, your entire focus on the warmth of his hand and the steady pull of his grip.
The door slammed shut behind you just as the timer hit zero. You collapsed against the wall, your chest heaving as you struggled to catch your breath. Dae-ho stood across from you, his gaze burning into yours as the silence stretched between you.
"We need to talk," he said finally, his voice low but firm.
You stared at him, your mind racing, unsure of whether to run again or finally face the storm you had spent so long avoiding.
The silence felt heavier than the air in the room, pressing down on your chest as if daring you to speak first. You remained frozen, your back against the cold wall, your mind racing with every reason to avoid this conversation. But Dae-ho didn't move. His gaze was unwavering, cutting through your defenses like a blade.
"You've been running from me since the moment I saw you," he said, his voice quiet but laced with frustration. "And I'm tired of pretending I don't notice."
You opened your mouth to argue, to deny it, but the words wouldn't come. Instead, you dropped your gaze, focusing on the floor beneath you, the slight tremor in your legs a reminder of just how close you'd come to death moments ago.
"You don't understand," you muttered finally, your voice barely audible.
"Then make me understand," he shot back, his tone sharper now. He stepped closer, the weight of his presence making it impossible to look anywhere else but at him. "You think I'm just going to ignore you? Pretend like you're not here? Like I don't-" He stopped himself, his jaw tightening as if he were physically restraining the words.
He sighed, his tone softening. "Seeing you here, in this place⊠Do you have any idea what that's been like for me?"
You swallowed hard, your chest tightening as his words sank in. "I didn't ask you to follow me here," you whispered, the words cutting even as you said them.
"I didn't follow you," he replied, the intensity in his voice making you flinch. "I didn't even know you were here until I saw you during that second game. And if I had-" He stopped again, running a hand through his hair. "If I had, I would've never pressed O. We would've walked out right then. Only one vote decided to quit or continue the games. My vote."
The rawness in his voice made your stomach twist. You forced yourself to look at him, and for the first time, you saw the exhaustion etched into his features, the weight he'd been carrying, the same weight you'd been trying to run from.
"Then why didn't you quit when you had the chance? Why do you blame me for your own vote?" you asked, your tone sharper than you intended.
"I don't blame you. It's just⊠if you weren't here, I'd have nothing to lose," he admitted, his voice dropping. "I thought if I won, I could fix what I broke. What we broke."
You blinked at him, your heart pounding. "You mean, what I broke."
"Stop saying that," he said, his voice rising slightly. "Stop taking the blame for something we both had a hand in. I made mistakes, too, and you leaving, it didn't fix anything. It just made it worse."
Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them away, refusing to let them fall. "You don't know what it was like," you said quietly. "Watching you work yourself to death, trying to fix everything for me. I couldn't stay and watch you destroy yourself."
"So you destroyed us instead?" he asked, the hurt evident in his voice.
The words hit like a punch to the gut, and you felt the tears you'd been holding back finally spill over. "It was the only way I could save you."
"Save me?" he repeated, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "You didn't save me. You just made me lose the only thing I cared about. And you know what's worse? I thought I deserved it. I thought I wasn't good enough for you, that I let you down."
His words hung in the air, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him, your chest heaving as the weight of his pain settled over you like a suffocating blanket.
"I'm sorry," you whispered finally, your voice breaking. "I thought... I thought I was doing the right thing."
Dae-ho's expression softened, and he took another step closer, his voice quieter now. "The right thing would've been staying and letting me figure it out with you. That's all I ever wanted."
Tears welled in your eyes as you whispered, "I thought you hated me."
He kneeled in front of you, his hands trembling as they cupped your face. "I could never hate you. Not for a second. I loved you then, and I love you now."
The words broke something inside you, your tears spilling over as you finally let yourself feel the weight of it all. You shook your head, realizing the mistake you made, "I thought I was protecting you."
"And I thought I was protecting you," he whispered, his forehead resting against yours. "But all we did was hurt each other."
Both his thumbs swiped away the tears that slipped down your cheeks. "I don't care about the past. I don't care about anything except this. Right now. Tell me you don't love me, and I'll walk away. But if there's even a part of you that still-"
"I never stopped," you cut in, your voice barely audible.
His breath hitched, and he pulled you into his arms, pressing a soft kiss to your hair and holding you as though afraid you might slip away again. His body was warm, solid, and for the first time in years, you felt like you could breathe.
The two of you stayed like that for what felt like hours, clinging to each other as the weight of the world pressed down on you.
"We don't know what's going to happen," you said finally, your voice shaky. "These games... they're not going to let us both make it out alive."
His grip on you tightened, his jaw clenching. "We'll figure it out. We'll survive. Both of us."
"Dae-"
"Don't," he said firmly, pulling back to look at you. "I already lost you once. I'm not losing you again."
You opened your mouth to respond, but the sound of the announcement system crackling to life cut you off. The same automated female voice filled the room, announcing the end of the game.
The moment shattered, the tension between you replaced by the cold reality of where you were. But as the words faded and doors unlocked again, Dae-ho didn't move away. His gaze remained fixed on yours, a silent promise lingering in his eyes.
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