#soobin scenario | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

acidsoju · 1 year ago

Text

MUSE

genre: smut, college au, non idol. pairing: poetry major!soobin x art major!femreader warnings: alcohol, dom sobin, sub reader, safe sex, oral (m. and f. receiving) word count: 4.9k summary: college life can bring really stressfull times, just like what you're experiencing now; absorbed in frustration, you can't seem to find inspiration for a painting that's supposed to be crucial in your grades. lucky for you, you seem to have eyed the perfect guy to help you.

“What are you wearing?”

Your lips trembled in annoyance, trying to close the door in your friend’s face, but he was quickly enough to stop you and pushed it open. Making his way into your home, Yeonjun sat down on your couch and leaned back, turning on the tv and flashing an innocent smile at you.

“Why are you here?” You asked him, already knowing why as you had read the multiple texts he’d sent you since this morning.

“We’re partying, duh.” His eyes went down to your pink pyjamas pants. “But, please, first get a shower and a change of clothes. I'm not going out with you looking like a lost puppy.”

“How about no?”

“Agh, c’mon!” He whined, sitting up straight and looking up at you with a pout in his lips. “I haven’t seen you since Monday and we live literally next to each other” You opened your mouth, but Jun cut you off with a roll of his eyes. “I know, I know, you’re working on your arty thingy and want to get the best grade possible, but you need a change of air and I bet everty single penny I own that you’ve only gotten out of this place to buy fast food at the convenience store.”

This time you rolled your eyes, but you didn’t answer. He was right. You knew it and he, obviously, knew it too. Thing was, you had been working your ass off on an oil piece that was driving you insane. Since Monday, you had spent most of the days and nights mixing colors, swinging your brushes and wiping tears of frustration. Nothing you did was to your liking, nothing was at the level of the ideas you had in your head which were, apparently, impossible to transfer to the canva.

“So? What'ya say?” Jun grabbed your hand and pulled off the puppy eyes he had mastered since the age of two. You smiled, relaxing yourself and surrendering.

“Where to, tonight?” He squealed and jumped off his seat, hugging you tightly enough to make you breathless for a second. Jun wasted no time in dragging you down the hall to your bathroom.

“I know this guy, he’s having a party in his house tonight.” Jun closed the door between the two of you and as you undressed he kept talking on the other side. “You know Taehyun? The one majoring in dramatic arts?”

“Mhm, I've heard of a dramatic Taehyun.” You hummed in response, getting into the shower, getting goosebumps at the chilly air hitting your skin. “And you sure I'm invited?”

“Everyone’s invited, y/n. Haven’t you checked your social media either? Goodness…”

After your shower, with yourself wrapped in a towel, you got out of the bathroom and walked into your room. Jun was standing facing your closet, with a serious look on his face holding his chin in his hand.

“Don’t pick my clot-

“Here, wear this and put on this too” Your friend threw some pieces of clothing literally to your face. Of course, Yeonjun the major of fashion design wouldn’t let you pick out of your own clothes. Yeonjun as it is wouldn’t either. But truth was, he knew you well enough and had actually picked up some really cute stuff, so no complain was made by you.

You got dressed up after shooing Jun out of your room and finished getting ready. You friend waited for you in the couch, scrolling through his phone. He looked up and smiled brightly once you entered the room.

“That’s the cutie I know.”

Jun drove you both to Taehyun’s house which was bigger than you expected. The mansion-like-house had all its windows and the door opened, welcoming just anyone who wanted to come in. The loud music broking into the silence of the night mixed with laughter and cheering up screams.

“Y/n? Is that you?” Beomgyu opened his mouth feigning surprise. You scoffed; you had seemed him just last week. “God, it’s been ages since we saw each other! Just how old are you know?”

“Shut up” You smiled at your friend, who dropped the bad act and smiled back, hugging you tightly before greeting Jun with a tight hug.

You had missed your friends, but you had just picked on that fact. Being inside your house too much had mad you oblivious to natural things and feelings, it seemed. You followed Gyu to the kitchen where all the drinks were placed on the counter. You eyed all up, debating which drink you should take. Just as you grabbed a bottle of soju, Jun took a shot of tequila as if it was mere water while two boys cheered on him.

“Good thing you’re driving tonight.” You told him, an accusatory look on your face. He shrugged and leaned to speak in your ear so you could hear him better over the music.

“Guess we’ll have to crash here.”

Well that was an idea that didn’t excited you so much.

“Hi!” The previous boys smiled at you. The one speaking pointed to himself. “I'm Kai, from your department. You're y/n, right?”

“Oh yeah, I've seen you around.”

“This is Taehyun” Kai said pointing at his friend, the owner of the house you assumed, who smiled at you.

“Glad you could make it, hope you can feel better after tonight.” You looked at him intrigued by his words. “Jun told us you’d been kinda on edge lately, something about uni stuff?”

“Oh, is this about the oil canva assignment?” Kai asked. You grimaced; you didn’t really wanted to be reminded of your frustrated attempts at what was supposed to be easy for you. Still, you nodded and lifted the bottle to your lips. “Man, I get you. I struggled like four days at it, but I'm glad I finished it” Kai’s smile faltered when Taehyun nudged him. “Of course, I'm sure you’ll be able to soon, I've seen your work, it’s really beautiful.”

“Here, have a shot with me” A small glass filled with transparent liquid appeared in front of your eyes. Jun winked at you as you grabbed the glass. He even made you intertwingle your arms before taking the shot. The burning sensation did help you forget about the awful reminder that at home still awaited for you what could be days of frustration.

Jun laughed at the face you were making, planting a chaste kiss on your forehead before turning around to keep chatting with Taehyun and Kai. Just beside them, Beomgyu was apparently trying to break a record of alcoholaemia as he gulped down cup by cup strangers handed to him.

“Hey, Soobin! Here!” Taehyun screamed over the music to someone else the second a he put a step into the kitchen. He approached the group, greeting everyone with a shy smile. You just mumbled a hello while nodding in his direction. Taehyun hugged his shoulders with and arm and smiled in the group’s direction. At the same time, Kai slipped a drink into Soobin’s hands. Nice hands.

Your eyes darted unconsciously down at his hands. They were quite pretty. Like white porcelain colored, with long and slender fingers. You found yourself mesmerized by the non-stopping tapping of his fingertips against the glass bottle.

“Oh, I've seen you around campus,” Gyu said, taking a little break from swallowing down alcohol. “you won that poetry contest last year, right?

“Yeah” He replied smiling coyly before taking a small sip from the bottle.

This time your eyes fell heavy upon his features. He surely was beautiful. Your eyes didn’t moved as he lifted the bottle to his lips once more and drank, the liquid leaving a faded shiny trace on his lips; it was starting to feel like you were on some kind of trance. Maybe it was the alcohol already in your system, but when Soobin caught you staring at him intensely, you didn’t look away. Instead, you shamelessly looked at him more.

Was it possible to get the pumped texture of his lips on a painting?

“Boy’s gonna get creaped out.” Jun whispered in your ear, dragging you down from your little cloud by softy tugging at your shirt. You caught Soobin’s eyes looking at him before going back to you, before looking away. You looked over your shoulder at your smirking friend. “Let’s go rock that dancefloor.”

“God, finally” You breathed in deeply the fresh air of the night as you stepped out of the agglomarated house. Dancing was fun; drinking was fun too; dancing and drinking with Jun was fun as ever, but it wasn’t so much fun getting bumped at and pushed by the people around you.

Taehyun's house was beautiful from what you could caught on as it was completly filled with people. Just guessing, you had walked away from the living room where Jun was still dancing with some other people he knew, trying to find what should be the yard they probably had.

You walked cautiously near the pool and wasted no time before taking off your shoes to let your toes sink in the cold water, as you sat on the edge and finally leaned back against the grass, looking into the night sky.

Again, your thoughts wandered around that damn canva waiting for you back at home. It was impossible not to. Even in your dreams you struggled about it. It frustrated you so much being stuck in a place, but it frustrated you even more being stuck at something you knew you were good at and enjoyed.

Maybe I should paint a night sky filled with starts or just the constellations, or is it too easy of a way out? Maybe I could paint a scenery, but I'm sure I won’t be the only one doing it… What about a sentiment, maybe I can try portraying a feeling, maybe nostalgia; sorrow? Grief? Lov-

“Are you okay?” You gasped suddendly startled and looked at the tall figure standing a few feet away, looking down at your lost-it-thought self. Soobin walked a little closer and kneeled at your side. Then, he lifted his hand showing two long fingers while looking you dead serious in the eye. “How many fingers do you see?”

You couldn’t help but to laugh loudly in his face.

“I’m fine” You got your back up from the grass and sit properly to face him. Soobin’s eyes scanned you, unsure. You scoffed. “Two fingers.”

“Good” He nodded, smiling softly. You were able to noticed the little dimple on his cheek and blinked. Could a man get even more beautiful in less than 24 hours?

Soobin sat down next to you and looked up at the sky just as you had before. Your eyes, again, were glued at him and when he looked again at you, his raven hair falling over his eyes, your breath was caught in your chest for a second.

“Is something wrong?” He asked, tilting his head slightly.

“You’re really beautiful” You mumbled. His lips darted open. “Sorry, that just came out.”

There was a moment of silence between you two before he said:

“It’s fine. I'm the one who should have said that” oh.

Oh.

“Oh.” You said under your breath. Soobin laughed softly and looked up at the sky again.

“So what were you doing here, anyway?” He asked, looking at you from the corner of his eye as you sat facing ahead again. You hummed.

“I needed a moment to breath, y'know? It’s been a while since I've come to a party”

“Isn’t Yeonjun going to worry if you leave for too long?”

“Maybe, if he isn’t drunk enough to pass out already,” You scoffed. “can you believe he’s the responsible driver for tonight?”

That made Soobin turned his head to look at you with a concern in his eyes. You noticed the worried expression and bite back a laugh; he was really cute.

“Don’t worry, he’s not taking me home tonight.”

“Who is then?”

Maybe Gyu could? But honestly, you didn’t think he was a good option either as you recalled him practically inhaling alcohol just a few hours ago.

Sighing, you shrugged. “I'll just walk”

“Let me take you home.”

“Mh?” You arched an eyebrow in his direction. You’re sure you saw Soobin drinking too. You couldn’t help but smile as you lifted up your hand and showed him two fingers, just like he did a moment ago. “How many fingers do you see?”

Soobin scoffed, but the smile on his face was fighting its way. His teeth chew on his bottom lip, his eyes shining like the stars above you. “Very clever”

“What can I say?” you shurggued.

“But really, though, can I take you home?” His eyes fixated on you. You tilted your head slightly looking at him before answering:

“Why?”

“It’s gonna burn my conscience if you walk home alone at night and something happens to you”.

“... Fair enough, I’ll take the offer.”

“Good.”

Soobin got up quickly and offered you his hand, which you didn’t hesitate to take. He didn't loosen the grip on your hand once you were in your feet again, the warm feeling spreading all over you from your hand. You cleared your throat before taking a small step back, feeling the warmth reach your cheeks.

“Wait, let me check on my friends first.” You said after putting on your shoes back. “Wait for me on the entrance?” Soobin nodded and you walked into the kitchen again, where Kai and Gyu were laughing their lungs off.

“Oh, y/n!” Gyu exclaimed, throwing his arms around you and putting all his weigh on you. Kai giggled while you visibly struggled not to fall to the floor. “I really missed you. Do you know my friend Kai?”

“Hi y/n!” Kai said, copying Gyu and embracing you and Gyu one a bigger hug.

“Yeah, hi. I'm leaving, ‘kay?”

“Booh!”

“What? No! You can’t” Gyu protested, practically screaming in your face.

“I can and I will, Soobin’s taking me home.” You grabbed Gyu’s face in your hands and forced him to focus on your words. “Drink more slowly, okay? I'll talk to you tomorrow, promise.”

“Mmmm’kay.” Gyu mumbled, nodding softly, his eyes heavy as he tried to focus on your blurred face.

“Soobin’s really nice.” Kai added, still hugging both of you.

“Yeah, I think so too. See you around, Kai.”

Once you stepped out of the kitchen, it wasn’t hard to spot Jun’s drunken ass sitting with some random people, sitting down on a big couch on the corner of the room.

“Hi baby!” He stiffened in his seat and hugged your waist once you stood next to him. “You left me behind, meannie.”

“Sorry, needed a break. I'm going home, what 'bout you? Want a ride too?” It wasn’t your car and you hand’t ask soobin either, but you imagined he wouldn’t mind since Jun and you were neighbors.

“Ugh, no way! I'm having fun!” He giggled, but then his face got serious and looked up at you trying to focus. “I didn’t know you knew how to drive”.

“I don’t.”

“You’re not going back walking!?”

“Soobin’s taking me.”

“Who?”

“Taehyun’s friend.”

“Ah, the cutie?” Jun pouted. “’Kay, but be careful”

“Of course, Junnie.” You bent down and kissed his forehead before walking away.

Outside, you spotted Soobin waiting for you standing on the sidewalk, talking to a girl who looked up at him with heart in her eyes.

“... give me your number?” You heard her ask. You stopped in your track and looked away, trying not to interrupt the conversation.

“No, sorry.”

“What? Why not?” she whined, only gaining a heavy sigh from the boy in front of her.

“Do I know you?”

“Well, I’m-

“Oh, y/n, you ready?” Soobin caught the sight of you a few feet behind and smiled, completely ignoring the girl who he just got cut off. “Let’s go”.

“Are you… sure?” you asked, not really moving from your spot, looking at the girl beside him. He nodded enthusiastically, which, of course, made you want to smile since he was so cute, but you hold it back.

“Yeah, hurry, I wanna leave.” Soobin quickly took a few steps to you and pulled from your sleeve. “C’mon.”

You mumbled a goodbye to the girl who looked at him with a sad look and walked behind him to his car. He opened the door for you and waited till you got in to close it. The inside was warm compared to the coldness of the night and Soobin's scent reached your senses as soon as you were in the car.

He started driving once you told him your direction. The only thing you could hear was each other’s beath and it made you feel kinda nervous, so you asked Soobin if hearing music while driving was okay for him, to which he agreed before you turned on the radio.

“Looks like you’re kinda popular.” You said trying to start a conversation for the ride not to feel so long. “You won last year’s poetry contest, you said?”

“Yeah, did you read it?” He asked, his eyes never leaving the road in front of him.

You hadn’t. You did remember last year’s furor about that guy who’d won, even Jun said it was a really wonderful written piece. Still, when you had tried to read it you ended up falling asleep. After all, reading wasn’t exactly your forte.

“Something like that.” Your mumbled, gaining a soft laugh from the driver.

“What does that even mean?”

“It means I tried but fell asleep,” You confessed, chewing on your lip. “but in my defense I’m an art major, I don’t really do words. Besides, you haven’t seen any of my works bef-

“Oh, but I have thought.” He said, cutting you off -which seemed like kind of a habit if you were honest-, looking a second at you from the corner of his eyes. “I’ve seen your work, you're great. I could tell you love what you do just from that expo last semester... I like it when people do what they enjoy."

You sighed, shifting in your seat. “I like it too but honestly, recently it’s been too much.”

“How so?”

You told Soobin about your daily struggle with the the oil assignment you couldn’t get done. How you’d tried changing the topic of the painting, new ideas, new techniques, but nothing felt right.

“I get what you say, I’ve had moments when my writing doesn’t go as I’d want. It really is consuming.”

“Really? How did you pulled it off?” You asked, genuinely curious. Soobin stayed silent a second too long before clearing his throat, a fade shade of red tinting his ears.

“I found some ways to relieve stress.” Oh.

Oh.

“You think you could show me?”

Soobin's lips stretched into a little smirk. He stopped the car in the parking lot of your building, finally turning to look at you. His hands quickly unfastened his seatbelt before leaning in towards you, his big hand cupping your cheek. “Would you like that?” His dark eyes stared intensely at you, his thumb caressing your soft skin.

As soon as the door of your place closed behind your back, you were pressed against it. Soobin’s lips crashed hardly onto yours making you groan in a pain, that quickly subsided. His hands grabbed your hips firmly; his hot breath hitting against your face as he tilted his head to a side, deepening the kiss and poking your lips with his warm tongue.

You couldn't help but copy the gasp that left his lips when you pulled softly at the hairs located on the nape of his neck. His tongue shamelessly colliding against yours as he eat you alive.

Your breaths were heavy, painting as you pulled apart. Your eyes falling to his plump lips, darted open lips. Easily giving in, you caught in between your teeth his bottom lip and softly tugged at it. His eyes pleaded while a soft whine scaped from him, hands moving up to meet the exposed skin on your waist and pressed you closer against his body.

Letting drop his head to a side, Soobin started kissing on your neck, biting occasionally while his hands moved smoothly up and down your soft and wamr skin. By now, you were a sighing mess.

Still, nothing stopped you as your hands trailed down Soobin’s chest reaching the tent in his pants. He gasped against your shoulder when you grabbed his hard dick over the clothe. His hips involuntarily thrusting into your touch. You wasted no time as you slid your hand inside his pants and boxers, biting your lip as your hand closed around him before moving up and down his length; him, shuddering with his head still hiding in your neck flinched when you called his name so prettily.

“Soobin,” His dick twitched as a response. You reached his ear enough to plant a soft kiss on it before continuing: “let me eat you out.”

“Oh, god."

Soobin fell onto your couch, looking up at you with hunger in his eyes as you studied him carefully. Soobin’s red ears, his heated breath, the intense look in his eyes, his parted open, delicious lips, the way his thighs opened wide for you to place in between them, the tip of his cock coyly sticking up to his abdomen and barely showing from under his clothes. He looked so fucking hot waiting for you.

You grabbed the collar of his shirt and slowly close your lips around him, enjoying the taste of him. His hands grabbed the back of your thighs, just underneath of your ass, and it felt like his fingers were melting down with you. Your mouth moved down, from his lips to his neck and then his chest, down to his abdomen reaching the wet tip of his dick.

Soobin pulled of his shirt over his head, his hair ruffling even more while you pulled down both his jeans and boxers. A hard, raspy groan erupted from the back of his throat when your pretty lips covered his leaking, tasting his pre-cum on your tongue.

“Fuck, y/n…” He mumbled, looking down at you with half-lidded eyes as you tried to take all of him in your mouth which, was pretty fucking difficult as he was just too big. Still, you pushed yourself down on his length, eyes watering up as his tip reached the back of your throat. “So fucking h-hot."

His groaning continued as you bobbed your head up and down, feeling his dick twitching as you whined whenever his tip reached deep inside your mouth.

You knew he was close once he started bucking up his hips, thrusting into your mouth at a fast pace while you let him fucked your mouth, your own spit slidding down your chin. The ropes of cum filled your throat and you quickly swallowed it down, the clenching of your mouth making Soobin shudder as he was sensitive.

“Not fair, come here.” He panted. His hand clasped your cheeks and kissed you, tasting himself on your mouth, both groaning at each other. He swiftly changed positions and laid you down on the couch, with himself kneeling in between your legs. His fingers quickly pulling off your own clothes and blindly throwing them somewhere in the room.

“This was supposed to be me helping you out, not the other way around, baby.” You ignored the way your cheeks burned up, not really sure if it was because your bare core facing the gorgeous man in front of you or the way he called you baby.

He laid down on his chest, grabbing your tights and throwing them over his shoulders. His hot breath against your core made you shiver. His eyes were glued to your wet entrance; his lips turning into a quick smirk, glancing up at you, tongue linking his swollen lips.

“You’re already so wet, did you like my dick that much?”

“Shut up, just eat me out alrea- oh” Soobin’s tongue’s long lick against your wet folds was a very nice way to cut you off. He gave a few more licks against your entrance, which had you rolling your eyes till the back of your head, while his nose rubbed against your clit, humming at the taste of you.

Unconsciously, your hands grabbed his hair and pulled making him groan against your pussy. One of his large hands pressed down on your stomach, trying to keep your hips in place when you started grinding against his face.

You moaned at the pretty sight of him between your legs; his eyebrows knitted togheter while his head moved up and down, eating you out like some kind of starved man. When he inserted a finger in your core, you threw your head back biting down on your lip to prevent being so loud.

"Fuck... s'close, Soobin." Oh, the way you said his name was music to his ears. He inserted another one of his pretty fingers into you, fucking you with them while his tongue rolled over and over against your knob. He felt your gummy walls clenching around his fingers before they were all covered in the juices.

You panted heavily as if you had run a marathon while he sat down on his knees again, taking out of you his fingers before licking them clean, his eyes fixated on yours.

“You good?”

“Are you kidding? I could do this all night.” You answered, trying to sound cool. He chuckled and towered over you, kissing you hungerly while griding down his trobbing cock against your wet cunt.

“W-wait.” You pushed him a little. He petrified. “A condom.”

Oh, right. He forgot. Was he about to have unprotected sex with you? He waited patiently while you looked for one in your room and when you came back, he took it off your hands and put it on really fast; you couldn’t help but chuckle at his eagerness.

You climbed over his lap, straddling him. His hands pressed against your ass, positioning you just above his tip. He looked up at you with such enthusiasm you couldn’t help to softly caress his cheek before sliding down on his dick. His eyes rolled to the back of his head while his plump lips formed a perfect 'o' shape. Fuck, he was so hot.

“You’re so- fuck, baby, still so tight, uh?" Soobin quickly pulled off your shirt over your head and unclasped your bra before his mouth covered one of your exposed breasts, licking at your nipple while the other one was masaged by his hand. He moaned still with your breast filling his mouth when he felt you clenching around him. "Fucking ride me, baby, please."

You started bouncing up and down his length; his feeling pressing hard into your skin as he moaned, looking up at you with his bottom lip clasped by his teeth if he wasn't busy licking at your breasts. You threw your head back when he started bucking up his hips into you, hardening your pace.

"Gonna c-cum, gonna cum, baby." He said, panting and squeezing your ass so hard that it felt numb.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck." You chanted, the hard slaps of his heavy balls hitting against your core driving your insane. You couldn't even say anything before you cummed, your walls clenching so hard against Soobin's cock. He grunted at the feeling of his dick being asphyxiated by your so wet and so tight insides, before cumming himself as well.

You both panted heavily as Soobin fell on your side, his head hiding in the crook of your neck and his arm around your waist. He forced himself to get up and help you get clean; when he walked back into the living room, after disposing of the used condom and with a clean towel to clean you up, you were already passed out on the couch. He chuckled quietly and cleaned you up trying not to wake you up.

He carried you to your room and tucked you in your bed, covering your naked-self with your bedover.

Should I sleep here too?

While debating what to do, Soobin looked around your room. It was indeed an art major’s room. Pilled up on a corner where some old pieces made by you as homework, collecting dust. Your desk and even your wardrobe was invaded by all kind of brushes and paint jars.

He liked it. A lot.

Soobin didn’t notice you barely opening your eyes while he looked around. You stretched out your hand and softly pulled at his fingers.

“What’ya doing?” You mumbled lazily moving to a side on your bed, never letting go of his fingers. Soobin didn’t put any kind of resistance either as you pulled him into the bed. “Let’s sleep."

Soobin hummed, a soft smile on his lips as he covered you both and hugged you under the cover. “Mm’kay, baby.”

You woke up really early that morning, embraced by a pair of firm arms pressing you against a warm body. Soobin’s slow breaths filled the silence of your room. You looked up at him, mesmerized.

You managed to get up without waking him up. After all, it was still kinda early and you two had gone to bed so late last night.

The memories of last night rushed at once into your head, making you blush from head to toes. You didn’t even notice when you sat down, facing the blank canva in the living room and started painting, sure of what you wanted to project.

Only once you stopped, and it was to send a text to Yeonjun.

you: hey can u send me last year’s winning poetry ???junnie: you mean this years?you: no, last year’sjunnie: mmmmmm, suspicious but alrightjunnie: (attached file)

a/n: hi girlies you can read the second part of muse here

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niki-phoria · 1 year ago

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I BELIEVE, WE ARE MEANT TO BE

pairing: soobin x gn!reader (no pronouns used) genre: fluff word count: 389

notes: very small drabble inspired by this soobin icon i found and txt's comeback !! barely proofread pls forgive any mistakes, title from txt - i'll see you there tomorrow

the night is quiet. under the cover of the setting sun, the only sounds that echo throughout the park are soobin’s whispered teases and your quiet laughter. it's empty so late into the night, only inhabited by squirrels occasionally running across tree branches and moths fluttering around the streetlights illuminating your path.

goosebumps arise against your bare skin when a gust of wind blows through the air; shivers run down your spine. soobin’s lips quirk into a small frown as he reaches over, taking your hand into his own. his fingers trace against the grooves of your knuckles as he envelops your cold hands into his own. “are you cold?”

“a little, yeah,” you murmur. soobin wraps his arms around you when another wind blows past, tugging you backwards until you’re leaning against his chest. in hindsight, maybe you should have grabbed your jacket before you left the house that morning. but in the moment, the excitement of seeing soobin faster was much more enticing than checking the weather.

soobin moves before you can protest, slipping his hat off and instead tugging it onto your head. you huff as you relent, remaining still as he pushes and pulls at the corners until the fabric covers the tops of your ears. “there we go,” he smiles, then switching his attention towards adjusting the fabric until the faux cat ears stand upright. “that’s better.”

you stifle a laugh as you shake your head, pressing yourself against soobin’s side once again. his arm comfortably wraps around your waist; his arm resting around your shoulders. “don’t even think about taking off your gloves too.”

“fine.” soobin dramatically huffs in defeat, relenting with a soft smile lingering on his lips. he tugs you along the path faster, guiding you towards the light of the streetlight that illuminates the entrance of the park. “come on. let’s go home and make some hot chocolate before you get sick.”

“you mean before you get sick,” you murmur. soobin gasps in mock surprise but his response dies in his throat when you turn, quickly pressing a chaste kiss against his cheek. if soobin’s fingers are cold when he intertwines them with yours, your complaints go unsaid. and if the flush on his cheeks isn’t entirely from the wind chill, nobody has to know but the two of you.

taglist (open! send an ask/dm to be added): @sunoooism @besciitos @nxzz-skz

if you liked this fic, please consider leaving a like, comment, feedback, or rebloging !! and if you want to support me, check out my txt materlist <33

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matcha-binz · 7 months ago

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yeah I think I'm gonna write abt this alot.. anyways here's soobin Hogwarts au yay ♪

since that hueka thought I was thinking of the rest of the members as students at Hogwarts, and lowk I think we can all agree that soobin is definitely a Gryffindor :p

his leading skills, empathy and compassion says so otherwise!

he looks so good in red too lmfao.

totally the type to keep stealing glances at you during Defense Against The Dark Arts, his eyes gazing at you as he watches how perfectly you perform the spells, he's in awe :3

but when you have some difficulty doing a sertain spell, he takes this as a chance to help you! and maybe stare at you a little longer

So kind and helpful! he genuinely gives good advice for spells, and even offers to give you some notes!

Very smiley whenever he's around you!

shyly cracks a smile as he greets you when you walk through the door, and when you sit right next to him throughout the lesson, he whispers small comments about the presentation about werewolves, making you both snicker at the back of class.

Causing the teacher to hush you both, which he brushes off with a bashful smile, scratching the back of his head as his cheeks paint a soft pink.

He frequents to the library with you before tests, quizzing each other on the subjects, flicking each other on the forehead if you get the question wrong!

his finger flicks sting, but he just takes this opportunity to gently rub your forehead, and he holds you tightly until you're a giggling mess in his arms, laughing as you whisper 'let go!'

He gets very comfortable with you by the end of the year!

on the train back to the station, he sits close by you, his leg flushed against yours and his arm around your shoulder, as you both peer out the window, admiring the moving scenery in comfortable silence.

this silence is broken when he speaks, his low voice softly bouncing off the empty walls of the train cabin.

"I'll miss you during the summer, you know."

He says, his words genuine, as he bounces his leg, a habit you have come to notice.

"Well, I'll send you letters, so you won't miss me too much." you tease, turning your head to face him.

a dimpled smile adorns his face at your words, his eyes flickering down to your lips for a split second, before he responds.

"I'll send you letters back. I won't leave you hanging, I promise" he hums, poking your cheek. His touches always make your heart stutter...

.. You can't wait for another year at Hogwarts.

tehe. I like writing about this.

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jeonghansbunny · 2 years ago

Text

Corrupted Priest

Rating: 18+ | Read at your own discretion

Content warnings: Dom/Sub, manhandling, crying/tearing up, unprotected sex, creampie, corruption. Please keep in mind that I wrote this with the idea that everything is consensual!

Priest soobin

Who in the beginning you thought as cute

Because he had that dorky smile

And wide eyes

And looked like a baby rabbit

Who was so young and tall and attractive

In comparison to the old priest before him

All of the other girls were going crazy about him

Trying to chat him up

And find out if he was married or in a relationship

Being as innocent as he could be

He dodged their prying questions

By telling them he's only focused on his work

Knowing you never had a chance to begin with

You never made an effort to strike up a conversation

And showed no interest in him

But there were moments

When you'd catch him stare at you

And your eyes would meet for split second

Before the both of you would look away

Weeks would go by and you'd participate in different fundraisers

With each one getting to talk more and more with the new priest

At first he'd always give you that dorky smile of his when thanking you for your help

The he'd start to show skinship

By patting your shoulder as a thanks

Something you noticed he didn't do with anyone else

As time went by you became closer

To the point of having an actual conversation

As small as it was

It was a progress

And his skinship also started to increase

At first it was harmless

But deep down inside of you

You felt that something is not right

The way he doesn't touch anyone else

Or how his elbow once accidentally touched your breast

Making him turn bright red

His cute and innocent expression

Making you forget

About the uncomfortable feeling in your stomach

Too focused on the loud beating of your heart

One night you found yourself in church

Stressed and overwhelmed with everyday life

You decide to come and pray

Soobin saw you and decided to observe you from a distance

A distance where you couldn't see him or feel his presence

A distance he has been secretly keeping in order to watch you

You see Soobin isn't as innocent as everyone thought

He has had his eye on you for a long time

And has been thinking about you in ways a priest shouldn't

Thoughts of what he'd do to you

The innocent you

Who doesn't talk much

And keeps to themselves

Who is diligent in helping the church out

And diligent in your prayers and faith in God

His wicked mind wanted for you to be diligent to him as well

To follow his words

And do everything he tells you to do

For you to worship him as well

His facial expression had turned into one that no one else has seen before

If they did they would wonder if that is the Soobin they know

Or a Soobin possessed by Satan

He catches himself and tries to focus in the moment

Rederecting his attention to you

He notices you silently crying

Something snapped

Somehow his pants feel tighter

A throbbing sensation taking over

He tried to calm down

And decides to approach you

He sits beside you and asks if everything is okay

Startled you tell him it's nothing

And that you've just been stressed lately

He empathizes and tells you he'd be willing to listen to your concerns

After contemplating you agree

And willingly decide to follow him inside a private room

Where you wouldn't bother anyone else

Not that anyone else was there

And you start telling him about yourself and your daily life

Starting to well up at the exhaustion you feel

He tries to pay attention at what you say

But shit

You're such a pretty crier

The way your brows furrow

And your lips get swollen

And how the tears leave your eyes and roll down your cheek

Until they're reaching your jawline

That throbbing sensation in his pants returns again

He decides to sit closer to you

So he could subtly have a better look at your face

You rarely saw him make such a serious expression

His gaze following your every move

His hand starts to go up and down your shoulder

As a gesture to comfort you

He tells you he's glad you could open up to him

And starts to wipe away your tears

You notice how big his hands are

And how one of his hands could cover your entire face

He must've noticed too

Because he starts to cup your face gently

Telling you comforting words in a gentle tone

So gentle it becomes hypnotizing

You lean on his hand

And his thumb starts rubbing on your lower lip

One thing leads to another

And he starts to kiss you

His hand behind your neck

Pulling you closer

Not being able to get enough of your swollen lips or your whines

You desperately hold on to his shoulders

Without realising you're sitting on his lap

While his hands wander up and down your body

Accidentally you grind on him

His gaze gets darker

His face serious

He looks mad

Looking at the innocent you

Who doesn't even realise what you just did

How his cock is throbbing because of the friction

Of you on top of him

How your white dress is riding up higher and higher

Exposing your thighs

He puts his hands on them

And starts caressing

Going higher and higher each time

Until he's holding your sides

And pushing you closer on his bulge

Repeating this action

Until you start moving your hips on your own

His eyes roll back

"This isn't enough" he thinks to himself

He tells you to wait a moment

And pulls his cock out of the slit in his robe

He starts to play with the fabric of your underwear

And move it to the side

Nearing his tip to your entrance

He tells you to continue

At first his cock only slides between your folds

But then he starts to enter you

Slowly he keeps pushing deeper and deeper inside of you

While you grab on his shoulders for support

And let out whiney sounds

His big hand rest in a comforting way on your head while the other guides the movement of your hips

He praises you

For being such a good girl

And taking his cock inside of you

And how good you're making him feel

That he's going to cum any moment

And that he's going to cum inside of you

Needy and desperate your hips begin moving faster and faster

Creaming his cock

Clenching around it more and more

The pressure in your stomach growing

You feel so good

Your eyes start to well up

You beg him with tears in your eyes

"please help me"

You can't think clearly anymore

You don't know what's going on

You just want to cum

His cock twitches at the sight of you begging him so innocently

So he puts both hand on your hips

And starts thrusting into you mercilessly

That's when you start to cry out loud from the senstation

Of his cock hitting the deepest part of you repeatedly

Your eyes roll back

While incoherently making sounds

That were supposed to be you tell him you're cumming

You start to shake from the intensity

And clench hard on his cock

Which makes him shoot his load inside of you

He groans in satisfaction

Of having corrupted you

And thinking of all the other ways

He's going to fill you up <3

#txt smut #soobin smut #txt imagines #txt reaction #txt scenario #soobin imagines #soobin reaction #soobin scenario #kpop smut

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wishpid · 2 years ago

Text

And I'm Not Special - Soobin x Reader Pt. 1

Pairing: Non-idol Soobin x Reader

Genre: angst

Warning: implications of sex, mention of a hangover, mention of hickies, unrequited love (?), complicated relationship, situationship if you may

Synopsis: You and Choi Soobin have been hooking up for a while now. While your feelings are beginning to become romantic, Soobin's are vague. After seeing him with someone else at a party, Yeonjun informs you of Soobin's commitment to that person.

More: Check out my orchard to find more of my works! And feel free to listen to 'Only Friends, My Ass' on Spotify!!

Part 2

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Since meeting Choi Soobin, your mundane routine had been broken. Being with him made it feel like time was paused. You were allowed to stop thinking about all the work you could be doing. You'd do anything for the male without him asking to.

You and Soobin weren't dating; no, you were just “friends”. Friends that often hooked up with one another, but friends none the less. Typically, you weren't the type to sleep with someone multiple times, unless they were your lover, but you made an exception for Soobin.

A sudden weight was placed on your shoulder. You turned your head to look at Soobin, who had his eyes closed.

"I'm almost done cooking, some food should help,” you told the male, focusing on the sunny side eggs.

"No, I don't think I could stomach anything right now," Soobin groaned in response. "But I do know a way that you could help me with my hang over," he teased, watching as you transferred the last of the food onto the plate. He grabbed your hips, turning you toward him.

"Oh yeah? And how is that?" you teased back, settling your hands onto his waist. Your rubbed circles with your thumbs, and dipped into his boxers. Soobin leaned in, trapping you further against the counter with a smirk on his face. You giggled before pressing your lips to his.

Your heart was buzzing as the two of you laid on the couch. Soobin's fresh hickies stood out against his tan skin. You reached out with your finger, gently pressing onto one of the marks on his collarbone.

"Admiring your work?" the male's voice surprising you.

"And if I am?" you quirked back, staring into his eyes, challenging him.

"Then we might not leave this couch," Soobin replied despite beginning to sit up. "and as much as I would like to do that, I've got a party to prepare for."

"Man, that's such a shame,” you said, watching him pull up his boxers and search for the rest of his clothes. You stretched before joining Soobin in clothing yourself.

“Yeah, a real shame.” He eyed you up and down. "Stop by though. It'll be fun,” he continued, wiggling his eyebrows at you.

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dawngyu · 3 months ago

Text

‎₊ ˚ ⊹ ིྀ 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐀 𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐎𝐍

𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀: 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝖾𝖻𝗈𝗅 𝖼𝗁𝗈𝗂 𝗌𝗈𝗈𝖻𝗂𝗇 𝗑 𝗆𝗂𝖽𝖽𝗅𝖾-𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗌 𝖿𝗅𝗈𝗋𝗂𝗌𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

He stares at you, the glisten in his eyes that you've come to know whispers his truth. His shaking hands hold your wrists. Droplets slide from his hair, tracing the sharp angles of his face, mixing with the storm clinging to his skin as he stares at your face. You feel it before you hear it. You see it before he speaks. "Marry me." It's his last attempt to keep you from walking away.

��𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌: chaebol au, strangers to lovers, angst, family issues, toxic societal norms, yearning, longing.

𝗌𝗆𝗎𝗍-𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌: MDNI, multiple-smut scene, heavy make-out, body-worship, nipple-play, fingering, oral!fem receiving.

𝗐𝖼: 17.5k — playlist.

𝗇𝗈𝗍𝖾𝗌: hi hello!! to clear things up, this is a spin-off of the main story but each txt male lead gets their own reader! (aka you, heh). other female leads might show up for the plot, but they’ll stay nameless.

(definitely read the first part if you haven’t — but you can read this as a standalone!) see the event 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄.

If there is one truth that time cannot taint in your life, it is your love for flowers. They bloom unburdened, much like the love you cradle for things that ask for nothing in return.

Perhaps you were a flower in your previous life — maybe that’s why people have always likened you to one. A flower is something delicate, something beautiful, something that marks in memory with its scent and colour. Yet if you were to tell the real reason why they call you that, it wouldn’t be for any of those things. It wouldn’t be because you were particularly graceful or charming.

It would be because you see the world through the eyes of a dreamer, a romantic, someone who clings to the smallest joys as if they were... lifelines.

You cherish the minuscule things, not out of whimsy but out of habit, because you grew up knowing that gratitude was not just a virtue but a necessity. You learned to say thank you for everything placed into your hands, whether it was something you longed for or simply something to fill the space on your plate. Even at nine years old, a meal was never just a meal... it was a gift.

You don’t blame your parents for leaving. People say you should be grateful — they gave you life, after all. And they did. But not even a year into your existence, they chose their own paths, carving out futures that no longer had room for you. And you never resented them for it, not really.

It doesn’t mean it wasn’t lonely.

No matter how much you try to convince yourself otherwise, it’s hard so, so hard to grow up in a house that never truly felt like home. Hard to wake up each morning knowing there’s no mother to greet you, no father’s voice to remind you you’re safe. Hard to fall asleep at night, knowing that if a nightmare came, there would be no one there to hold you.

No one at all.

They're happy, somewhere out there. Twin sisters from your father’s side, three brothers from your mother’s. And you were happy for them, truly. They had their lives, their homes, their own worlds to tend to. They checked in when they could — once, maybe twice a month, just enough to remind you they were still out there. Just enough to keep you from forgetting... while you stayed with your grandmother.

And that was enough. Or at least, it had to be.

“Nana,” you sigh, “You just watched that yesterday. Are you sure you want to go again?”

“Yes. Mom.”

You continued to scrub the plate she ate from, forcing a smile. She’s called you Mom again. It happens often now. Some days, you’re her daughter. Other days, her niece, a friend. But most days, you’re her mother.

And that’s fine. It has to be fine. As long as there are still days when she calls you anything at all. Because the worst days, the ones that keep you up at night, are the ones when she just looks at you with empty eyes, searching your face like you’re a stranger.

You swallow hard and turn back to her. “Did you take your meds, Nana?”

"Yes."

You wipe your hands on the kitchen towel, glancing toward the small pillbox on the counter. Walking over, you flip open the lid, scanning the compartments. She took them. A quiet breath of relief escapes you.

“Thank you,” you murmur, closing the box. “After this, we’ll head to bed, okay?”

“Okay.”

You sink onto the couch beside her, adjusting the hem of your floral home dress—the one you tailored yourself, stitching distractions into the fabric on nights when the weight of it all felt unbearable.

Mama Mia plays on the screen, the familiar melodies filling the small space between you. It’s always been her favourite movie. Even after the diagnosis, even as the world around her blurred at the edges, she kept coming back to it.

As if, somehow, it was something she could still hold onto.

You glance at her, watching the way her lips move with the lyrics, her hands tapping against the armrest in time with the music. She remembers this.

“Can I hold your hand while we watch?” you ask softly.

Your grandmother turns to you with a soft smile, her eyes whispering at the corners. She’s seventy-five now, her hair thinner, her hands frail, but to you, she’s still the same. Still beautiful. Still her.

People told you to put her in a nursing home. Said it would be easier, that it was the practical choice. But how could you? How could you leave the one person who never left you? The person who held your hand through every scraped knee, every heartbreak. The only real family you have.

Her frail fingers squeeze yours gently. Then, just as you turn back to the movie, you hear it.

“I love you, Y/N.”

Your breath halts. You tear your gaze from the screen, eyes wide, heart pounding. It’s been months — months of her calling you by the wrong names, or worse, not calling you anything at all. But now, she’s looking right at you, remembering you. A lump sits in your throat as tears sting your eyes. You grip her hand tighter.

“I love you too, Nana,” you whisper, voice shaking.

And you do. More than anything. Even if one day, she forgets. Even if, someday, she doesn’t remember you at all.

You slide the key into the lock, your right shoulder weighed down by the new pots you picked up earlier. As the door swings open, the soft chime of the bell echoes through the quiet shop. Stepping inside, you nudge the door shut behind you and flip the sign to OPEN with a satisfied smile.

It’s 10 a.m., and the morning light spills in through the windows, casting a warm glow over the flowers on display. Running your fingers gently over delicate petals, you inhale their fresh scent, the fragrance mixing with the faint traces of paint lingering on the walls — your own handiwork, soft strokes of color bringing the shop to life.

You set your bag down behind the counter and power on the computer, scrolling through the day’s orders. Five minutes pass in a comfortable rhythm before the familiar chime rings again. The door swings open.

Someone’s here.

"Good morning!" You greet with a warm smile, but your voice falters just slightly as you take him in. He’s not the usual type to wander into a flower shop. Dressed in a sharp, black tailored suit, he carries himself with an air of quiet confidence. The glasses perched on the bridge of his nose add to his composed demeanor, but it’s his presence — towering in the doorway, making the shop feel smaller somehow, catches you off guard.

Still, you keep your smile, smoothing the surprise on your chest. "Are you looking for any particular flowers?"

He glances at you and gives a small nod — a quick acknowledgment that he’s heard you. It’s familiar. You’ve dealt with customers like this before, the ones who prefer to browse in silence before saying what they need.

You nod back slightly, a polite gesture, then shift your gaze back to your computer, trying to shake off the strange unease prickling at you. He hasn’t even spoken yet, and still, something about him makes your pulse tick faster.

Why?

“I'm looking to have a funeral arrangement made.” he says suddenly, making you blink and look up.

His eyes meet yours.

You cleared your throat, "I'm sorry for your loss." You try to follow the routine speech that you have. "Let me get my book and I'll assist you. Please, take a seat."

You point towards the table, a round wooden structure with three matching chairs, a small white vase holding a fresh boquet decorated the center. He quickly followed your instructions, pulling the chair as it scraped on along the wooden floorboards before they sit with a sigh.

You took a quick glance at him again, watching as he fishes out his phone, one of the brands that is you think the latest release, and you see a unique looking rolex in his wrists. You avert your eyes as soon as you did, and your eyes catch the black car parked in front of your store.

Your store.

Your small humble store that is stark comparison compared to everything this man have.

You cleared your thoughts as to why he chose this place to buy flowers. You turned around to gather your book filled with arrangements.

"Do you run this place by yourself?" As you reach for the leather spine of the book, you glance over your shoulder, meeting his eyes already on yours.

He didn’t respond, even as you took a seat across from him. Still, you could feel his gaze following you. You pushed the roses aside, their petals bruised from restless handling, and replaced them with the open book. Its pages, worn thin, exhaled the faint, bitter-sweet scent of aged paper — a comfort you almost resented tonight.

He stayed silent, his arms draped over the table, eyes steady. His presence bled into the air, heavy and warm, as though the room itself bent around him. You swore you could see it — something low and smoldering radiating off of him, a slow burn that clawed past the polished edges he wore so well.

You tore your gaze away before it could swallow you whole.

You tighten your grip on the pen. “May I have the full name of the deceased?” Your hand drifts across the top of the page, hovering over the empty space waiting to be filled, just as you wait for his answer.

When it comes, it lands harder than you expect.

“It… doesn’t have a full name,” he says quietly. Your eyes lift to meet his. “But we call him Moon.”

Your breath catches. There’s only one meaning behind words like that. A child. Your mind pulls back into dim memories; the parents who’d come to your shop before, searching for flowers with little else to offer but love for someone whose life never had the chance to unfold. Your lips part, but no sound comes. You drop your gaze, forcing it back down to the blank page. You’ve done this before — too many times — but it still finds a way to shake you.

Pushing through the heaviness in your chest, you press the pen to paper and write the name.

Moon.

“And what are you looking for in this arrangement?” The words burn as they leave you, bitter and dry, clinging to the back of your throat. You wait, feeling the seconds stretch thin between you.

“What do you think?”

You should know. This is what you do — what you’ve poured years into. Flowers have been your language longer than words ever have. But it’s always this question that unravels you. It pulls at the seams of whatever certainty you pretend to hold. Of course you have ideas. They come in flashes,but what are they worth?

What if it’s wrong? What if it’s not enough?

The thoughts spiral fast, like they always do. Familiar and merciless, burrowing deep where you can’t shake them loose. They weigh heavy in your chest, anchoring themselves into the cracks of a confidence too fragile to stand against them. You sit there, hollowed out and grasping for something to offer this man, something that won’t disappoint him, or worse, dishonor what he’s lost.

A baby. A mother greiving. And now this man, carrying his own mourning, offering no guidance to make the task easier. Your fingers twitch, restless and unsure. You have to give him something. Anything.

“Well, for funerals, people usually gravitate toward chrysanthemums,” you say, lifting your free hand toward the cluster of blooms sitting in their vases to the right. His gaze follows where you gesture. “Lilies are another favorite,” you add, motioning to the soft petals hanging to the left. “And people often ask for—”

“But what do you think?” His voice cuts through yours, making your words falter. Slowly, your eyes meet his, and he holds your gaze across the table. “What do you gravitate toward?”

“White roses,” you murmur, your gaze flicking away from him and toward the blooms resting quietly in the front window of the shop. “They symbolize… eternal love, and remembrance.” Your voice softens. “If it were me… someday… I think it would make me happiest to be remembered that way. To be loved like that, even after.”

When you finish, your eyes drift back to his, uncertain, before you quickly lower them to the blank page in front of you. “Sorry,” you whisper, flinching at your own rambling.

“No.” His voice is firmer this time, “Don’t be sorry. Tell me more.”

You swallow hard. Your heartbeat stirs faster in your chest, a throb blooming from the tender cut on your fingertip. You breathe through it.

“Forget-me-nots,” you say. “I suppose… I’d start with a base of hyacinths, then layer in forget-me-nots and foliage as filler. And maybe top it off with white roses.”

“Think you can have it ready in two days?” he asks, his gaze shifting toward the rosebuds waiting to be trimmed on the table. “That’s when the memorial service will be.”

You nod before the words even catch up to you. “Yes, yes. That’s no problem.” You lower your head and start to write, sketching out the arrangement you’d described, even as your hand strains to keep steady against the shake running deep in your chest.

“Here.” He sets a small black bag on the table. You don’t have to open it to know — from the weight, the way it sits — it’s easily a week’s worth of your shop’s earnings.

“That’s too much. It’ll only be —”

“It’s the least I can do,”His voice is gentle but leaves no room to argue.“I doubt many would have come up with something as thoughtful as yours.”

“Please… I can’t let you overpay.” Your hand rests on the bag, fingers curling around the edge as you begin to slide it back toward him but his hand meets yours, halting you. His fingertips graze against your skin.

His eyes catch yours, and the words die between your parted lips, caught somewhere too deep to reach. Slowly, he stands from his chair, his hand slipping away from the pouch. You watch him smooth out the front of his coat, before stepping toward the center of the table. His fingers reach for the rose in front of you. The stem just one thorn away from being trimmed. The same thorn that had cut you earlier. “I’ll take this too, then,” he says. “Is that alright with you?”

The nervousness clawing at your chest tightens, cinching your breath and locking the words in your throat. It burns — sharp and hot, like a brand searing them shut. You can only nod, managing the smallest smile before your eyes drop, trailing back down to the thorn that had drawn your blood.

You reach for your shears and rise from your chair, stepping toward him.

“I’d just started working on this one when you came in,” you murmur, lifting the sharp edge to the base of the stem. His fingers shift aside, careful and slow, as you steady the blades around the thorn. His eyes stay on you, not on the flower, not on your hands, but on the furrow of your brow as you focus.

You sense the moment he holds his breath.

With one clean motion, you clip the thorn away. “Thank you,” you say, your voice soft and thinner than you meant it to be.

“Thank you,” he echoes. His tone mirrors yours, but heavier somehow. “I look forward to seeing what you create.” He turns toward the door, tall frame gliding in that unhurried way of his, but he doesn’t touch the handle yet. His body shifts just enough to glance back. “By the way… I should get your name.”

“Y/N,” you answer. The name comes easy, but your breath feels uneven behind it. “And yours?”

You’ve never been like this before. Never so openly invested in someone you’d barely exchanged a few scattered words with. Never so quick to give away your curiosity. But here you stand; unmoving, staring, studying him more openly than you’d dare with anyone else.

He smiles. Barely. So faint you might have missed it entirely… if you weren’t so completely, foolishly locked on him. Enough of a curve to tug at the corner of his mouth. And there, a small hollow moves in his cheek. Does it get deeper when he really smiles? Does his smile reach his eyes?

Your throat tightens at the thought, inexplicable.

“Soobin,”

He came back two days later. Right when he said he would. When you handed him the arrangement, his eyes lingered on it longer than you expected. His face didn’t shift much, but you caught it, a flicker of surprise, as though he hadn’t entirely expected it to look the way it did. As though he hadn’t expected you to remember it so well.

“Thank you,” he said, voice low, steady. And before you could step back or fold the moment away, he spoke again. Another request. The same one. For next week.

And that’s how it started.

It became a pattern before you realized you’d memorized it. Every week, almost the same day, he returned. Always asking for the same thing. And it took so little, for you to start waiting for him. You didn’t need to admit you were. It was clear enough in the way your hands moved faster on the mornings you thought he might show up. The way you found yourself glancing at the clock more often. The way your breath shifted, when the bell over the door chimed and you hoped it would be him.

The weeks folded into months before you realized how quickly the time had passed.

“Your wife must be having a hard time,” you say quietly, watching him from behind the counter as his fingers brush along the edges of the newest arrangement vases you’d set out last week. Your voice tries to sound casual, light enough not to pry. “But she’s lucky to have you.”

It’s the only explanation that ever made sense. The one you’d quietly settled on back when he first asked for those mourning flowers. That was how you’d made sense of it. How you’d made peace with why the arrangements always felt so heavy.

He stops. “Wife?” His brow lifts, faint confusion softening the lines around his eyes.

Your throat pulls tight. “Uh… yeah,” you fumble, heat creeping up the back of your neck. “… How is she recovering?”

There’s a pause. His stare doesn’t waver. His jaw sets, just enough that you can tell he’s measuring something inside before letting the words go.

“It’s for my sister.”

Sister. All this time, you thought you understood. The flowers, the endless varieties he carefully chose week after week — they were for his sister. That’s what you told yourself. It made sense. She must be the one who lost a child. A grief so cavernous that even the brightest blooms could barely soften its edges. You could understand it. the tenderness of a brother trying to tether her to something gentle. The quiet, steady ritual of bringing beauty to someone drowning.

But one year have passed. One year, and still, he comes.

You watch Soobin now, and something inside you twists sharp and deep. Your throat pulls tight, a burn clawing up the back of your eyes, your heart thrashing in your chest like it’s frantic to be let loose. His fingers move across the petals with reverence, the kind of touch meant for something breakable, sacred. As though each flower is an apology too heavy to speak aloud. A brother so devoted, so relentless in his quiet offerings — and surely he has a life beyond this. A job. Responsibilities. People waiting for him. And yet here he is. Always here. Always returning, as though caught in some private penance only he can feel, rooted in your little shop like he doesn’t know where else to go. Every week, standing in the hush of your little shop like a man trying to repent for a sin he never committed.

The flowers… you’ve always loved them. They’re stitched with meanings you’ve memorized like scripture; hope, solace, rebirth. They ask for nothing in return, and still, they give so much. The burn behind your eyes sharpens as you watch him, your mind comparing him to one, your chest aching in places you thought you’d long since sealed shut.

You wrap the arrangement slowly, careful with each fold and knot. Your heart thuds against your ribs like it’s trying to outrun the thoughts crowding your chest. The ones you don’t say out loud. The thought unsettles you more than it should. It coils tight in your gut, sharp and sickening. Because part of you already knows — one day, the door won’t open. One day, he won’t come anymore. You hear his footsteps before you see him. He’s seen that you’re nearly done ,the bouquet he asked for, the one you’ve handled like it’s something sacred. You feel his presence before you meet his eyes.

You don’t know why. You can’t name it, not exactly. Maybe it’s the dread that coils in your stomach that there will be a day you wake on a day he’s supposed to come, only to find the hours slipping by, the bell above the door never ringing. And before you can stop yourself, before your good sense can catch up to your mouth, the words tumble out. “Would you want to go out sometime?”

You instantly regret it, the way your voice cracked, the way you can’t bring yourself to meet his eyes. “I’m sorry,” you say quickly, fumbling. “That was, I didn’t mean to put you in an awkward position. If it’s invasive or —”

“Yes.” You blink. His expression is steady, unshaken. “Yes,” he says again, softer this time. “I was going to ask you, too.”

Your breath stumbles in your chest. You nod, unsure of what to say, heart hammering loud enough to drown out everything else, but he goes on, “Next week. Same day, same time. Let’s do that.”

You nod again, this time slower. Something settles in your chest, light but anchoring. “And,” he adds, as he picks up the bouquet, “make another arrangement.” You glance at him, brows lifting in question. “Anything you want,” he says. “Doesn’t matter what it costs. Just… make something for me.”

You swallow the rush in your throat, the spark behind your ribs. You can already feel the stems in your hands, the petals under your fingers. You don’t know what you’ll make yet but you know it will say everything you can’t.

“Okay.”

You stare at the bouquet as it slumps at the edge of the table. The one you arranged so carefully, over and over again for days.

Dawn had already cracked the sky.

Now, the gloss on your lips is gone, long since faded like the sun. The coat you pressed at sunrise feels stiff, resentful, like it's been waiting just as long. Your spine aches from sitting too straight for too many hours, and your breath trembles in your throat, thin and cold.

He said he’d be here before lunch. He said he’d take you out.

He never came.

Maybe he got held up. Maybe it slipped his mind. Maybe something urgent came up. You tell yourself these things because it’s easier than the alternative. Still, the silence wraps around you too tightly. It hums in your ears, thick and heavy, until the only thing left is the dull thud of your heartbeat, knocking against your ribs like it’s looking for a way out.

Your eyes sting. Are you even allowed to cry over this?

“Well,” you murmur, voice thinner than you’d like, “let’s get you to a vase.” Carefully, you gather the arrangement, fingertips grazing the petals. You breathe in — soft, floral, faintly sweet — and hold it there.

Your movements felt slow. Deliberate, almost. Strange, when these steps had always come easy to you, and yet, you lingered. As if dragging out every motion might somehow buy him time to show. Your gaze settles on the bouquet now resting in the vase. You exhale, slow and shallow, but no words rise to meet the breath. There’s nothing left to say. Nothing worth breaking the quiet for. Turning to the door, your steps this time are steady, unhesitant. No more stalling. You did what you could. You waited. You hoped.

And now, it’s clear; he’s not coming.

You were just about to lower the blinds when a familiar car slid to a stop out front. Your breath caught, frozen tight in your chest. You didn’t move, didn’t blink, as the driver’s door flung open before the engine had even settled into idle. There he was, the tall figure who’d haunted your thoughts for months, carved into every restless night. Disheveled, frantic, a deep frown cutting across his face.

When his eyes found yours, he ran.

The air slammed back into your lungs so fast it almost hurt. The fog, the static that had smothered you for hours, gone. Blown clean away in one look on his face.

He's here.

“Why did you wait for me?” The words tumbled out the moment he pushed the door open, his gaze locking onto yours. His face, guilt etched into every line. “You waited for me,” he said again, quieter this time. The guilt cracked, crumbled at the edges, and in its place came something softer. His eyes didn’t waver. It was awe, unmistakable and unguarded.

It was as if he couldn’t believe you were real.

The car ride was quiet. His coat rested over your shoulders, warm and grounding, as the streetlights blurred past. Since it was already late, Soobin had offered his place. You didn’t argue.

“We’re here,” he murmured, unbuckling his seatbelt. You’d somehow already undone yours without realizing it, stepping out into the cool air just as he rounded the front of the car to meet you. His hand hovered near the door, but you’d beaten him to it. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you breathed, offering a small smile. Your eyes drifted past him, brows pinching slightly as you took in the skyline ahead —towering buildings stretching into the night. Your confusion flickered across your face before you could hide it. “You said your apartment, right?”

He hummed, his lips twitching into the faintest smile. He nodded toward the buildings ahead. “Come on.”

You walked, still puzzled, trailing a step behind him. Your eyes wandered, curious and cautious, as you neared the towering building. Inside, staff seemed to scatter and straighten the moment they caught sight of Soobin. Conversations cut off mid-sentence. Postures snapped upright. The door swung open before either of you reached it.

“Late evening, Mr. Choi,” the security guard greeted, bowing deeply. The others followed suit, dipping their heads in swift, practiced motions. It felt surreal. Like you’d stumbled into the middle of a K-drama you used to watch. Like you were seeing something you weren’t meant to. Soobin didn’t slow. He didn’t pause at the front desk like everyone else did. He just kept walking, glancing back once to make sure you were still with him. When he reached the elevator, he pressed the button without hesitation. The panel lit up, and you caught the word just above it; Penthouse.

Your breath caught, but you masked it quickly, dropping your gaze. That’s when you noticed his hands, resting at his sides, relaxed. The silence wrapped around you again. You shifted your hand, hesitant, pinky inching toward his. You just wanted to hold it — just once. Who knew if you’d get another chance like this? Maybe tomorrow he’d decide you weren’t someone he wanted to see anymore. Maybe you’d bore him. Maybe he’d drift away like people sometimes do.

So just once. Just to know what it felt like.

Your fingers moved closer, careful, unhurried. Barely an inch away — Ding. The elevator chimed, breaking your focus. Your hand froze mid-reach. Soobin turned, catching you dead-on. His gaze flicked down, just fast enough to see the way you yanked your hand back, swatting it away like you’d touched something too hot. “Uh—” you blurted.

His brows lifted slightly, softening — not in mockery, but in surprise. “Stop acting so cute, will you?” he murmured, and his words only deepened the flush on your cheeks. “You’re making it harder for me.”

Before you could even piece together what he meant, his hand reached out. His fingers found yours, threading between them with an ease that made your breath catch. The touch was warm, grounding, and when he gently tugged, you startled just a little. He didn’t say anything about it. He only pulled you softly toward him and guided you into the elevator. The elevator closes, but everything feels distant.

And all the while, his fingers stay laced with yours, anchoring you gently as the world rose around.

“Do you drink?” he asks, his voice low as he approaches the couch where you sit. The bottle in his hands glints under the warm lights, dark glass wrapped in crinkled gold foil, the wine inside a deep, velvet red that swirls languidly as he moves. One glance, and you already know: it’s expensive.

His penthouse is sprawling, though you suppose all penthouses are. “On special occasions,” you admit, watching as he reaches for two crystal glasses.

“Would you call this a special occasion?” He sinks into the couch beside you, his back meeting the cushions.

“I’d say so.” Your answer draws a small smile from him as he leans closer. Carefully, he cradles a glass in each hand and offers one to you. You accept it, fingertips brushing the cool surface as you balance the bowl of the glass in your palm, the slender stem threading between your knuckles. You lift it gently, only needing the faintest tilt toward your nose to catch the aroma. Your intuition was right, this would be the finest drink you’ve ever touched.

You take a sip. The wine blooms sharp on your tongue, threading warmth down your throat.

“Tell me,” he says, lifting the glass to his lips. His bangs fall loose over his eyes, soft and unbothered, and you fight the quiet urge to reach over and sweep them aside. “How did you start your business?”

“Like most things in this world,” you reply, taking another small sip, the pungent taste stinging your palate. “A bit of luck and a bit of misfortune.”

Soobin shifts, turning more fully toward you. One arm drapes along the back of the couch, as though he’s subconsciously reaching closer. His glass rests loosely against his thigh, “What was your luck?”

“I received money. Enough to build the business.”

“And the misfortune?”

Your throat tightens slightly. You swallow. “It was because my grandmother… wouldn’t be able to take care of it anymore.” Your voice softens. “Or herself anymore.”

The quiet smile at the corner of his lips falters, folding into something more solemn. A flat line. His eyes don’t leave you, they track every flicker of your expression: the slight furrow of your brow, the quick blinks you can’t quite suppress, the faint, compulsive bite to the inside of your cheek. But he doesn’t press.

“Why flowers?”

You know the answer. It unfurls easily in your mind, sprawling and layered. But a flicker of doubt tugs at you. If I ramble, will he grow tired of me?

“I liked their meanings,” you say instead, choosing your words slowly. “How each plant holds its own importance, just by existing. It’s fulfilling. And it’s a beautiful thing… seeing the way even simple arrangements can affect people.” You glance down, your thumb brushing the base of your glass. The words settle in the air between you.

He doesn’t fill the silence or shift in his seat. His eyes stay fixed on you. The glass in his hand remains perfectly still. His gaze lingers like he’s reading something delicate between your lines, like you’re a puzzle he’s in no rush to solve. He watches without pressing, without judgment. You feel the heat creep into your cheeks despite yourself, and you lower your gaze, hoping it hides the way your pulse trips over itself.

“I’m sorry,” he says after a pause, his voice lower, gentler. “I feel like I’m bombarding you with all these questions. Would you like to ask me something instead?”

A dozen questions flicker through your mind, each vying for space. Yet one floats to the surface, steady and clear, eclipsing the rest. “Why did you ask me to make you that bouquet?” The words leave you smoother than you expected.

For a breath longer, he says nothing. And then — a soft, breathy laugh escapes him. His eyes crinkle at the corners, something warm spilling over his features, and you swear you feel your heart tighten in your chest.

It’s the first time you’ve seen him laugh. It’s the first time you’ve seen the hollows of his cheeks deepen, the dimples ghost into view.

“Well,” he says, clearing his throat gently, He leans forward slightly, setting his glass on the table with a clink. “I do have an answer. But it’s a long one… if you’ll bear with me.” You nod, something soft and weightless settling in your chest.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, voice steady, unflinching. “Every time I come to see you… you’re even more beautiful. And you take my breath away.” That ache—the one you’d fought to swallow down minutes ago—surges back with a quiet ferocity. Your bottom lip parts, breath hitching in surprise.

Soobin’s voice dips, even softer now, like he’s confessing something he’s carried for far too long. “I asked you to make me that bouquet because I knew you’d pour yourself into it. You’d try your best to make it perfect for me. And when I saw it… I knew you’d done exactly that.” He pauses, gaze never wavering from you. “I never planned to take it with me. That bouquet—it was always meant for you.”

He shifts closer, just a few inches, slow and unintrusive. You don’t look at him; your eyes drop away, blurred with the tears threatening to spill over. You hold them back with every ounce of restraint, blinking fast against the shimmer at your waterline.

“I could’ve gone to any florist,” he continues, his voice barely above a murmur, “bought flowers and handed them to you. But I didn’t want that. I wanted you to make them… for yourself.”

Your chest pulls tight, your breath shallow and quick.

“I wanted you to create something as beautiful as you are. That’s why I asked for the bouquet.” His words land soft, final. “Because you’re beautiful.”

You try to fight it. Your head lifts slightly, your gaze tipping upward as if looking higher might will the tears back in. But the moment you blink, they slip free, tracing a slow, unbidden path down the curve of your cheek. There’s no hiding it. Not from him. Soobin’s eyes track the tear’s descent, his expression open and unreadable.

“I…” You falter, biting down gently on your tongue as your throat burns, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he says immediately, “Tell me.”

Your breath shudders out, thin and shaky. “It’s just… earlier, I thought you wouldn’t come back.” The fracture in your voice is clear, woven into every syllable. Soobin hears it as easily as if you’d shouted it. His focus sharpens, tender and intent, even as another tear slips down your cheek.

Without a word, he lifts his hand. His touch is featherlight, the side of his index finger brushes just beneath your eye, catching the tear before it can fall farther. The contact startles you; your breath catches, your eyes widening at the gentle weight of his skin on yours. Though he’d caught your tear, his hand lingers on your cheek. His skin is cooler than yours, a contrast that sends a ripple down your spine. Then his finger glides down the curve of your face, tracing a path to your chin. His touch is careful, as if he’s afraid you might shatter under anything less. His fingers cradle your chin gently, coaxing, as he tilts your face toward him. Your breath catches as your gaze is guided back to his.

He’s looking at you.

Your nerves spark like a live wire under your skin, a delicate ache blooming in your chest. You swear you’ll come apart if you move too quickly, if you breathe too hard. Your heartbeat drums mercilessly in your ears loud enough, to fill the silence between you.

He leans closer. Slowly, gingerly, he edges forward like he’s stepping through every invisible barrier you’d built, slipping past every wall you thought you’d carefully kept intact. You watch as his eyes trace the line of your lips. Is he feeling the same tremor, the same breathless ache threatening to consume you whole?

Your eyes mirror his, drifting down until they rest on his lips. You feel his breath first, warm and shallow against your mouth. Your eyes flutter shut, anticipation blooming low in your belly — an ache, a flutter, a trembling promise. The thought alone sends shivers down your spine.

His lips meet yours. It's soft.

You don’t dare move. His fingers remain at your chinr. And for the first time, you let yourself surrender completely, allowing someone else full, irrevocable control. You let him lead. You let yourself fall. Then, subtly, Soobin shifts. His lips part just slightly against yours, enough to press a second kiss, lighter than air, softer than thought. The faintest sound of it rings in your ears, delicate and clear, as if it’s the only sound left in the world. There is no one else. Nothing else. Only you and him.

When he pulls away, it’s slow. He creates space between you, his gaze dropping—gentle, searching. “I apologize,” he says softly, his voice drawing your eyes open again. His pupils are dark, downcast, uncertainty clouding their depths as his fingers slip away from your skin. “If I made you uncomfortable… if I overstepped — I’m sorry.”

Without a word, with your tears now stilled, you reach for him. Your fingers wrap gently around his wrist, the same hand that had so carefully traced your skin. You hold him. With a pull, you guide his hand back to your face. When his fingertips meet your skin again, a wordless relief unfurls in your chest.

He’s watching you. His eyes are locked to yours, dark and unwavering, tracking every small shift in your expression as if deciphering the meaning behind your touch. Your hand stays clasped at his wrist as you draw your lips inward, wetting them with a soft sweep of your tongue, a silent permission offered without a single breath of speech.

You see it instantly, the way his brow knits downward, a soft furrow of longing. His lips part slightly, a breath escaping that he doesn’t bother to rein in. The expression across his face is raw, unguarded, needy in a way that makes your stomach swoop, a sweet ache pulling low in your core. His gaze flickers downward, fixated on the subtle shift of your mouth.

Before you even can take your next breath, his lips are on yours again. His mouth meets yours with more urgency, yet still achingly soft. His free hand ghosts up your jaw, fingers threading into the hinge of your neck, You’re taken aback, quite literally as his mouth parts against yours, deepening the kiss in a way that makes your breath falter. Your head tips backward instinctively, but before you can drift too far, his hand is there to catch. His fingers tangle into the soft strands at the nape of your neck, cradling you.

You clutch tighter to his wrist, as if that alone could tether you. The moment dissolves into something weightless, and the sensation of Soobin’s kiss begins to eclipse everything else — until the world narrows to nothing but his lips, his breath, his touch.

Your lungs tighten. Your head spins just as you feel the graze of his tongue against your lower lip. With a soft gasp, you break away.

Cool air rushes between your lips as you pull back, your breath coming quick and shallow. Your fingers, once gripping tight at his wrist loosen, falling limp against his skin. His hand slides gently from the back of your head, fingertips gliding down the column of your neck before settling against the delicate curve of your throat. His thumb traces there idly, barely a whisper of contact.

His voice, when it comes, is hushed. “Are you alright?”

All your life, you had been pursued. Suitors with bright eyes and polished words circled like moths, eager to capture your hand, to fasten their futures to yours. They came with promises that echoed hollow against your ribs. They smiled too easily, spoke too sweetly and though you tried, how you tried to meet them halfway, something inside you always stayed untouched.

You had forced smiles you didn’t mean. Laughed at jokes that never reached your eyes. You wrapped yourself in false emotions like gossamer, hoping the weight of them would feel like belonging. But after every encounter, you only felt emptier. You never understood why.

Until now.

With Soobin’s kiss still lingering on your lips, with his hand resting against the tender line of your throat as though you were something precious, and easily breakable. The truth settles in you, your heart had never been wandering.

It had been waiting. Waiting for him.

It wasn’t that no one wanted you. It was that your soul had already made its choice long before your body could catch up. And after all the quiet, lonely years of not knowing what you were longing for, he had finally found you.

You are home.

"I…" Your voice is thin, threadbare with wonder. You search for words, but none seem big enough to hold what you’re feeling. "I’ve never… been kissed like that before."

He smile slowly, a laugh tumbles from him and the thumb resting against your neck drifts upward, grazing the curve of your cheek with such careful reverence it makes your breath catch. You don’t have time to react. He leans in before you can even think, brushing a kiss against your lips, so brief it’s almost weightless. Too fleeting, too quick, and when he pulls away, you instinctively lean forward, chasing the fading warmth.

"Is that better?" he murmurs, mischief softening the edges of his gaze.

You swallow thickly, your pulse fluttering wildly beneath his touch. "I didn’t…" Your voice falters, a smile tugging unbidden at the corner of your lips. "…say that I didn’t like it."

It was as if your words had unspooled something inside him, like you'd spoken a secret incantation only he could hear. The moment your words left your lips, he was on you — his mouth capturing yours with a hunger. His hands slid down at your waist, fingers slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, warm palms pressing against your skin as if he needed to feel every inch of you. His lips broke from yours only to travel lower, grazing the delicate line of your jaw before finding the curve of your neck. The first brush of his mouth there drew a sound from you, a soft moan. You felt him smile against your skin, a low, pleased hum from his throat as if your every sigh was a gift.

Without thinking, your arms wrapped tighter around him. You shifted, lifting your legs to curl around his waist, pulling him flush against you. The soft, unrestrained groan that escaped him at the motion sent a spark racing straight through you.

You had never felt so wanted as hands slid down, tracing the shape of your thigh before they dipped to the bend of your knee. You had never felt so treasured as he slowly, began to gather the fabric of your skirt, dragging it higher along your leg with unhurried care, revealing skin he touched as though memorizing you with each pass.

"You taste divine," he breathed against your neck, the words threaded with awe and desire. His lips trailed open-mouthed kisses along the curve of your throat, grazing you with teeth soft enough to make you shiver, as if he wanted to consume you completely yet worship every part of you. Your fingers threaded into his hair, tugging gently as you guided him back to your lips. He met you eagerly, melting into the kiss as though he’d waited lifetimes for it.

“If you want me to stop… tell me,” he whispered against your mouth, voice rough and tender all at once.

You nodded unafraid, and in that quiet, unspoken agreement, you watched something flicker in his eyes. As if he was vowing to worship you fully but never without your permission. His hands moved, deft and gentle, helping you ease out of the thin barrier of fabric that separated you, his gaze never leaving yours as if even in this unraveling, your comfort was his compass.

His smile curves against the delicate line of your neck, breath fanning across your skin as his words slip through, velvet-soft and low, “You’re already so wet for me.” His tone is laced with adoration. “I didn’t know you’d be such a good girl for me.”

The world dissolves.

It shrinks and softens until all that’s left is him — Soobin and the press of his body against yours, Soobin and the way his voice drips honey and reverence into your ear, Soobin and the hands that worship every part of you like he’s learning a language spoken only through touch.

Every piece of clothing that falls away is marked by his mouth, kisses dragged slow across your lips, your jaw, the hollow of your throat, the slope of your collarbones. His lips move like he’s tracing constellations on your skin, as though, somehow, you hold the entire night sky within you.

His hands, large and steady, move over you with a duality that makes you ache. Greedy and gentle. Certain but tender. He touches you as though he’s starved for you, but terrified you might slip away if he’s too careless. His fingers map your curves, glide down your sides, ghost along the backs of your thighs, curling possessively.

The room is thick with something heavier than air. It’s breath; yours and his, tangled in rhythm. It’s the soft rustle of fabric sliding over skin, the quiet catch of a moan swallowed between kisses, the faint sighs that spill when his hands find somewhere new to caress. Everything slows because he slows it. He takes his time, like he refuses to let any detail slip by unnoticed.

It doesn’t feel like he’s simply undressing you.

It feels like he’s unveiling something sacred. Like every inch of you laid bare is a gift he’s longed for, and now that he has it, he won’t squander a second. His gaze drinks you in between every kiss, full of a softness that cradles the sharp edge of desire. His pupils blown wide, his lips pink and kiss-bitten, his breath shaky though he tries to steady it.

You’re cherished.

“Soobin,” you gasp, breath hitching as he pulls you effortlessly into his lap. His lips find the swell of your breast, as his hands caress you with tender precision — teasing. The soft drag of his tongue against your nipples pulls a shiver from deep within you.

“I’ll take you to bed, sweetheart,” — “Yes, please,”

His mouth meets yours again, slow and consuming, while his arms curl around you. Without breaking the kiss, he rises, lifting you as though you weigh nothing, as though carrying you is the most natural thing in the world. You don’t open your eyes. You don’t need to. Your hands stay laced behind his neck, your fingers threading through the soft hair at his nape. You surrender wholly, letting yourself be cradled in his care. His footsteps echo and then you feel it, the plush give of the mattress beneath you as he lowers you gently into the center of the bed. The sheets are cool against your back, but his gaze is molten, grounding you in a warmth no fabric could match.

“Soobin…” Your voice trembles, “I haven’t done this before.”

For a moment, his expression stills. Something softens even further in his eyes. His lips tilt into the faintest, sweetest smile before he leans down, planting a slow kiss on your lips.

“I’ll be gentle with you then,” he promises, voice so gentle it nearly breaks you apart. His forehead rests against yours as his thumb brushes the corner of your mouth, his touch light as silk. “You don’t have to fear anything with me. We’ll go slow. You just tell me everything you want… everything you don’t.”

You gave him a smile, you reached up and kissed him. A simple peck. His eyes is open mid-kiss, like he couldn’t bear to miss a second of it. As though the feeling of your lips wasn’t enough, he wanted to see it too. “I trust you,” you whispered against his lips, “I do.”

You had never been blinded because of a smile before.

His lips press against your sternum, inching his way with slow pecks towards the plump skin of your breasts. And the second he finds your nipple, a sharp gasp leaves your throat as you feel his warm tongue caress the sensitive flesh. His hand moves to your navel, his palm lying flush to your abdomen as he holds you down to the mattress; continuing to glide his tongue over you. As Soobin lifts his lips from you momentarily, the chill of his saliva lingers on your breast, makes you softly squirm in his grasp.

He move to the other side of your body, slowly slowly repeating the process as he suckle at your hardened bud ever so gently. But this time, he use his teeth to bite the softest mark onto your nipple; the careful sting pulls your back into an arch. You whimper at the roughness, though it only lasts for a second, and as you process their actions, Soobin begins to trail down from your breasts, moving to the other one. His hands work, reaching down to caress your core which pulse between your thighs.

You try to control yourself as he went lower, to control your body, control the moans begging for release but the moment he place a kiss to your clit, the little control you have begins to slip. He starts gently, a kiss, a soft lick up your entrance, and gets back to give the most careful suckle at your clit. His gentle licks turn into passionate laps as he palce his tongue flat to your clit and allow the pressure of his muscle alone to spark up your spine.

You gasp at the feeling, your hands grip desperately onto the sheets by your sides.

With his hand still placed on your lower belly, Soobin outstretches his fingers towards his mouth latched onto your cunt. His thumb finds its place just above the hood of your clit, as he begin to add to the simulation causing your teeth to sink into your bottom lip. He swirl the wet skin, sucking, intervals of tender kisses in between as he feel you between his lips; as the squelching of his tongue against your soaked entracne takes over the silence of the night.

"You're being such a good girl for me," Soobin kisses the words onto you, "So fucking good." He use his freehand to pull your leg up and over his shoulder, your body willingly at his control. He lift his mouth from you only to place his lips inside of your thight, his fingers still simulating you even with the pause.

You can feel it brewing. The band threathening to snap at any moment. Your pleasure pleading for release as he return to lap at your cunt.

"S-Soobin," you gasp, "Wait, I-" your please turn into tight cries of desperation as they retrieve a smile from Soobin, who listens intently to you moaning his name.

"I know baby," he kisses your clit, his thumb giving you an experimental amount of pressure, "I know baby, you can cum on my tongue. I don't mind."

If it weren't for your orgasm now unleashing inside of you, you possibly would have laughed, but the only thing that comes out of you, among the essence leaking into Soobin's mouth, is the lewd noises breaching the shores of your pleasure. Your hips instinctively push into his mouth as it explodes.

Your legs twitch, faint tremors echoing long after the euphoria crests and slowly ebbs away. Your breath is uneven, your chest rising and falling in shallow pulls as your mind tries to fix itself again. The world feels distant, softened at the edges, but you feel him. You feel Soobin everywhere. You hardly register the trail of his lips scaling their way back up your body, delicate kisses pressed along your stomach, the hollow between your ribs, the curve of your collarbone; until his face hovers just above yours. His breath fans against your lips, warm and even, as though he’s been composed the entire time, despite the flush that paints the high of his cheekbones. And when you meet his eyes —

Adoration. That’s all there is. As though you hung the stars in his sky.

Your fingers, still faintly trembling, reach down to the waistband of his pants, a silent plea building in your chest to return the worship he’s lavished on you. But before you can so much as graze the fabric, his hand wraps gently around your wrist, and moves it away.

“Tonight is about you,” Soobin murmurs, voice low, coaxing you back into ease. A smile, soft and disarming, tugs at the corners of his lips as he dips forward to nuzzle the tip of his nose against yours. “Just think of it as my way to say sorry… for making the prettiest girl wait so long.” His fingers, those long, graceful ones you’ve become so attuned to, sweep gently through your hair, combing it back from your damp forehead as though you were something priceless. His thumb brushes the line of your temple before trailing down the curve of your jaw, feather-light.

You stare back at him, your gaze tender and unwavering, the reflection of your own adoration open across your features. Whatever he sees in your eyes makes something in his expression soften even further.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks, his voice dropping as he nestles closer to your side. Instinctively, you open your arms for him, and he slides into the space as though it were carved just for him, his head resting gently against your chest.

“Nothing,” you whisper truthfully, your fingers threading into his soft hair as you tilt your head to study him. Wonder flickers within you like the soft flicker of candlelight, igniting gently as you take in the way the dim glow plays in his irises — deep brown kissed with honey, shadows and softness blending as if the universe itself tried to paint the richest portrait inside his gaze. “You’re beautiful,”

The smile that spreads across his face is breathtaking. His lips curve in that boyish, gentle way that squeezes your heart painfully tight, and then he laughs. Your own smile spills out in response, and soon both your laughs mingle, weaving together in the space between you like spun gold, before your lips find each other’s once more.

You woke with the sunlight brushing gently across your skin, the warmth pooling on the sheets.

His breath is steady against the back of your neck, his chest rising and falling. His arm is still draped over your waist, fingers laced together just under your ribs as if even in sleep, he’s afraid to let go. Every time you shift, even slightly, his hold tightens; subconscious, instinctive. As though his body has decided on its own that you belong nowhere but here. You feel the ghost of his lips at the back of your head again, a soft, unthinking kiss pressed into your hair. And then that murmur that drifted from him throughout the night, something wordless and sweet, as though he was dreaming of you and couldn’t help but let it slip into the waking world.

You are exactly where you’re meant to be.

You blink slowly, everything is softened by the white sheets. Warmth surrounds you, not just from the sun filtering through the windows, but from the comforting weight draped over your back. You shift slowly, turning in his embrace until you’re met with the sight that makes your heart swell.

Choi Soobin.

Your fingertips ghost along the curve of his cheek, feather-light, afraid you might wake him if you touched him too boldly. His skin is soft beneath your hand, still asleep. His lashes rest delicately against his cheekbones, his lips parted slightly, breath deep and even.

“Sleepy Soobin,” you whisper, your thumb brushes along the slope of his cheekbone and, instinctively, he leans into your palm, nuzzling against your touch. The simple action sends a tender ache spiraling through your chest. Your mind drifts back, to the way his hands gripped you with both hunger and patience. To the way his lips worshiped every inch of you. To the way he had cradled you afterward, not letting a single shiver escape him unnoticed, whispering soft words against your skin.

Your eyes drink him in, the soft rise and fall of his chest, the tousled strands of dark hair falling across his forehead. You lean forward, pressing the lightest of kisses on the corner of his mouth. You linger there, breathing him in, letting your lips stay against him like a silent thank-you whispered straight from your heart.

“I don’t think,” you murmur softly against his skin, your lips curving in a smile, “I’ve ever been this happy before.” And as if he heard you even in sleep, his arm around your waist tightens, pulling you closer.

Your phone buzzes. You move quickly, fingers curling around the device as you move yourself out of Soobin’s arms. You sit on the edge of the bed, the cool air brushing against your skin. His shirt hangs loosely off your frame, the fabric soft and saturated with the faint scent of him. You tuck a hand into the hem absentmindedly as you answer. “Hello?” Your voice is hushed.

“Oh, hi. I just wanted to check in about your grandmother. She took her meds.” Hana’s voice comes softly from the other end, the caregiver you’d called last minute yesterday when you weren’t sure you’d make it home in time.

Relief unfurls gently in your chest. “Thank you, Hana,” you murmur, a small smile touching your lips. “I’ll be back in the afternoon.”

There’s a few more exchanged words, small reassurances and thank-yous, before you end the call. The screen dims in your hand, but you don’t move just yet. You glance over your shoulder. He hasn’t stirred, not really, but his brows are slightly furrowed now, as if he noticed the loss of you in his sleep. The sheets dip where you’d been moments ago, and one hand rests, palm open, where your body had once been.

A soft smile tugs at the corners of your mouth. You want to crawl back to him already. But you know you can't.

Setting the phone down, your gaze drifted toward the bedside table. You remembered Soobin opening the drawer last night, tucking away both of your things. You needed your ponytail. You pulled the drawer open.

Your fingers falter for the the first thing you see. You hadn’t meant to intrude. Two large bottles, their labels slightly worn, tucked neatly in the corner of the drawer as if he’d kept them close, yet out of sight.

Sleeping pills.

Your lips press into a thin line as thoughts flicker behind your eyes — how gentle he’d been with you, how steady and warm his gaze had felt, how easily sleep had taken him last night in your arms. And yet… these. Did he take them every day? Your hand brushes over the edge, and finally, you spot your ponytail nestled beside his wristwatch.

You swallow gently, pushing the drawer close.

You hummed softly as you slid the fried eggs onto a white plate, the gentle sizzle fading as you set them down. This place is a wide, unfamiliar kitchen, but somehow your hands had found their routine effortlessly. Turning, you arranged the plate beside the crisp bacon and the golden slices of toasted, buttered bread.

Out of the corner of your eye, the bedroom door creaked open. "Good morning," you called, your voice laced with a smile that turned fully when you saw Soobin, no confusion in his sleepy gaze, no hesitation in his steps. He made a beeline straight to you.

Before you could even set down the last plate, his arms wrapped around you, pulling you into his chest with a soft exhale of relief. His lips found your hairline in a series of slow, affectionate kisses, "You didn’t have to make breakfast, baby. I could’ve called someone."

"I didn’t mind it," you replied, breathless with laughter as you tried halfheartedly to nudge him away. But he only shook his head, clutching you tighter, "Come on," you coaxed gently, tilting your head to meet his soft gaze. "Let’s eat."

At just those simple words, he loosened his hold, his hand sliding down to lace his fingers with yours.

“What is it?” Soobin asks softly, voice in curiosity as he chews his food. His eyes catching the question behind your gaze. “I did tell you… you can ask me anything, remember?”

You nod, your fork slowly tracing circles on the edge of your plate. “Yes…” You swallow, “I don’t mean to pry, I really don’t. I just… I just wanted to ask if you take those pills every day?”

He nods slowly. “I do,” he admits. “I’ve always had trouble sleeping.” Your lips part to speak, but before you can, he sets his fork down and leans in, elbows resting on the table as his hand slides gently over yours. His thumb brushes over your knuckles. “But last night…” A faint smile curls the corner of his lips,“Last night, I didn’t even think about them. I didn’t need them.” His voice drops, “You were here.”

Sitting at that table, sharing breakfast, you felt like you were learning him in layers, like pages of a book gently unfolding for you. You already had your suspicions the moment you first met Soobin. The cut of his clothes, the sleek car he drove; they all whispered of a life far from ordinary. But hearing it from his lips, hearing him confess that he was set to inherit and run an entire empire, sent a quiet shiver up your spine. A chaebol. How had someone like you managed to cross paths, let alone hearts, with someone like him?

He spoke openly, though gently, about the burden he had carried since he was just a teenager. How sleep had long been a stranger to him. How those pills had been his quiet crutch in the endless swirl of expectations, decisions, and responsibilities that clouded his nights. You tried your best to absorb every word. Soobin told you how he had found you captivating from the very first moment he saw you — how, despite that, he never had the courage to approach you.

“All my life,” he murmured, gaze dropping to the untouched food on his plate, “I watched my sister become trapped in a marriage. Watching her lose herself made me believe I shouldn’t chase anyone… or anything. But then, I saw you.”

It was unclear why he trusted you so deeply, why he felt safe enough to share such memories about his sister’s pain and the misplaced guilt he carried on his shoulders. But he did. He let you in. The shadows in his expression melted the moment you leaned in, your lips pressing a soft, reassuring kiss to his and your arms curling gently around him. Maybe that was why. Maybe you were his perfect match. You were the one brave enough to ask him out first; unknowing then, but somehow sensing what held him back.

You learned more little things about him that morning too. How he often misplaced his watch because he’d take it off absentmindedly and forget where he’d set it. How he liked his coffee with an extra spoon of sugar and a generous pour of creamer, because despite everything, Soobin had a sweet tooth.

And somehow, every one of these small pieces only made you fall for him more.

“I can’t wait to get back and see you,” his voice comes gently through the phone, smooth and warm like a whisper against your ear. “Just three more days, and I’ll be back. Okay?”.

“Okay,” you breathe, your voice softer than you intend. “Just make sure you’re eating well, alright?” You swallow gently, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “I’ll see you soon.”

His laugh drifts back to you, honey-sweet and effortless. You miss him already. “Okay, baby.”

And just like that, the line clicks silent.

You move quietly around your shop, fingers trailing along the shelves, straightening small displays here and there. You smile to yourself, a small, private thing, as memories of the past few days float to the surface. His touch. His laugh. Everything lately had felt… right. Almost effortlessly so.

The soft chime of the doorbell rings out, pulling you back to the present.

“Welcome,” you call, your gaze lifts and locks instantly with a pair of sharp, assessing eyes. A woman stands there, immaculately dressed, her age maybe in her fifties, though the confidence she wears makes her seem ageless somehow.

Her eyes sweep over you unblinking, as though weighing you against some invisible scale. “Are you the woman seeing my son?” A chill skips down your spine.

“Pack your things up,” she says crisply, her gaze drifting coolly over the small, carefully curated space of your shop. Her lips twitch, close enough to make your stomach twist. “Come have lunch with me.”

You blink, thrown off balance, your heartbeat picking up beneath your ribs. This… wasn’t what you’d expected today. “Uh—yes, ma’am,” you say, trying to gather yourself.

Her head tilts, something sharp glinting behind her expression. “Why did you stutter?” The question is too sharp for someone who doesn't know you. Before you can even try to answer, she lifts her hand in a small, dismissive gesture. “Go on. Change your clothes. Make it fast. I don’t like waiting.”

Your fingers twitch on your lap as you lower your gaze, lashes casting shadows over your cheeks. The seat beneath you feels too plush, too stiff all at once, as if you don’t quite belong in it. You’re somewhere deep inside this towering glass building — a restaurant so vast and pristine it feels like even your breath is too loud for the space. You try to inhale quietly, chest tight, as Soobin’s mother sits across from you, commanding the room with a presence that doesn’t falter.

You watched, silent, as she spoke crisply to the waiter. Her tone left no room for correction, no cracks for uncertainty to slip through. She didn’t ask what you’d like. She didn’t ask if salad was to your taste. She simply ordered it for you without sparing you a glance — as though she already knew what you should eat, or perhaps decided it didn’t matter.

The clink of glassware is sharp, and you jump slightly when she clears her throat. Slowly, reluctantly, you lift your eyes to meet hers. Her gaze is steady, dark and searching, the sort that makes you feel like you’re being turned inside out with just a look.

“What do you want—”

"Mother," a new voice drifts into the space; light, melodic. You turn instinctively, and there she stands: a woman so strikingly beautiful it’s impossible to mistake the relation. The soft curve of her jaw, the familiar gentle slope of her nose, she carries pieces of Soobin effortlessly in her features.

She moves toward the table with a grace that makes the heavy atmosphere ease, as though her very presence carries warmth where there was only frost before. Soobin’s mother’s stern face softens, her posture loosening subtly for the first time since you sat down and it’s clear this new woman holds sway over her in ways no one else has managed thus far.

The young woman settles beside her mother, her gaze drifting to you with a kindness that wraps around you like a soft blanket. No scrutiny, no sharp edges, it's curiosity. “I’m Soobin’s sister,” she says her name gently, her lips pulling into a smile that reaches her eyes. “You look even more beautiful than what he says.”

The sincerity in her voice disarms you. It feels like exhaling after holding your breath for too long, like finding a familiar light in a room full of shadows. Warm. Genuine.

“Th-thank you,” you murmur, voice small as your gaze drops shyly to your lap. The elegance she carries so effortlessly makes you acutely aware of every inch of yourself; of your softness, your simplicity. You steal a glance upward as she turns away, leaning toward her mother, her voice soft and fluid as she starts to recount her day.

Their hair, not a strand out of place, styled with a polish that speaks of salons you’ve never stepped foot in. The fine lines of their blouses, their tailored cuts, fabrics that drape as if stitched to their skin. Even their nails is perfectly shaped, coated in shades that gleam soft and subtle, unchipped. Their handbags resting beside them glint of understated luxury, the kind of leather that never creases, the kind of detail you notice only when you’ve never had it.

Your gaze falls to your skirt — the one you had sewn with patient hands from fabric you bargained for at the market’s edge. You’d chosen the material carefully, pieced it together with love, made it yours. But here… it feels smaller somehow. Less. You smooth your palms over your knees.

How long will you have to sit in moments like this? How long will you have to feel the weight of difference settle like a stone in your chest? The gap between their world and yours feels so wide it burns.

You don’t belong here.

You hadn’t even managed to lift your fork, “How old are you?” Soobin’s mother asked.

“Twenty-three,” you murmured, your tongue thick in your mouth. The number sounded too small as soon as it left you.

Her lips tugged downward. “Five years younger than him. Too young.” A pause, heavy. “Education status? What of your family?”

You swallowed hard. “I’m living with my grandmother.”

Her brow arched, unimpressed. “Since when?” — “Since I was a child.”

The air felt thinner now. You could feel your pulse in your throat, in your wrists, in the trembling tips of your fingers that curled tighter under the table. “Then how would you run a family if you don’t even have one?”

The sting behind your eyes burned fast. You blinked hard, but it did nothing to wash it away. You felt small, smaller than you ever thought you could shrink.

“Mother,” Soobin’s sister snapped, her voice tight with disbelief. You lifted your gaze to her, grateful and ashamed all at once. Her expression was shocked that her mother had gone that far.

But then the next blow landed. “Do you even know there’s a girl who’s supposed to marry him?” Her tone dropped, dripping with disdain as if she wanted to watch you crumble beneath it.

“Mom, stop it. Now.” Soobin’s sister, again. Firmer this time.

Your lips parted to answer — to say something, anything — but all that came out was fragile and thin. “We… we haven’t talked about it.” It was all you could manage. Your voice cracked just enough to make the shame crawl higher up your throat. Your chair scraped against the floor softly as you rose, every inch of your body stiff and burning. You forced a tight smile that felt more like a grimace. “Excuse me… I’ll just take the bathroom.”

Your legs carried you away before the first tear slipped free.

You gripped the sink’s edge so hard your knuckles ached, head bowed as silent sobs racked through your chest. You couldn’t catch your breath. Couldn’t hold it together long enough to even pretend you belonged here. Your reflection in the mirror blurred behind the sheen of tears; eyes glassy, cheeks flushed, lips trembling. Small. Out of place. A girl trying to fit in.

Of course she was right. You’d always known it, hadn’t you? You were someone born from absence. A child left behind by two people who couldn’t even stay for you, much less for each other. You’d spent so long tucking that truth away, convincing yourself. His mother didn’t have to scream to shatter you.

You wiped at your face uselessly, but the tears kept slipping, warm and bitter down your jaw. You didn’t want to ruin what Soobin had left with his mother, thin and cracked as it might be. You’d seen the strain in his eyes before when he spoke of her. You’d heard the weight when he talked about duty, legacy, responsibility; but you wouldn’t be the reason he chose sides. Maybe everything really had just been a dream. And maybe now…maybe it was time to wake up.

The door creaks open, and you flinch too late to hide the tears streaking your cheeks.

Soobin’s sister.

Her expression crumbles the second she sees you. “Oh, honey.” Her voice is soft, almost breaking, and before you can turn away or gather yourself, she’s already crossing the room. You shake your head, a weak protest caught in your throat, but it falls apart the second her arms wrap around you. You don’t mean to collapse, but you do. Your body folds into hers, trembling, your fingers clutching at the fabric of her coat.

“I’m so sorry,” she breathes against your temple, her voice rawer now, as if she can feel even a fraction of what’s tearing through you.

Your chest hurts. You can’t speak. You don’t trust your own voice not to shatter the second you try. So you just stand there, breathing uneven, tears soaking the front of her blouse.

“Don’t cry,” she whispers finally, pulling back, her palms warm against your damp cheeks. Her eyes search yours. Slowly, she slides a handkerchief from her pocket and presses it into your hand, her thumb brushing over your knuckles as she lets go. “My mother… she’s always been like this. I won’t tell you not to feel hurt, you should feel hurt. She doesn’t know how to soften her words, even when she should.”

“I came here because I heard she’d come after you the moment Soobin flew out for his trip,” she continues, “And about that woman… or whatever arrangement that was, Soobin never met her. Not even once. That was all our mother’s doing. If you want the truth, it’s best you hear it straight from him, hm?” Your fingers curl tighter around the handkerchief.

“I… I’m sorry,” you whisper, voice frayed at the edges, the apology slipping out even though you aren’t sure what you’re apologizing for— being here, being too small for this world, for falling for someone you were never supposed to have?

“Don’t be,” she says softly, her lips tugging into a smile. "You’ve done nothing wrong."

She reaches to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, “You can go home. I’ll handle her,” she promises. “I’ll make sure she doesn’t come near you again, not until Soobin gets back and sorts all of this out himself.”

Your throat tightens again, “Why?” The word falls out of you in a whisper. “Why are you doing all of this?”

“Soobin deserves to be happy,” she says, there's a glisten in her eyes. “And you… you make him happy.”

You sit still, hands folded tightly in your lap, nails pressing crescents into your skin as the hum of the engine vibrates beneath you. Through the window’s glass, blurred by your uneven breaths, you see them, Soobin’s sister and her husband.

Choi Beomgyu.

Even from here, even without sound, it’s clear. The way his eyes search hers, soft and intent. The way his hand brushes her cheek, tender and unhurried. And then, his palm drifts lower, resting on the curve of her stomach.

Your breath catches, an involuntary gasp escaping from your lips. You hadn’t noticed it before, maybe because you’d been too wrapped in your own thoughts, but there it is now; the small, rounded swell of her belly beneath her dress.

She’s pregnant.

Your eyes dart away. It sinks in heavier than you expect—the contrast of it. The weight of what you felt in that restaurant still gnawing at your ribs. You swallow hard, blinking fast. You shouldn’t be jealous. Not of them, not of their certainty, not of the way they fit together. You curl your fingers tighter.

Beomgyu slides into the driver’s seat, his eyes flicker to you in the rearview mirror, not invasive. “You okay?” His voice is gentle, low.

You swallow past the knot tightening in your throat. “Yes.”

He doesn’t press. He just nods once, slow, and leans back in his seat. His hands rest on the wheel but he doesn’t start the car. Instead, his eyes shift toward the building. You follow his line of sight and see her— his wife, walking toward the entrance.

Beomgyu stays still, waiting. His jaw flexes slightly, not out of impatience, but out of habit, you can tell. He doesn’t move, not until she disappears inside the building safely, not until the glass doors close behind her and she’s no longer in sight.

Only then does he release a small breath and turn the key in the ignition. The car starts.

You've never seen a love so whole.

You’d finally made peace with it all, to speak to Soobin when he returned. His sister’s promise had held true; his mother hadn’t darkened your doorstep again. For once, the silence felt like safety.

Only one more day. Just one, and he’d be back.

The sharp chime of the door snapped through the quiet. You turned instinctively, forcing a smile onto your lips out of habit.

Standing there was a woman. “Good morning,” you greeted softly, stepping behind the counter, trying to keep your hands steady.

“You’re Y/N, right?” Your stomach flipped, hands instantly cold. What is it this time?

“Yes,” you answered carefully, guarded. “How can I help you?”

She took a step closer, “I’m Aera,” she said smoothly, not a trace of hesitation. “Soon to be Soobin’s fiancée.”

Your breath stuttered. The smile fell clean from your lips. “I’m sorry… what—”

“His mother told me about you.” The words barely registered before the woman dropped to her knees in front of you. The motion was so sudden, so desperate, your breath caught in your throat and your eyes went wide.

“Please…” her voice cracked as she folded her hands together, her head bowed low in a way that looked almost unnatural for someone like her; pristine, polished, composed. But here she was. Crumbling. “Please tell him to accept the proposal.”

Your chest constricted painfully. “No, no, stand up, you don’t have to,”

But she shook her head sharply, her shoulders trembling. Tears clung to her lashes, heavy and raw. “I’ll let you have everything you want. You can still be with him .I don’t care. I’ll just marry him in name. I’ll stay in a different room. A different house, even. I won’t touch him. Our family… we need his. Please, I’m begging you.” Her voice broke entirely on that last word.

Even she knew. Even she understood what his mother refused to admit; his heart was already in your hands.

You walk to the building, each step echoing in your chest. The elevator hums softly as you press the button, your reflection in the mirrored doors a stranger to you. When it finally dings open, you step out into the hallway.

Your hand hovers over the doorbell of his home. You take a breath and press the button. And then you wait.

You run over the speeches you carved into your heart all day, I’m sorry, but we need to break up. I’m sorry, I can’t do this anymore. But the moment the door opens, it all disintegrates.

He stands there, and for a split second, it’s as if everything stills. His eyes meet yours, rimmed with exhaustion so deep it settles into the lines of his face. “I’ve been waiting for you, sweetheart.” His voice is soft. Almost fragile.

And before you can think, before you can remember the careful goodbye you rehearsed a thousand times, he reaches for you.His fingers curl around your arms, and he pulls you into him. Into the chest that has always felt like home.

The door clicks shut behind you.

“Soobin, I—” Your voice barely breaks through the air before it’s swallowed by the heat of him; his lips finding the curve of your neck, hot and hurried, like a man starved. His body crowds yours effortlessly, the breadth of him making you feel small. His hands, large, trembling with restraint digs firmly on your waist.

“I fucking missed your voice,” he breathes against your skin, “I fucking missed you… I couldn’t even sleep.”

Your throat tightens, a lump clawing higher and higher as your heart caves in on itself. Coward. That’s what it feels like. Your heart, shrinking, curling away from what you came here to say. Because how could you speak of endings when he’s here, clinging to you like this? When he holds you like you were his last hope?

“I need you, baby,” he murmurs, his fingers slide to your blouse, undoing the buttons one by one, slower than his breath, slower than the pounding of your pulse against your ribs. His knuckles brush against your skin, “Did you miss me?”

You open your mouth. The truth swells painfully, desperate to tear out. I did. I missed you more than you’ll ever know. But all you manage is a breathless, broken, “I—”

His hot mouth sucks your nipple. “…Yes.”

It’s all a blur — his hands, his mouth, the way he whispered your name. You don’t remember how the clothes came off, how the sheets tangled beneath your bodies. You only remember the weight of him, the heat of his skin, and the soft drag of his lips along your body that made your breath catch.

The sharp stretch, the slow push of him sinking into you. Tears spill before you even realize they’re falling. It isn’t the pain that makes you cry. It’s the ache in your chest, the way your heart splits in two at the sight of him — Soobin, tired and unraveling, still so gentle. You were too scared to say no. Not because you didn’t want him, but because you did. Too much. You craved to erase the exhaustion from his eyes, even if it was only for one night.

Maybe you were fooling yourself into thinking you were giving something to him, when really, you were trying to steal one last piece of him for yourself.

His brow furrows as he stills inside you, the concern written all over his face. His thumbs swipe at your damp cheeks, his lips brushing against your skin in soft, frantic kisses. “Did that hurt? What’s wrong?”

You force a breath through the tightness in your throat, eyes locking on his, “No,” you manage to choke out, your voice cracking. Your hand comes up to cradle his cheek, thumb brushing the soft curve of his under-eye, tracing the shadows you wish you could take away. You swallow the sob clawing at your chest, and say it. You have to say it. Even if it’s the last time.

“I— I just love you.” His lips part slightly at your confession. His breath stutters, and something raw flickers behind his gaze; wonder, disbelief. His whole body goes still as if those words rooted him to the earth. “I love you, Soobin.”

"I love you. I fucking love you."

Warm hands find your waist, circling you with a gentle pull, long fingers tracing slow, reverent patterns across your bare skin. A soft squeeze follows, then warm, featherlight kisses trail from your neck to your ear, each one taking time to settle on your skin. Your name slips from his lips, barely more than a breath, before he tucks himself closer, body melting into yours.

“Wake up, sleepyhead,” he murmurs, “You’ve been asleep so long, I’m starting to miss you.”

You exhale a soft huff, but there’s no real protest in it. Just the lazy stretch of your arm as you roll toward him, pressing your face into the curve of his neck where he smells like him. Your voice comes out muffled. “Let’s stay like this for five more minutes.”

A smile ghosts against your temple. His hand slides to your lower back, pulling you impossibly closer. “Okay,”

You finally peeled yourself from the bed, soft sheets still warm with sleep and the weight of him. He trailed after you, tall and shadowing your every move around the kitchen as the morning light spilled in. You couldn’t help it, your fingers found his constantly. On his wrist as he buttered toast, laced with his as you poured coffee, curled around his as you sat across from him at the table. And for the first time, you saw it clearly: the way Soobin’s cheeks flushed pink under the weight of your affection, his gaze flickering down, shy and boyish, every time you touched him like you couldn’t stop.

Now, he stands by the mirror, freshly showered, crisp shirt hugging broad shoulders, hair damp and curling just a little at the edges. You’re sitting on the edge of his bed, watching him. He wanted you to stay here, in his penthouse. Wanted you here waiting when he came home.

You rise when you see him fumble with his tie, long fingers struggling with the knot. “Let me,” you say softly. Your fingertips brush against his as you take over, feeling the steady thrum of his pulse beneath his skin. He watches you, head tilted down, eyes steady and soft, drinking in every precise movement as you fold and tug the silk into place.

His hand comes up to cradle your cheek, “Thank you, baby,” he murmurs. He leans in, scattering kisses across your face — your forehead, your nose, your cheeks, your lips — each one light and full of that unshakable, boyish smile of his.

You walk him to the elevator, bare feet padding softly on the cool floor. He steps inside, glances back at you, and lifts his hand in a wave; a grin stretching wide, something childlike and unguarded lighting up his whole face.

All while everything was breaking your heart.

You moved quietly through his home. The morning hush wrapped around you like something delicate and suffocating all at once. You folded his clothes with shaking hands, smoothing out every crease, tucking each piece into its rightful place as if order could somehow soften what you were about to break.

His watch. You found it lying carelessly on the counter where he always forgot it. You fixed it gently onto the shelf beside his cufflinks and rings, aligning everything just so, because you knew he liked it neat, even if he never said it out loud. It was small, but you wanted to leave it perfect for him.

The kitchen was next. Your movements felt numb now, mechanical. You prepared everything the way he loved it: coffee beans ground just right, the sugar jar filled, the creamer where it belonged. You wrote it all down on a small scrap of paper; the exact way you made it for him, step by step and pressed the note beside the kettle. Your handwriting blurred through your tears, but you forced yourself to keep writing.

By the time you found a clean sheet of paper and sat at the dining table, your whole body trembled with the weight of it. The pen felt too heavy in your hand. Your tears hit the page before your words did.

You slowly, wrote your goodbye.

"Nana, this is your new room, okay?" Your voice is soft, careful not to crack as you push the door open, guiding her slowly inside. "It’s a little different, but we’ll figure it out. I’ll make sure we’re alright."

You smile, or something close to it, when she nods faintly, her eyes drifting over the unfamiliar space. The pale walls, the narrow window, the worn bed frame. None of it felt like home yet, but it had to be. You’d make it be.

Her fingers brushed against the edge of the dresser as she turned to you. "Why did we move so suddenly?"

You swallowed around the lump in your throat. "Oh," you answered lightly, "because we had to."

Your chest tightened when her gaze lingered on you a beat longer, as if peeling back layers you didn’t want exposed. And then, almost absently, she asked, "How about your man?"

You froze. The air seemed thinner, sharper. You weren’t even sure she remembered him clearly — just a distant echo of the day Soobin had shown up with that gentle smile, introducing himself with careful politeness.

"I… I broke up with him," you whispered. She didn’t react at first. Just nodded quietly, turning to sit on the edge of her bed. Her small frame curved gently as she smoothed the blanket beneath her hands, her movements slow and methodical.

You took a step back toward the doorway, trying to breathe steady. Trying not to crumble in front of her. But then, just as she rose again to cross the room, her voice drifted back to you. "Love will not fail," she murmured. "If it fails… it’s not love."

It was as if you’d just torn your own heart out with your bare hands.

Love will not fail. If it fails, it’s not love.

It had been days since you moved.

And still, no matter how many boxes you unpacked, no matter how carefully you folded your grandmother’s cardigans into drawers or wiped down every surface, this place didn’t breathe like the home you left behind.

The sky hadn't lightened once since you arrived. It hung heavy and bruised from dawn to dusk, a slate-colored weight pressing down on everything. You couldn’t remember the last time you saw sunlight crack through.

And then, the rain came.

You noticed it first in the shift of the wind. A few drops scattered across the concrete, and then it broke open all at once. Panic seized you as your mind jumped to the laundry. The sheets you’d washed them early this morning and hung them in the front of your lawn, hoping they'd dry before nightfall.

You bolted outside, breath shallow, feet slipping slightly against the wet pavement. Cold droplets clung to your hair, running down the line of your neck, soaking through your shoulders. Your fingers fumbled over the clothesline as you yanked the white sheets down frantically, heart racing as you tried to save what little you had.

And then — Your body stilled. Your hands slackened on the fabric as your gaze caught on a figure standing just past the fence.

For a moment, the rain softened around you, every sound falling away except the ragged beat of your own heart breaking all over again.

Choi Soobin’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel, knuckles pale under the dim wash of the dashboard lights. His eyes flicked from one worn street sign to the next, cataloguing every turn, every corner, like a man tracing the edges of an old wound. Every so often, he let the car slow to a crawl. Stared a little too long at places that meant nothing to him, but might have meant everything to you.

It’s the town, the one his investigator pointed him to. The small, quiet town where the woman who tore through his world had disappeared into without a trace but with every piece of him still in her hands.

He’d already gone over everything twice. No. Three times. He couldn’t remember anymore. His chest felt tight, like something was sitting on it and daring him to breathe around the weight. He wondered if he should start all over tomorrow. Sweep the streets again. Retrace the steps he didn’t even know you'd taken.

Without meaning to, Soobin’s hands turned the wheel, guiding him down a road he’d circled too many times to count. Muscle memory, maybe. He didn’t know why he kept coming back.

The first drops of rain tapped against the windshield, soft and uncertain, like the sky hadn’t made up its mind yet. He let out a breath and dragged a hand down his face. He glanced right, thinking to turn back, to call it for the night. But then he saw it.

A figure cutting through the field, darting between rows of white laundry sheets billowing in the wind like ghosts.

He didn’t think. His door was open before he could catch the impulse, the car engine still on behind him as he bolted forward. He didn’t even shut the door. His feet hit the wet grass hard, slipping a little, but he kept running. Fast. Desperate. Like if he blinked, even for a heartbeat, you might vanish.

The way you vanished from his life when he turned his back.

If he’d stayed that day. If he’d ignored the meeting, called in sick, shut the world out, would you still be here now?

He saw you stumble back. Your shoulders tensed, then you turned to escape. And just like that, the breath punched out of his lungs. His heart cracked against his ribs, like thunder rolling too close to the ground. Panic clawed at his throat. His feet wouldn’t move fast enough. So he did the only thing left.

He called your name. Louder than he meant to. He shouted it. Frantic. You didn’t move at first. Just stared at him across the field, rain threading through your hair, clinging to your skin. When you spoke, your voice was sharp.

“Why are you here?” You asked, each word flung like stones across the space between you. Your jaw clenched. “Didn’t I tell you? Didn’t I tell you I don’t want you anymore?”

Your voice cut clean but your hands betrayed you. They shook at your sides, fingers twitching like they weren’t sure whether to reach for him or push him away. The ache in your throat frayed the edge of every word. And Soobin saw it. He saw all of it.

Choi Soobin stares at you, the glisten in his eyes that you've come to know whispers his truth. He's now infront of you, eyes sweeping your face.

The storm isn’t just around him; it’s inside him, bleeding into the tremble of his hands as he reach and clutch your wrists, desperate. Rain seeps through his clothes, slides down his skin, but he doesn’t flinch. He just looks at you.

Because you're the only thing keeping him standing.

"Marry me." It’s his last attempt to keep you from walking away. “Marry me, and I’ll do anything you want. Anything. Just don’t—” His throat closed up, and for a second, it sounded like he forgot how to breathe. “Don’t walk away again.”

“I said—”

“Don’t lie to me!” The words snapped harder than he wanted, frustration cracking wide open in his chest. His hands curled into fists at his sides, not in anger but in helplessness. “Don’t make me feel crazy. Don’t make me feel stupid. My sister told me everything, Y/N. I know. I know everything.”

Your lips parted, but nothing came out. Your shoulders caved, the last of your defenses buckling under the weight of it all.

“I’m not fit for your world,” you choked, voice splintering as tears blurred your vision. Your hands fell limp at your sides, fingers tangled in the thin fabric of the laundry you’d long forgotten.

“I don’t have anything. I hardly even have myself,” you whispered, your face crumpling like it hurt to say the truth out loud. “And you — you deserve the world. You deserve more than someone who can’t even keep her life straight.”

Soobin’s chest hollowed at the sight of you crumbling in front of him. He didn’t care about the rain, or the mud soaking through his shoes, or the ache in his lungs. There was only one thing left he wanted to do. Fall to his knees if he had to. Beg, if that’s what it took. Beg for you. Beg for everything.

“I don’t want the world.” His eyes locked on yours, fierce and aching. “I never wanted any of that. Not once. I just… I just want you.”

His breath shuddered out, shaky, as if saying it hurt and healed him all at once. “I want to live with you. To grow old with you. To have your children. To wake up next to you for the rest of my life.” His words stumbled, his throat thick with the burn of unshed tears, but he didn’t stop.

Before you could slip farther away, Soobin reached for you, his arms wrapped tight around you, pulling you into his chest. His hand cradled the back of your head, fingers threading into your damp hair with a gentleness that almost broke you on the spot. His heartbeat thundered against your cheek.

“Don’t leave me,” he whispered, voice cracking on the plea. “Please, baby. Not when I finally found you. Not when all I want… is to spend the rest of my life with you.”

He felt you shift in his hold, felt your hands press against his chest like you were about to push him away. His stomach dropped but he didn’t let go. He couldn’t.

“I love you.” The words came out hoarse, frayed at the edges. Honest in a way that stripped him bare. He felt you still. The tension in your shoulders faltered. Slowly, slowly, you softened against him, all the walls you’d been gripping so tightly started to crumble in his arms.

You stopped pulling away this time.

“I love you,” he breathed again. His lips brushed against your temple, “I’ll fix everything for us. I swear it. You just have to trust me, baby. Please. Just trust me.”

He felt your arms loosen, the fight in them dissolving. Softening, giving your surrender — just as the rain itself began to ease, falling gentler, as though the sky had finally tired too. A breath punched out of his chest, relief so fierce it almost dropped him to his knees. His arms closed tighter around you, cradling you against him like he could tuck you safely inside his ribs, where nothing could ever reach you again.

When would he ever get a moment like this again?

A chance like this? To meet his soulmate. To meet the one person who could read the shadows behind his smile before he even noticed they were there. Who knew him better than he had ever dared to know himself.

What were the odds? If he hadn’t driven down that street that day. If he hadn’t wandered into your little flower shop with its peeling paint and sunlight pooling across wooden counters. If he hadn’t looked up and seen you and not known, right then, that he’d nearly lived his life without finding his missing half. And what were the chances you would’ve seen him?

He shuddered, blinking hard against the burn behind his eyes. His throat tightened as he breathed you in, the faint trace of wildflowers still clinging to your skin like memory. His heart clenched.

The odds of this… of you… out of all the people, all the cities, all the winding chances and missed timings, was one in a million.

taglist: ily @heesmiles , @lovingbeomgyudayone , @virtaideen , @hyukascampfire , @fancypeacepersona , @bamgeutori , @lilbrorufr , @beomieeeeeeeeeeees , @xylatox , @yunverie , @imlonelydontsendhelp , @moagyuu , @immelissaaa , @readinmidnight , @pagelets , @wonderstrucktae , @boba-beom , @seodami , @izzyy-stuff , @gyudollies , @i-am-not-dal , @page-isa , @tyunarisu , @s0urcherry , @prettypeachprincesz @zaynspidey @sxmmerberries @immelissaaa @definitelynotherr @fics-lovebot @missychief1404 @irishspringing @lovesickchoi @beomgyusluver @sumzysworld @usuallyunlikelyfox @soo-blue @younbeanz @storminacloud @bamgeutori @soobinieswife @prized-jules @soobmeongie @lostgirlysstuff @hoseocakes @fancypeacepersona @ke4s @lvlyhiyyih @aerangi @suneonu @ryuhannaworld @soheeunderthesun @luvleyylina @georgeweasleys-gf @marissariveraaaa

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faeyun · 2 months ago

Text

ˋ 𑁍 ⨾ BACK FOR MORE

when your boyfriend’s basketball team wins their championship game, of course they’re expecting a grand celebration for it—a big, shiny prize. that prize comes in the shape of you, and you letting them do absolutely whatever they want to you. but, this isn’t the first time you’ve been the prize, and it won’t be the last either.

❛ 투바투 𝑥 𝑓!reader ❜ 𓄵 𝓯𝒕. basketball captain!heeseung 𝖾𝗌𝗍𝖺𝖻𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉 (𝗐／ 𝗍𝖺𝖾𝗁𝗒𝗎𝗇), 𝗌𝗆𝗎𝗍, 𝗉𝗈𝗋𝗇 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖺 𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾 𝖻𝗂𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗉𝗅𝗈𝗍, 𝗀𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖻𝖺𝗇𝗀, 𝖻𝗈𝗒𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽!𝗍𝖺𝖾𝗁𝗒𝗎𝗇, 𝖻𝖺𝗌𝗄𝖾𝗍𝖻𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗒𝖾𝗋𝗌!𝗍𝗑𝗍 ✴︎ 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘦 𝘶𝘴𝘦, 𝘦𝘹𝘩𝘪𝘣𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘮, 𝘷𝘰𝘺𝘦𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘮, 𝘴𝘦𝘮𝘪-𝘱𝘶𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘤 𝘴𝘦𝘹, 𝘶𝘯𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘹, 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘪𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘤𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘴, 𝘱𝘶𝘴𝘴𝘺 𝘥𝘳𝘶𝘯𝘬!𝘵𝘹𝘵, 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘥𝘰𝘮!𝘺𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘫𝘶𝘯, 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘮𝘴!𝘴𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘢𝘪, 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘮𝘴!𝘵𝘢𝘦𝘨𝘺𝘶 (𝘵𝘩𝘰 𝘵𝘺𝘶𝘯 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯), 𝘮𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘺 𝘴𝘦𝘹, 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴, 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘣𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 (𝘮. 𝘳𝘦𝘤), 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘧𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘱𝘪𝘦𝘴, 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘦𝘹 (?), 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩 𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘵𝘴, 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘭𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘱𝘦𝘵 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘴 (𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺, 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭), 𝘱𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘴𝘦, 𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘴𝘦𝘹, 𝘥𝘦𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯／𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 (𝘴𝘭𝘶𝘵, 𝘣𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘩, 𝘸𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘦), 𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 (𝘧. 𝘳𝘦𝘤), 𝘥𝘢𝘤𝘳𝘺𝘱𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘢, 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘴 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘢 𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘺, 𝘴𝘰𝘰𝘣𝘪𝘯 𝘤𝘶𝘮𝘴 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘵, 𝘤𝘶𝘮𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘵𝘴, 𝘤𝘶𝘮 𝘴𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘫𝘰𝘣, 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘦𝘹, 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩, 𝘨𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘤𝘰𝘸𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭 & 𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘸𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭, 𝘴𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘫𝘰𝘣, 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨／𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘭𝘴, 𝘪 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘺 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘺!! 𓏸 1O,6OO ╱ 𝓶. list

( 𝓷 )。 wrote this because i went into a lust-filled craze after i saw this video of the boys after their korea uni performance… it’s so filthy i’m sorry LMAOO (つ ω ≦；) the warnings are so long god… i didn’t mean for it to be this long but yknow!! hehe enjoyyy!!~~ ♡♡

͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ REBLOGS ◜◡◝ ASKS APPRECIATED!

You flew to your feet as the stadium erupted into cheers, your own screams falling from your lips. You didn’t think as you ran down the stairs, pushing past anyone who was in your way, you just had to make it to the team.

“That was amazing!” you yelled as you ran towards Taehyun, who just made the winning shot right at the buzzer. It was forty to forty-three, the home team taking the championship. You jumped into his arms and he spun you around, his hold on you tightening. He was dripping with sweat, but you didn’t care one bit. Taehyun put you back down on your feet and you took a step back to get a good look at him. “That,” you started, catching your breath a little, “was amazing! You got it on the buzzer too!”

Taehyun smiled at you as he looked over at his cheering teammates who were still on the basketball court. They caught sight of the two of you and he waved them over. “Wasn’t it?” Taehyun asked rhetorically. “I wasn’t even expecting it—I wasn't even thinking when I shot from halfway across the court, but it went in anyway!”

You pulled his attention back down to where you stood next to him so you could kiss him. Taehyun smiled into the kiss, rocking you back and forth for a moment before the two of you parted just in time to be engulfed by the rest of the team.

Sweaty limbs were all over you and the air around you was filled with laughter. It was such an electrifying moment, that you couldn’t help but feel like you were part of the team. Taehyun liked to call you his “good luck charm.” He claimed that whenever you were at one of their basketball games, which most of them, that they always won. You’d like think that it was just their pure talent, but you bathed in how the team hoisted you up onto their shoulders and chanted, “Good luck charm! Good luck charm!” Some even went as far to tell the opposing team to suck it.

You were laughing so hard that your stomach was hurting, but the night was far from over. The celebrations have only begun.

Taehyun pulled you to where him and his close friends on the team stood and away from the rest of the team who were now making their way to the locker room. Yeonjun pulled you into his sweaty side, his arm wrapping around your shoulders. “So, are you gonna reward us for winning the championship?” Yeonjun asked with a flirty tone, looking down at your frame.

Taehyun made a face as he grabbed your wrist and pulled you into his chest. “What the fuck, man? She’s my girlfriend!” Taehyun said, disgusted. Yeonjun just laughed at him, the other four boys joining in. The smile grew on your face and you buried it into Taehyun’s chest.

“That didn’t seem to be a problem last game,” Beomgyu replied. Taehyun’s disgusted attitude dropped and he harshly nudged Beomgyu away. He fought the smirk on his face as he pushed away the boys and kept you at his side.

Yeonjun yanked you into his chest, his hands traveling down to cup your ass. “Come on,” he dragged out, “It was so much fun last time, wasn’t it?” Yeonjun leaned down and whispered the latter half of his sentence in your ear as his hands traveled back up your body. “You can’t even deny it, we were all there. We could start right now—right in the locker room.”

Beomgyu pulled you away from him, throwing a dirty look over his shoulder. “At least treat her like a lady, Yeonjun!” He hissed at him.

“She wasn’t asking to be treated like a lady when we were all inside of her,” Yeonjun threw back. The group laughed and heat rose to your face as you thought about what happened between the six of you at their last game. Flashes of a hotel room crossed your mind and you could almost feel the stickiness and the sweat all over your skin. You crossed your legs at it, laying your head on Beomgyu’s shoulder to try and focus on the conversation that they were having.

“You two are quiet, what are you thinking about, huh? Thinking about how you’ll try to last longer than five minutes this time?” Beomgyu asked Soobin and Kai, the vibration of his voice travelling down your side. The boys laughed and Soobin and Kai grew red. “Or maybe they’re thinking about different positions to put her in when it’s their turn…” Beomgyu trailed mockingly, and Kai laughed.

It was a little embarrassing how they were talking about all of this so out in the open, like they werent even aware that there were others still around them. Fans of both teams were passing you by, staring with wide, lustful eyes at the teammates and they didn’t even give them a single look. They were completely tuned in to the conversation they were having about putting you into different positions and splitting you completely open like it was just another day, like they were talking about the weather.

They didn’t even mind that they were talking about you in front of you either. “Yeah,” Kai started a bit awkwardly, “Maybe this time I’ll just have her suck me off. Maybe deepthroat her?” Soobin then hurriedly chimed in, “Dude, you’ll be missing out! Her pussy is heavenly, I’ve never felt anything like it before.” While they talked, Beomgyu’s hands trailed lower and lower until his thumb was playing with the hem of the skirt you wore. Occasionally he dipped it under and rubbed his thumb along the smooth skin there.

“All that I know,” Taehyun spoke over the others, his voice a bit louder than before and catching the attention of a group that walked past you all, “is that she’s my girlfriend, so I get to finish her off completely.” You cringed a little at how the passing group’s eyebrows raised at the innuendo.

Yeonjun snorted at Taehyun’s words, “Not that there’ll be much left when we’re done with her.”

Taehyun glared at him. “Fine, then we’ll go oldest to youngest.” The group groaned, but Yeonjun smirked at you, his eyes trailing you up and down and stopping at Beomgyu’s thumb at the hem of your skirt. His nose twitched a bit before he looked away.

“How is that any fair?” Kai asked. Soobin quickly cut in, “You said that you just wanted to deepthroat her! You don’t need her to be not fucked out for that, Kai.”

Kai rolled his eyes at him, muttering under his breath. “Let’s go then,” Yeonjun spoke, walking up to you and pulling you from Beomgyu’s grasp. “I’m gonna make sure you don’t even realize that the others are there once I’m done with you. I hope you like me being rough.” He looked back at you for a moment, his eyes trailing over your hand in his as you followed him like a waiting puppy. “What am I even saying? Of course you do. Let’s hope your boyfriend doesn’t get too jealous.”

The six of you walked back to the locker room, chuckles and muttered words leaving your lips at each twist and turn of the way there. The closer you got to it, the more your heart raced. For some reason, this time made you more nervous.

When they jokingly purposed the idea last time—which was mainly Yeonjun’s doing—it was all excited nerves and fiery skin. The thought of them all taking turns being inside you thrilled you, especially since you found them all attractive. That time was them just testing the waters, seeing how far you would let them push your buttons until you pushed them away. After all, you were still Taehyun’s girlfriend. This time, however, all bets were on the table, all opportunities. And this wasn’t just any regular win—this was the championship win. The big, golden shiny medal. And you were the celebration, the prize.

To say you were excited and nervous was an understatement, and the boys weren’t shy on voicing exactly what they wanted to do to you either.

Yeonjun pushed the locker room door open and that zealous feeling overwhelmed you. Thankfully, the rest of their teammates have already filed out, most likely doing interviews somewhere in the building. The room was completely empty—not that you would have cared if you had a broader audience at this point—and Yeonjun looked back at where you stood in the doorway and smirked. “Looks like I got you all to myself.”

“We’re all still here, dipshit,” Taehyun scoffed, taking your hand and leading you further into the room. He walked you to the bench near the lockers and motioned for you to sit. “Take your clothes off,” he then said, his voice soft, as he looked up at his teammates getting their stuff together around the room. You did as he said, shaky fingers excitedly tugging at the hem of your shirt. Taehyun pulled at the collar of his jersey behind his neck before taking it off all in one motion. He tossed it down onto the bench next to you before moving to grab his things from his locker.

You were wiggling the skirt you were wearing down your legs when Kai appeared in front of you. He trapped you against him with his arms at the sides of your body with a teasing smile. Kai was shirtless too, and you looked down at the way his abs tightened with his laugh. He leaned in closer to you, and in a low voice he said, “You’re eager.”

“What girl wouldn’t be?” you responded, your lips brushing up against his with each word you spoke. Kai chuckled again, shaking his head a little, before he pressed his lips to yours. You leaned more into the kiss and your tits pressed up against his chest. Your arm wrapped around his torso to pull him closer as your lips parted to give him more access to your mouth.

Kai graciously accepted your invitation, groaning into your mouth like its been ages since he’s kissed anyone. His hand moved to the top of your thigh and your back practically arched at the electrifying touch, at the hint of what was to come. “Please,” you muttered into his mouth, the sound coming out muffled, but Kai heard you anyway as his hand trailed to your inner thigh.

It was like the two of you were the only ones in the room. You didn’t care one bit that you were suppose to be with Yeonjun right now instead of Kai. The rules flew completely out of the window as soon as Kai’s lips were on yours. All you wanted to do was show him just how well you could use your mouth, and you were sure that Kai was wondering about the thought as well. The only person you sucked off besides your boyfriend was Beomgyu, and he made sure to show the rest of the group how deep your throat could take his big cock. “Wow, Taehyun… you really trained her to take dick well! I wasn’t expecting this,” Beomgyu remarked as the sound of you gagging and the other boys’ moans filled the hotel room as they got themselves off at the sight of it.

You remembered looking at Kai then, tears streaming down your hot face and saliva dripping down your chin. It must’ve stuck with him this whole time.

Before you and Kai could go any further, he was ripped away from you with a short gasp. Yeonjun had a tight grasp in Kai’s damp ashy blonde hair and his eyes held a fury unlike anything you’ve seen from him before. He was completely naked, save for a towel haphazardly thrown over his shoulder, and you greedily took him in despite him not sparing you a single glance. His focus was completely on Kai.

“Do I have to teach you a lesson on waiting your turn?” Yeonjun hissed in Kai’s ear, his grip tightening. Kai winced, but shook his head at the question, breathing out a quick “No!” Yeonjun pushed him to the side and away from where you still sat on the bench, half naked and panting with desire as you watched the scene unfold. Your cheeks were burning, but not because you were embarrassed at being caught. You wanted Yeonjun to turn his attention onto you next, to scold you too.

You quickly looked around the room. The rest of the boys were in various stages of being naked too, their items scattered as they put stuff away and got ready for their celebration. Taehyun caught your attention from across the room. His boxers were hanging low on his hips and his sweaty hair was pushed back off of his forehead to dry out of his eyes. He just shook his head at you, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. Taehyun already knew what you were trying to do, it came as no shock to him. You smirked and hid it by biting your lips as you looked back to Yeonjun.

Yeonjun looked over his shoulder at your boyfriend, “I knew your girl was a slut, but I didn’t know it was to this extent. Can’t even get my hands on her before she’s flying to someone else.” Finally, Yeonjun turned to look at you, and you inhaled sharply.

His brows were drawn together and his face was twisted into one of almost disgust along with the underlying anger from catching Kai with you before him. Yeonjun’s lips were pulled back in a mocking smile that showed his teeth. It was almost embarrassing how hard you were breathing, how your chest rose and fell vigorously with how excited you were. You locked eyes with him, licking your lips as you wiggled to push down your soaked panties and let your skirt fall to the tile with it, and bared yourself to him completely.

Yeonjun just turned and walked away from you.

Your mouth fell open, and you hunched into yourself a bit. “Where are you going?!” Taehyun asked Yeonjun as he passed by him, annoyed on your behalf. Yeonjun’s answer was short in response, “To shower.”

Taehyun looked back at you for a moment and you stared at him with wide eyes. “What about her? It’s your turn!” Yeonjun walked back to where the showers were and threw his towel over the side of the wall. His other shower supplies were already sitting there. “Tell her to come on,” Yeonjun simply said and turned the water on.

Your gaze returned to Taehyun, hesitancy radiating off of you. He tilted his head back to where Yeonjun was showering and returned back to getting his stuff together. You sat on the bench for a moment before you stood on shaky legs.

The walk back to the showers seemed endless and the sound of the water only grew. You peeked around the wall to the shower Yeonjun was at to see his back was turned to you as the stream of water poured over him. “Yeonjun?” you called in a soft voice, stepping into the open shower. Your feet were met with warm water as you stepped closer.

Yeonjun turned at the sound of your voice, his eyes half closed so the water didnt drip into them. He ran his hands through his wet hair to get a better look at you and you lingered a couple feet from him. “Why are you acting so shy now? Come here,” he says while stepping out of the water a bit.

You don’t know why you were so shy either. Maybe it was the way Yeonjun turned from you like he didn’t want to fuck you, despite it all being his idea. Maybe it was because he was the only one who didn’t voice exactly what he wanted to do to you besides asking if you liked him being rough. The showers weren’t what you were imagining when he said “rough,” and you struggled to picture how you’d even manouver in here.

When you were right in front of him, Yeonjun didn’t hesitate to bring you closer. He hugged your naked body tight to his and roughly kissed you like he had a problem.

Yeonjun drowned out your gasp by sticking his tongue inside your mouth instead at the golden opportunity. His hand was on the back of your neck so you couldn’t move from his hold, his fingers tangled in the strands of your hair as your lips moved as one. You couldn’t help but moan, and that seemed to egg Yeonjun on even further as he pushed you up against the wall and away from the water completely.

He pulled away from you, just mere inches so your face was fully in his view. “Never do that again,” he said lowly. That same anger from earlier lingered deep within it, but you decided to act clueless to it anyway. You look up at him with big eyes, glancing at how his lips were wet with your shared saliva and how it still connected the two of you. “Do what again?” you asked innocently.

Yeonjun’s eyes narrowed at you, not as amused as Taehyun would be if it was the two of you in this situation. “Don’t play dumb with me,” Yeonjun said in response. “You’ll only piss me off more. You know what I’m talking about.”

You just smiled at him, your hands running up his abs and towards his chest. “What if I like pissing you off, hm?” You leaned in closer so your lips were just against his. “What if I think it’s hot?”

Yeonjun’s hand at the back of your neck pulled at your hair just before your lips could fully connect. His gaze was dark, but the corners of his plush lips were raised ever so slightly at your confession. “I don’t like sharing,” Yeonjun spoke, his voice still low. “Especially not with them.”

Your smile grew and you had to resist the urge to laugh. “You don’t have much of a choice, now do you?”

Yeonjun chuckled, “That’s what you think.” He parted your legs with his knee. “They all have to fuck you after I do, not the other way around. By then, you’re already used goods. Not even that boyfriend of yours gets to have you first. You’re all mine.”

He settled his knee in between your legs, right against your heat. You bit down on your bottom lip as you tried to hold in your moan and you adjusted the way you stood. Slowly, you began to roll your hips, your gaze never leaving Yeonjun’s. You felt his cock twitch against your thigh and you smiled more. “What are you waiting for then?” you asked him. “I’m yours.”

Before you could even fully finish your sentence Yeonjun was kissing you again, rough and sloppy like he just wanted to shut you up. You moved your hips faster, the water from his shower making it easier along with just how aroused you were, as a moan spilled past your lips. Yeonjun swallowed it whole.

His hands moved down to your hips and he moved them against his thigh for you. Yeonjun bit down on your bottom lip and you whined, pulling away from his lips a little.

Your moans were loud, even over the abandoned shower stream. You turned to look behind you at the boys, your gaze scanning them all. Taehyun leaned against the wall that divided the lockers from the showers, completely naked like you all now were, an unreadable expression on his face. His cock was in his hand and he lazily stroked the base of it.

Soobin was the one who seemed the most unraveled so far. His cock was leaking and red and he stroked it with quick movements. Soft pants emitted from his open mouth and every so often he threw his head back when you moaned a particular way. Soobin’s hair stuck to his forehead with the effort he was exerting. He could barely stand up on his own two feet against the lockers.

Beomgyu was leaning against a locker a few feet away from him, looking at him with a raised eyebrow. He was the only one without his cock in his hands, but it still stood tall anyway. His arms were crossed against his chest and he seemed almost bored. You could tell he was expecting more action like how the last time was instead of Yeonjun hiding you behind a wall. Beomgyu didn’t dare to open his mouth and say anything about it, though.

Kai sat at the bench you were previously at, ears red with his barely controlled lust. He had a tight hold on the tip of his leaking cock as he rubbed it slowly. It looked like he was trying to savor every moment, edge himself on until it was finally his turn and he could cum down your throat instead. When you looked at him, he nearly jerked in his spot and his face grew redder.

It all turned you on even more, made your moans louder and your hips move faster. Yeonjun’s lips were on your neck, his teeth nipping at your unmarred skin before anyone else could. He was clearly staking his claim on you for the rest of them—and for everyone else once you were all done—to see. Yeonjun trailed sloppy kisses back up and over his work, relishing in how your body jerked each time your clit dragged along his thigh and his teeth grazed over the sensitive hickeys he just left. But, he wouldn’t just let you cum that easily, not when you weren’t even looking at him—focused on him.

Yeonjun pulled his knee out from under you and you would’ve fallen to the wet tile had his hands not been at your hips. Your gaze flew to his and the look on his face alone could’ve made you cum. His head was slightly tilted and his face was a perfect mask of calmness and composure, but you could see the cracks. Yeonjun’s jaw was tense as he worked it and his eyes were darker than ever. He didn’t even bother to move his black hair out of his eyes so you could really see how much you pissed him off.

Instead, Yeonjun dragged you back out to the lockers right in the center of all of the boys and pushed you down to the bench next to where Kai still sat. Kai hesitantly looked at the two of you before standing to his feet and moving to the other side of the wall where Taehyun stood. You ran your hands down your thighs, the skin still slightly wet from Yeonjun’s. He threw a leg over the bench next to you and roughly angled you to the side. You understood his intention and got on your hands and knees on the bench.

“Little slut is dripping,” Yeonjun says loudly, enough for the rest of the boys to perk up and lean to get a look as he pushes his hand down your back. Thr same hand smacks your ass before he’s spreading your pussy open more to get a better look. “Needy little thing, aren’t you? You’re so fucking desperate for cock that it has you clenching around nothing,” Yeonjun continues, rubbing his thumb in your wetness. You wiggle your ass back at him, but he just tsks.

“Stop teasing and just fuck me already,” You murmur through gritted teeth against your arms. You were already annoyed that he stopped you from cumming once, you didn’t need him dragging his teasing out.

Yeonjun just ignored you and ran the tip of his cock between your folds. The sound your pussy made was obscene and you heard Soobin groan in front of you as he rounded the bench to stare at it. You moaned into your arm, not wanting to give Yeonjun the satisfaction anymore, but that only seemed to piss him off more. Without warning, he fully pushed himself inside of you, his thick cock stretching you out so deliciously. You cried out as you were pushed forward from the force. “Fuck!” you gritted out, biting down hard on your lip. It just reminded you of how Yeonjun did the same thing minutes before and you moaned again.

“That’s it, baby, let them all know how good my cock feels.” Yeonjun didn’t miss a beat.

He didn’t start easy either, didn’t grant you with the slow drag of his cock that increased with each trust. Instead, Yeonjun was all rough edges and a quick pace. He held your hips in place and basically fucked you on his cock himself.

The sound of skin against skin and pleasurable moans bounced around the walls of the locker room. Not just from you and Yeonjun, but from all of you. If you were outside of the locker room right now you would’ve thought that an orgy was happening inside, not just two people fucking and the rest crowded around to watch.

You didn’t realize there were tears in your eyes until your chin was being grabbed and your head was being lifted. Your blurry vision barely made out Taehyun’s face, nor did you fully recognize that he was in front of you. You were too focused on Yeonjun’s cock splitting you open and the pathetic mewls and moans that left your mouth. Each thrust of his sent you flying forward before his rough grip brought you right back down on his length. It made you dizzy, and it made your knees weak with each wave of pleasure that hit you when the tip of his cock kissed your sweet spot.

A loud mix between a moan and a gasp was ripped from your throat when you felt Yeonjun’s fingers in your hair pulling you back towards his chest, still fucking you. His lips were near your ear and you heard his grunts clear as day. “Why don’t you tell your boyfriend how much of a cock-hungry bitch you are?” Yeonjun’s voice filled your ear. “How fucking pathetic you are on someone else’s cock? Go on—” Yeonjun gritted out each word with a perfectly timed thrust “—tell him.”

You shook your head as your nails dug into Yeonjun’s thighs, causing him to curse when they broke the skin. He laughed in your ear.

Yeonjun’s hand left your hair, and you almost whined at the loss. His grip against the strands hurt, but it hurt so good. It trailed along the side of your neck before sitting at the base of your throat. Yeonjun left it there for a moment, his other hand grabbing your hip so hard that you were sure it’ll leave a bruise, as he fucked into you with a laugh.

You could tell he was laughing at the way your heart rate picked up, at how you clenched around him so hard he struggled to fuck you at the same pace. “Such a dirty little slut…” Yeonjun trailed lowly into your ear, nibbling at your lobe a bit. “You like this, don’t you? Does it turn you on?”

Before you could even respond, even think, Yeonjun was wrapping his bicep around your throat and halting the breath from your lungs from the pure shock. He didn’t hold back—his arm around you was just tight enough to make you a little lightheaded and seeing stars. Your ears rang and your eyes rolled to the back of your head. You didn’t even hear how much louder you suddenly got at the action, nor did you hear the orgasmic moans emitting from the other boys that you forgot were in the same room.

“Tell your boyfriend how much of a whore you are. Tell him how he could never make you feel like this, how forgettable he is. Tell him how you’re mine.” Yeonjun’s headlock got a fraction tighter with each sentence, teetering you right along the edge before throwing you over completely. Your pussy fluttered wildly around Yeonjun’s cock and his harsh thrusts that he refused to soften. You felt like putty in his arms, fully moldable for him, and he knew it—that was the worst part. “Tell him,” Yeonjun whispered in your ear, and you could hear his wicked smirk.

You completely unraveled, melted right into Yeonjun’s arms as your body shook and a moan that only could be heard in a cheap porno moved right through you. Cum spilled from out of you and around Yeonjun’s hard cock, but he just used it as a way to slip deeper into you.

“I’m a whore,” you spoke in a cracked voice, barely heard through your breathless pants and shallow moans. Your eyes fluttered closed from the ripples of pleasure as Yeonjun fucked you through your orgasm, his bicep still tight around your throat and his pace fast that sent you further into a haze. “And-And everyone’s forgettable and I’m yours. I’m yours…”

More tears fell down your cheeks as you felt Yeonjun’s cock throb inside of you. Your body moved on it’s own, getting all that it could from him as you circled your hips. That’s not what made Yeonjun’s head fall into the crook of your neck, his hips stuttering and his grunts turning to almost pained moans, though. You sighed out another breathy moan, your eyes finally fluttering open as Yeonjun came inside of you.

Yeonjun’s thrusts finally slowed as he kept fucking you through his own orgasm, pressing wet kisses to the side of your neck and sending shivers down your spine. When he was milked dry, his arm left your throat and you fell forward onto the bench, barely catching yourself in time.

“That was so fucking hot,” you heard Beomgyu moan out. Your surroundings clarified in an instant and hit you full force. Your body felt weak, and the feeling only got worse when Yeonjun pulled out of you and your mixed cum dripped down your inner thighs. How were you supposed to go four more rounds if Yeonjun’s turn basically took you right out of the game?

You felt your ass being grabbed and being spread apart. Looking behind you on wobbly knees, you found Soobin’s nose practically shoved into your messy cunt. A layer of sweat stuck to you, and you suddenly wished that the building had better A/C.

A hand guided your face forward again, and you looked up to see your boyfriend in front of you. Taehyun smashed his lips against yours, not even bothering to disguise how much he wanted you right now. You’d bet he was regretting going from oldest to youngest right now. “Okay, baby?” he murmured against your lips, barely parting from you to speak. You nodded, too breathless to speak. Fingers gripped your chin and you were being pulled from Taehyun’s lips. Soobin’s face came into view, and he replaced Taehyun’s lips with his own.

Soobin’s big hand found your waist, steadying you up on your knees as you gained your strength back. You raised a hand to cup his cheek before running it through his hair to get it out of his face. Giggling as the two of you parted, you took in Soobin’s appearance—how red and hard his cock is, and how messy it and his stomach were with his own cum.

“You’re so messy already!” You laughed at him, the smile lingering on your face. Soobin’s smile was just as big, his sneaky hands coming to cup your breasts. “You are too!” he responded a bit awkwardly with a laugh. Soobin’s turn shouldn’t be long, if his cum splattered all over himself and pink-tinged cheeks was anything to go by.

You bit your lip a little as you looked at him, the corner of your mouth raising. You then adjusted yourself on the bench. Sitting down on the bench, you leaned back onto your hands as you spread your legs to give Soobin a full view of yourself, your eyes never leaving his wide ones. With how he was practically drooling over you, you would’ve thought that this was his first time seeing a naked woman—let alone the first time touching and being inside one.

It was surely a sight to see, cum messily smeared all over your folds and dripping down the insides of your thighs. The heat radiated off of your body and the thin sheen of sweat made you glisten, the fluorescent light of the locker room casted a spotlight onto you and made you glow. Soobin’s eyes hungrily took in every part of you like this was his last meal on death row, and he wasn’t going to waste any of it.

Soobin stepped towards you in a trance. He stepped over the bench so his long legs hugged it and made his way to your waiting body, cock throbbing and already leaking his precum. When he got to you, he grabbed the back of your thighs and pushed them to the sides of your body, mesmerized in the way your pussy spread open and your pretty entrance welcomed him in. Soobin grabbed his cock with one hand, giving it a couple rough tugs as he licked his dry lips.

“I’m ready for you,” you whispered, back arching a little despite not even being touched. “Please, put your cock in me already.”

Unlike Yeonjun, Soobin took his time with entering you. He let his fat cockhead stretch you out inch by inch, savoring the small whimpers you let out and how warm his cock gradually got from your heat. Soobin groaned, he could cum right then and there from the feeling, but he didn’t want to get teased again for cumming too fast.

Speaking of, Yeonjun’s voice cut through the mirage, “We all know you have five seconds in you, Soobin. Why don’t you hurry this along so the others can have their turn?”

You glanced over at him, brows knitted together from the feeling of cock getting deeper inside of you and filling you up. Yeonjun was leaning back against a locker behind Soobin, his head tilted to watch his cock enter you. His hand absentmindedly trailed along the marks you left with your nails in his thighs, the wounds angry and bright red. If they hurt, Yeonjun didn’t show it. You held his gaze for a moment before Kai spoke up.

“Maybe he’ll last longer this time,” he said, still in his same spot from Yeonjun’s turn. Taehyun was next to respond. “He’s already cum, like, twice—and he hasn’t even been inside her yet.” Beomgyu and Yeonjun laughed at that.

It was like Soobin didn’t hear them. He was too focused on the way he was buried so deep inside of you and still your pussy was sucking him in more. Slowly, he began to pull back out, groaning at his cock sliding against your walls. He pulled out until just the tip of him was still inside of you before slowly pushing back in. Soobin did this a few times, his speed gradually increasing until he found a steady rhythm to fuck you at.

The slowness of it all drove you crazy. It was such a change from your previous orgasm that your body needed more. You arched your back desperately for any sort of faster friction, wiggled and whined and moaned Soobin’s name so he knew how badly you needed more of him to no avail. Soobin pinned you down beneath him, pants falling from his lips as he hovered above you. “Stay still,” he demanded.

To satiate you, he rubbed a thumb into your clit as he fucked deeply into you slow and steady. His thumb went at a different pace than his hips did, the pad of it rubbing quick circles into your bundle of nerves. It made you jolt, like lightning struck you and you had come alive.

You wrapped your arms around Soobin’s neck to bring his lips to yours. The kiss was sloppy, the two of you too caught up in your moans of pleasure and catching your breaths to keep your lips together for too long. You felt the pressure build up in the pit of your stomach as it demanded to be unleashed.

Soobin’s pace increased as he started to chase his own release. He threw his head back, eyes rolling to the back of his skull as his hold on the back of your thighs tightened, and his hips moved wildly.

You choked back a moan, still entirely too sensitive from your previous orgasm, as you began to tremble. Your chest pushed into Soobin’s with the arching of your back. Before you could even get the words out you were cumming around Soobin’s cock.

Soobin let out a string of curses as he looked down to where your two bodies met—the both of you messy and painted white. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he cursed as he quickly pulled out of you.

You whined at the sudden loss, pussy clenching around air. Soobin just groaned as he fisted his wet cock above you, the wet sounds almost too much. A small wave of disappointment hit you at not being able to feel him cum inside of you.

With a loud moan, white spurts of Soobin’s cum shot from his cock down onto your tits. He kept stroking himself until he was milked dry and you were even more of a mess and cum-covered. He sat back on his knees, his chest rising and falling roughly as he looked down at his work with a tinge of a smile.

He ran the tips of his fingers across your chest, smearing his cum along your perked nippes and down your stomach. His touch continued until he was dipping them between your folds and smiling when you started to squirm. “Her pussy is something else,” he said, mainly to the other boys—who were still recovering from their own highs—instead of you. Soobin pushed his fingers inside of you and watched how more cum spilled out. “It’s so addictive that I just want to keep fucking her no matter how spent I am.”

You grabbed onto the sides of the bench as you raised your hips towards his fingers, a loud whimper passing through your lips when they pushed in deeper. Your head was completely clouded, the only thing that broke through the haze was complete lust.

“It’s too bad your turn is over,” Beomgyu’s voice says before his face comes into view. He’s looking over you with a smirk before he’s grabbing your hand and pulling you to your feet. You wobble, and his hands find their way to your hips and gives them a little squeeze.

Beomgyu looks over you, at how you’re a mess of sweat and cum, and tsks while shaking his head a bit, “What am I gonna do with you?”

He almost played the question off as a worried one, like one finding a crying child with a scraped knee or something of the sort, but you knew his words had a different meaning. Beomgyu was wondering what position to put you in—one he hasn’t put you in before.

Beomgyu spun you around so your back is to his chest. His hands glide down your hips before he’s nudging your feet apart with one of his own. The boys come around the two of you so they’re all in front of you, red and eager cocks in their hands at the next portion of the show. Beomgyu wastes no time at prodding at your entrance with the tip of his leaking cock. He rubs it through your creamy folds before pushing himself inside of you with ease because of it. A small whine pushes through your lips and you stumble forward the slightest bit.

“Next time,” Kai says while licking his lips, “we should record this.”

The thought of a next time and the prospect of it being recorded made you clench around Beomgyu’s cock. He hummed at it, inhaling sharply as he started to chuckle. “You like that, don’t you?” he asks almost mockingly. His hands move to your elbows and brings them tight behind your back.

Beomgyu roughly thrusts into you, using your elbows to bring you back down onto his cock. “I can practically feel you heating up over it,” he smirks.

He was right, your body was alight with the idea. Your cheeks seared and you had to close your eyes from the slight embarrassment of it all since the boys were all in front of you, smirking and laughing in your face. A string of moans rang from you with each thrust Beomgyu gave to your poor spent cunt, tits bouncing with each stroke.

“Eyes open, baby,” Taehyun said, a tight grip on your chin. You swallowed hard and opened your eyes to look at him, causing a wicked smile to spread across his face. “That’s my good girl, you’re halfway done.”

Beomgyu wrapped an arm around your elbows, his other hand trailing down your thigh and leaving goosebumps before he lifted it in the air by your knee. You cried out at the sudden new angle and the boys let out various moans as the ducked down to see your pussy get fucked harder.

You were a loud, whimpering and moaning mess. The overstimulation was finally starting to kick in and tears formed at the corners of your eyes as you cried out Beomgyu’s name over and over, too dumb on his cock to say anything else. It just urged Beomgyu to go faster and deeper, and you could hear the grin in his voice when he said, “Yeah, just like that. Keep crying my name.”

When your words turned to sputters and your pussy fluttered around Beomgyu’s cock, his arm moved from where it was wrapped around your elbows and his hand ran along your breasts and up your throat to grab your chin in a vice grip. Beomgyu pulled your mouth open before sliding two fingers down your tongue slowly. Graciously, you sucked and licked them as they went further down your throat. You could taste Soobin’s salty leftover cum from your tits.

Beomgyu’s fingers were so far down your throat that when he fucked into you they would go deeper and make you gag a little. Each time a chorus of groans followed and you felt how hard Beomgyu throbbed inside of you. If he wasn’t holding you up right now you would’ve collapsed to the tile below already. Your body shook so vigorously that it was almost too much, but it felt so good.

“Beomgyu…” you cried around his fingers, vision becoming blurry. Your voice came out broken and muffled and through half a gag. You were seconds from breaking completely, stomach tight and legs wobbling.

The sound of sex penetrated the air. Creamy noises and whimpers filled your ears and you think this is the closest you’d get to heaven. You could tell that everyone was lost in it—sweaty backs leaned against walls and lockers and red leaking cocks, parted mouths that sang symphonies, and the sounds of skin slapping against skin. It was beautiful, a wonderful celebration for a grand achievement.

“Fuck, you were right, Soobin. Her pussy is addictive, I can’t get enough of it. Taehyun’s lucky he gets this whenever he wants,” Beomgyu groaned as he spoke through gritted teeth.

By some miracle, you and Beomgyu came at the same time and your body went completely limp in his arms. That didn’t stop him from fucking through the rest of his orgasm, his fingers still in your mouth making you gag as his cum pushed out from around his cock and down your leg that wasn’t in the air.

When he filled you up completely, he called his teammates over to get a closer look at the way cum spilled out of your pussy when he pulled out. Beomgyu pulled his fingers from your mouth and you inhaled deeply, leaning back against his chest to look up at him with watery eyes.

“You’re so pretty when you cry,” Beomgyu says, placing a chaste kiss on your swollen lips.

He ran his cock through your folds a couple of times, thrusting against your clit and laughing at how your whole body jolted from the sensitivity. “You’re lucky my turn’s over or I’d have you crying all night,” Beomgyu continued, pushing you from his chest.

You flew forward with a startled yelp before landing in Taehyun’s toned arms. He gave Beomgyu a quick glare before pulling you closer to him, his thumbs rubbing comforting circles into your skin. He leaned back a little to get a good look at your face. “Isn’t she so pretty?” Taehyun says, mostly to himself, as he wiped away your tears with the pad of his thumb. It was no use for what he was about to do to you.

“And she’s all mine,” Taehyun murmured, bringing his lips down to catch yours in a searing kiss.

“Not right now she isn’t,” Yeonjun scoffed, laughing afterwards.

Taehyun just ignored him, moving you back over to the bench so you could catch your breath. He threw a leg over it before sitting down, keenly fisting his cock as he looked up at you. Taehyun helped you over the bench before sitting you right on his cock. You had to bite your lip to not whimper.

“At the end of the day, she is my girlfriend. We’re just being nice enough to let you guys join us sometimes because it’s fun. Why are you trying to ruin that, Yeonjun?” Taehyun finally responded, his attention entirely focused on you as he spoke. You stared lovingly at him, completely in a trance as he touched you.

“Yeah, shut up before you ruin it for the rest of us,” Beomgyu chimed in.

Taehyun smirked at you when you leaned back on your hand and started to roll your hips towards his, moaning softly. “Besides, nothing any of you could do to her compares to what I can do to her. I know her the best,” Taehyun continued, grabbing your hips as his eyes fluttered shut.

Whatever comeback Yeonjun had died out when you placed your feet on Taehyun’s thighs and began bouncing on his cock.

“Oh my god,” Soobin drawled, the locker behind him ringing from his head being thrown back. You were almost sure he had fucked his cock raw by now.

Taehyun’s hips rose to meet yours and you nearly blacked out from how good it felt. You stopped bouncing, mewling at the feeling and already trembling. “Keep going,” Taehyun demanded, “I didn’t tell you you could stop.”

You lifted your hips until you were halfway up his cock slowly, body shaking the entire way. Taehyun thrusted upwards so he was fully inside you again. “Faster,” he said.

The way his voice sounded, the firm demands but soft tone threw you over the edge. You picked up the pace as best as you could until your arousal was splattering over Taehyun’s stomach with his strokes.

“Just like that, baby. You’re such a good girl.”

Your nails tried their best to dig into the polished wood of the locker room bench to no avail. If you were honest, it was a little embarrassing just how fast Taehyun could wrap you around his finger, especially in front of everyone else. He didn’t need to do these big displays or make you choke to show them how you belonged to him—though, he wasn’t opposed to doing that either. It was simple in the way your body responded to him, pushing itself past its limit just to do what he says.

You think you understood now why he decided to go from oldest to youngest this time—because the decision was all his. If it were anyone else, if it wasn’t him waiting near the end for you, you would’ve been passed out by now from exertion. Deep down, the others knew that. And from the last time the six of you did this, you knew deep down that Taehyun wanted to show that to Yeonjun.

Because you were his girlfriend, his to do whatever he pleased with—his.

Your hips jolted towards Taehyun’s and a whine left your lips. You thought that you were all stretched out already, but your boyfriend always managed to prove you wrong. His cock had you seeing stars and you knew that you wouldn’t be able to last much longer bouncing on it like this. Your body would completely give out once and for all from the intense euphoria.

You began shaking your head but Taehyun just shushed you, his hand moving from your hip so he could rub circles in your swollen clit with his thumb. Your body reacted immediately and there was no warning you could give before you were shaking like a leaf and cumming with a vigor you haven’t felt thus far.

“Turn around for me,” Taehyun spoke, still circling your clit with his thumb and sending lightning through your body.

You tried to move from him, but the other hand he had on your hip moved to your back and held you in place firmly. You shook your head more, “I-I can’t…”

Taehyun pulled you to him so you were chest to chest. He leaned down so his lips were at your ear, his thumb at your clit not stopping its mission to help overstimulate you more. “Don’t you want to show them how good you are? Do you really want me to punish you in front of them all?” Taehyun said in a low voice, pushing his cock in and out of you slowly. “You can,” he then said in a louder voice.

You bit your lip hard and pulled yourself off of his cock, knees almost giving out as you stood to turn around. Looking behind you, you watched Taehyun line himself up with your entrance before you sunk back down on him again, your lips parting in bliss. You sat back in his lap and placed your feet back on his thighs, shivering at the cold air on your cold and messy exposed cunt.

Leaning back against Taehyun’s chest, you looked up and kissed along his jawline. You grabbed his hand that was inching towards your clit again and brought it to your tit with a cheeky smile. You moved your hips in a circle, still not having quite the energy to start bouncing again yet.

Taehyun kissed your cheek and down your neck where Yeonjun’s marks had time to darken all while his hands moved to distract you. He started fucking into while one hand moved to play with your clit and the other came to wrap around your throat. Your heart rate picked up and immediately you were loud with the way your body felt. Taehyun’s hand just got tighter around your throat, squeezing at just the right places that made you feel extra cloudy and like you were floating.

“You think you’re funny?” he joked, grunting in your ear while fucking you harder.

You were in such euphoria that all of the pleasure almost hurt. Your hips bucked wildly on their own towards Taehyun’s hand and that motion nearly made you black out with his cock pistoning into you. But, you couldn’t stop, it all felt so good that you wouldn’t have it any other way—not that Taehyun would let you anyway.

Taehyun moaned when your pussy tried its hardest to completely suck in his cock, his pace slowing and his fingers at your clit halting with the effort of trying not to cum right then and there and spoil the rest of his turn. “Greedy little pussy,” he breathed, lips near your ear. “Feels so fucking good.”

Your hips still bucked, trying to get as much stimulation as possible despite it already being entirely too much. You needed more of him, needed his cock pounding into you harder. Head falling back on Taehyun’s shoulder, you gave him better access to your neck, which he didn’t take for granted. His hand moved further up throat, cupping around just the right spot to have you dizzy and squealing.

“S-Slow… down…” you managed to get out along with a string of broken curses. Your chest rose and fell heavily and your skin felt so hot that the two of you might start a fire right there. “Fuck,” you then loudly cried out, squirming.

Taehyun told you to stay still but you couldn’t. You were shaking so bad that had it not been for his cock inside you and the way you and Taehyun looked right now, it would’ve caused concernment. Your ears rang and you could barely hear how loud you were being nor Taehyun’s words. All you felt was his hands move and your body being shifted.

Taehyun wrapped his arms behind your knees before he brought them up next to your chest. His hands then sat at the back of your neck, locking you against him completely.

He didn’t slow, in fact, he fucked into you faster and harder. The sound of his cock fucking your pussy was pornographic, and it just spurred you forward and made you wetter. Your stomach tensed and untensed rapidly and you cried out Taehyun’s name over and over when you realized what was about to happen.

“Please, please, please, please—” you begged him, not exactly sure if you were begging him to slow down again or to keep going.

Your begging was of no use. Seconds later you were squirting halfway across the room with a loud squeal, body limp and shaking and covered in sweat. You clenched down around Taehyun’s cock so hard that he jolted, stilling inside you for a brief second at how tight you felt before fucking his cum inside of you nice and deep.

“Good fucking girl,” Taehyun praised you, his hips finally slowing and his grip around you ceasing. He brought his fingers back down to your clit and rubbed circles into it, shushing you when you started to whine his name. He kissed along your jaw before grabbing your chin and turning your head to kiss your lips. “You did so good for me, baby, I’m proud of you.”

Taehyun didn’t pull out of you until you stopped shaking, helping ease you along with his fingers at your clit. Though, when he finally did it almost sent you spiraling again. He held you close to his chest and although you couldn’t see his face, you knew he was grinning widely.

“What the fuck?” A voice spoke next to you, reeling you back to reality and sending the fact that there’s others still in the room back into your mind at full force. You had completely forgotten about Taehyun’s teammates with their cocks in their hands. “Why didn’t you tell us she could do that?!”

Your eyes fluttered open and you looked over at Kai’s bewildered expression and then over to the wide eyed looks of the other boys. Their eyes nearly popped out of their skulls.

Taehyun just shrugged. He gently closed your legs and moved them to the side so you could sit more comfortably.

“I've never seen a girl squirt in person before,” Soobin murmured, looking at you stunned. You just gave him a weak smile and chuckled a bit.

You heard Yeonjun scoff and without looking at him you could practically hear him rolling his eyes at Soobin. “You’re acting like it’s some rare commodity. It’s just squirting, it’s not that hard to do.”

Without missing a beat, Beomgyu asked him, “So then why didn’t you do it?”

As the boys argued around you, Taehyun made sure that you were alright. He had gotten one of the towels he brought and wet it so he could start cleaning you up so you didn’t have to finish the celebration with dried and sticky cum all over you making things uncomfortable. His hands were delicate, asking you if anything hurt every few seconds when he got between your legs. You shook your head and gave him a big kiss for being so sweet. If anything, besides feeling a little weak, you felt amazing.

You were standing, trying to stop the boys from a naked cat fight, when Taehyun pulled you over to him to stand between his legs. He brought his lips to yours roughly, sticking his tongue in your mouth, before turning you around and pushing you down to your knees. Taehyun called Kai’s name and beckoned him over to the two of you.

Taehyun grabbed your messy hair into his fist, angling your head back a bit. “She’s all yours,” he told Kai, who visibly gulped.

You smiled up at him, licking your lips, before you grabbed onto his already throbbing and leaking cock. You used his precum, and already previous rounds, to stroke him with a firm grasp. When you got to the tip of his cock, you ran your thumb along the slit of it and Kai moaned while pushing his hips towards your hand.

Pumping Kai’s cock a little more, you brought your lips to the tip of it and circled your tongue around the fat cockhead. Slight saltiness hit your tastebuds, but you didn’t mind. In one swift motion, you took Kai’s length down your throat, bobbing your head as you sucked in your cheeks. The tension at your head from Taehyun’s tight grip on your hair made you moan, and Kai nearly toppled over from the vibrations of it.

You pulled your mouth off of him inch by inch slowly, his cock leaving your mouth with a ‘pop!’ It hit against your lips and you smiled up at Kai.

“Her mouth is nearly as good as her pussy,” Kai breathed. His head was thrown back and his eyes were shut. You saw the way his chest rose with staggered breaths and the way his abs tightened each time you touched him. You couldn’t help but chuckle at his words, hands focusing at the base of his cock.

Flattening your tongue, you licked a stripe underneath Kai’s length from the base of it to his tip before taking him in your mouth fully again. You liked seeing him squirm.

This time you were rough and sloppy sucking his cock. You took Kai as far down your throat as you could, but Taehyun pushed your head down farther until you gagged. He would pull you back up by your hair just a little before doing the same thing over again.

Drool dripped from the corners of your mouth and down your chin, but you kept your stare up at Kai. He was too flustered to look down at you for longer than a minute. His ears were bright red and his cheeks were flushed a soft pink to match. You dug your fingers into his toned thighs and bobbed your head faster.

“Ah, my god,” Kai groaned. He brought his hands to the top of your head and his hips pushed into your face. “Your mouth feels so good, so warm.”

Each time your mouth moved up Kai’s cock, he thrusted into your mouth to bring it back down, making you gag without Taehyun’s assistance. Slowly, Kai started to fuck himself with your mouth without you having to move. His hands dug down to your scalp and he moved your head back and forth for you.

Kai hummed, brows knitted together before his hips jerked and he stopped. You gagged at the sudden movement and he squeezed his eyes shut. You felt him twitch inside your mouth and behind you Taehyun laughed at him.

“God, I hate you guys,” Kai gritted out, trying his best not to cum down your throat yet. His words just got him teased by the rest of the group.

You gagged again loudly when Kai started to fuck your throat, his strokes fast and sloppy as he pushed his cock down halfway your throat and held your head in place with his hands.

Moaning around his cock, you shifted on your knees and dug your nails in his thighs as arousal dripped down your pussy and onto the tile.

“Why are you acting like you’ve never fucked someone’s throat before?” Taehyun asked Kai incredulously. Kai didn’t answer for a moment, pure bliss and your wet mouth drowning out the words. “I-I don’t want to hurt her…” he trailed.

Taehyun laughed, “You won’t. Fuck her face harder.”

Kai didn’t hesitate, he grabbed your head and roughly brought it down his cock fully, his balls slapping against your chin and his abs tensing more at the way you gagged around him.

Kai’s cock barely left your mouth and you did nothing but gag around his length, pussy clenching around absolutely nothing. Kai was sent into pure euphoria as he used your mouth as his own personal fleshlight, and with Taehyun’s permission he didn’t hold back.

You breathed hard through your nose all while Kai’s cock throbbed in your throat. He looked down at you, at the way you looked up at him with big, watery eyes and tears streaming down your face, at how drool dripped from the corners of your mouth and down your chin and onto your pressed together thighs, it made him completely unravel and moan like he hasn’t done since the first time he fucked you. Kai threw his head back again, sloppy thrusts quickening.

Moments later, he was holding your head down and spilling his cum down your throat. He relished in the way you choke on his cock and the pain in his thighs from your nails digging in it. “Shit,” Kai sighed, shoulders dropping in relief.

He pulled his cock out your mouth slowly, breath hitching at the way your cheeks hollowed more with every inch. You swallowed thickly, the salty taste of his cum lingering behind. Taehyun tilted your head towards him and you stuck out your tongue to show him you swallowed it all, then turned back to Kai to show him too.

“Jesus, where did you find this girl, Taehyun?” Beomgyu asked, running a hand through his hair before him and the rest of the boys came near you.

Taehyun stood to his feet, the corner of his mouth raised as he looked down at you.

They all came close to your face, their throbbing cocks in their hands and they began fisting them rawer than before above your face. You shut your eyes, tongue still hanging out of your mouth and waited patiently, mouth lifted into a smile. There was a chorus of groans and whimpers above you and it made you want to start the whole celebration over again. It made you a little sad that it was over now, and so was the basketball season.

Just as spurts of cum splattered across your face and onto your tongue, the locker room door flung open loudly and startled you all. Your eyes opened and the boys turned to the door to see who was walking in. You caught the tail end of their sentence.

“—right? Honestly, I’m just glad I don’t have to do anymore interviews until next season,” came Heeseung’s voice, the boys basketball captain. There was a big smile on his face that immediately dropped when his head turned and he looked to see what you all were doing in the locker room.

There was silence in the room for a long moment as Heeseung took in each and every one of you. The sound of the abandoned shower still running pierced your ears. You licked the cum off of your lips. “What… the actual fuck are you guys doing?!” Heeseung asked.

The boys all smiled awkwardly at him, cocks in their hands still aimed at your face. “Hey, captain…” Yeonjun drew out, his smile growing along with the awkward tension in the room.

͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ REBLOGS ◜◡◝ ASKS APPRECIATED!

✉️ ⦂ me, yeonjun, and taehyun can settle this subtle fighting in bed hehehe,, sorry if the ending was a bit rushed (>w< ;) i realized that this fic was already like 10k and started to panic LMAOO… i legit blacked out while writing this, gangbangs and sixsomes hard

𖥦 ﴾ 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗎𝖾 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗈 . . . 𝗺𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 , 𝘁𝗮𝗴𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 ﴿ @innocygnet @vampsol @tinycatharsis @prkhaven @bambiihee @fangel @xylatox @whosserina @jellymochii @minaateez @lvrs-street2mmorrow @everythingvirgoes @beomieeeeeeeeeeees @sumsumtingz @riribelle @starrias @sunoosgfv @adelusionalwhore69 @byshens @bows4tyun @taebatu @writingmochi @1-800-jewon @feet4liferss @maewphoria @matchacake2 @i4tzy @hyukasningdungie @akitfffr @bingsoob @lailols @urgirls-posts @loyipampam @binzdoll @bunnysoonie @loveziehomu @yeosangslutz

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lovesickchoi · 3 months ago

Text

📁 FILE 01: CHOI SOOBIN

⋆·˚ ༘ * After a missed anniversary and weeks spent out of sync, Soobin just wants to be close to you again—really close. No rush, no performance. Just you, him, and the quiet reminder that you still belong to each other.

✦ Love Language: Quality Time

pairing: soobin x reader ✮⋆˙✐ 3.8k

warnings: smut, f!reader, no protection, soft dom!soobin, sub!reader, cock warming, slight oral f!rec, praise, romance, no protection, finishing inside

🗂️ click to access all txt member’s files

˚₊ · »-♡→ main masterlist

The apartment is quiet when you finally come home.

Way too quiet.

The kind of quiet that makes your chest feel heavier than your bag slung over your shoulder, heavier than the late hour blinking back at you on the microwave clock.

Stepping inside, you make sure to lock the door behind you. You take off your shoes, drop your keys into the bowl, and glance toward the couch.

He’s sitting there, asleep—just barely. Half curled into the throw blanket, one arm slung over the back of the couch like he was waiting for you but gave up halfway through.

You stand there longer than you intend to, just wanting to watch him for a moment. He stirs before you can say anything, lashes fluttering, voice groggy.

"You're late again..." Soobin grumbles. It wasn't accusatory, just worn thin.

You give him a small apologetic smile. "I know, I'm sorry. I didn't even get a lunch break today."

Soobin nods and tries to smile back, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He looks toward the TV, and the silence stretches on longer than you'd like. With Soobin's recent comeback promotions and your new late-night shifts at the office, quality time together was few and far between.

Even when you managed to spend time together, it was never just the two of you. There were always friends around, always the other members. Never a moment that felt truly yours—never a chance to just be alone with Soobin.

And still, he loved you with a quiet kind of devotion. Soobin would wait up long past midnight just for the quiet privilege of walking you to bed. Even the smallest moment alone with you was worth losing sleep over.

You were so used to running—meeting quotas, ticking boxes, always being on—that you hadn’t noticed how little of yourself you’d given him lately. Not your stories, not your softness. Not your time.

And apparently not even your memory for important days, like today.

You realize it the moment your eyes flick toward the calendar on the fridge. The date. Your heart sinks.

"Shit," you breathe. "Our anniversary..."

Soobin doesn’t even flinch. He just watches you quietly, eyes soft but ridden with exhaustion.

Your own eyes shift down to the uneaten container of food and unopened bottle of wine on the kitchen table—he waited to eat.

"You didn't have to wait."

He responds quickly. "I wanted to." Soobin doesn't say for you, but it's written all over his face. He'd do anything to savor a moment with you.

"I am so sorry, Binnie," you're barely able to get out. "I care about you so much. I would never..."

You feel a twist of guilt settle in your stomach, but he doesn’t pile on. Nor does he guilt you. That’s not who Soobin is.

“You didn’t forget because you don’t care,” he says softly. “I know you. You just… never forget things like that. I know how overwhelmed you've been.”

Soobin doesn’t say more. He just lifts the blanket, a wordless invitation smoothed between the wrinkles in the couch cushions. When you lie down beside him, it’s quiet again. The kind that’s warm this time—full of unspoken things and shared breath. His arms curl around you instinctively. He presses his face into your neck like he’s been holding in the need to feel you all week.

"I hate this," he breathes out, almost like he's embarrassed to say it. "Hate only seeing you like this."

You swallow hard, because you feel it too. You've never been good at this. Never been good at showing Soobin just how close you want—no, need—to be near him.

You try to apologize. To say something, anything about work. About your stupid boss, the lack of breaks, the lack of appreciation, the unpaid overtime.

And he lets you ramble on. Because this is his favorite thing in the entire world—hearing your sweet voice talking about your day, getting to hold you while you do it. His eyes are sparkling and trained on your face, attention undivided as you vent. Soobin's heart thunders beneath his rib cage.

You’re halfway through telling him all the messy details—words spilling too fast, casual but unfocused, like you’re trying to outrun your own exhaustion. There’s a thin sheen of energy in your voice, but it’s cracked at the edges. You yawn mid-sentence, barely stifling it behind the back of your hand.

Soobin notices the way you press on like you aren't seconds from collapsing. He always does.

You brush it off like you usually do, reaching for a water bottle on the coffee table, already moving on to the next thought. But before you can, Soobin gently lays his hand over yours.

“You’re tired.”

You blink at him. “I’m fine.”

“You come home and talk like you haven’t breathed in hours," he chuckles through a sigh. There’s no judgment in his voice, just a quiet hurt.

That makes you stop. Not because you disagree, but because he said it like he’s been holding it in for too long. You never really knew how to be present with him. Even in times like this, when you knew he needed it most.

He sits up straight, shifting his body to face you fully. His hand doesn’t leave yours.

“I know you don’t like stopping. I know being tired makes you feel like you’re falling behind. But I promise it's okay to slow down once in a while.”

"Binnie..." Your voice trails off.

“You didn’t forget on purpose,” he says again, because he needs you to believe it. “But I still need you. I still want today to matter. Even if it’s just here, like this.”

His voice dips, eyes searching yours. "I know we've both been working a lot. But to be honest, this has been really killing me. Can't we just take our time tonight?"

And then he’s pulling you in—slowly, gently—his arms around you. The kind of embrace that doesn’t demand anything, only offers.

You don’t fight it, don't say anything. You just let yourself sink into his chest, right into the warmth of him. It’s the only place where you don’t have to be composed or efficient or fine. You just needed to be his.

His hand slides up your back. “Just… be here,” he murmurs into your hair. “For a little while.”

And for once, you let yourself stay still. His lips brush the crown of your head, barely there.

You feel the slow rise and fall of his chest against your cheek, the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palm. He doesn’t rush you. But when you tilt your head up to look at him, his eyes are already on you. Warm and desperate. It’s not lust, not at first. It’s pure longing.

He cups your cheek, his thumb brushing beneath your eye like he’s trying to memorize you. You can’t help but lean into his angelic touch. Then his mouth is on yours. A slow and needy kiss that says I’ve missed you, stay forever.

You can feel the tension in his body, the way he holds back even as his fingers slip under your shirt, testing you, as if he’s asking for permission with every touch.

You give it with ease.

When you shift into his lap, straddling him, wrapping your arms around his neck, the ache of it all hits him.

Soobin holds you like he’s scared you’ll disappear again. His tongue is pressed between your lips, scaling every inch of your mouth that it can reach. An exasperated moan leaves you in a low sigh, and he swallows it down greedily. You unravel against one another, piece by piece.

The growing tightness in Soobin's pants presses firmly against you. You were beginning to throb for him and his attention alone. No distractions or distance, just this—focused and intentional.

Even though your lips moved unhurriedly, you have to pull away for air. But he doesn't let you escape so easily, keeping his forehead pressed firm against your own.

Soobin wants your attention on nothing but him tonight, that’s a promise he kept for himself. Before your mind can race, he's rubbing circles with his thumb over your leggings, stealing your mind away from stress and thoughts of work, locking them away where they’d be forced to put Soobin at the forefront.

Your leggings, usually an inconvenient barrier, were completely soaked through to the skin. It left Soobin no problem in rubbing every sensitive spot you yearned for him to reach.

A shaky breath leaves your lips. "Fuck, been needing you so bad. Been so stressed out." His eyes are trained on the outline of your folds, your cunt basically sucking in the soaked fabric and begging for his finger to follow suit. He wondered just how well you would suck his cock in if you were dripping and swelling like this already.

He groans loudly without remiss, throaty and strained, head dropping against your shoulder in self-control.

He continues to rub you lovingly, tearing his gaze from between your thighs to your face, smiling at the blush blooming across your nose and cheeks. His eyes flood with warmth when he speaks. "I want to do something."

“I’ll do anything,” you answer to him like you always have. Your time, your mind, your soul—he’s always had access to all of it, whenever he wanted.

Soobin’s smile spreads wide across his face, unable to contain it. His hands grip your hips before slipping beneath your shirt, slowly lifting it over your head with care.

Your breath catches. He looks almost shy when he speaks again.

“Can I just… stay inside you tonight?” His voice is hushed and reverent. “I don’t want to rush. I just—want to be close.”

A nod is all you need to deliver him. His hands are gripping just beneath your ass, standing up from the couch as he holds you. Your legs lock around his waist, keeping him close amidst the trek to your shared bedroom.

You noticed how deliberate Soobin was tonight—every step he took toward the bed felt endless. And when he finally lays you down against the soft cotton sheets, it’s like the world exhales. For the first time in a long time, you feel breathtakingly alive.

His movements flow into each other, rewriting time just to make this moment last longer. The only moment he disconnects himself from you his to peel off his own t-shirt. Your clothes are stripped from your body as well, more carefully than ever. Tender fingers work at the hem of your leggings, dragging them down your goose-bump ridden skin.

Soobin's lips are the only things moving quickly, wanting to feel your warm skin against them. He's kissing a trail across your chest, down your stomach, breath sucking in at the laced panties staring back at him.

The black material is sticky, soaked, and completely lost between your folds. Your head rested gently against a pillow slightly cocked to the side, peering down at him through hooded eyelids. He was so beautiful. All the time in the world belonged to you two.

"Mm, fuck baby," you're already whining out. Fuck these new schedules. Fuck your late nights. This is what you've both been denied for too long.

Large hands splayed across the curvature of your hips, gripping the flesh and securing you in place. Between your legs, he helped himself to one long, and slow drag of his tongue up your cunt. He breathed you in, fabric and all, with greed. It felt like a reward for the time he'd spent patiently craving for your presence.

Tender teeth got hold of your panties, dragging them halfway down your legs. A chill shoots up through you, his teeth grazing your inner thigh just enough. Soobin's fingers took over, sliding the material the rest of the way off.

One more lewd kiss against your cunt, this one hard and claiming, and he's up on his knees removing his sweatpants and underwear just as painfully slow. You'd never felt so prepared for Soobin in your entire relationship. Thighs and sheets stained with splotches of your sweet arousal, out of control.

Now fully undressed and erect against his toned stomach, Soobin takes his place next to you on the bed. He's propped up, back against the headboard, looking at you expectantly.

"Come here," his voice is so careful as he pats his lap. His voice holds the kind of care reserved for precious things.

You swing a leg over his waist with his help, straddling him where he sits. Soobin is silent, but his face says everything. His chin pressed to his chest as he looks between your legs, lips drawn rough between his teeth.

He keeps his hands at your waistline, lifting his hips just enough to align himself with your sopping entrance. You both hiss softly as the head of his cock slides against your folds, hot and thick. But he doesn’t push in just yet. He’s waiting for you again, asking for permission.

“Can I?” he whispers, even though you’ve already said yes in every way that counts.

You nod and sink down slowly, inch by inch, until he’s fully inside you. Neither of you moves. You just sit there, wrapped around him, buried in each other.

Your walls clench instinctively, and he emits a broken groan. But he doesn’t move, he doesn't fuck up into you—just presses his face into the crook of your neck and breathes.

This isn’t about sex for either of you. It’s about connection. Closeness. The ache to feel like you still belong to each other. Skin on skin, hearts syncing with every breath, you melt together until you’re not sure where he ends and you begin.

Soobin stays nestled inside your warmth for so long that you begin to lose track of time. His hands draw lazy circles over your back, his lips brushing your shoulder in silent worship. Your arms hang around his neck, holding him close. Every now and then, your walls flutter around him, and he exhales a quiet curse into your skin.

Every moment spent inside you is marked by a kiss—some soft and delicate, others deep and bruising, left like claims on your neck. Soobin's voice is hushed, whispering over and over how much he adores you. His hands roam your body like he's rediscovering it all over again, tracing every dip, outlining the shape of you with his touch. He’s etching you into him.

Eventually, the stillness turns to tension. You shift your hips just slightly and feel him twitch inside you. His breath hitches, and you notice.

“Don’t do that,” Soobin murmurs, voice taught with restraint.

Your faces are pressed close, cheek to cheek. He can feel the graze of your hardened nipples against his chest, your shaky, uneven moans fanning hot against his ear. And suddenly, he’s entirely too aware of you—of how impossibly tight and perfect your body feels around him, like you were made to fit just like this.

"Sorry, Binne." You don’t mean for it to come out as a whimper, but it slips, drenched in need. “I’m just so full…”

You try to remain still, but your eyes are already glassy with want. And when your lips find his again, more desperate this time, he gives in.

He starts to move, gently at first. Rolling his hips into yours like it’s the first time all over again. You can tell he's afraid to shatter the moment, but can’t help needing you more.

Soobin's hand finds your hair, gripping firmly—not to dominate, but to really see you. He pulls back just enough to watch your face, to pass every wave of pleasure back and forth between your eyes. He makes love to you like he’s savoring it, dragging his cock in and out at the perfect angle, hitting your g-spot again and again with a patience that feels more like devotion than control.

But it’s not enough, not with how he feels inside you. How his cock stretches you open just right, how his eyes celebrate every inch of you like you’re the only thing that’s ever mattered.

So you shift again—this time intentionally—lifting your hips just slightly before sinking back down. The friction makes your mouth fall open, a soft moan filling the air.

Soobin groans, his hands flying to your waist. “Baby…”

But you’re already moving again. A slow, teasing roll of your hips that pulls breathless curses from his lips. Your hands brace against his chest as you rise onto your knees and start to bounce—gently, at first, letting yourself adjust, letting the stretch fill you again and again. His cock drags along your walls in the most maddening way, kissing your sweet spot again and again.

His fingers dig into your sides, but he doesn’t stop you. He wouldn't dare. Instead, Soobin just watches you with his lips parted, chest rising and falling with every bounce. The expression on his face is pure awe. He can’t believe this is real. Spending time with you has never felt this heavenly. You're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

“You feel so good,” you whisper, voice trembling as your thighs work to keep the pace. “So big…”

He sits up more to meet you halfway, arms wrapping around your waist as his mouth finds your chest—kissing, sucking, biting gently at your sensitive skin. Every time you sink down, his cock hits deeper, and the pleasure tightens in your belly like a fuse burning too close to the edge

“Just like that,” he breathes, kissing up your throat. “You ride me so well, baby. So fucking good for me…”

Your movements grow faster, more desperate, chasing the high together. Each bounce has you both gasping, moaning, gripping onto each other like you’ll fall apart if you let go.

His hands slide up your back, anchoring you to him, and when your forehead presses to his, his voice is barely audible.

“Don’t stop. Don’t ever stop.” Soobin’s thumb finds your clit, rubbing slow circles that have you squeezing tight around him. The sudden surge of pleasure makes your entire body jolt—your thighs trembling, your rhythm faltering.

“F–fuck!” he cries, his voice cracking as his core tightens beneath you. One hand claws at your back, desperate to ground himself, while the other keeps working your clit, coaxing you closer to the edge with each drawn-out stroke.

Your body trembles in his lap, chest heaving as you ride the crest of sensation. His name leaves your lips in a gasp, hips stuttering as you start to unravel for him. But Soobin doesn’t let up—he leans in, kissing you fervently. His voice is gravelly in your ear.

“That’s it, baby… you’re doing so good. Let go for me. I’ve got you.”

And you do—your whole body shaking as pleasure rips through you, fluttering tight around him, squeezing him so perfectly he groans through gritted teeth. Your forehead drops against his shoulder, breath caught somewhere between a sob and a moan. Soobin holds you through it, murmuring praise into your hair, letting you ride the waves until your hips finally still.

But he’s still hard, still tucked deep inside you. You blink, dazed, and meet his eyes.

“Soobin—”

“Not done,” he breathes, cupping your cheek. “Let me love you a little longer.”

He shifts, lifting you slightly before guiding you down onto your back, never slipping out. His body settles over yours, and he kisses you so slowly you forget how to breathe. It’s not rushed, none of this was. He wants to remember every expression and sound you make beneath him.

Soobin starts to move again, hips rolling deep, cock gliding into you with a drag that has your toes curling. Each thrust is slow yet hard, filling you to the brim. He's making sure you'll feel him for days.

“Still so wet,” he whispers, voice shaking from restraint. “You were made for me, weren’t you?”

You nod with teary eyes, hands gripping his shoulders as he begins to fuck you just a little harder—still slow and sensual, but with the kind of focused passion that makes your whole body scream.

His lips find your neck again, then your jaw, then your mouth, speaking softly with his mouth pressed on yours. “Want you to feel everything, baby. Want you to remember this whenever our schedules are busy.”

“Don’t say that,” you whisper, clutching at him.

“I won’t go anywhere,” he promises instantly, fucking into you with a little more urgency. “I’m right here. You’re mine.”

You moan his name again as he rocks into you, shifting his angle just slightly to hit your g-spot head-on. The overstimulation begins to take you over. Your back arches off the bed, and he catches you with one arm wrapped beneath you, pressing your bodies flush together, like even air between you would be too much distance.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he murmurs, watching your face. “So good for me.”

You barely manage to choke out a response. You’re too full, too overwhelmed, and too wrapped up in the heat of his body and the impulse in his gaze.

He slows again as he nears the edge, you for a second time that night. Thrusts going deeper, heavier, until you’re clutching his hair, pulling him closer, whispering into his ear, “I want you to cum inside.”

Soobin groans deep in his chest at your admission and presses his forehead to yours, breathing unevenly.

“You sure?”

“Yes. Please.”

It only takes a few more slow, grinding thrusts before he’s burying himself to the hilt and pulsing inside you, arms shaking as he holds you close. His lips tremble against yours, his moans drawn out and desperate as he fills you. The inappropriate sounds quickly have your own, blinding orgasm flowing from you with ease.

He still doesn’t pull out.

Instead, he kisses you again, even sweeter, before shifting both of you onto your sides, tangled together, still joined.

You’re panting, but your heart is calm. You feel full in every way, wrapped in his warmth, your body and soul entirely his. Soobin strokes your hair, nose brushing your cheek.

“Stay just like this,” he whispers. “Let me keep you.”

You nod, one leg hiked over his hip, arms tucked against his chest. “Don’t let go.”

“Never,” he murmurs, breath hitching when your walls flutter again. “Fuck. You’re still gripping me so tight…”

You press your face into his neck, smiling softly. “That’s ‘cause I want you to stay.”

He chuckles, fingers tracing your spine. “Then I will. All night, baby. However long you’ll have me.”

You both fall quiet, still connected, warmth shared between flesh. The room feels sacred, filled with love, comfort, and the kind of silence that means everything. You make a mental note to call out of work the next morning.

Soobin stays inside you until you’re both asleep—bodies tangled, time slowed, nothing left to say but everything left to feel.

tags: @bunnysoonie @zznblr @twilght-talks @gyudollies @beomgyusluver @dawngyu @boba-beom @taebatu @simpforseoho @another-lemon-tree @yyeonbinn @chubichubs @jooyeonsvape @txt-thelmi @zorange13 @jellyyjn

feedback/comments/likes are always appreciated <3

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bintheredreamedthat · 1 month ago

Text

𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗌 | 𝖼𝗁𝗈𝗂 𝗌𝗈𝗈𝖻𝗂𝗇 : ̗̀➛

summary: when global idol Choi Soobin returns to his quiet hometown for an unexpected hiatus, the last thing you expect is to run into him—the boy you once shared everything with...until you cut him off without a word.

you swore you’d never let yourself want him again. he swore he’d stop waiting for you to look back. but this time, neither of you is quite ready to walk away.

cw: sub!soobin, dom!reader, idol!au, angsty!!, fluff, slow and i mean slowburn, friends to lovers, mentions of death, implied depression, mental health issues (pls take care of urselves), unprotected sex, smut, reader just can't process emotions well

wc: ~30k... forgive me...or love me idk....

i was really inspired by netflix's new kdrama called "our unwritten seoul" and their friendship to lovers dynamic but was also gobsmacked at txt's new tour dates announcement after writing this so...PERFECT :DDDD. this is basically both of those things. you can tell because of the humidifier mention. like bro it's so random.

part one | part two

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee fills the space as sunlight filters through half-open blinds, casting a warm glow on the cluttered desk. You, dressed in a cozy sweater and gingham pajama pants, sit up right on your bed, losing track of time as you doom scroll on reels. Your cat, Peanut, curls up beside you, purring contentedly.

You pause, glancing at the clock—8:45 AM. With a sigh, you set your phone down and begin your morning routine which basically just consisted of just washing your face. As you make your way to your living room, you begin to tidy up last night’s dirty dishes that sat on top of the coffee table.

Your house is modest but filled with personal touches: framed illustrations, a collection of obscure game discs, and a bookshelf overflowing with novels.

After you get yourself dressed, you step outside for a walk, your sneakers hitting the pavement in rhythmic thuds. You pass by the local café, where the barista waves at you, and the bookstore, where you stop to browse the new arrivals of manga. Afterwards you take the bus to the nearby hospital.

This had become your routine every Wednesday—a bit repetitive, perhaps, but it was what you enjoyed. The endless stretch of countryside outside your window had never been the life you envisioned in your twenties.

You had imagined a high-rise apartment in the city, a high-paying job, and a life surrounded by people who didn't know your name—all amidst the buzz of urban life. But circumstances have kept you here, in your hometown.

At first, the monotony felt suffocating. The same roads, the same faces, the same small-town rhythm. Yet, over time, you began to find comfort in the predictability.

The quiet mornings, the familiar greetings, the slower pace—it all started to feel like home. You had traded the city's chaos for the calm of rural life, and while it wasn't the life you had planned, it was a life you were learning to appreciate. In the simplicity of the countryside, you discovered a deeper connection to yourself and the world around you.

You hated it from time to time, sometimes cursing and beating yourself up for staying with what feels familiar, but what could you do?

—

As you stepped into the sterile hospital corridor, the faint scent of antiseptic mingled with the soft hum of distant conversations. With a sigh, you adjusted the strap of your bag and made your way to room 307. As you approached the door, you noticed it slightly ajar.

Pushing the door open, you see your mother first, who seemingly is having a conversation with another person in the room. Upon opening it further, you found that it was your mother’s best friend, Mrs. Choi, sitting beside the bed and chatting animatedly, that was keeping your mother entertained. Mrs. Choi looked up, her face lighting up with recognition.

“There you are!” she exclaimed, rising from her seat to lead you to your mother’s bed. Her eyes flicked to the bags of home-cooked food hanging from your elbow and the two iced Americanos wrapped around your hands. “Looks like your mom will be eating for two all week!” she teased, taking the bags from you and placing them alongside her own on the bedside table.

You let out a soft laugh, extending your arm toward Mrs. Choi. "This is for you, Mrs. Choi. You must've gotten up early this morning." You bowed slightly, politely offering her the other coffee in your hands.

“Oh dear, it looks like I’ll be having a caffeine rush today!” She joked, which made your mother let out a laugh as well. You look at both of them confused, yet still wearing a smile on your face.

You see her lift up an almost empty cup of coffee, one that was exactly from the same place where you got yours. “Ahh~, I see…” Your murmur. Mrs. Choi already bought coffee for herself.

You set the other coffee down by the bedside table and turned to your mother, who was propped up on the bed, flipping through a magazine you had gifted her last week. "How are you feeling, Mom?"

Your mother looked up, offering a reassuring smile. "Better now that you're here." You smiled, sliding your hand down her cheek, your heart melting at the tender moment you were sharing.

Just then, the door swung open, and a nurse entered for your mother's morning check-up. You stepped aside to let her pass and shared a glance with the two ladies inside the room before making your way out to the hallway.

You always left the room during these times, finding that you became queasy when you saw the numerous needles they attached to your mom and the way they conducted diagnostics as if she were a machine.

Sitting down on one of the seats outside your mom’s room, you pulled out your phone to respond to some emails and refresh your news feed. A new headline caught your eye: “TXT’s Soobin to Temporarily Halt Activities Due to Health Reasons.” Your stomach sank as you skimmed the preview.

Curious and concerned, you clicked the link and quickly scanned the article, completely unprepared for what you might read. The piece confirmed that he had recently visited the hospital after showing signs of being unwell. Medical staff had advised him to take time to rest and recover.

As a result, Soobin would be absent from several upcoming events, including big awards and fan events. You scrolled down, hoping for more news, more updates. And then you saw it. A handwritten letter from Soobin himself.

Reading his words, you felt a mix of emotions—concern for his well-being, admiration for his dedication, and a deep sense of connection to someone who had been a part of your childhood for so long, despite losing contact several years ago.

The article had been published just two hours ago, but you knew that Mrs. Choi (and assuming your mother), was already aware of the news. Why they had kept it from you, you had some inkling.

The last time someone took a break for health reasons was your mom. The doctors had said she just needed some time to rest, that she was overworked and needed a break from physical labor.

The very next morning, she had gotten a fever, and her sickness never went away—just slowly eating her up from the inside out. You had been so young then, too young to understand the gravity of it all. Now, as an adult, you couldn't help but feel a sense of déjà vu.

Soobin, your childhood friend—the person who had unknowingly been your anchor during the darkest times, was now facing his own battle. And you were left here, unable to support him or ask how he was even doing.

You leaned back in your chair, closing your eyes and letting out a deep sigh. As you relished the silence of the sterile hallways, the occasional sound of footsteps and doors opening and closing punctuated the stillness.

Then, you felt it—the unmistakable presence of someone standing before you. Without lowering your head, you slowly opened one eye, cautiously scanning your surroundings.

What you never expected was the very man whose face you had seen on your phone less than five minutes ago—standing there, staring down at you.

You jolted upright, your phone nearly slipping from your lap. Rubbing your eyes, you looked up at the man standing before you, his presence both unexpected and surreal. You shook your head, trying to dismiss the impossibility of it. But why would he be here? What reason could he have? The stress of the past week—no, the past months—had taken its toll. You wondered if this was just another symptom of your exhaustion, a moment of derealization.

But this felt different. This felt real.

—

TWELVE YEARS AGO

It was a hot summer afternoon, the kind where the sun sat high up on the horizon, casting its hot rays over the neighborhood. The summer fair was in full swing, with the distinct smell of water from popped balloons hitting the pavement and street foods wafting through the air. Children darted between booths, their laughter mingling with the distant hum of pop music.

You and Soobin, inseparable since you were both knee-high and full of dreams, strolled leisurely through the fairgrounds. Your hands brushed now and then—not quite holding, but never far apart. Every few steps, you pointed excitedly at something: a glittering ring toss booth, a caricature artist drawing wide-eyed portraits, a balloon animal vendor with a long line of sticky-handed kids. The scent of nostalgia hung thick in the air, and the moment felt impossibly alive.

Then you saw it: the talent show sign-up booth, marked by a colorful hand-painted sign fluttering in the breeze. A flyer, curling at the edges. "Are you sure?" he hesitated, his usual confidence "Absolutely!" you insisted, grabbing the pen and signing both your names.

The day of the talent show arrived, and nerves set in. You and Soobin had decided to perform a duet—his favorite song at the time, "Twinkle," by Girls' Generation. You had practiced tirelessly, but now, standing backstage, doubt crept in.

"I can't do this," Soobin whispered, his usual smile replaced by a nervous frown.

“I’ll buy you endless Kara merch if you do,” You placed your hands on his shoulders, shaking him like a soda can. “Seriously. Light sticks. Albums. Posters. Even that ridiculous towel.” A beat passed—and then, like magic, his eyes lit up. “Really?”

You watched as Soobin sat up straighter at the mention of the girl group and you couldn't help but let out a huff at how easily he was convinced. “Wow...” You shook your head, exasperated. “Remind me to never call you if I get kidnapped.”

Soobin looked up at you with furrowed brows, as if genuinely puzzled. “Why not?”

“They’d probably ask for your merch in exchange for me. Knowing you, you'd choose the merch.” He smirked, shrugging nonchalantly. “Of course.”

His nonchalance only fueled your annoyance. Without missing a beat, you grabbed him in a playful headlock, ruffling his hair. “Idiot,” you muttered, though a smile tugged at your lips despite yourself.

When your names were called, you stepped onto the stage, the bright lights blinding you momentarily. The audience's murmurs faded into a distant hum as the music began. Soobin's voice filled the air, and your nerves melted away. You sang your heart out, treating the talent show as if it were just a playful karaoke session. Soobin, however, seemed to belong on that stage. When the final note faded, the crowd erupted into applause—parents, teens, kids, strangers all clapping like they’d just watched something special.

You turned to Soobin.

He stood there, beaming, the mic still clutched in both hands like a prized possession. Then, without a trace of shyness, he bowed. A real bow. You stared for a moment—because in that instant, he wasn’t just your goofy best friend. He looked like someone born to be on that stage.

You stepped back, letting him shine.

That performance became a cherished memory, a testament to your friendship and Soobin's budding talent. Little did you know, that day planted the seed for his future in music.

–

“You're back.” The words slipped out before you could stop them, more a whisper to yourself than a question to him.

Soobin stood in front of you, barely resembling the old version of him that you always saw him as. Just his outfit alone–meticulously chosen, each piece exuding a quiet luxury. It wasn’t something you thought you’d see him in in a million years. You were accustomed to seeing him in school uniforms, always looking youthful despite being six months older than you. But the Soobin now before you was undeniably an adult.

His gaze swept over you, lingering just a moment too long. "You look..." He paused, as if searching for the right words. "Different."

The simplicity of his statement stung more than you expected. You had changed, hadn't you? But had it been for the better? You met his gaze, a playful smirk tugging at your lips despite the fluttering in your chest. "You look horrible yourself, too," you teased, trying to mask the unease creeping in.

Soobin chuckled, the sound warm and familiar, yet distant. "Fair enough," he replied, his voice carrying a hint of amusement.

The silence that followed was thick with unspoken words. You wanted to ask him everything—about his life, his experiences, the years that had passed—but the words caught in your throat. Instead, you stood there, two people who once shared everything, now separated by time and circumstance. Soobin shifted, his hands slipping into his pockets, his eyes never leaving yours. "It's been a while," he said softly.

"Yeah," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. "A while."

The soft click-clack of the nurse’s cart rolling outside your mom’s room broke the comfortable silence between you and Soobin. Only then did you notice the small electronic device in his hands—so tiny it looked almost out of place in his grasp.

“Humidifier?” you asked, raising an eyebrow in curiosity. He shifted uncomfortably, his cheeks flushing slightly. “It’s a gift... for your mom. I went and filled it up with some water” he said shyly, as if embarrassed to be seen with such a thoughtful gesture. You couldn't help but smile at his bashfulness. “She’ll love it,” you reassured him, nudging him gently toward the door.

As you both entered the room, the familiar scent of antiseptic and the soft beeping of medical equipment filled the air. Your mom looked up, her face lighting up at the sight of you and Soobin together, briefly exchanging glances with Mrs. Choi.

“Look who’s here,” you said, your voice filled with warmth.

“I already saw him, honey,” she said with a playful smile, her voice tinged with that familiar teasing warmth, then gestured toward the table beside her, where several bags were neatly stacked. “He helped bring those in earlier,” she added, nodding toward the tall figure behind you.

You looked behind at Soobin, who was already crouched near the wall, carefully plugging the humidifier into the outlet. His broad shoulders were hunched slightly, the soft fabric of his sweater bunching at the elbows as he adjusted the cord, making sure it didn’t tangle with the IV stand nearby. He handled everything with the kind of quiet precision you’d come to associate with him—gentle, but steady.

The little device gave a soft mechanical hum as it came to life, a faint mist beginning to rise from the spout. Soobin straightened up, brushing his hands together as if completing a sacred task, then glanced at your mom with a nervous half-smile.

"I set it to low," he murmured. "So it won't be too much, just enough to keep the air from feeling dry."

Your mom tilted her head toward the thin ribbon of vapor swirling in the air, a flicker of surprise and gratitude crossing her face. "Thank you, Soobin," she said, her voice soft but steady. “I’ve been feeling like my throat’s been made of sandpaper.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks turning a little pink again. "It’s nothing, really. I just… thought it might help." You watched the way your mom looked at him, her gaze lingering for just a second longer than usual—gentle, assessing, as if seeing him act like this reminded her of the old times and that made her quietly glad.

Your mom’s eyes softened as she glanced at Soobin, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “You’re very thoughtful,” she said gently, reaching out to adjust the humidifier’s mist.

Soobin shrugged, looking a little sheepish. “I just wanted to help.”

You caught the faintest shadow across your mom’s face—a quiet mix of pride and something else, something like a wish she could say aloud. But instead, she chuckled softly, shaking her head. “Well, you’re doing a good job at it.” As if hinting at more than just showing gratitude for the gesture. The mist from the humidifier caught the light, casting soft shadows on the white hospital sheets, and for a moment the sterile room felt just a little more like home.

–

Before you knew it, time had slipped by, the way it always does when you're avoiding looking at the clock. The room had grown quiet again, the only sounds were the soft whir of machines and your mom’s slow, steady breathing. You stood, brushing nonexistent wrinkles from your clothes, more out of habit than anything else. Soobin followed suit just like always, moving a half-step behind you, like he wasn’t quite sure if he was supposed to leave yet.

Outside, the corridor was still and cold under the harsh fluorescent lights. It smelled faintly of antiseptic and something else—something tired. You walked side by side, just close enough to feel his presence but not enough to brush shoulders. The silence sat between you, not uncomfortable, but not easy either.

“So,” you said, voice catching slightly in your throat. “When did you get back?”

He glanced over, offering you a small, almost sheepish smile. ��I assume you know?”

Right—the headlines. You’d seen them without even trying to. His name had been everywhere for days. It was hard to avoid when your past suddenly became the world’s news. You nodded slowly. “Yeah. I saw.”

He let out a short breath of laughter. Not a real laugh—one of those quiet ones that feels more like a sigh. “They really don’t let you disappear quietly, do they?”

You wanted to say something reassuring, but nothing came. What could you even say? That sucks? I’m sorry? I read every article twice, looking for signs you were okay? Instead, you settled on, “Looks like you’ll be around for a while.”

His shoulders lifted in a shrug, but it wasn’t light or offhand. There was a drag to it, something unspoken anchoring the gesture. “Yeah. Forced break.”

You raised an eyebrow, hoping a little teasing might soften the edges. “Forced break? Sounds like a long vacation.”

He gave you a half-smile, one side of his mouth curling up. “If only.”

The silence crept back in as you continued walking, your shoes squeaking faintly against the polished floor. It should’ve felt comfortable—you’d walked like this before, years ago, without needing to say much. But now? Now it felt like stepping around the edges of something you both weren’t ready to touch. You stole a glance at him. The curve of his jaw was more defined now, his hair a little longer than you remembered. He still walked with that same quiet presence, like he was trying not to take up too much space. But there was something else, too—something a little more closed off.

You swallowed. “So... what now?”

He looked over at you, not stopping, just watching. “I don’t really know,” he admitted. “I’ve never had this much free time before.”

You let out a soft huff of air, unsure if it was a laugh or just a release of tension. “Weird, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he said, then after a beat, added, “kind of uncomfortable, honestly.”

You nodded, because you got it—maybe not in the same way, but close enough. You understood what it was like to be stuck between chapters, unsure what comes next or who you're supposed to be without the thing that defined you. For a moment, you considered saying something real. Something like, I missed you or you don’t have to pretend around me, but your throat tightened. You hadn’t earned that kind of closeness anymore.

So instead you said, “Guess it’s a new kind of challenge.”

He gave you a look—mild, but maybe grateful. “Yeah. But... maybe not the worst kind.”

You nodded again, lips pressing into a thin line. And still, the things you wanted to say hovered behind your teeth. You wanted to ask how he was really doing. If it felt like everything had stopped too suddenly. If he was scared of what came next. But none of that would come out right, not with all this space between you.

The silence settled again as you both neared the elevator, the hum of lights overhead a constant backdrop.

“So,” you said, trying to sound casual but failing, “where are you staying?”

He shifted his weight slightly, glancing over at you with a small smile. “Uh... just down the street, actually. Back in my parents’ place for a bit.”

You blinked. “Wait. Seriously?”

“Yeah.” He let out a short breath. “Kind of surreal.”

You scoffed, the sound too sharp but real. “So... we’re neighbors again.”

He laughed, a real one this time. “Guess so.”

You nodded, trying not to smile too much. “Weird.”

“Definitely weird.”

Another pause. Another silence. But this one wasn’t so stiff. It settled more naturally between you, like maybe it didn’t need to be filled.

You both stood there, not really moving, not really sure what to do next. Just... hovering in that space where familiarity and distance existed at the same time. Where you wanted to say remember how easy this used to be? but knew neither of you quite had the words.

Maybe it would take time. Maybe it would stay awkward like this for a while.

But still, there was something in the quiet that felt like a beginning.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft ding, but neither of you moved.

You thought that was it—that this was the part where you’d say goodbye with a tight smile and an awkward promise to “catch up later.” But instead, Soobin turned, leaned his shoulder against the wall beside the elevator, and said, “Want to walk for a bit?”

You blinked. “Around the hospital?”

His mouth tugged up slightly. “We’ve had weirder hangouts.”

That was true. Once upon a time, your “hangouts” included hiding in stairwells during school festivals and playing cards in the back of the library while pretending to study. So maybe walking quiet halls and dodging nurses wasn’t that strange after all.

You shook your head, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “I better go, lots of things to do today.”

He nodded. Then, with one last glance at you—long enough to hold, short enough not to ask too much—he turned and walked down the hallway, his steps slow, like he wasn’t in a rush to leave.

You stayed where you were, hands in your pockets, the echo of his words still lingering in the air.

It had been a while since you last saw Soobin. And you'd be lying if you said you hadn’t looked him up that very same night you saw him again. After that day, it was like something broke loose inside you—some quiet restraint you’d kept for years.

You found yourself scrolling endlessly through his performance videos, one after another, chasing something you couldn’t quite name. Maybe it was curiosity, or maybe it was your way of making up for all the time you’d forbidden yourself from watching them.

It wasn’t because you resented him. Not really. But it had always been easier to pretend you weren’t curious than to admit the truth: watching him chase his dream made something twist in your chest. Not bitterness, exactly—just jealousy.

A quiet, aching sort of envy that you never wanted to confront. He had gone out there and done what he said he would. He lived it. All while keeping you completely in the dark. Not a message, not a word—not even a hint of what his life had become.

And maybe that’s what stung the most—not that he left, but knowing it was your fault he never reached out.

You remembered the night he left. You didn’t know it was the last time you’d see him, not then. He said something vague about having a “big audition” coming up the previous week, and you, always the loyal friend, had smiled and wished him luck, unaware that he would succeed to the point where he was at now. You hadn’t known that "audition" would become the beginning of a chapter that didn’t include you.

At first, you hesitated. You told yourself he'd text first. Call. Drop by. But days turned into weeks, then months, and eventually, you stopped refreshing your messages, stopped checking your phone late at night like a fool and stuck your nose into your studies.

The only person who stayed by your side, from your father passing, through your mother getting sick, was now gone. And you couldn’t bring yourself to be the one who reached out first, fearing that you would only receive the silence you thought you deserved.

So you buried it. Packed it into the same mental box where you kept all the “what ifs” you never wanted to admit you had. You stopped watching his interviews, muted hashtags, scrolled past his face without letting your eyes linger. You told yourself it didn’t matter. That people grow up, they move on. That it was nothing personal.

But seeing him again, in that hallway outside your mom’s hospital room, had cracked something open.

You hadn’t realized how much you still carried. How much weight was tied to his name, his voice, his smile. And now, after that one encounter, you were spiraling—late into the night, alone in your room, your screen glowing softly in the dark as you watched him perform with the same boyish intensity he’d always had, only now refined, polished. A professional.

There were moments when he’d show a dimpled smile between lyrics, or toss his hair a certain way, and you’d see glimpses of the boy you once knew. The one who used to walk you home after school. Who used to text you dumb memes and write notes on the edges of your notebooks when the teacher wasn’t looking. The boy who once promised he’d tell you everything.

But he didn’t.

And maybe that was the cruelest part—he had become someone the whole world knew, but not you. Not anymore. You didn’t deserve that chance.

You set your phone down eventually, the videos still looping on autoplay, the sound dim. You stared at the ceiling, trying to reconcile the person on the screen with the quiet boy who used to sit beside you at lunch. Trying to figure out where the thread had snapped—and if there was any way to pick it back up again.

You weren’t sure. But part of you hoped—achingly, stubbornly—that he came back not just to rest… but to remember.

To remember you.

—

The next time you saw Soobin, it was raining on a Wednesday.

Not the cinematic kind of rain that comes with thunder and dramatic declarations. Just a light drizzle that blurred the edges of the world and left your jacket damp where it clung to your shoulders.

You’d just finished your shift at the café near the hospital. You weren’t technically supposed to be working while your mom was still admitted, but she’d insisted—said the distraction was good for you. And truthfully, it was. It gave you something else to focus on besides white walls and the sound of machines beeping in the night.

You had your headphones in, your hood up, eyes on the sidewalk—when someone stepped into your path, blocking your way.

“Hey.”

You looked up.

Soobin.

He was holding a paper bag in one hand, a bottle of something green poking out the top. His hoodie was damp, darkened around the seams, but he looked almost amused by it. Like the rain wasn’t a bother. Like maybe it reminded him of something.

Your headphones hung limply around your neck now. “You stalking me?” you asked, only half joking.

“I swear I’m not,” he said, lifting the bag. “I was headed to the hospital. Thought your mom might like these.”

You glanced at the label on the bottle. Herbal tonic. Your lips curved upward despite yourself. “She’ll roll her eyes when she sees this. But this is good, she needs these.”

He grinned. “Good. Then mission accomplished.”

You hesitated. You should’ve said goodbye, should’ve kept walking—but you didn’t. Something in the way he was standing, not quite stepping forward but not walking away either, mirrored exactly how you felt. Stuck in the middle.

“Want to come up with me?” you asked finally. “She’s been asking about you.”

His expression softened. “Yeah,” he said. “I’d like that.”

You walked side by side again, like no time had passed—but with every footstep echoing on the hospital floor, you felt the gap between who you were and who you’d become. And still, he matched your pace without question.

Upstairs, your mom greeted him with a tired but genuine smile. You watched her lit up face switch over to a disgusted one in an instant as he handed her the tonic, made her laugh with something dumb, and you realized how easily he still fit into the spaces you thought time had sealed off.

Later, when she fell asleep and the lights dimmed around her bed, you and Soobin slipped out into the hallway again. It was quieter now. The storm outside had tapered into silence, and the air smelled faintly of rain on concrete.

He leaned against the wall, hands in his pockets. You stood a few feet away, arms crossed loosely over your chest, the distance between you filled with everything unsaid.

“She still makes that face when she doesn’t want to take medicine,” he said, glancing at the door behind you.

You smiled faintly. “Some things never change.”

He looked at you then, really looked. “You did.”

You raised an eyebrow. “That’s what happens when you’re not around for eight years.”

His mouth tugged to the side in something between a grimace and a smile. “Fair.”

There was another beat of silence, but this one felt warmer. You glanced down the hallway, watching a nurse wheel a cart past the far end, the soft rattle of it fading into the hum of fluorescent lights.

“You know,” he said after a moment, quieter now, “your mom was always really kind to me.”

“She likes people with manners,” you replied, then added, “and people who eat her leftovers without complaining.”

“She used to pack extra, just for me,” he said, eyes distant now. “Even when she said she didn’t have time.”

“She did that with people she loved.” The words left your mouth before you could decide whether or not to say them.

Soobin looked at you, and for a second, you almost couldn’t hold his gaze. It was too much. Too real.

The hallway buzzed faintly—the dull drone of fluorescent lights, distant intercom announcements, the occasional footsteps echoing down the corridor. Somewhere, a nurse’s soft laughter floated through the air.

The moment settled like dust, thick and heavy.

“I missed this,” he said finally, voice rough but steady. “Not just your mom. Not just the neighborhood. You.”

You didn’t answer right away. Your fingers picked at a loose thread on your sleeve, twisting it between your fingertips like a lifeline. He turned his head slightly toward you but didn’t push you for a response.

Instead, he said, “Can I show you something?”

You glanced over, curious despite yourself. “Now?”

He nodded, pulling his phone from his hoodie pocket with a slow, deliberate motion. He flipped through his gallery, swiping a few times, then handed it to you. A video.

Not one of the polished concert clips uploaded for fans, but a raw, shaky recording from a recent show. The camera was angled toward the crowd, thousands of tiny lights flickering like stars. Then it shifted to the stage—him, standing at the microphone, eyes closed, singing a slow, acoustic song. Your breath caught, chest tightening. He must’ve seen it on your face because he said softly, “Wrote it the week I moved to the city. Never released it.”

You watched the video again, seeing a side of him you hadn’t seen in years—vulnerable and unpolished. The words carried little references, tiny fragments of shared memories—a phrase you’d said once, a place you’d both known, a worn bench you’d sat on together.

“It was about you,” he said quietly. “Still is.”

Your fingers curled tighter around the phone, heart pounding in your ears louder than the soft hospital hum. You handed it back, not because you wanted to stop watching, but because it felt too much to hold all at once.

Another silence bloomed. But this one felt different, like the air between you had shifted, charged with something fragile and new.

He stood slowly. “I should go. Don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

You didn’t try to stop him, but as he turned, you called out softly, “Hey.”

He paused, looking back over his shoulder.

You gave him a small, tired smile, the kind that held hope and history all at once.

“Next time… don’t bring tonic. Bring peaches. She actually likes those.”

He laughed—a sound that was still boyish, warm, and real.

“Got it. Peaches.”

He walked down the hallway, the soft squeak of his shoes echoing behind him.

You stayed seated, staring at the empty space beside you, wondering how many more times you’d find the courage to let yourself take one step closer.

—

It had been a long week.

You’d spent most of it moving between home and the hospital, the lines between day and night beginning to blur. Your mom’s condition hadn’t worsened, but it hadn’t improved either—and somehow, that was its own kind of exhausting. Hopeful. Heavy. Endless.

So when the knock came on your door that Saturday afternoon—three quick taps and a pause—you almost didn’t answer.

But then you remembered the way he knocked.

You opened the door.

“Delivery,” Soobin said, holding up a brown paper bag like it was a peace offering. “One bottle of overpriced juice, and…” He pulled out a small carton with a mock ceremony. “Peaches. Fresh. Not those disgusting canned stuff.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Wow. You really took the note.”

“I aim to please.” He grinned, wide and shameless. “Also, the guy at the fruit stand said these were ‘kissing sweet,’ which made me deeply uncomfortable. So I had to buy them.”

You snorted, stepping aside to let him in. “That’s the dumbest reason I’ve ever heard for buying fruit.”

He walked in casually, already toeing off his shoes like second nature–- like he’d done it a hundred times. “What can I say? I missed your mom’s high standards. And your judgment.”

“Both still going strong,” you said, accepting the bag. “You want coffee or are you planning to make a dramatic exit again?”

He shot you a look. “That exit was graceful and respectful.”

“That exit was weird and full of emotional tension.”

He tilted his head thoughtfully. “So… par for the course?”

You tried not to laugh, but it slipped out anyway.

He sat on the edge of your couch, glancing around like he was taking inventory. You watched the way his eyes lingered on the bookshelf, the stack of hospital visitors passes on the table, the blanket still folded from when you'd last crashed there after a long night.

“I like what you’ve done with the place,” he said. “Very... ‘haunted by fatigue but still trying.’”

You grinned. “That’s actually the theme of the whole apartment. You should see the bathroom.”

He laughed again—an easy, warm sound that made your ribs feel too tight.

You went to the kitchen, opened the bag, and found not just the peaches and juice, but a pack of sweet rice crackers tucked at the bottom.

“Are these for me or for her?” you called.

A beat.

“...Yes,” he replied.

“She’s going to eat all of these and then yell at me for letting you spend money on her.”

“Let her yell at me instead,” he said, already settling onto your couch like he owned the place. “I can take it. I survived our high school math teacher. Your mom has nothing on that woman.”

You smirked. “That teacher made you cry.”

He gasped. “I teared up. Once. And it was allergy season.”

“Sure it was.” It had been a strange comfort, having him around again—even if it was awkward most of the time.

“Thanks,” you said, shrugging and avoiding his eyes. “for not bringing tonic this time.”

He chuckled. “Hey, I learned my lesson. Peaches or bust.”

A silence passed. But it wasn’t heavy this time. It sat lightly between you, like an old friend resting its elbows on the table.

“So…” he said slowly. “You going to the hospital later?”

You nodded. “Yeah. Just after dinner. They changed some meds, so they want someone to watch her overnight.”

He nodded, fingers curling around the mug. “Mind if I come with you?”

You looked up. Not because he hadn’t offered before. But because this time, he said it differently. Gently. Not just wanting to visit—but to be there.

“…She’ll be happy to see you,” you said. “And if you bring those crackers, she might even be nice.”

He smiled, setting his mug down.

“Oh, and by the way,” you added, pretending to inspect a peach like it was under review. “She only likes the white ones. If you brought yellow—”

“Don’t insult me,” he said, already pulling a peach from the bag and rolling it across the table toward you. “Do I look like someone who would buy the wrong kind?”

You caught it mid-roll, lips twitching. “I don’t know. You’ve been gone a while. You could’ve turned into someone completely unreliable.”

He leaned back on the couch, arms stretched along the top cushion, looking maddeningly smug. “I’m still me.”

You turned the peach over in your hand, pretending not to notice how warm your cheeks felt.

“Yeah,” you said softly. “I know.”

—

NINE YEARS AGO

The living room was a mess. A good kind of mess—snack wrappers littered across the coffee table, cushions scattered like casualties, your shared laughter still lingering in the air like static. It was the Friday before the weekend, Soobin had waited for you to finish your badminton practice to walk you home to spend the rest of the afternoon with you.

Soobin was on the floor, one leg stretched out and the other tucked underneath him, controller in hand, glaring at the TV screen with the same intensity he used when talking about stage lighting or choreography.

“You’re cheating,” he said flatly. You didn’t look away from the screen. “I’m not.”

“You’re button-mashing,” he accused, pointing at your hands like he was building a legal case. “That’s not skill, that’s chaos.”

You grinned. “Chaos works.” A second later, his character flew off the edge of the map with a dramatic final explosion. KO. Soobin dropped his controller and flopped backward onto the floor like he’d just been shot. “Unbelievable. I come here in good faith and get demolished.”

You leaned over your knees, stretching out your arms with a satisfied sigh. “Maybe you just suck.”

He peeked at you through narrowed eyes. “I’m rethinking our friendship.”

“Because I’m better at Smash?”

“Because you’re a smug button-masher with no honor.”

You laughed, the kind that curled your shoulders inward and left a small warmth in your chest. This was easy. Ridiculously easy. Soobin had always been like this with you—quick to tease, slow to anger, all soft jabs and boyish huffs. Like a habit you never had to think about. He could go hours and hours just bantering with you about the most unimportant topics.

You reached for the plastic bag sitting on the coffee table, rifling through until you found what you were really after. “You want the last peach?”

He didn’t even hesitate. Sat up like he’d been summoned from the dead. “I do. Really. Deeply.”

You held it just out of reach, twirling it by the stem. “Then admit I’m better than you.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Then no peach.”

“You’re evil.”

You were about to answer—probably with something smug, possibly with another insult—when he lunged forward.

It wasn’t even a real lunge. More like an exaggerated grab, like he was trying to be ridiculous on purpose. But you misjudged the distance—he was faster than he looked—and suddenly he was right there, fingers overlapping yours, and the peach tumbled from your grip, rolling a few inches before coming to a stop between you.

You both reached for it at the same time.

And then you were touching.

Just barely—his knuckles brushing yours, the pad of his thumb catching the back of your hand. Your knees bumped, one of his legs tangled slightly with yours from the way he’d thrown himself forward. The closeness was sudden. Clumsy. And absolutely still.

The peach sat in both your palms now, soft and overripe, a little dented from the fall. But you weren’t looking at the peach anymore.

You were looking at him.

He was looking back.

For a second, neither of you spoke. You could feel your heartbeat shift—quicker, louder. Like your body realized something your brain didn’t want to name.

He was close. Too close.

There was something different about the way he looked at you just then. Like he was searching for something—confirmation, maybe. Permission. Or maybe he wasn’t searching at all. Maybe he was just seeing you, for the first time in a way that wasn’t casual or safe or platonic. You told yourself to laugh. To say something to break it. But your mouth was dry and your fingers were still curled around the stupid peach.

God, you thought, this is just a moment. It doesn’t mean anything. Don’t make it mean something.

Because if you made it mean something, you’d have to face the fact that everything would change between you two, and you weren’t ready for that.

And worst of all—you didn’t know if he wanted it too.

So you were the first to let go.

“Fine,” you said, easing the peach into his hands, forcing a smile. “You win. Peach privileges restored.”

He didn’t answer right away. Just looked at you for a second longer, then pulled back, sitting cross-legged again, the fruit cradled like a trophy.

“You’ll regret this,” he said, voice light again. Too light. “I’m going to crush you in the next round.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat and smirked. “Big talk from someone who just got obliterated.”

He took a bite of the peach—flesh soft, juice dripping slightly down his wrist.

You looked away.

Because watching him eat a peach had absolutely no right being that distracting.

“You’re quiet,” he said after a second.

“Just letting you enjoy your victory,” you replied, folding your arms.

“Mm.” He chewed, then added through a mouthful of fruit, “This is the taste of justice.”

You grabbed a pillow and lobbed it at his head.

He laughed, muffled but warm, like it lived somewhere behind his ribcage. Like it was meant just for you.

And later, after he’d gone, after the controller had been set aside and the cushions lazily put back, you sat on the couch and stared at the empty spot where his leg had touched yours.

It was nothing, you told yourself.

But your heart wasn’t convinced.

—

It had been three days since Soobin last came by to accompany you to the hospital.

Not that you were counting.

Your mom was still in the hospital. Her condition was stable, but “stable” was the kind of word doctors used when they meant unchanged, when the machines still beeped and the days still blurred, and you didn’t know how to exhale without guilt.

So you kept your head down. Worked your shifts. Folded laundry. Refilled the humidifier in her room. Then, one quiet evening, your phone buzzed.

Unknown: You up?

You stared at it for a second too long, the number was foreign to your contact list. The number wasn’t saved. But the timing, the tone—it could only be one person.

Another message came in.

Unknown: This is Soobin, by the way.

Of course it was.

You: No. I’m sleep-texting. You

The three dots appeared. Vanished. Then came back again, like he was typing and deleting and thinking too much—just like always.

Soobin:

Maybe. Or just bored.

Wanna walk?

You didn’t answer.

Fifteen minutes later, you were outside. Hoodie zipped to your chin, hands in your pockets. The air was cool, kissed with the hush that only lived in your neighborhood at night.

A faint breeze moved through the trees overhead, the streetlamp buzzed quietly, and the sidewalk stretched out ahead like a question you didn’t know how to ask.

He was waiting by the gate. Same hoodie from the other night. Same hands buried in the front pocket. His hair was a little messier now, falling into his eyes like he hadn’t bothered to push it back. He looked like someone trying not to look like he was waiting.

When he saw you, he straightened—not all the way, just enough to seem like he hadn’t been pacing.

“Hey,” he said, voice soft like he wasn’t sure if it would reach you.

“Hey,” you replied, tugging your sleeves over your hands. And then you walked. Not toward anything in particular. Just forward. Side by side. Close enough to hear the other breathe.

The silence wasn’t awkward. If anything, it felt… familiar. Like this was a rhythm you both used to know. Like your feet still remembered how to fall into step with his even if your hearts hadn’t caught up yet.

After a while, he spoke.

“I’ve been writing again,” he said, just above a whisper.

You glanced at him. His eyes stayed on the sidewalk. “Yeah?”

“Mostly bad stuff,” he added with a breath of a laugh. “But… some of it feels honest.”

You nodded. “That’s the hard part.”

There was a pause.

“I used to write when I missed home,” he said.

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t have to. But he kept going anyway, his voice quieter now. Like if he said it too loud, it would sound like a confession.

“I stopped for a long time. Everything started to sound the same. Even the stuff I wrote just for me—it didn’t sound like me. It sounded like someone trying to remember what real felt like.”

Your chest pinched. Because you recognized that feeling, even if it wore a different face.

“You mean the industry?” you asked, your voice gentler than you meant it to be. He nodded, hands tightening in his sleeves. “The schedules, the shoots, the interviews where they ask you how you’re doing and expect you to say you’re grateful.”

You looked over. His face was still turned ahead, but his jaw was set—like he was fighting back something that had been building for years.

“It looks big,” he said. “To other people. All the lights and cameras and screaming fans. But most of the time, it felt… small. Like I was inside this beautiful box I couldn’t leave. Like I was shrinking in a place everyone said I was meant to grow.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. Not at first. Because it was Soobin—your Soobin. The one who used to doodle lyrics on his wrists during exams. The one who used to talk about Seoul like it was a promise.

And now he was here. Telling you the promise didn’t keep.

“I used to envy you,” you murmured.

He turned his head slightly, startled. “What?”

“You had direction. Purpose. You left. While the rest of us stayed behind wondering what we were doing. You knew.”

“I didn’t,” he said quickly. “I pretended I did.”

You exhaled, eyes on the path ahead.

He slowed, enough that you had to slow too.

“I didn’t reach out,” he began to answer your life’s biggest question, “because I was afraid if I told you how bad it was, you’d tell me to come home.”

You stopped. Right there on the path.

“And that would’ve been so awful?” you asked, trying to keep your voice even. “Me wanting you to come home?”

He looked down.

“It would’ve made it real,” he said. “Made me feel like I failed.”

The ache that had been sitting under your ribs stretched, deep and familiar.

The wind stirred again, carrying the sound of distant cars and rustling trees. Then, your voice dropped. “You know, Soobin… you did a good job.”

His eyes shot up to meet yours. Cautious. Almost confused. You let the words settle before continuing.

“I mean it. You chased something you believed in. You worked hard. You got somewhere people only dream about.” You swallowed. “You just… never took a second to see how far you’d gone. You kept running like someone was going to take it away from you.”

His mouth parted slightly, but no sound came out.

“You should let yourself rest,” you said. “You deserve to breathe.”

He looked at you like no one had ever said that to him before. Not in the way that mattered.

And maybe no one had. A silence fell again, but it was different now. Thick with emotion, weighted with years of distance and grief and care that had nowhere to go.

Soobin stepped forward—not enough to cross the space between you, but enough that you felt the warmth of him again.

“I’m trying to be better,” he said quietly.

Your throat tightened.

You didn’t know what to say. Not yet. So instead, you reached for the edge of your hoodie sleeve and twisted it around your fingers, grounding yourself in the way you used to back when emotions felt too big to hold.

And beside you, Soobin just stood there.

Not asking to be forgiven, not like he had to.

Just… asking to stay a little longer.

–

The hospital room was quieter than usual.

Your mom was asleep, or at least pretending to be. Her breaths came soft and even, her fingers curled loosely around the edge of the blanket. The late afternoon light filtered through the slats in the blinds, painting thin gold bars across the white walls. Outside, the city buzzed softly beneath the window, too far away to touch.

You sat by the bed, elbow propped on the armrest, chin resting in your hand. The chair creaked when you shifted. You’d meant to read. Meant to answer that message from work. But your mind kept drifting—backward, sideways, toward things that hadn’t happened yet but already pressed too heavy on your chest.

Soobin hadn’t texted since the walk.

Three days wasn’t long. Not really.

But you found yourself reaching for your phone more than usual. Pausing at the sound of footsteps in the hallway. Imagining him leaning on the doorframe again, holding some half-thought-out excuse to stop by. You hated how easily hope made a home out of silence.

Your mom stirred, just slightly, eyes fluttering open. “You’re still here?”

You smiled faintly. “Where else would I be?”

She looked at you for a beat longer than usual. “You’ve been coming earlier,” she said, voice scratchy from sleep. “Staying longer, too.”

You shrugged. “There’s not much else to do.”

“Mm.” She turned her head to the side, watching you now. Not like she was accusing—more like she was waiting. “He’s been coming around again.”

You didn’t respond right away. Just stared at the window, at the sky that had turned that in-between color of fading blue and soft orange.

“Yeah,” you said eventually.

“He’s been good to you,” she added, gently. “I see it.”

You chewed on the inside of your cheek, heart doing that stupid thing again—like it couldn’t decide whether to clench or melt.

“He’s not staying,” you said. Your mom didn’t answer right away. That kind of silence said more than any reply.

You leaned back in the chair, eyes flicking up to the ceiling. “I don’t know why it matters. It’s not like we’re… anything.”

“But you want to be?” she asked softly.

You didn’t look at her. “It wouldn’t make a difference.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

You exhaled, long and slow. “It doesn’t matter what I want. He came back because of his health. Because he needed space from all that. He’s not… this isn’t forever.”

And if you let yourself want something more like last time—if you gave it a name—what would happen when he left again?

She was quiet for a long time. Then, just as you were about to change the subject, her voice returned. “You know,” she said, “I think the hardest kind of love is the kind that feels temporary.”

You blinked. “This isn’t–this isn’t love.” You protested.

She didn’t argue. Just gave you a look that said she’d been your mother long enough to know when you were lying—to her or to yourself.

You shook your head, staring down at your hands. “It’s not like I’m holding onto something that could actually last.”

“But you’re still holding it,” she murmured.

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Because yeah. You were.

You were holding the way his voice sounded in quiet places. The way he never pushed when you went silent, just waited with that kind of patience that only people who’d known you for years could manage. You were holding the way he remembered the things you forgot you ever told him. The way he looked at you like he didn’t know how to stop.

And it scared the hell out of you.

Because people leave. Sometimes they come back. But rarely do they stay.

Your mom reached out, her fingers brushing yours. “It’s okay to be scared,” she said gently. “It’s not okay to pretend you don’t feel anything.”

You didn’t respond.

You just stared at the sunlight crawling across the linoleum floor, and wondered how long you could keep pretending that what you felt was nothing.

–

The engine made a low, confused noise as Soobin turned the key. You braced your hand against the dashboard. Soobin sat up straighter, lips pursed like he was preparing for war. You couldn’t help watching the way his knuckles tensed on the wheel, the way he kept muttering to himself like this was more of a concert performance than a suburban test run.

"Okay," you said cautiously. "Brake. Check your mirrors. Put it in drive—no, that’s reverse. Reverse is—Soobin—!"

The car lurched backward, an alarming jolt that made your seatbelt dig into your collarbone.

“Okay! Okay! Got it!” Soobin slammed the brake, and the car shuddered to a halt. Your heart was somewhere near your throat.

“You almost ran over a mailbox,” you hissed, hands clutched tightly on your seat. “My mailbox!”

He winced. “It’s still standing.”

“Barely.” He shot you a look. “I told you I didn’t finish my license! You didn’t have to volunteer your car for this.”

“I didn’t think this was what we’d be doing when you said you wanted to ‘catch up.’

“Out,” you ordered. “Switch seats.” He didn’t argue.

“You’re lucky I like you,” you grumbled, turning the key and reversing smoothly out of the lot.

“Aw,” he said, smirking. “You like me.”

“Don’t make it weird.”

You looked at him. He looked back.

There was a beat of silence.

You circled back around the block, only to end up parked in front of your house once again. Soobin spotted the shed that sat behind your house, most importantly, what’s next to it.

“No way,” he said, rushing ahead.

Sure enough, there they were. Your old bikes. Rusted at the chains, tires flat, but still recognizable.

“I can’t believe you kept mine,” he said, brushing off a handlebar like it was a relic.

“My mom was too sentimental to throw it away. She thought you’d come back.”

He paused.

The air shifted.

“Guess she was right,” he said softly.

You didn’t respond.

–

A few minutes later, you were riding through town—laughing, breathless, avoiding potholes and startled pigeons. Soobin’s bike creaked horribly, but he insisted on pedaling like he was racing someone only he could see.

You took the long route, past the bookstore where you used to loiter, the convenience store where he once bought you a yogurt drink with his last few coins, the bus stop where you used to sit until the streetlights flicked on.

Then he slowed. You turned to look—and watched, helpless, as his front tire clipped a curb and sent him flying.

“Soobin!” He landed with a thud, half in the grass, half on the sidewalk.

You dropped your bike and ran to him.

“Oh my God—are you okay? Why weren’t you paying atten–”

He blinked up at you, dazed. “That bus stop looks exactly the same.”

“You fell off your bike because of nostalgia?!”

He groaned. “I got caught off guard.”

“By a memory?”

“You looked back at me…,” he mumbled.

You stopped. The world stilled for half a second. Then you shoved that away.

"You're bleeding," you said, kneeling next to him, choosing yet again to overlook the deeper weight hidden in his seemingly innocent words.

It wasn’t bad—just a scrape at his temple, but the sight still made something twist low in your stomach. You pulled a tissue that you luckily had in your pocket and dabbed at the cut.

“You’re so dramatic,” you murmured, dabbing at the cut with soft fingers. “What if you end up with a scar? Your fans might actually riot.”

He winced, sucking in a breath.

“You’re enjoying this,” he said, eyeing you suspiciously.

“I’m not,” you said, lips twitching.

“You’re not even trying to be gentle.”

“I am,” you lied—though your touch grew just a little softer.

But your hands had slowed. And now that you were this close, you couldn’t help but really look at him. His hair was a little damp, curling slightly at the edges. There was a faint smudge of dirt on his cheek, and the cut on his brow was still fresh—but none of it dulled him. If anything, it made him feel more real. Not the polished idol with perfect lighting and stage smiles, but Soobin—your Soobin.

The boy who used to race you home on bikes, who got grass stains on his knees and laughed until he fell over. And maybe that’s why your breath caught, just a little, because his eyes weren’t darting away this time. He wasn’t teasing or laughing. Just looking. Steady. Unafraid.

It felt like the earth was tilting under you.

He reached up, fingers brushing your wrist—soft, tentative. But you stood up before the silence could grow teeth.

“C’mon, head injury or not, we’re riding back. You can’t die dramatically knowing that it was a curb that took you out”

He laughed, clutching his ribs. “You’re such a comfort.”

You didn’t tell him that if he’d looked at you for one more second like that, you would’ve forgotten how to breathe.

Because your pulse still hadn’t returned to normal. And your heart didn’t know if it was from the fall…

…or from him.

—-

The rain started halfway through the ride home. Not a drizzle, not a soft mist. No, the sky decided to absolutely open up on you.

“Seriously?!” you shouted up at the clouds as you and Soobin coasted to a slow, skidding stop under a half-dead tree. Soobin was already laughing, clothes plastered to his skin, hair dripping into his eyes. “This is kind of perfect, though. Right? Very K-drama of us.”

You glared. “I’m going to get sick. You’re going to get sick.”

“I already feel stronger. This is character-building.”

You groaned and dropped your head back. “I hate you.”

“You keep saying that,” he said, wheeling his bike alongside yours, “but I’m starting to think you just like having an excuse to say my name angrily.”

You opened your mouth, ready to shoot something back—but a particularly angry clap of thunder cut through the air. You both jumped.

“Let’s just go home...” You muttered.

By the time you made it back to your house, you were soaked through—shoes squelching, hair matted to your cheeks, laughter still catching in your throats between shivers. You tossed your bike on the porch without care, unlocking the door as quickly as your frozen fingers would let you.

“Leave your shoes by the door,” you told him, kicking yours off with a squelch. “And try not to drip everywhere.”

Soobin peeled his hoodie over his head with a groan. “That’s an impossible task. I’m basically a human sponge.”

You grabbed a towel from the bathroom and threw it at his face. “Here. Dry off, Mr. Sponge.”

“I’ll need a medal for surviving this ride.”

“You’ll get a warm meal and some dry clothes, and you’ll like it.”

He grinned, following you into the hallway. “Wait. Dry clothes?”

"Yeah. I think I still have one of your old sweatshirts lying around" you said over your shoulder, stopping just outside your room. You glanced back at him, standing awkwardly in the hallway, damp hair dripping and clothes clinging to him like a soggy afterthought. He looked like a miserable, oversized puppy.

"If it even fits..." you mumbled under your breath.

Because looking at him now, you weren’t so sure. He’d always been tall, but somewhere between the boy who used to sprawl across your couch and the man standing there now, he'd filled out—broad shoulders, long limbs, that quiet weight people carry when they've grown into themselves. It was weird. Familiar.

“You still have that?”

You shrugged, trying not to overthink the warmth crawling up your neck. “It’s a good sweatshirt.”

“Can I have it back?”

“No.”

He laughed, and you disappeared into your room, pulling out the hoodie in question—still soft and oversized—and a pair of sweatpants you knew would be way too short on him, but it’d have to do.

You handed him the clothes and pointed him toward the bathroom. “Go. Change. And hang your stuff up unless you want it smelling like mildew forever.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, mock saluting.

When he disappeared behind the door, you exhaled. Why did this feel like something?

You pushed your wet hair back and padded into the kitchen to grab some water, heart still annoyingly thudding. Rain tapped against the windows like impatient fingers, and somewhere in the background, the bathroom door creaked as he rummaged through a drawer for a comb, a towel, who knew.

After changing into dry clothes, you settled onto the couch, towel in hand as you ran it through your damp hair. Without thinking, you reached into your pocket for your phone and opened reels—more out of muscle memory than intention.

You scrolled for a good minute before pausing.

There it was.

A video of Soobin. Blonde Soobin. All black suit, legs spread like he owned gravity, eating some sort of sour candy in that dazed, effortless idol way that did things to people.

The sound was some kind of slowed-down R&B track. The caption read: “what do you mean he’s not my boyfriend??”

You snorted and shook your head, tapping the screen like you meant to scroll past it.

“You watching fan edits of me?”

You jumped, your heart skipping a beat.

Soobin was standing just behind the couch, freshly changed, a towel draped loosely around his neck as he rubbed at his damp hair. His cheeks were flushed pink—not from embarrassment, but from the lingering warmth of the shower. The faint scent of your soap clung to him, familiar and comforting.

You scrambled for words, panic rising in your chest. “N-no.”

He raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow, the hint of a teasing smile tugging at his lips. “You’re a terrible liar.”

You bit your lip, trying to steady your voice. “It just popped up on my For You page!” you insisted, your tone shooting up an octave in protest.

“That’s not how the algorithm works,” he teased, eyes sparkling as he leaned in a little. “I can literally see you liked it.”

You huffed, flinging your phone onto the couch as if it had personally betrayed you. “I didn’t save it or anything.”

“I’m flattered,” he said, grinning as he walked slowly around the couch and flopped down beside you. The heat radiating from his body made the space between you feel smaller, cozier.

“I didn’t know you were into the blonde era,” he added with mock surprise.

You tried not to look at him, but it was impossible. His warmth seeped into you, grounding you in a way that made your chest ache with something tender and unfamiliar. He smelled like your soap—clean, soft, and utterly real.

“Yeah, well,” you muttered, crossing your arms defensively, “you looked ridiculous.”

He laughed—a low, easy sound that made your heart flutter. “You’re blushing.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

You risked a glance at him—and made the mistake of meeting his eyes.

Something electric passed between you, and it wasn’t from the static of the hoodie. It was heavier. Warmer. Your breath stuttered. You could say this, right? You were friends, right?

“You know,” you started, voice quieter, “it’s kinda unfair.”

He tilted his head. “What is?”

You picked at a loose thread on the couch cushion, pretending not to notice the way his thigh was pressed against yours.

“You look like that, even if you’re just eating.”

He blinked.

The teasing fell out of his expression like someone had pulled a thread loose. You looked at him—really looked.

And there it was again. That thing that hung between you like a held breath. That invisible thread that pulled tighter and tighter every time you got close enough to see each other clearly.

His hand caught your wrist just as you were about to step away.

You froze, startled by the gentle hold, your heart skipping a beat.

His hand closed around your wrist—gentle, hesitant. Like he wasn’t sure if he had the right to touch you but couldn’t let the moment slip away without trying.

You froze.

Not because it was dramatic or shocking, but because your body had trained itself to notice every tiny shift around Soobin. The way his fingers were warm against your skin. The way his thumb hovered just slightly, like he thought about brushing it across your wrist but didn’t.

When you looked at him, really looked, he was already looking away—blushing.

His ears were a little pink at the tips, and the expression on his face was… shy. Maybe even a little self-conscious, like he was trying to laugh it off before you said anything that would make it worse.

“That clip you saw…” he said, clearing his throat, his voice softer than usual. “It’s not really me looking good or anything.”

You blinked. “What?”

He scratched the back of his neck with his free hand, still not letting go of you. “That livestream—the one with the blonde hair and the… uh, the sitting posture.” He made a vague motion, embarrassed. “We were just coming off a performance. Everyone was still in stage makeup, and the stylists kind of go all out when there’s press watching. It’s not really how I… look. Normally.”

He wasn’t even making eye contact now, suddenly fascinated with a dent in the hardwood floor.

“I mean, they style us a certain way. The lighting’s good. The outfits are picked for us.” He glanced up, almost sheepish. “It’s not real-real.”

You didn’t answer right away. You were too busy staring.

Because here was Soobin—not the idol, not the polished version beamed out to millions—but your Soobin. The one who got defensive about reverse parking and couldn’t cook instant noodles without supervision. The one whose hoodie sleeves still hung past his wrists, whose hair was a little damp from the rain, whose voice always got smaller when he was trying to be honest.

And he didn’t know. He didn’t know that the moment he tried to downplay it, you somehow liked him even more. Your heart was doing something dangerous. Something stupid and fluttery. And warm. You smiled, just a little. “So what you’re saying is… the Soobin in that clip is false advertising?”

He huffed a laugh—still nervous, still a bit pink. “Exactly.”

“Well,” you said, pretending to think it over, “I guess I’ll just have to get used to this version of you, then.”

He tilted his head, eyes meeting yours at last. “This version?”

You nodded, trying to act nonchalant even though your pulse was kicking wildly in your throat. “The version that wears wrinkled sweats and drips water on my floor and thinks too much about livestreams from six months ago.”

He smiled, small and real. “That version’s not very cool.”

“Good. I like him better.” You shrugged. “He reminds me of an old friend.”

There was a pause—just long enough to feel like a held breath. His hand was still on your wrist, warmer now. Closer. And even though neither of you said it, something shifted.

He lingered a second longer, still holding your wrist, his thumb brushing your skin in a barely-there touch. Neither of you moved, as if breaking the stillness might shatter something fragile between you.

And then, almost offhandedly—like it wasn’t the kind of thing that would stick with you for days—he said, “You look good too, you know. Even after all these years.”

Simple. Uncomplicated. But it cracked something open in you all the same.

You turned away first.

“I’m gonna go make dinner,” you said quickly, already halfway to standing. “Before I say something else embarrassing.”

He let go, fingers slipping away from yours slowly, reluctantly.

And you walked to the kitchen with your heart in your throat.

Dinner was on the stove.

But it wasn’t the only thing simmering now.

—

You stood in front of the pot, stirring with more intensity than necessary, trying very hard not to think about the compliment Soobin had just casually lobbed at your entire existence. His words still clung to your skin more stubborn than the rain had.

"You look good too."

What did that even mean? You were in an old hoodie, hair still damp, socks mismatched. You looked like a soggy couch cushion with a pulse.

Still. He’d said it. Earnestly. Like he meant it.

You stirred the pot a little too aggressively.

Behind you, Soobin leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, watching you like he had nowhere else to be—and no desire to be anywhere else. He looked so at ease there, like he belonged in this space, in your space. The hoodie he wore—the one you’d cut around the collar back in high school during a brief “DIY fashion” phase—hung slightly off one of his shoulders now, exposing a sliver of collarbone. Your brain short-circuited every time your eyes drifted that way, completely unprepared for how something so small, so casual, could feel so intimate.

His eyes drifted toward the stove, then to you—quiet, lingering. He wasn’t staring exactly, but it was close. Like he was watching something he couldn’t quite name. Something small and domestic and too warm to look at directly. And when you caught it, just barely from the corner of your eye, it sent a shiver straight down your spine.

He dropped his gaze instantly, toeing at the rug with the tip of his sock like it had personally offended him.

“What… uh, what are you making?” he asked, voice soft. Like raising it too loud might break something fragile.

You tossed chopped onions into the pan with a hiss. “Soup,” you said. “It’s quick. It’s easy. And you probably won’t die eating it.”

Soobin gave a little laugh—short and breathy. “That’s a really strong endorsement.”

“I’ve seen your cooking, Choi. This is already an upgrade.”

He gasped, hand clutching his chest like you’d mortally wounded him. “You don’t forget anything, do you?”

“Three different instant noodles. All undercooked. All aggressively beige.”

“That was years ago!” he protested, a smile tugging at his lips. You nudged him with your hip as you passed behind him. “Just don’t set anything on fire, and we’ll call it a win.”

“I can be helpful,” he mumbled, already reaching for the cutting board. “You just… never let me.”

You glanced at him, amused. “You’re the one who told me not to let you near knives.”

“Right, but like…” He shrugged, scratching at the back of his neck. “That was before.”

You handed him a block of tofu and the world’s dullest knife. “Okay, Chef of the Year. Tiny cubes. No bleeding.” He took it with an exaggerated sigh. “No faith in me at all.”

You turned back to the stove, only to hear the distinct sound of tofu being… destroyed.

You looked. “That’s a massacre.”

“I panicked,” he muttered, eyebrows drawn together like he was concentrating on defusing a bomb. You stepped beside him without thinking. “Here,” you said, adjusting his grip. “Like this.” Your fingers curled gently around his hand, repositioning his hold on the knife. Your chest brushed his arm. He stilled.

The silence bloomed wide. You felt his breath catch—just barely. Like a sound he wasn’t sure he should let out. When he turned his head, your faces were closer than they’d meant to be. Too close.

“I think I’m messing up on purpose,” he said, voice so low it barely reached you.

You blinked. “Why?” He hesitated. His eyes flicked to your lips, then away again, like he didn’t mean to. “Because, uh… getting corrected isn’t so bad?”

Your heart stuttered.

And for one wild second, you thought he might actually mean it. Not in a joke way. Not in a “we’re just friends messing around” way. But in the kind of way that stayed with you, long after it passed. You pulled back quickly, your voice higher than it needed to be. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re blushing.”

“I’m not.”

“You totally are,” he mumbled, looking weirdly pleased with himself. You turned back to the soup before your face could fully betray you. “Dinner’s almost done.”

“Smells good.” The way he said it—it wasn’t loud or performative. Just warm. Quiet. Like he meant it and didn’t know how to say much else.

“I can, um… I can set the table,” he offered after a beat, fiddling with the towel draped over the chair. “If that helps.”

“It’s just two plates.”

“Still,” he said, moving toward the cupboard. “Feels like the least I can do.”

You watched him open drawers like he didn’t remember where anything was—even though he’d been to your kitchen more than once. Even though this version of Soobin—the soft one, the one who tiptoed through domestic spaces like they were breakable—was getting harder and harder to pretend didn’t feel different.

By the time you both sat down, your pulse still hadn’t settled.

He waited until you took your first bite before speaking again.

“This feels nice,” he said, toying with his chopsticks. “Like… familiar.”

You looked up. “Familiar how?”

He hesitated. “Like, I don’t know. Like we used to do this all the time. Even if we didn’t.”

You nodded slowly. “Yeah. I get that.” There was a pause. He tapped his chopsticks together gently, then added, “Not like this, though.”

Your stomach tightened. Because you knew what he meant. Not with the late rain tapping at the windows. Not with the soft glow of the kitchen light, the quiet between bites. Not with the way his leg brushed yours under the table like it didn’t mean anything… except it kind of did.

He looked down at his bowl, then back at you, cheeks faintly pink. “It’s probably dumb. Sorry.”

“No,” you said quickly. “It’s not dumb.” You both sat in the quiet that followed, tension settling like steam in the air between you. Soft. Warm. Unspoken.

And still—he glanced at you again, eyes lingering a little longer this time.

“This,” he murmured, almost to himself, “is the part I think I missed the most.”

You didn’t trust yourself to ask what he meant. So you took another bite instead. But your fingers itched where they’d touched his. And you could feel the weight of the moment, real and quiet and waiting for someone to name it.

So neither of you did.

You just stayed like that—two bowls between you, hearts too full for your mouths to keep up.

—

It had been a while since you last saw Soobin. A month, at least.

His mom had mentioned he was out of town visiting family—some cousin’s wedding, maybe. You didn’t ask too many questions. Just nodded, said “ah,” and tried to pretend your chest didn’t ache a little every time you passed his house, reminding you of how alone you felt the first time he had disappeared.

In his absence, the days blurred. You slipped too easily back into your old routine—working, grocery store runs, folding laundry half-awake, hospital visits that drained more than they gave. You didn’t have time to miss him. You barely had time to be anything other than tired.

But that night… that night was different.

The doctor had been gentle, but that didn’t soften the words. Your mom’s condition wasn’t worsening—but it also wasn’t improving. They’d be moving her into a more intensive unit, “just to keep a closer eye.” That was what they always said. A closer eye. As if that made it better.

You left the hospital numb, your body moving through the motions—bus ride, walking home, dropping your keys in the dish like muscle memory. You kicked off your shoes and sat on the edge of your bed without meaning to.

And before you knew it, you were opening your laptop. Not the mindless doomscrolling of nights past. Not some clip appearing on your for you page by accident.

You typed it out yourself this time.

Soobin. Variety show. “Faves Fave.”

Intentional.

The screen filled with thumbnails—bright, curated images of him laughing, grinning, clutching his stomach as he teased his guests. You clicked one. Then another. Then another. It was like oxygen after two weeks of holding your breath.

He looked… the same. Familiar and not. Confident, magnetic, a little shy around the edges if you knew where to look—which, of course, you did.

And then you found that episode.

The one with the “dating coach” guest. Just a cute concept—flowers, mukbang, the whole club presentation skit . You watched with your chin in your hand, blinking slowly as he fiddled with his sleeves and answered questions with his soft, hesitant smile.

Until the girl leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table, and asked with a teasing lilt, “Soobin-ssi, what’s your type?”

He laughed first. Ducking his head, already shaking it. “You’re gonna make me get in trouble…” The staff cackled. The guest encouraged him.

“Someone who… leads?” he finally said, face pink and gaze darting away. “I’m more… I think I’m usually… the follower type.” The camera zoomed in. He rubbed at the back of his neck, looking utterly sheepish.

You sat frozen, mouse hovering over the pause button. Your stomach did something ridiculous.

It was the way he said it—like it wasn’t meant to be scandalous. Just honest. Earnest. And yet your brain short-circuited.

He wasn’t lying.

Over the next few days, you found yourself spiraling. Not in a dangerous way. Just… quietly. Internally. You kept replaying his words—the shy, almost whispered confession that he liked being led. That he was the follower, not the leader. It was a simple thing, but it hit you in a way you didn’t expect.

You found yourself wondering what that really meant—how it would feel to be the one guiding him, to be the person he trusted enough to follow. It was strange how just thinking about it made your chest tighten, your skin buzz with something like electricity. You tried to tell yourself it was just the stress, the exhaustion, the endless waiting for your mom to get better. But you knew better.

When you saw him again, it was like the air between you had shifted, though nothing had really changed. You were hanging out like usual—talking, laughing, stealing quick glances at each other—but now every look carried weight. Every casual brush of your hands or accidental touch sent your heart racing.

Soobin was the same—soft-spoken, a little awkward, but somehow more open, more vulnerable. He wasn’t joking when he said he liked being led. You could see it in how he deferred to you on small things, how he hesitated before making decisions, like he was waiting for your cue. And you? You were barely holding yourself together inside.

The doorbell rang just as you were finishing up dinner—your hands still a little flour-dusted, the kitchen smelling faintly of garlic and rosemary. You wiped them on your apron, heart skipping in a way that was maybe more than just nerves about having company.

When you opened the door, Soobin was there, standing with that familiar, slightly sheepish smile that always made your chest tighten. His hair was a bit tousled from the wind, and his eyes held that soft, tentative look you’d come to know so well.

“Hey,” he said quietly, voice low like he was trying not to disturb the calm.

“Hey,” you replied, stepping aside to let him in.

He kicked off his shoes like he always did—neatly, side by side by the door, like a good guest. Like someone who belonged.

You didn’t say anything, just followed him with your gaze as he wandered into the kitchen, peering into the pot on the stove.

“Ooh,” he said, drawing out the sound, his voice lilting with approval. “It smells like… actual food. I thought you were just gonna microwave ramen.”

You rolled your eyes, your heartbeat thudding annoyingly fast. “Excuse you. I am a cooking god.”

He was joking. You knew that. Just Soobin being Soobin—soft and playful and a little smug without realizing it. But the way he leaned against your counter, arms crossed, sleeves pushed up, collar loose…

Yeah. This was going to kill you. Because he had no idea.

No idea that you’d spent two nights watching him on screen—smiling, laughing, stupidly talking about his ideal type like it was just another throwaway question. Like it hadn’t rearranged something inside you.

“I’m usually the follower type,” he’d said.

And maybe it was stupid, the way your brain latched onto that. The way your body responded like it had been waiting for an excuse. You turned away quickly, grabbing bowls from the cabinet with more force than necessary. Focus.

“So,” he said behind you, “what’s the occasion?”

“What?”

“You cooked. For me. Without bribery or threats involved.” He leaned over your shoulder, just barely, just enough that you could feel the warmth of him at your back. “Should I be worried?”

You forced a laugh. “Maybe I missed having someone around who bugs me while I’m chopping onions.”

“Ah,” he said with mock solemnity. “So I am but a tool for your entertainment.”

You could feel the heat of him behind you—just barely there, just enough to make it impossible to think straight.

Tool for your entertainment, he’d said.

You nearly dropped the ladle.

God, he had no idea what that did to you.

Your brain, already frayed from too many late nights watching his interviews on loop—watching him smile at someone else, laugh at someone else's joke—now seized on that one line, innocent and offhand, like your nervous system needed a final push toward collapse.

"I’m the follower type."

Most people would’ve let it pass. A throwaway comment. But not you. Not after hearing the way he’d said it—voice low, almost shy, like it had slipped out by accident. Like it meant something.

And now here he was. In your kitchen. Wearing your hoodie. Joking about being your “tool,” like the universe had a twisted sense of humor and was testing your ability to not spontaneously combust.

“Sure,” you managed, ladling soup into a bowl with what you hoped was a steady hand. “An incredibly useful tool.”

He gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. “Wow. I’ve been demoted to household equipment. I used to be someone.��

You bit your lip.

Don’t laugh. Don’t think about what he said. Definitely don’t think about what that would look like.

You turned to hand him the bowl—and instantly regretted it.

He was close. Too close. Close enough that you could see the faint sprinkle of freckles near his collarbone, the soft curve of his throat. Close enough to feel the warmth of him. And worse—close enough to see his smile up close, the one that crinkled the corners of his eyes in a way that felt entirely, devastatingly sincere; his dimples on full display.

You passed him the bowl with a shallow breath, eyes on anything but his face. He took it gently. But didn’t step away.

“Are you okay?” he asked, voice softer now. Too soft. The kind of softness that pried things loose.

You looked up. Mistake number two. His brows were slightly furrowed, gaze searching—not teasing this time, not even curious. Just… concerned. Like he could feel the ripple of something under the surface but didn’t know where it led.

“I’m fine,” you said too fast, too light. “Just tired.”

He didn’t argue, but the way he looked at you made it clear he wasn’t buying it completely. Still, he nodded, letting the moment settle.

You grabbed your own bowl and sat down quickly, needing the table between you. Needing space. Needing something solid to keep you from doing something stupid like saying the actual thoughts screaming in your head.

He sat across from you, legs tucked up like always, like your living room wasn’t any different from his. Like no time had passed at all. Like he hadn’t just accidentally unraveled you with a single joke and a borrowed hoodie.

Like he belonged here.

And you let him. Of course you did. Even now, even with your pulse skipping and your thoughts stuck on that clip. The one where he’d smiled, soft and unguarded, and said “I don’t mind being told what to do,” and the room had laughed, but you hadn’t.

Because it hadn’t felt like a joke to you.

It had felt like a truth. One he hadn’t meant to share. One you couldn’t unhear.

And now it sat in your chest like a secret too big to hold. A glowing ember you couldn’t stamp out.

He slurped a spoonful of soup and let out a satisfied hum. “So what’s in this? Other than the tears you shed while I was gone”

You swallowed hard, fighting for focus. “Garlic. Herbs. A careful measure of what’s left of my sanity.”

He snorted. “Well, it’s seasoned perfectly.”

You gave him a weak smile, cheeks already warm, though it had nothing to do with the stove.

Because this wasn’t just banter anymore. This wasn’t normal. It was familiar, yes—but in a way that felt dangerous now. Because the more he settled back into your life, into your house, into the clothes you used to sleep in—the harder it became to separate who he used to be from what he was starting to mean now.

He had no idea. None. He didn’t know that every casual smile, every soft laugh, every offhanded comment was completely undoing you. You glanced up—and found him already watching you.

You froze.

“What?”

He blinked like he hadn’t meant to get caught. “Nothing,” he said quickly. “You’re just… quiet tonight.”

You looked down at your bowl.

“Yeah,” you said again. “Just tired.”

He didn’t press, but his gaze lingered, and in the stretch of silence that followed, you wondered—just for a second—if he saw it. The shift. The crack in your composure. The storm is blooming just beneath your skin.

But then he took another bite. Casual. Comfortable.

And you sat there, across from the boy who was quietly ruining your life, wondering how much longer you could pretend it wasn’t happening.

—-

EIGHT YEARS AGO

It had been the class field trip to the mountains—the last big outing before graduation.

Everyone had been buzzing about it for weeks: a whole day out of school. You hadn’t planned on going at first—too many people, too much noise—but your friends insisted. And somewhere deep down, beneath your careful excuses, you knew Soobin would be there.

And yeah. Maybe that was the real reason you said yes.

The day itself was easy. Light. The sun shimmered across the water, laughter bounced off the docks. Soobin had helped pass out life jackets, sleeves rolled up, hair pushed back by the wind, that easygoing smile on his face. He was joking with everyone, relaxed—but his eyes kept finding you. When he thought you weren’t looking.

You caught him once. Watching.

He smiled. You looked away.

It should’ve felt warm. Comforting. Safe.

But then, later—when everyone was crowded around a picnic table, eating soggy sandwiches and swatting mosquitoes—you overheard it.

Two classmates, sitting a few feet behind you. One of them is his friend. The other a notorious gossip.

“I’m telling you,” one said, tearing into a juice pouch. “Soobin was gonna ask her to the lake.”

“Her? Seriously?”

“Yeah. Said he’d do it if she said yes to coming. But then he got all weird. Said she shuts down whenever he gets close. But, like, you can tell. He does everything she says. It’s kind of sad.”

You froze, a sandwich half-bitten in your hand.

He was going to ask you. You hadn’t imagined it. The quiet tension, the soft attention—it had meant something. And maybe, just maybe, it still would have meant something.

But then came the second realization. The one that burrowed deeper.

He would’ve done it just because you came.

Because you said yes.

Because he always listened.

Because he always followed your lead.

And you couldn’t breathe.

Because if he liked you like that—really liked you—then that meant being wanted. Being chosen. Again. And what had that ever brought anyone?

Everyone you loved either left or got sick. That wasn't a coincidence. That was you.

You had started to believe, somewhere in the quiet dark, that maybe you were the problem. That maybe there was something inside you—ruinous and invisible—that made people go. Like you carried a sickness only the people closest to you ever caught.

And Soobin? Soobin was the kind of boy who would’ve followed you straight into the storm, no questions asked.

He didn’t deserve that.

So you shut down.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. You avoided his gaze. Didn’t laugh at his jokes. When the canoes got pulled out, you volunteered for the group on the other end of the lake. You didn’t even sit near him on the bus ride back.

And the texts, later that night? Left unread.

When he approached you in the hallway the next week, worry in his eyes, asking if something was wrong—you shrugged.

“Don’t worry about it,” you said. And then walked away.

You never told him why. Never told him that your silence wasn’t about him. It was about you. What you believed you did to the people who loved you.

He didn’t chase after you. Not out loud. But you saw him watching you in class a few times after that. Quiet. Like he was waiting for a sign that never came. The last time you saw him was three days after the hike. He was standing by the bike racks after school, bag slung over one shoulder, kicking gravel. He looked up when you walked out with your friends.

You paused.

He straightened. Took a half step forward. “Hey.”

You stopped. Barely. “Hey.”

“I just wanted to ask if I… said something wrong?”

He looked so unsure, so open, so soft. All you wanted was to walk back toward him. Say something. Say everything.

But you didn’t.

You gave him a weak smile that didn’t reach your eyes.

“Don’t worry about it.” Then you left.

No final goodbye. No explanation. Just silence.

And that was the last time you saw Soobin. Before the auditions, the debut, the lights and cameras and screams and fame turned him into someone the whole world watched. You’d think about that moment by the fence. About how he would’ve done anything for you, if you’d only let him.

But you hadn’t. Because somewhere deep down, you still believed you were the thing that made people sick. And you couldn’t let him catch it too.

So instead, you let him go. Quiet. Clean. Cowardly.

And the worst part?

You were never sure if he even hated you for it.

—

The soup was gone. The dishes were rinsed, half-drying on the rack.

The living room was dim now, only the lamp in the corner still on, casting long golden light over everything. The night had settled in soft around you—quiet, still, deceptively calm. Soobin was sprawled out on your couch, legs long and socked feet hanging off the edge like he forgot how tall he was. You sat on the floor with your back against the coffee table, scrolling through a playlist on your phone, pretending like you weren’t hyper-aware of his presence. Of the warmth of his thigh brushing the cushion where your elbow rested. Of the way his eyes followed you when he thought you weren’t looking.

You were looking.

“Wanna watch something?” you offered, keeping your voice casual. “You haven’t seen the new season of that show you liked, right?”

“Hmm,” he hummed, quiet for a second. “I kinda just wanna sit like this.”

You didn’t say anything. Couldn’t, really. Your mouth had gone dry. Because the way he said it wasn’t teasing. It was simple. Earnest.

Like this.

With you. In your space. With your things and your scent on the throw blanket and the memory of your hand on his guiding a knife hours ago. He turned his head a little, resting his cheek on the back of the couch.

“You’re really quiet tonight,” he said again. “Not just tired, quiet… It’s like…you’re thinking too much.”

You stared ahead at the wall, the grain in the wood, the dust in the lamp’s halo of light.

“I’m always thinking too much.”

“Yeah,” he said softly. “But this feels different.”

You drew your knees up to your chest, arms wrapping around them.

“I just…” You hesitated. “I think I’ve forgotten how to be around you.”

He blinked. Sat up straighter. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” you said, trying to laugh, trying to swallow the tension, “we hang out like this and it’s supposed to feel easy, but it doesn’t anymore.”

He looked at you carefully. Slowly.

And then, softer than before: “Why doesn’t it?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

He let the silence stretch a beat longer, then got up.

You thought maybe he was going to leave. But instead, he walked over and sat beside you on the floor, shoulder-to-shoulder. Close. Warm.

“Can I ask you something?” he murmured.

You turned your head. “You just did.”

He gave you a look, but there was no bite to it. Only hesitation.

“Did I do something?” he asked.

Your heart thudded.

“No,” you said quickly. “No, it’s not—” You exhaled hard. “You didn’t do anything.”

“Then what is it?”

You turned your face toward your knees, hiding your expression. But his voice followed, low and careful.

“You didn’t do anything,” I say again, quieter this time—almost a whisper, like if I say it soft enough, maybe it’ll unravel the knot tightening in my chest.

Soobin stays still. Not a word. No response. He just waits.

And somehow, that silence makes everything harder to bear.

I press my cheek against my knee, voice muffled and uneven. “It just got me thinking… back in high school. That field trip to the mountains.” You don’t know why you’re bringing this up now.

I feel the faintest tilt of his head, a subtle sign he’s listening, but he doesn’t meet my eyes.

“After that trip…” I trail off, twisting the sleeve of my shirt around my fingers, the fabric rough beneath my skin. “I don’t know why—” The words catch in my throat, and the room feels heavy with unspoken things. I swallow hard. “I don’t know why I stopped talking to you.”

Lies. Lies. Lies. Because I know the truth, but it’s too fragile, too raw to say out loud.

Finally, I steal a glance at him—just for a moment.

His face softens. There’s a flicker of surprise in his eyes, maybe something else too. Something like understanding. Or forgiveness.

And in that quiet exchange, it feels like a small crack opens in the wall between us—fragile, but real.

He shifts beside me, the couch groaning beneath his weight. Then, softly:

“I didn’t know,” he says.

His voice is different now. Not teasing. Not soft for the sake of comfort—but careful. Honest.

“I thought…” He hesitates, rubbing the back of his neck like he always does when he’s nervous. “I thought maybe you didn’t like me. That I was too much.”

My heart stutters.

“You weren’t,” You say quickly, instinctively. “You weren’t too much. You were just…”

You falter again. He looks at you now—really looks at you—and you feel like he’s seeing through every version of you you’ve built up over the years.

“I overheard some guys talking about you,” You keep going, twisting the sleeve of your shirt around your fingers. “They said you were going to ask me out, maybe confess something.”

So much silence.

“And it just... freaked me out.”

You don’t say it lightly. You say it like a confession, like a weight lifted from your shoulders but also like a wound reopened. Because it costs you something to admit.

“I didn’t know how to deal with it,” You admit, voice catching a little. “The idea that you might like me... that I might have to say it back.”

You finally glance at him—just for a second. His face softens. A flicker of surprise, maybe something else.

“So I did the worst thing,” You confess, taking a shaky breath. “I avoided you.”

You swallow hard. “I told myself it didn’t matter. That I’d forget. But I never did.”

He stays quiet longer than you want. You think maybe You’ve ruined everything.

“You know,” he says after a long moment, “I used to think about that field trip a lot.”

You turn toward him.

“I kept wondering if I said something wrong. Maybe I embarrassed you.”

“You didn’t.”

He nods. “I know that now. But back then…”

His voice drifts. There’s a different kind of sadness in it. Not bitter. Just the kind that comes from remembering a version of yourself who didn’t know better.

“…I guess I needed you to say this more than I realized,” he finishes.

You both don’t say anything for a while after that. The silence between you isn’t empty—it’s full of things finally said, finally heard.

Then—like the Soobin you’ve always known—he cracks a crooked grin, glancing sideways at me.

“So…” he says, light but sincere, “now that we’ve established we were both emotionally constipated teenagers…”

You snort. “You’re the worst.”

He nudges your shoulder again, softer this time. “Just saying. We had a lot of potential for a coming-of-age drama. Tears, longing stares, tragic misunderstandings.”

“And a bad soundtrack,” you say, trying to keep your voice light, though something twists in your chest. “You would’ve done well with a sad ballad.”

“Oh, definitely,” he murmurs, looking forward now, like he’s watching a movie that only he can see. “Fade to black. Cue emotional credits.”

You smile faintly at that. Or maybe you try to. Because the warmth between you—the comfort, the quiet—it feels like something that could settle. Something that could stay.

But then the silence stretches again. Not like before. This one sharpens. Something shifts in the air, almost imperceptibly, and you feel it before you hear it. The way Soobin suddenly exhales, the weight in his shoulders changing.

You glance at him.

He’s not smiling anymore. His eyes darken with something unsaid—an emotion too raw to voice but too heavy to hide.

In that moment, the space between you changes. It’s no longer just a shared past. It’s a crossing point.

A line drawn. Between what was… and what could be.

And somehow, without words, you both know it.

This is the turning point.

The moment everything begins to change. His eyes darken, intense and searching, as they lock onto yours. The world narrows until it’s just the two of you—breath mingling, hearts hammering in sync.

guys...i reached the 1000 word block GO TO PAHT TWO

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slytherinshua · 5 months ago

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໑　 KISSES WITH TXT 　 ( 투모로우바이투게더 )

genre fluff , headcanons , txt x reader cw kissing (obv) , not proofread and prob a bit messy wc 806 request no note still in my txt feels BAD like its not okay im so tired i love them net @kstrucknet @moadiarynet

CHOI YEONJUN 彡 최연준

he’s so smooth with his kisses

almost too smooth

he’ll come up behind you with an arm around your waist and spin you around to press a quick kiss to your lips

and then he’ll leave you dazed and wanting more but he’s already walking off with a cute little smirk on his face

or he’ll interrupt your sentence with a kiss making you forget what you were talking about in the first place

he always catches you off guard but it leaves your heart fluttering

other times his kisses are slow and passionate

he loves taking his time to savour the feeling

he’s almost too desperate sometimes, kissing you like it's the last time he’ll ever get the chance to

which is wrong because he kisses you all the time

but he just can’t help losing himself in you

kisses are used to celebrate, to commemorate, or to apologize

it's his way of communicating, of teasing, of acknowledging— the way yeonjun kisses you speaks a million words

CHOI SOOBIN 彡 최수빈

there’s nothing softer than soobin’s kisses

his lips are just so perfect that even when the kiss is rushed or a bit messy, you could hardly complain

you love to kiss his neck because it will make him flustered and shy

he’ll tell you to stop with his cheeks flushed, but he doesn’t really mean it

when he talks too much and you can’t get a word in, kissing his cheek always gets his attention

his brain pauses whenever you do cause he doesn’t expect to be kissed

even though he should by now because you can never resist kissing his dimples

if you can’t reach his lips, there are simple ways to get him to bend down enough

a tap on his shoulder or gently grabbing his wrist will give him the silent signal that you want to kiss him

and it has him smiling because he thinks you’re adorable every time you want him to lean down so you can initiate the kiss first

CHOI BEOMGYU 彡 최범규

beomgyu always kisses you when you need it the most

his kisses are soothing and loving, healing whatever part of you that was hurting instantly

kisses away your tears when you’re crying and delicately presses his lips to any part of your body that was aching

when the mood is light and playful, you like to tease him by not giving him any kisses while he begs for it

when he’s playing video games next to you, he’ll pucker his lips expectantly while his eyes stay glued to the screen

you act like you have no idea what he wants

it drives him slightly crazy, but he also loves it

because it means once he’s finally had enough of not getting what he wants, he’ll tackle you and kiss you until you’re both breathless and your jaws hurt from smiling so much

when you brush his hair back and give him forehead kisses, he practically melts into a puddle

he adores your delicate soft kisses more than anything

as a slow and patient lover, he cherishes the quiet moments with you the most

KANG TAEHYUN 彡 강태현

taehyun won’t ask for kisses out loud, but there’s always a pleading look in his eyes whenever he wants to be kissed

eyes shiny and observing you to see when you’ll notice that he’s desperate to get his lips on yours

if he gets too impatient he will definitely tug on your arm or something to get your attention

loves when you hold his face in your hands and run your thumb across his cheekbone or jawline

he’ll turn his head to press a kiss to your palm and his smiles are breathtaking

his kisses are so romantic with the perfect push and pull

he always knows where to put his hands or how to guide you perfectly

and when the time comes to break away from his lips, your heart always sinks a bit in your chest

because he has you addicted like nothing else

HUENINGKAI 彡 휴닝카이

his kisses are soft and sometimes teasing

hand kisses are some of his personal favourites

he’ll get down on one knee or bend down to kiss the back of your hand in the most chivalrous way possible just to see you giggle

will also kiss your knuckles one by one while holding your hand in his

he loves when you run your hands through his hair while kissing him

he’s addicted to the feeling and needs it like oxygen

he’ll sigh in content and pull you closer because nothing could ever be more perfect than your lips on his and your hands in his hair

he loves to nuzzle his nose against yours too!

he’ll leave a trail of kisses across your face whilst breathless giggles escape his parted lips

and delicate pecks to the apples of your cheeks or under your eyes are what follows

txt taglist (bolded could not be tagged): @kangtaehyunzzz,, @eternalgyu,, @90steele,, @ddeonudepressions,, @cham3li,, @wolfmoonmusic,, @98-0603,, @weird-bookworm,, @candewlsy,, @blossominghunnie,, @amara-mars,, @wccycc,, @seunghancore,, @ujisworld,, @sobun1est,, @bananabubble,, @talkingsaxy,, @sxmmerberries,, @talking-saxy,, @nicholasluvbot,, @cupidslovearrows,, @50-husbands,, @hursheys,, @stannwjnss,, @gong-fourz,, @nonononranghaee,, @forever-atiny,, @stantxtforabetterlife,, @loserlvrss,, @lexeees,, @cupidslovearrows,, @hyukabean,, @nicholasluvbot,, @i03jae

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tttabii · 2 months ago

Text

──심재윤 BREWED TENSION ; JAKE SIM

pairing.ᐟ ceo! jake x coffee shop owner! reader word count: 10.2k ; mentions of vaping for reader), choi soobin from txt, sunoo, and winter from aespa

YOU AND JAKE SIM HAD KNOWN EACH OTHER since high school—unfortunately. He was the guy everyone wanted: born into wealth, already set to inherit his father's conglomerate, effortlessly charming, and untouchably arrogant.

You were... not that.

Middle-class, sure, but happy. You had parents who loved you, supported you through every ambition—even the bold one of opening your own coffee shop in Seoul.

The two of you wound up studying business at the same university. For Jake it was a stepping stone, another silky tile, in his future diamond-studded life. For you, it was everything. You needed the knowledge, the experience. You wanted to carve out a life for yourself and you did.

But while you were at school, Jake never liked you. He never gave you a proper reason—but you could feel it every side-eye he shot at you when you passed in the hall. Whenever you made the effort to say hello, or offer him a sample of the new coffee blend you'd been working on in baking club, he acted like you simply didn't exist.

So you gave up.

But that didn't stop you from working. With help from your parents along with a lot of passion, you'd opened your very own café in Seoul, right in the middle of downtown.

It was a little pocket of coziness, with clean wooden styling, relaxing jazz music, and the smell of coffee drifting out from the café out every morning.

Winter, your high school best friend, worked part-time there too. Plus, so did Sunoo, your own personal ray of sunshine who always made you laugh even when you were stressing out. You had all grown up together, and now you were creating something that was real. Something that was yours.

The café had quickly gained a good reputation. Word had spread through recommendation and many unique blends of coffee and buttery pastries were helped along by a few Instagram stories by both Winter and Sunoo who were both becoming social media stars themselves.

Then one morning, your life changed. Jake Sim, wearing a sharp black suit and pressed coat, was striding down the sidewalk with a phone in his hand. He sounded cold, clipped, and lethal. "If you can't handle the Tokyo merger, then I'm getting rid of you. I can't have incompetence like you slowing us down."

A pause. Silence. Then:

"You're fired."

With a sigh, he ended the phone call and ran a hand through his hair. That's when his eyes went across the street. There, tucked away between two boutiques, sat a new café. It looked rustic and charming, with ample light coming from within, with sections of wooden framed windows that had nicely crafted signs, possibly some kind of reclaimed wood or beautiful quality wood, was hard to tell from this distance.

He needed caffeine. Bad.

He walked in without thinking, and the little song from a ringing bell above the door rang soft behind him. He stood staring down at his phone until he looked up and mumbled, "black coffee. no sugar."

Sunoo's eyes widened the second he registered who had walked in. A smirk appeared on his lips, and he turned to you; you were standing behind the counter talking to him.

"Y/n," he said in a sing-song voice. "Look who stupidly crawled in for a cup."

You blinked. "What? "

Then you saw him. Jake Sim. Still as infuriatingly smug and impeccably dressed.He froze the second he realized who was standing there, his mouth opened as if he had just been punched, shocked, and he needed a minute to catch his thoughts.

Sunoo giggled and lightly nudged you closer to the register. "Go on. He's your customer."

Your heart jumped a little, but not from excitement. From the irony. The man who once scoffed at your coffee was now standing in your shop, asking for a cup. You cleared your throat and walked up to the counter.

"Black coffee, no sugar?" you asked, trying not to smirk.

Jake raised an eyebrow at you, finally giving you a full look. For a moment, he said nothing. His eyes flicked over the place—the décor, the long line forming behind him, the glass display filled with pastries. Then, back to you.

"You really opened a coffee shop."

You smiled, cool and calm. "I really did."

Jake had no clever response. How rare of him...

As you gave Jake his drink, your fingers teasingly brushed against his. He flinched not from physical discomfort, but the disorienting warmth that sent a jolt through him. You smiled politely, and wiped your hands on your apron as you tilted your head to finally study him properly.

He was every ounce the CEO—tailored suit, a Rolex creeping out of his cuff, the familiar air of authority that surrounded him like tacky cologne. And you could see Winter and Sunoo had picked up on it too, whispering to each other and trying (and failing) to be subtle about it from the side.

"So," you said tapping the countertop, "I hope you enjoyed my coffee."

Jake glanced down at the cup, the scent curling up beautifully and then flicked his gaze up to yours. "It's nice."

You smirked with a small laugh escaping. "I know. People always end up coming crawling back."

His brows flickered. "Cocky much?"

You giggled quietly. "You really should have tasted my baking and coffee back in the day but I guess you were busy... being a CEO?"

Jake made a light scoff while letting his gaze linger on you longer than he intended. "Yeah..."

He came to an abrupt stop, pulled from his thoughts about the warm, inviting café surrounding him. The glow from the glass display showed golden brown pastries—flaky croissants, chocolate chip scones, and cinnamon rolls that looked sinful.

The digital menu board flickered behind you while it cycled through the specials, featuring names he never would have thought to see next to the word "famous," in his wildest dreams.

It wasn't just a café. It was your café. And he was surprised at how, annoyed, but impressed he felt about this fact.

The bell above the door rang once more. A tall guy walked inside, determined and almost confident. You perked up as soon as he walked through the door, "Dark mocha with whipped cream and a cookie again?" you asked playfully.

The guy laughed as he combed his hand through his hair, "Cancel the cookie and switch that to a sandwich. I'm pretending to be healthy this week."

Jake's eyes were locked on the new guy. He recognized him right away. Choi Soobin. CEO of TXT Corporations.

He was one of the only other guys he had verbally challenged as many as so many times during shareholder meetings.Soobin stood casually by the counter, scrolled through his phone, while he talked to you like old friends. His body language told Jake he was at ease. Jake didn't like that.

He took a long sip of his black coffee.

Sunoo, who was replenishing napkins nearby, had witnessed everything. He turned to Jake and smirked knowingly before resuming "work."When Jake and Soobin's eyes finally met, both men grimaced and produced a smile.

"Didn't expect to see you here," Soobin said smoothly, eyebrow raised, "I thought you were more into those fancy cafes with gold-leaf lattes."

Jake chuckled, slow and dry. "And I didn't think you'd know what real coffee was."

You slid Soobin's sandwich over the counter just as he snorted. "I guess we both like surprises."

As the tension grew thicker, you rolled your eyes. Men."Boys, play nice. I'm not a babysitter today," you said brightly, handing Soobin his mocha.

Jake couldn't help but to watch as you gave Soobin a grin he knew well—a face you'd give him in university that he pretended not to see then.Something tweaked in his gut.You were no longer the girl trying to get him to try a caramel macchiato in the hallway, you were the woman everyone—powerful men were drawn to.

The woman who built something up from nothing. And to add insult to injury. You were glowing.

Without him.

The next day came around, near the lunch rush, and you were elbow-deep in flour, kneading dough for a fresh batch of scones when the unmistakable ding of the bell above the café door chimed again. You looked up from the counter, brushing flour off your hands on your apron. ||

And there he was—Jake Sim, business mogul, CEO of Sim Corp, and apparently, a secret admirer of cinnamon rolls. You quickly washed your hands, grinned, and called back over your shoulder, "Back for more, huh?"

Jake didn't answer at first, just strolled over to the counter, sharp in another perfectly pressed suit, removing his sunglasses with one hand and looking at the entire pastry display. "Cinnamon roll," he said flatly. "And some black coffee."

You raised an eyebrow, teasing, "You like cinnamon rolls?"

Jake merely rolled his eyes at you. Another no answer. You sighed with amusement before taking one of the warm cinnamon rolls from the tray and inserting it into the pastel blue box you designed with your logo on top.

You quickly wrote in cursive "Jake" on the box, and, like with all the orders for your favorite regulars, you slid in a tiny mint candy, then sealed the bag.

He noticed. He didn't say anything about it.

As you delivered the bag on the counter, your hands brushed against each other again. "Don't work too hard," you said softly; the same light hearted cheerfulness you exhibited whenever Soobin would stop by in between long workdays.

Jake blinked at you several times, something clearly behind the tone registered, and perhaps—perhaps—made something in his core tighten, but he didn't show it. He grabbed the bag, murmuring a quick, "Thanks," before he turned.

The bell rang once more. "Y/n!" Soobin called out with warmth you could hear all the way in the back, waltzing in, tousled hair from the wind, looking casual in a pale grey coat and denim. You smiled the biggest, "Hey! Sandwich and iced americano?"

"You know me too well." He laughed, walking towards you just when Jake had been ready to leave in which they barely brushed shoulders. Instant tension ignited. Jake stopped again briefly glaring into Soobin's eyes.

And Soobin just smiles—so smugly charming. "Didn't expect to see you again." He said cooly. "You thinking of investing in cupcake stocks or something?"

Jake scanned Soobin from head-to-toe. "Just getting coffee. Not that it matters to you," he said sharply.

Soobin's smile grew as he looked at you. "You know, Jake's not even that scary. He acts all tough and scary, but... he's just a high school kid with a grudge."

Jake's jaw tightened. You blinked at Soobin. "Stop."

Winter and Sunoo must have come up from the kitchen while all of this was going on. They had their heads together looking out from the side of the doorway, eyes wide, clearly sensing the impending doom.

"Oh, we smell tea," Winter whispered to Sunoo, who nodded his head, shuttering with excitement. As you finished packing Soobin's sandwich, you could still feel Jake looking at you. He began to back away with his pastry bag in hand, and while his face was unreadable, his jaw was still clenched.

You happily slipped Soobin his order, but before the door closed behind Jake, you briefly relived the sharp look he shot you. You had no idea what it all meant. You just knew one thing—he would be back.

The week faded into an easy rhythm. Jake was coming by more frequently—sometimes before the café even opened, leaning against the door frame in those crisp suits, coat slung over one arm, just watching you quietly water the front flowers or sip your tea while preparing pastries for the day.

At some point, you just unlocked the door for him and said nothing. You would catch his eye and smile, "The tea's on the counter."

You don't think he ever said thank you. But you do know he always drank it all. You would switch up the speaker playlist every morning, play soft indie, maybe an old jazz record—Jake never requested songs, but one time he hummed along to a song that made you feel like your heart stopped for a full second.

He still barely spoke, but you had noticed him looking at you when you thought he wasn't looking—when you were writing menu specials in chalk, fixing your messy apron bow, or trying out new cookie decorations with Sunoo and Winter.

But then there was Soobin.

Every lunch, he'd drop by with that annoyingly perfect timing, that perfect smile, and say something stupidly charming that made you giggle. Jake never said anything, but the way he flipped the pages of his book harder than necessary? Yeah—you noticed.

Then came the rare afternoon you actually sat across from him at his table, sandwich in the middle, eyeing the new book stacked on his table. "Still working? Don't you ever get a day off?"

Jake closed the book slowly. His eyes connected with yours—cold, unreadable, and sharp—as if they pierced through you.

You shivered.

"Don't you ever mind your own business?" he said, deadpan.

You gasped, making clear sounds of distress, while chewing. "Rude much! I literally give you free tea, every day!"

He shook his head, and before he knew it, a low laugh escaped from him.

You blinked. "Did the Jake Sim just laugh? In front of me?"

His expression snapped back. "No."

"Oh, come on!" you whined with a mouthful of bread, pointing your sandwich at him.

The next day was a weekend.

You had no idea whether he was going to show up—he had been there every morning and sometimes came back at lunchtime—evening was different; the place was now quiet and warm lights illuminated the pastries and plants with a golden glow. You were wiping down the counter top when the bell jangled-but it wasn't your regulars.

A guy walked in, hoodie up, grey sweatpants hanging low on his hips, and messy bed hair like he had just woken up. Trailing beside him on a leash was a golden retriever, tail wagging excitedly as it yanked him inside.

It was someone... different.

Well—kind of.

You eyes widened.

Jake.

Or, at least, what looked like a softer version of him—no suit, no sharp lines, just... sleepy hoodie Jake being dragged inside by a happy dog.

You tried not to laugh, but failed completely.

"Sunoo, cover the register," you giggled, tossing your rag aside and hurrying out the front. The dog was already sniffing around your flowers, nose buried in lavender pots as you squatted down to pet it.

"You have a dog," you grinned as you scratched behind its ears. "Seems relevant. Kind of figured you were a dog person. You definitely give off golden retriever vibes, just underneath that professional hot CEO vibe."

Jake looked down at you, blinking. You were now in a cardigan, with your hair thrown up quickly, and your cheeks still flushed from the sunset. You didn't even know what you just said.

"I'm hot?" He asked incredulously as his lips turned upwards, his hoodie hang loosely from his body as he pulled on the leash.

You froze.Your brain stuttered like a car stuck in traffic. You stared up at him, still crouched beside the flower pot. "W-What— I—"

He cocked his head like he was the king of the world, smug now. You could feel your face heat up. "I meant—hot like you're probably sweating under all those suits," you spluttered as you quickly stood up. "Like overheated. You know, because you wear suits."

The dog barked. Jake smirked.

Sunoo poked his head out of the french door to the café and whispered to Winter, "Did she just call him hot—?"

"She did." Winter whispered back, eyes wide.

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎

Monday morning.

The world was still dark, the streets a pale blue chill as even the sun was barely above the rooftops. The café wasn't open yet—but he was there.You didn't even blink when you saw Jake through the window, standing in his usual clean-cut outfit, expensive blazer over a cream dress shirt.

His hands were deep in his pockets. You just unlocked the door and slid him a sleepy smile."You could have knocked," you said.

"You would have let me in," he said flatly.

You rolled your eyes. But you smiled anyway.

He followed you silently inside, walking toward his usual corner—but then he stopped because you were crouched behind the counter still tying your apron over the soft knit sweater you had pulled on, hair still a little tousled. You were working on your pastry dough for a new batch.

The smell of vanilla and cherry tea was wafting.Jake found himself standing just at the edge of the baking station, staring too closely. You hadn't noticed him at first, the flour streaked on your cheekbone while you made shapes in the dough.

He said nothing—he just stared, completely captivated.

You finally looked up. "...Are you seriously watching me bake?"

"You said no coffee this early," he muttered, eyes trailing over your hands.

"Are you saying you've come for a flour facial instead?" you joked, smirking at him playfully.

But just as you went to grab the bowl, your elbow gently bumped the counter edge—and flour poofed in an explosion of mist right onto his expensive shirt and jacket.

Your eyes went wide. "Oh my god—!"

His expression didn't change. You hurried forward smearing flour all over your fingers, and tried to wipe it off but that just made it worse. "I'm so sorry, I forgot to close the—your shirt was so expensive and your—"

"It's fine," he said quietly.

That shut you up.

You slowly looked up at him . You were kind of confused. You remembered it well—back in school someone had tripped, and dumped coffee all over his crisp, white polo and denim jacket. He was livid—cold glare and the silent treatment and was ruthlessly it.

But now? Jake Sim was standing here with flour on his jacket, and shirt and hair, and he looked... calm. Then suddenly you felt his fingers brush your cheek softly.

Your breath hitched.

He wiped the flour smudge away with his thumb, his eyes resting softly on the spot—then slowly drifting to meet yours. You just stared up at him, speechless. His eyes were gentle, deep brown, as they traced the lines of your face like he was memorizing every detail. The gentle curve of his lips.

The trace of cherry tea wafting from your body.

You blinked, but he was already stepping back, his usual cold persona coming back together around him as he exited the station. He sat back down with his book, flour still covering the back of his collar.

Later that day, Jake walked into the office a few hours late. His blazer still had some faint, white stain on the shoulder. His dark hair had some flour in it as well. "...Boss, what happened to your shirt?"

"Did you have a baking war?"

"Wait—do you smell that? Is that cherry perfume?" Jake ignored all of them. He casually brushed the flour off his sleeve.

He simply replied, "Mind your work," and headed to his office, a small smirk creeping up.

Back at the café. Lunch time.

You were more tired than usual. With Sunoo off, you were doing everything yourself, and your energy was running low. Even Soobin noticed.

"Are you okay?" he asked lightly, fingertips grazing yours as he took the drink from you.

You nodded, a gentle smile gracing your lips. "Mhm, just a long day."

He cocked his head, eyes narrowing. "You sure? You seem... off. Or could it be boy trouble? Or, maybe..." he grinned, "you're just flustered because of me?"

You snorted softly, half-hearted. "None of the above."

"Then what is it?"

You looked up at him, sleepy smile on your face. "I'm just... tired, Soobin. That's all."

He took the receipt from your hand, looking at you thoughtfully. Maybe he still thought there was something more to it; maybe he thought he was figuring out how you felt.

But then—

The bell above the door jingled.

You looked up and everything about you seemed to change. Your whole face brightened like someone flipped a switch flipping on your inner light.

"Jake!!"

He was halfway through faking looking at his phone when your voice sliced through it like a magnet. He looked up, immediately connecting eyes with yours, pulse racing unexpectedly.

Soobin's gaze flicked to you, then to Jake, and back to you.

Oh.

Jake went to sit at his usual table, still wearing the blazer that was now starting to wrinkle a little and a few bright specks of flour scattered in his hair. You chuckled a little as you walked towards him with a wet cloth.

"Ohhh, you're still a mess," you playfully chided. "Come here, I'll wipe off the flour or your hair is going to be foamed a baked good."

He looked up just in time to catch your amused grin before you reached out and gently ran your fingers through his hair, ruffling the strands to shake off the flour. His bangs fell slightly over his forehead, softening his usually sharp appearance.

You were about ready to pull your hand back when Jake caught your wrist in his, though not harsh, just firm enough to stop you.

"You're making a mess," Jake said with playful teasing in his low voice, looking at your hand and then your face.

"Oops," you muttered, a clearly disingenuous apology. You took a step back, wiped your hand on your apron, and walked behind the counter and started preparing his tea order.

Jake was still watching you—it was subtle, but not subtle enough for Soobin not to notice. The moment Jake glanced down at his phone again, Soobin walked over to him with a forced casualness, though his jaw was noticeably tense.

"So... you and her?" Soobin asked, arms crossed.

Jake slowly raised his eyes, the brow furrowed. "What about it?"

Soobin leaned in a little more and spoke softly. "She lit up like a light bulb the minute she saw you. Don't you see that?"

Jake blinked once. "Are you jealous?"

Before Soobin could answer you came near with Jake's tea, chopping up the air with your deadpan voice. "You two can you not?"

You placed the cup in front of Jake. "What is this? A K-drama or something?"

You turned to go back to the counter, completely unbothered with the odd standoff.

Soobin scoffed under his breath, so quiet it was just loud enough for Jake to hear. "You wish."

Jake sipped his tea, leaned back in his chair and said just loud enough, "She likes dramas... but always chooses the bad boy."

It started innocently—Jake had given you his number after that flour-dusted morning in the café, claiming it was "just in case he had another craving for your muffins." But since then, it became a nightly thing.

You would text him after the shop closed, about anything and everything. Sometimes it was a rant about a customer. Sometimes it was pictures of your terrible latte art.

And then there was that one night. It was past midnight when you called. Jake had been plucking his guitar on the couch in his dimly lit penthouse, and when your name came up on the screen he smiled gently."You bored?" he asked after answering.

"Mmhm," you mumbled. "Whatcha doin?"

"Nothing," he offered feigning. He picked the guitar up again. "Want me to play you something?"

You yawned, now hunkered into your blanket. "Yeah...."

He began to play softly, finger-gliding over the frets, voice low and mellow. You swayed and began to drift off to sleep, breathing quiet and even, he stopped playing. "Night, sleepyhead," he said softly into the phone before hanging up gently.

A few days later, he texted you asking if you could bake for his company's private brunch event. "You're the only one I trust for this," he texted.

You had said yes before even thinking twice

The café was closed that day, and your staff helped with the preparation and delivery that day. You had on a simple black dress, soft hair, a pink charm bracelet dangling from your wrist. Not ostentatious—just you.

By the time you arrived at his company building, your arms were full of sweets and drinks, but a tall and broad shouldered bodyguard stood in your way. "I'm his friend," you exclaimed, startled. "I'm delivering the—"

Jake's voice interrupted you from across the lobby. "Let her in."

He strode quickly over to you, breezed past the guard, and before you could reach out, you flicked his sleeve, pulling him towards the display table being prepped nearby.

"I hope they like them..." you murmured, nervously looking at the line of mini tarts and mini cakes, and coffee canisters.

Without saying a word, Jake reached into his wallet, pulled out a thick stack of cash—over 500,000 won. "H-Hey! This is way too much—!"

"No. It's not." He pushed the money into your hand and walked away to direct the decorators with a weird sense of authority about him.

You felt frozen in place, flustered, holding the cash like it was radioactive. Moments later, he turned back and walked toward you again. "Stay for the brunch, yeah? I want everyone to know who made all this."

You blinked. "M-Me?"

"Yes, you."

In the lavish women's bathroom, you stood by the mirror reapplying your lip gloss, the tube clicking softly as voices echoed from the stalls.

"Ugh, he's so fine. Like, can you believe Jake still isn't married?" one girl said dramatically,

"I know, right?! But don't forget about Soobin... he's a total gentleman."

"Jake is totally my type. Dark hair, cold vibes, CEO... He probably likes it when girls are bold."

"Hah, as if.. he needs someone that matches his vibes. Probably needs someone cold and a little sharp like him."

"Ugh, I would sell my soul if either of them looked at me for more than two seconds."

You really had to fight back a laugh and finished smoothing your lip gloss on quietly, the girls finally noticing you. They were all staring at you from behind the stalls, their chatter paused.

They looked you up and down... you were unfamiliar and dressed like you belonged, but they noticed the softness you wore that none of them carried themselves with. They also probably thought you were some heiress for some family name they never heard of.

You gave them a tight-lipped smile and walked out.

The moment you stepped out, you bumped into someone. "Sorry—" you muttered, eyes widening when you saw Soobin.

He stared at you, clearly surprised. "Wait—"

But you'd already moved past him, too nervous to linger. He followed your path with narrowed eyes, noticing the pastry table... your pastries. And suddenly, it all clicked.

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎

As the gentle clink of plates and soft talking settled into the large brunch hall, Jake stepped onto the little stage with effortless grace. At once, there was silence—he commanded attention without even trying.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he spoke, a calm and steady yet confident voice, "Thank you all for joining us today. It means a lot to see so many familiar faces here together. But before we continue to enjoy the rest of the brunch, there is someone I want to introduce you to."

The spotlight fell on you; or at least that's what it felt like, even without a light. You froze in mid-sip of coffee, almost choking when he said your name. "She's the owner of a little café that I love. She works hard and is highly talented... she is someone I trust implicitly in moments like these."

A few gasps fluttered through the crowd, and that's when they saw you—the girls from the bathroom. Recognition dawned with horror on their faces. Her? The girl reapplying lip gloss? The one they brushed off as an unfamiliar socialite? A middle-class café girl?

You took slow steps in the direction of the stage and felt your heart pounding, heat rising in your cheeks, and running you hands up and down the sides of your dress, hoping it didn't look cold against your shoes.

When you reached the center, Jake stepped down. A smile melting on his face. He came closer to you, looked into your eyes, reached for your back, and lead you up. His hand was unter your dress; warm and possessive but it wasn't too much. Just that alone made your heart skip.

When you left the stage, the rich clientele stopped the hushed gossiping and started to show admiration.

"These pastries are divine."

"Where is your shop located?"

"I've never tasted coffee like this before—"

You nodded and thanked them quietly, smiling sheepishly. But the whole time, Jake's hand lingered behind you.

Just hovering. Anchoring.

You were trying so hard not to stutter through shy thank-yous.

Then Soobin watched from a few steps away. He hadn't moved from the spot where you left him. A polite smile rigid on his lips but his eyes—all on you. Even as a few women tried to strike up a conversation, he could feign a nod before bearing little to no anything for the conversations happening in the background.

His eyes followed the way Jake slunk closer to you. "You didn't try this one yet," Jake said suddenly, jolting you from your thoughts as he reached towards the dessert cart and emerged with a tiny strawberry chocolate tart.

"H-huh?"

He held it to your lips and didn't seem worried. "Open."

You felt heat rising to your cheeks as you looked between him and the little tart, then slowly opened your mouth to let him feed it to you. Jake merely smirked, brushing a crumb from your lip with his thumb before he stepped back and pridefully watched you chew.

And in the corner of the room the girls from the bathroom stood frozen. "Wait. Is that... the same girl" one of the girls whispered, voice acute with disbelief.

"Jake... and Soobin?" the other replied, tone more devastated than surprised.

They looked on as Jake, the stoic CEO with a reputation for keeping things professional, was now smiling like a golden retriever, standing too close to the girl they'd assumed was no one.But then their eyes drifted—past Jake's soft stare—to Soobin.

He was still talking politely with the women around him, ever the gentleman, ever composed. But the slight clench of his jaw, the way his gaze kept flickering to where you stood with Jake—it was unmistakable.

Jealousy.

Undisguised, unvoiced, simmering just below the surface.

He wasn't even hiding it any more.

Shit, had they really jinxed it?

Because somehow—you were the girl who'd unknowingly caught the attention of the two most unattainable men in the room. And now, the most perilous aspect of you... was the fact that you were completely oblivious to it.

────୨ৎ────

Finally, some time to yourself.

Jake had gotten lost in a flock of executives, and you had been left behind next to the fancy pastry cart. Standing there, without Jake smoothly steering the flow of conversation, made you feel fidgety—what were you supposed to do?

You shifted your weight, testing out a vanilla cream tart you'd made earlier. It was light, sweet—almost airy—but a bit of the cream clung to the corner of your lip. It was light, sweet—almost air-like—but some of the cream remained on the corner of your lip.

You didn't notice. But Jake did.

From across the room, in mid-conversation, his eyes narrowed just slightly before his feet instinctively moved toward you. You didn't even see him coming—until his thumb brushed your lower lip with casual precision, wiping the cream gently and popping it into his mouth.

"Messy," he said nonchalantly, his voice low and warm, tongue grazing the inside of his cheek as he tasted the cream.

Your breath hitched, body stiffening. "W-what was that for?"

He didn't answer, only smiled before stepping aside to grab a napkin like nothing happened.

Across the room, Soobin's jaw clenched.

Hard.

His knuckles around his glass went white as he watched the exchange—Jake, bold and unbothered, touching you without hesitation. It wasn't even flirtation. It was instinct. He realized then: Jake didn't hesitate when he wanted something. Even if Jake himself didn't know what he wanted yet... his body always acted first.

Soobin stared as you fidgeted, fingers grazing your lips. Jake hadn't even looked back at you, and still, your ears turned pink.

Jake's own thoughts flickered darkly.

There's no way I like her. No. Definitely not..

But the way you glowed in a room full of harsh lights and sharp eyes? The way your gaze always sought his first when you felt lost?

And those girls—giving you dirty looks like they owned the air around you. Jake didn't like that.

Only I get to be cold to her, he thought.

Because you still gave him your attention even when he didn't deserve it. And somehow, deep down, he knew you understood him better than most.

The following week, Soobin had tried.He really tried.Every chance he got, he found ways to stay near you, hoping you'd choose him this time. He lingered by the counter, walked beside you when you stepped outside, offered to help carry deliveries.

"I can't today," you said, watering the flowers with such concentration. "I have to make sure the roses don't droop."

And then you'd look up, smile lit up when Jake walked out with his cup of tea, as if Soobin didn't even exist.For a while, Jake had taken to sitting outside the café with you, one hand resting lazily on the cup, while you stood beside him lightly dragging your finger around the petals of a blooming pot.

The sunlight framed your figure softly as you turned toward Jake, laughing at something he mumbled under his breath.

Sunoo had been watching it all happen with exasperation, from inside the café, half-heartedly folding his arms as he let out a defeated sigh. "There's no use," he complained.

Winter agreed with a nod beside him, her lips squeezed together tight. "She won't even glance over at Soobin anymore even. We've known her longer than he has. It's over."

Soobin stood just outside earshot, his shoulders rigid, trying to keep a straight face."Oh, watch me," he grumbled, voice tight with frustration. "I'll get her. Just wait."

Winter rolled her eyes. "Keep dreaming. Can't you see the way they look at each other? Even customers ask about them now."

Sunoo hummed in agreement. "It's the tension. It's always there. Like they're one move away from crashing into each other."

And as Jake took another sip of tea, his eyes never left yours—content, but unreadable—while you smiled back, oblivious to how everything around you was starting to burn with envy.

────୨ৎ────

It started when Soobin tried to corner you again—his voice a little too casual, but his words bitter like over-brewed coffee. "You know Jake left with that girl after the banquet, right? The one in the red dress?" he said, eyes flicking to yours with fake sympathy. You tilted your head slightly, processing the claim.

You never said anything out loud, never admitted that you liked Jake. But something tight settled in your chest, a subtle pang of jealousy curling deep in your stomach.

The bell above the door jingled softly, interrupting your thoughts. Jake entered in casual wear—it was the weekend, after all—his hair tousled like he'd run his hands through it a few times too many. Beside him trotted his dog, Layla, her tail wagging as she pulled slightly on her leash. He was chatting with Sunoo outside, hesitant and awkward, until Sunoo's eyes lit up, and he rushed inside.

"Take the day off," Sunoo announced, waving his arms dramatically. "Boss or not, you're done for the day. Jake wants to hang out. Or actually—he's too shy to ask. Layla kind of insisted on coming here again. She really likes you." His grin was playful but knowing.

Behind him, Jake avoided eye contact, rubbing the back of his neck as Layla happily sniffed around the café entrance.

Soobin clenched his jaw at the news, his fingers curling around the counter. "You sure he's not just messing with you?" he muttered under his breath.

Winter rolled her eyes from where she was wiping down a table. "Jake Sim? The guy who does nothing but take business courses? The kid who talks about physics formulas like they're love poetry? If anything, he's being messed with—he's practically soft for her."

Your cheeks were on fire at her words, the heat creeping across your skin.

If Jake had left with another girl that night, why was he here now? And why was he so flustered even asking if you'd spend time with him?

Silently, you took off your apron and grabbed your bag. You waved goodbye to everyone—everyone except Soobin—and walked outside into the city breeze. Jake looked up as you joined him, arms crossed trying to act casual but failing miserable as he tugged gingerly on Layla's leash.

"You, um... wanna walk with us?" he asked, avoiding your gaze while pretending to be interested in his dog. "She's been dragging me out here all week, so I figured may as well let her have her way."

You nodded, and the two of you strolled through the city, Layla leading the way. You didn't wear anything fancy—just a soft top and jeans—but somehow, Jake kept stealing glances like you were glowing. You didn't think you were anything special. You'd always felt... average. But Jake didn't see you that way.

He liked the quiet confidence, the little things. Your bare face, your laugh. Your eyes, definitely your eyes. And your lips, though he didn't let himself think about that too long.

Eventually, you both settled onto a bench underneath a shady tree. Layla fell asleep beside you, the leash still wrapped around Jake's wrist while he held two cups of smoothies, handing you one with a slight grin.

You took it, breaking the silence. "So....you know..Soobin said you left with a girl after the banquet."

Jake blinked at you, confused. "I didn't," he said plainly, his eyebrows furrowing.

You let out a soft exhale, relief washing over your chest. The corners of your mouth lifted slightly. "Were you...jealous?" he asked, intently observing you.

You paused for a beat too long. "No..." you replied hurriedly, taking the smoothie from his hand and feigning that the weather suddenly turned so hot you couldn't stand to sit still.

You stood, cheeks burning, and began to walk again, Layla perked up to follow. Jake chuckled under his breath, quickly catching up. "You know, I was thinking about this physics theory dilemma earlier..."

And like that, he regained his comfort giving you his all, as he always did when he was calm and safe, he rambled on and on about numbers and theories you could hardly follow with his hands flinging about in amusement.

You listened quietly before mumbling, "You know I don't understand a single thing you're saying, right?" Your tone was dry but fond.

He grinned, eyes crinkling. "I know," he replied, nudging you lightly. "But you still listen. That's kinda why I like talking to you."

Your heart skipped a beat, but you said nothing. Just sipped your smoothie as the three of you walked—Jake, you, and Layla, who somehow seemed to know she had just played cupid.

It was supposed to be just a fun night out with Winter, Sunoo and a couple of your close friends, gathered under flashing lights and loud music. It had been a minute since you'd had alcohol and you'd forgotten how much you liked the way it burned down your throat, sharp and numbing. With every drink nothing seemed so serious; life was a little blurrier, a little lighter, a little more easily forgotten.

At some point someone handed you a vape, and none of them even knew you had it. But there it was in your fingers again, muscle memory, and you were exhaling soft clouds of iced peach into the fogged club air between drinks. It was messy, an unholy mix, but at that point you didn't give a damn.

You just wanted to feel nothing for once, lose yourself until your mind couldn't catch up with your body anymore. That was your worst tendency—and sadly, your friends have seen this side of you before. Jake hadn't. Not yet.

"She's gone," Winter said, shaking her head as you slumped into the booth seat, giggling uncontrollably at something Sunoo didn't even remember saying.

You were slurring, cheeks flushed, and whining Jake's name like a prayer, breathy and broken between puffs of vapor and sips of some neon-colored cocktail.

Sunoo sighed and pulled out his phone. He walked a few steps away from the table and hit Jake's number, rubbing his temple as the line rang.

Jake picked up fast. "Yo?"

"You might need to come get a certain someone," Sunoo mumbled, already knowing how Jake would react.

Jake blinked. "Is that Y/n in the background?" he asked, voice tightening at the familiar sound of your name being moaned like a confession.

"Yeah. And seriously... you may not enjoy what you see," Sunoo added earnestly. "So I'd suggest you hurry and come get her, and take her back to your penthouse or whatever, before you both do something stupid. Or before someone else does."

Jake was silent for a second, and all Sunoo could hear was silence and the vibrating tension of the line.

Then he said, "Send me the address."

By the time Jake walked into the club, the neon lights beamed off his skin, and his face was an illustration of worry and confusion.

He didn't have to look long to find you. You were still in the booth with crossed legs, head on Winter's shoulder, laughing uncontrollably at something you couldn't even remember. A vape in one hand, a drink in the other, and your eyes half closed. Jake stopped at the all-too-familiar sight.

The sweet peach vapor rising into the air as you inhaled and then your lips forming a dopey smile murmuring his name again.

"Jake..."

He didn't know whether to be angry, frightened or heartbroken. All he knew was he had never seen you like this before, and it shook the something deep inside of him.

You hardly seemed bothered.

No shred of guilt or regret for how you were holding on to him, smiling a soft smile, eyes slightly hazy, urging him to take another sip. He huffed through his nose, defeated, reached out, took the vape from your fingers, and set it on the glass table with a slight clink.

"Okay that's enough," he muttered.

You pouted slightly, but before you could stammer again, he reached his arm around your waist; you didn't even waist-it would be instinct if he had spent more time with you. The clack of your heels didn't quite match his as he glanced down at the floor. They had to be hurting you.

With every third step you winced. "Shouldn't be wearing such cheap heels," he said lowly with his brow knit. "They're going to bruise your pretty legs."

God. Pretty? What was he thinking?

He glanced down again and clenched his jaw once he saw your dress had hiked up far too high. He reached down and adjust it, then mumbled, "You are unbelievable."

But he was always careful. Always considerate. As if he was afraid if he touched you too sharply, he would break something worth holding.

He brought you down to his car—his expensive, sleek, spotless car that smelled just like him. Woodsy, clean, faintly sweet. You practically melted against him, arms slipping around his as you mumbled sleepily, "Jakey... you smell so sweet."

He coughed, ears flushing. "Y-Yeah?"

He ran a hand through his already messy hair and helped you into the passenger seat, buckling you in before starting the car. The drive to his penthouse was quiet, your head resting against the window, eyes slipping shut within minutes.

You were completely out. By the time he parked and opened the door to his place, you were dead to the world—face relaxed, breathing steady. He looked at you for a beat, then sighed and gently picked you up. You were lighter than he thought you would be. He set you down slowly on his bed, then stepped back and put his hands on his hips as he peered at your sleeping frame.

What was he supposed to do now? Your dress looked uncomfortable. Tight. You'd probably hate waking up in that. And your makeup—he grimaced. You'd hate waking up in that.

But changing you? That felt...wrong. What if you woke up and hated him for that?

He stood still for a moment, pacing a couple steps back and forth, before he sighed loudly and dug through all of his cabinets in the bathroom. He found, surprisingly, micellar water and some cotton pads, probably leftover from his stylist. He walked back to the bedroom and sat down on the edge of the bed, tucking your hair back in place as his fingers brushed the side of your face.

He wiped away your makeup with the cotton pad guided by the micellar water in gentle swipes. Your face was soft without and looked younger. The real you.

He cleared his throat and closed his eyes for a second before unzipping your dress carefully, only glancing once to make sure you were still out cold. Trying to look anywhere but at you, he slipped the fabric off your shoulders and grabbed one of his oversized tees and sweats—slipping them onto you like you were made of glass.

He swallowed hard and flung the dress from you and grabbed a blanket and threw it over you. But as soon as he leaned over and adjusted the pillow under your at-the-moment sleeping head, you moved. You pulled him in. A small "don't go," escaped your lips as you yanked him down to you, surprising him with a strength he didn't think your fragile little body had in those moments, especially being drunk.

"Oof—hey—!"

You held onto him like your life depended on it, arms wrapped around his neck, cheek pressed to his shoulder, and legs tangled with his. He froze. You were already asleep again. Heart racing, he released a shaky, unsteady breath as he gently slid down next to you, still dressed in his black top and sweats and unsure of what to do with his hands.

Everything felt so hot, so close, so... intimate. He couldn't help but let his hand explore and find his way to your hair as he mindlessly brushed it back. And maybe he did toss your cheap heels in the trash after he addressed your bruised, swollen ankles before he made the emergency delivery to bring you home, maybe he already contacted a brand contact to deliver a couple nice pairs of heels (in your size of course) that were worthy of being called worthy of you and totally legit.

But for now he closed his eyes. Your breath on his neck. Your body curled into his like it was meant to be there.

When you awoke the following day, you were greeted by the smell of breakfast food and the warm weight of something furry shoved against your side.

Groggy and dazed, your hand moved of its own volition and brushed against thick furry fluff. You cracked open your eyes to see a golden blur stretched out beside you, tail wagging slowly from side to side occasionally becoming far too close to your face, tongue slightly poking out of her mouth.

Layla.

When she noticed you awake, her head perked up from sleepy rest to that unspeakable unsettling excitement only a golden retriever possesses, even at this time of the hour. She let out a little huff, rolled on her back, and scooted towards you, shoving her fuzzy little nose against your arm just before settling back down into her sleep.

That's when it struck you—this was most definitely not your bed.

You blinked again, sat up a little, and inspected your surroundings. The unbelievably soft bedding. The minimalistic room plan. The leftover hint of cologne still lingering on the pillows. You looked down at yourself and realized you were sporting a huge long sleeved shirt and baggy sweats that did not belong to you.

Jake's.

"Fuck..." you muttered and flopped back down into the bed, your hangover returning with increasing intensity.

You were still lying there, playing gently with Layla'S soft ears, trying not to think too hard, when the door creaked open.

Jake stepped in, looking like a movie scene you weren't ready for. White shirt, grey sweats, tousled morning hair. He froze for a second at the sight: you, curled up in his clothes, tangled up in his sheets, golden Layla sprawled across your side like it was the most natural thing in the world.

His heart stuttered.

Why does this look so... domestic? Like some kind of fantasy?

He quickly cleared his throat, eyes darting anywhere but directly at you.

You slowly sat up, squinting at him, a small smirk tugging at your lips despite the dull pounding in your head. "What happened?" you asked, voice rough from sleep.

Jake rubbed the back of his neck, debating how much to say.

"Um..." he started, looking down at Layla, who was now wagging her tail and trotting over to him like she didn't just betray you, and switch sides. "You kind of.... drank a little too much last night. And vaped, too."

You raised an eyebrow, unable to hide your amusement. "I figured," you chuckled, coughing a little into your elbow. "My head feels like it got stomped on."

Jake squatted down again and scratched behind Layla's ears. "You were kind of a mess," he teased, looking up at you for only a moment. "You tried to make me vape with you, you stumbled around in those trash heels, and you clung to me like a drunken koala."

You blinked, completely deadpan. "Sounds about right."

He shook his head, trying not to laugh. "Come downstairs. I made breakfast. You probably need it."

You raised your eyebrow again. "You... cook?"

Jake straightened up and tried to keep his own cool. "I don't burn things. That's good enough."

You slid off the bed, slowly but surely, still adjusting to the pounding in your skull—and the warmth blossoming in your chest at how he was treating you.

"Okay, chef Sim. Lead the way."

As you followed Jake out of the room, Layla trotting beside you like your personal guard dog, you couldn't help but smile a little.

The smell of eggs, toast, and something warm and savory filled your nose as you sat at Jake's sleek, black marble kitchen island. The plate in front of you looked like it came straight out of a cozy brunch café, and you were happily scarfing it down—nursing your hangover one bite at a time.

Jake was across the room, squatting down next to Layla, refilling her food, and exchanging her water with a kind of tenderness you weren't expecting from someone like him. His shirt had wrinkles all over, his hair was messy probably from repeatedly running his hands through it, and he had that same faint smell of cologne that was going to be permanently hardwired into your brain.

You caught him looking. Not in the staring way that you might be thinking, but subtly from the corner of his eye—like he didn't want to raise any suspicion of being caught checking you out while you were curled up in his oversized clothes that now hung off of you like a dress, sleeves falling past your fingers, still a little messy from sleeping, eyes still a little puffy. He turned, leaning against the counter, arms folded.

His expression turned soft. "You look tiny," he said nonchalantly, with an expression that looked as though the underlying sentiment was warmer, "My clothes are eating you alive."

You threw him a tired grin, still chewing, "That's kind of the point."

He chuckled, and bit his lip, shaking his head. He turned and busied himself with cleaning any dirty dishes, so that no one could see him smile.

Later that day, when you finally got home, you found something on your doorstep—a sleek, matte-black box with a ribbon and a gold-embossed card tied to it.

You opened it slowly, your mouth hanging open.

Inside was a pair of beautiful heels—nice dark color with dark red detailing, elegant, high quality. And folded inside at the top of the box was a small note card with one letter in gold foil:

J.S

You blinked, processing. So that's why your busted heels were missing...

You glanced down at your feet. His slippers were still on you. You hadn't even realized you hadn't taken them off yet.

A week later.

You had just stepped out the shower, hair wet, skin glistening, when Jake's name popped up on your screen. You grabbed the closest top—it was an old lace tank top—and threw on some sweats before answering the FaceTime and propping it to your vanity.

"Yo?" you said, towel drying your hair whilst screen loaded.

Jake popped up looking like he was trying to act cool. "Hey," he rubbed the back of his neck. "Uh... I'm going to this event. It's for my company. Pretty lame actually, but I'm still going. I already asked Sunoo and Winter so I thought-"

"You want me to come too?" you finished as you quickly dabbed moisturizer on your cheeks taking quick glances at the screen.

He nodded. "Yeah. I mean, yeah. I think it would be cool if you went."

You hummed, "Sounds fancy."

Jake raised one of his eyebrows pretending he wasn't watching as you rubbed the product down your jawline. "You'd look good."

You looked back at the screen just as his eyes flicked away. "Were you staring at me?"

"No."

"Jake."

"...Maybe."

You smirked. "I'll go."

The night of the event, the Sim Corp hall was draped in gold light, humming with glamour, money, and practiced small talk. You walked in with Sunoo and Winter by your side, all dressed to the nines, effortlessly flexing the luxury heels Jake had gifted you the night before.

The moment you walked in, people turned their heads.

But you found him. Standing a little bit to the left of the middle of the ballroom, Jake looked like he had walked straight out of a Vogue spread—suit crisp, tie just loose enough that he already looked as though he hated wearing it. But he wasn't all by himself. There were women surrounding him—young, pretty girls, heads angled down, obviously enchanted by his name, his face, his family.

You felt a tight knot in your chest. But then Jake turned—like he felt your arrival. He pushed right through the crowd, eyes locked right on yours. His expression changed. He pushed right through the circle of women without thinking twice and made a beeline straight for you.

Some of the girls exchanged annoyed looks behind him and began whispering, but he didn't care. Not tonight. Because tonight he had a plan. And it started right now.

Jake stopped right in front of you, eyes burning into yours, voice low, a half-smile forming on his lips. "You came."

You tilted your head, trying to play it cool. "You did invited me, didn't you?"

He laughed, his eyes roaming over your dress, your shoes—his shoes, actually—then back to your face. "You look..." he paused for a second, leaned in a bit closer, "unreal."

You blinked. His tone shifted threw you off. "You're trying to get me to blush, Sim?"

"Not trying. Just being honest." His stare didn't waver. "Mind if I take you for a second?"

You arched an eyebrow. "From what? Your harem of fanclub girls?"

He chuckled under his breath, leaning in slightly closer. "I don't care about any of them."

You held his gaze, a sense of something passing between you unspoken and intangible. "Then who do you care about?" you asked, barely above a whisper.

Jake's voice dipped low. "You."

You didn't expect him to be that direct.

Sure, the signs had been there all along—the way he stayed slightly too long at your coffee shop's counter, the fact that he stayed on FaceTime until you fell asleep, the way he mindlessly sent you those heels. Jake Sim made it painfully obvious that he had a crush on you. But a public, "I've had the biggest crush on you, wants my lips on yours" type confession? A public kiss? At this type of event?!

You were stunned, caught completely off guard, when he gently cupped your cheeks and pressed his lips to yours.

And just like that, time seemed to stop.

You felt a collective gasp throughout the great hall. You could faintly hear it through the fever pitch of ringing in your ears—the scandalized murmurs of the wealthy daughters nearby, the startled rustle of skirts, the clink of someone's champagne flute being dropped. Even Soobin, who was constantly scanning Jake like a hawk the entire time both of you were there, froze.

Jake's dad. The girls. Jay, smirking in the distance. Sunoo and Winter, mouths agape in shock.

But Jake didn't care. He didn't care one bit. Because that kiss—it was his answer.

To every single person in that room. To the girls who tried to catch his eye. To the expectations set by his father. To the future they tried to write for him.

His hands slid down to your waist, firm, grounding you like he was saying—you aren't making a mistake. Your hands... they found their way behind his neck, pulling him closer instinctively.

You kissed him back. Right there in front of all of them. Softly at first, then deeper—as if something had snapped between you two. The slow-burn tension finally combusted, and you stopped denying that you had both been flirting for the past few months.

And that is when you were consumed with the spotlight. A warm, blaring white beam lit the two of you up, and you pulled away startled, only to see Jay across the room by the tech booth, giving Jake a discreet thumbs up.

Your eyes widened, "You planned that?" you whispered against his lips.

Jake only smiled, breathless, his forehead resting on yours, "Had to make a statement."

Before you could say anything else, a booming voice broke through the thick silence. "Sim Jaeyun!"

You both turned.

There he was—his furious father, face red as he broke through the crowd like a tank, with each step he took was heavy with rage. He looked at you, then looked at Jake, then looked back at the still-glimmering spotlight above. Jake didn't budge. You felt his hand still at your waist as he pulled you closer, ready to shield you from whatever this coming storm was going to bring.

"She does not belong here," his father spat, venom thick in his voice, "this is not what we agreed to. These guests-"

"I don't care about your guests," Jake cut in, tone sharp, protective. "Or your list. Or whatever arrangement you've made behind my back. I've made my choice."

He gripped your waist a little tighter when he added, and only looking at you now, "And she belongs wherever I am."

His father's face twisted, but barely registered. Because, in that moment, Jake turned to you again, gentler, her fingers brushed the hair behind your ear. "I told you I'm not interested in anyone else," he said softly, "and I meant it."

Then Jake turned back to his father, jaw clenched, voice steady yet icy cold. "Whatever."

He didn't wait for another word, not for his father, nor for the aghast guests. With your hand in his and his other tucked in the pocket of his fitted blazer, he walked out of that claustrophobic ballroom with you beside him, uncaring of the storm behind him. There was a ripple of noise behind you. Some of the voices hissed, some were disgusted.

"She's not even one of us."

"Middle-class? Come on!"

"The nerve—"

But not all reactions were bitter. A few guests exchanged soft smiles and hushed admiration.

"That's real love."

"He found someone who finally makes him happy."

"She makes him feel free."

Because for the first time ever, Jake Sim—the man who was always the family name, the tailored suits, the shaken down company—chose for himself. And he chose you.

Sunoo and Winter followed behind you two, their eyes sparkling with pride like they were just watching the main couple finish in a rom-com. Sunoo was clutching his phone as if he was just dying to edit together a whole video montage of him and his friends leaving this moment.

Jake opened the car door for you, ushering you in gently before sliding into the driver's seat. The interior was dark and quiet, the street lamps casting soft golden glows on his face. He glanced over at you, guilt flickering in his eyes.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I didn't mean to drag you into... all that."

You looked at him and then chuckled lightly and shook your head. "Jake... I enjoyed it."

His brows lifted slightly. You leaned your head against the window, smiling up at him. "It was chaotic and completely unexpected, but you kissed me like it meant everything."

Jake stared for a moment, stunned in silence—before his lips turned up in that soft, rare smile he only ever gave to you.

"Does this mean I can call you my girlfriend?" he asked almost shyly.

You looked over at him, mischievous. "Well considering you kissed me in front of the entire elite of the city and started a family scandal...yeah, boyfriend. You're stuck with me now."

Jake let out a breathy laugh as he reached over and took your hand, interlocking your fingers. "Good. Because I wouldn't want that any other way."

And just like that, boom—boyfriend and girlfriend. No contracts. No pretending. No expectations. Just you, and him.

(...and somewhere, Layla was probably waiting with her tail wagging ready to jump all over you when you got home.)

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acidsoju · 1 year ago

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OKAY BUT HEAR ME OUT lost prince! soobin who got his lame ass caught and ended up teletransported into another dimension where royalties arent so important like he believes

lost pince! soobin who emerges in your world out of the sewer just like the enchanted movie from dinsey

lost prince! soobin that comes to you, the only person in sight at one in the morning, eating something with your bare hands????

lost prince! soobin who says "peasant, i seem to be quite far from my castle, shall you be granted the honor to escort me back-

college student! reader who simply looks up at the tall, weird stranger in a ridiculous attire and answers "sorry man, i dont have any money' while munching down on your hotdog

broke college student! reader who watches the man's face twist in surprise at your speech

lost prince! soobin who's at lost of words at your unfacing self; you were in front of a prince- the crown prince and you dared be so disrespecful

lost prince! soobin who eyes the hotdot in your hands a little too much

college student! reader who notices that and hesitate a little before offering the rest of your midnight snack at him "here, have this, its really late you should go back home now"

lost prince! soobin who's froze in his place, hand holding a hotdog, watching how you wave at him and walk away

lost prince! soobin who, being kind enoght to forget your previous misbehavior, is moved by your act of generosity

lost prince! soobin who's following you back into your home

college student! reader who crosses her arms over her chest, turning in her heels and snarls at the prince "stop following me, ill report you to the police if you dont"

"police? is that who's in charge here?"

"yup"

"take me to them"

college student! reader who walks the strange man to the police station and is kicked out by the officers who told you they "dont have time for jokes, kids"

"oh im signing for war once im back to my kindom"

lost prince! soobin who looks just so lost, nose and cheeks rose from the cold of the night, eyes glossy and lips pouted while mumbling nonesense

careless college student! reader who sighs and stars walking home, "come on, ill let you crash at my place just for tonight... besides you really should wash up, you stink."

i need to write this fully but i have so much to study:((

#soobin drabbles #soobin x reader #soobin au #soobin image #soobin scenario #soobin #txt

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pinkponytrash · 1 year ago

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⋅˚₊‧ secretly dating TXT ‧₊˚ ⋅

3.2k words. headcannon. boyfriend!txt x fem!reader, nondescriptive smut scenes. light jealousy. friends to lovers. mentions of phone sex, mutual masturbation, oral sex, riding

ᯓ★ YEONJUN

He’s real cheeky about it, always has a little smirk on his face when you step into the room and he’s so sure no one knows what’s going on but he’s also so obvious about it. Even if they don’t think you’re dating, they definitely think there’s feelings there.

Yeonjun is always the type to try and impress you too, has to show off how good he is at things and makes sure you’re watching when he does.

Anytime you go out with them, he’s going to make sure you’re by him or if you split off into groups he’s going to be with you. Every now and then he tries to hold your hand and has to remind himself to chill out until he sees Beomgyu or someone take your attention then suddenly he’s snatching you away with some excuse.

“We’re gonna go get drinks,” Yeonjun says as he practically drags you away from Kai who had been trying to take a selfie with you, “Who wants something?”

“I’ll come wi—“

“We don’t need everyone, the line’s already long,” he argues, making sure to pull you behind him, “We’ll be quick.”

“Could you make it any more obvious?” You ask him once the two of you are far enough from the others. He smirked, interlacing your fingers together, “I can if you want me too.”

If it isn’t obvious yet, Yeonjun is not good at keeping it a secret. He is confident in his ability to keep it on the low until he gets in too good of a mood, then all he wants to do is put his hands on you.

Especially when you go out for drinks and you’re wearing one of his favorite outfits dancing to some song you like and swaying your hips with just the right amount of rhythm that he feels hypnotized.

Usually, he’ll have to distract himself talking with the others but after one too many drinks, he’ll make his way toward you and push away whoever you’re dancing with so you can focus on him and him alone, hands playfully tracing the curve of your hips, sliding under the hem of your shirt and smirking when you push his hand away.

By the time you call it a night, it’s hard to keep your boyfriend off you and you end up barely making it past the door of your apartment when he’s already pushing you up against the wall with his mouth on yours.

He likes taking his time with you, he swears, but something he gets a little too eager. It’s difficult ‘keeping it a secret’ and sometimes all he wants to do is get down on his knees and show you how much he appreciates you.

He has one of your legs thrown over his shoulders, teasing your inner thighs with soft bites that make your breath hitch.

“Don’t be a tease,” you tried to sound playful but it was hard when you felt breathless from the way he pinched your thighs, getting closer and closer to where you needed him the most.

“Oh, like how you weren’t being a tease in front of everyone?” He asked, kissing your clit softly, earning a light moan to fall from your lips.

“Not on purpose,” you sighed, head back against the wall as you closed your eyes to soak in the feeling of his tongue between your wet folds. Yeonjun knew exactly what to do with your body. Maybe it’s because you started off as friends, learned everything it was about each other that when it came to getting intimate, it didn’t take long for him to know what to do to make you moan his name.

And he loved the sound of your voice when you moaned for him so lovingly. His tongue does wonders between your legs and when paired with his long fingers, you can’t help but let yourself fall for him harder every time.

ᯓ★ SOOBIN

Nervous boyf to the core. We know he likes to joke around with TXT and technically speaking you are their friend but when you start dating Soobin…

Oh it’s like a schoolboy crush he’s got to hide. He used to be just as playful with you as before but now he’s scared to get too close because what if he kisses you? Oh my goodness, how would he hold himself back if he gets too close?

Sometimes when you’re around everyone he’ll sit down next to you and spread his legs a little further so that nobody else can squeeze in between you and he’ll make sure that his leg touches yours. If he’s feeling extra bold he might put his hand on your thigh, squeeze it a little and try to cover up his teasing by doing the same to Taehyun or Kai under pretense of joking around.

But let’s not forget about jealous boyfriend Soobin.

“No, Y/n, this is a serious question,” Yeonjun reached for your hand and gave it a tight squeeze, “Who do you think is hotter? Me or Soobin.”

You made the mistake of jokingly saying, ‘You’ thinking Soobin would obviously know you’re only saying it to make Yeonjun feel better but boy were you wrong.

He was upset, visibly upset to the point that when you looked over at him, he would give you a side eye and look away. Everyone noticed it too and found it damn near comical that he was so bothered by it but of course they didn’t know why. He didn’t even talk to you about it till later that night.

“I was joking, Binnie,” you clung to him from behind, “Of course I think you’re so much better looking than anyone but if I said you, everyone would think somethings up. They already think I favorite yo—“

“As you should! I’m your boyfriend, you should favorite me,” He would argue with a cute pout.

He's never an angry type of jealous, usually he gets pouty and thinks about it for days which in turn leaves you wanting to prove to him how much you prefer him over anyone else.

“Jagi,” Soobin had to bite down on his bottom lip to keep his voice down but it was getting hard—well, he was, “Everyone is w-waiting for us.”

“So?” You asked, kissing down his chest as you pushed his shirt up and without being told to, he held it up with the hem between his teeth. He even lifted his hips to help you pull his jeans down, “I’ve missed you.”

Your hand teased his growing bulge, palming his erection over his briefs as you got more comfortable in the backseat of his car. The parking garage was dark and almost empty but he still looked out the windows nervously.

You were supposed to be meeting your friends for a game night and he had told them all he was going to pick you up since you were ‘on the way’ to the dorms, but in reality he needed a little more time with you alone. He just didn’t think that meant you’d ask him to meet you in the backseat so you could show him how much you missed him with your lips around his cock.

And what was he supposed to do when they texted him asking where you were? Was he supposed to tell them that he was moaning your name while hiding down in the parking garage? His hands in your hair, head thrown back with pleasure and abs tightening every time he took a deep breath.

“So good,” he sighed blissfully, eyes threatening to fall shut when your tongue traced the vein that traveled down his length, “Don’t wanna go see them anymore.”

“We have to,” you released him from your mouth, stroking him teasingly, “Or else they’ll get suspicious.”

And by the time you made it upstairs, Soobin couldn’t bother to care about the complaints from everyone about your tardiness. Not when it was taking everything in him not to just pull you into his lap and kiss you for everyone to see.

ᯓ★ BEOMGYU

He’s probably the only member who’s actually good at hiding the fact that he’s dating you.

He jokes with you the same way he jokes with everyone else so no one would ever know that when he touches you under the table, he likes to tease too.

They don’t know that when he says he’s going to play an arcade and sneaks away from the dorm, he’s actually going over to your place when no one’s around and hanging out with you.

In all honesty, he’s probably the best ‘friends to lovers’ of them all. You’re his best friend and have been for a while so when the two of you started dating, it just became like an added perk.

Not only does he get to game with you and crack jokes but now he gets to kiss you and make you feel good too.

It’s great, seriously, and the only downside to it is how serious he comes off to you. Sometimes you struggle to remember he's more than just a friend and sometimes he forgets to remember he doesn’t like it when the others get too close to you.

It’s only okay when he gets close to you, not Soobin, Beomgyu, Taehyun or even Kai. He’s made it clear he’s your ‘best friend’ so yes, he does feel like he has a right to get jealous sometimes.

“What does it matter, Gyu? You got up so I took your seat,” Kai laughed, making himself comfortable next to you on the couch, “The movies about to start just sit next to Jun.”

“But I was sitting there first,” Beomgyu practically stomped his foot in a tantrum, “I went to make Y/n and I popcorn, how are we supposed to share if you took my seat?”

Meaning: how am I supposed to cuddle with Y/n under the blanket if you’re in the way?

“Kai, don’t be mean, he was sitting there first,” you laughed, glancing over at Beomgyu who was pouting now, “Maybe you guys should ‘Paper, Rock, Scissors’ this and the winner gets to sit next to me.”

You gave them both a cheeky smile which made Kai roll his eyes and cringe, “Ew, I don’t want to sit next to you anymore.”

“Then move,” Beomgyu said, already forcing himself down next to you and pushing Kai out the way.

Even when the two of you are all alone and you get too touchy, it’s always playful. There’s always giggles here and there and jokes that make you both stop and laugh.

And after a while he gets lazy with his excuses. He stays out later and when he doesn’t make it home some nights, everyone knows by this time that he’s probably just hanging out with you.

“I’m going to the arcade.”

“With Y/n?”

“No, by myself.”

“Right, I thought you’d be with your best friend tonight.”

It’s only when neither of you answer the phone that the rumors start circulating.

“Oh my god, just ignore it,” Beomgyu groaned as your phone rang for the third time. Soobin and Kai were blowing up your phone after you promised to play them online tonight. Meanwhile you’re naked in bed with your boyfriend who just looks so pretty under you.

He even knew you were supposed to be gaming and that’s why he came over to keep your attention from drifting to anyone but him.

“So greedy, all the time,” you moaned softly, raising your hips against his member and sinking back down to feel the way he stretched your walls for you, “Always want my attention. I thought you wanted to keep it a secret.”

“I do,” he nearly whimpered, fingers digging into your thighs with pleasure, “But it’s hard.”

ᯓ★ TAEHYUN

He’s even worse at hiding it than Yeonjun. He’s just too clingy and he can’t really hide that even around the other members. He’s already touchy with the others but when it comes to his girlfriend? Boy, oh boy.

He likes to touch your thigh under the table or trace your spine whenever you stand in front of him and no one’s looking. When you run your fingers through his hair while watching a movie, he tends to get a little lost in the feeling and starts to doze off with his head practically on your lap.

The others ignore it for the most part but every now and then Kai will try to make a comment about his touchiness toward you and suddenly Taehyun has to act out.

One time the two of you almost got caught getting a little too close while at the bar and he literally pushed you off him before Yeonjun could see you try and kiss him. He ended up paying for that in the end.

“Jagi, just one kiss,” Taehyun begged later that night when you rejected his second attempt since you got back to your place. You weren’t actually mad at him but he liked messing with you so what was wrong with it’s you doing it back?

“Well I tried to give you a kiss earlier and you pushed me away, remember?” You asked, hiding your smirk and turning your back to him. Taehyun didn’t like that at all, and practically pounced on your bed to hold you.

“But I want it now.”

Hes a jealous guy too, a quiet, introverted jealous guy. He won’t say anything but there’ll be signs. He’ll keep his eyes on you and whoever you’re with and have no shame about it.

One time you asked Soobin to help you reach something instead of Taehyun and he couldn’t hide how annoyed he was by it. He even went as far as mocking you for it later that night.

Whenever you’re more distracted by your phone than him, he’s always gotta try and get your attention back on him.

Usually, if you’re alone, it’s with little touches here and there.

He likes playfully pulling at your shirt to bring you closer to him, smile on his face when you whine at being exposed.

You’ll try and escape his affection but you always end up giving in and you end up making out on your couch when you’re finally alone.

He’s handsy too, he loves the way you feel under his fingertips especially when your skirts rolled up and he’s gotten your panties off.

“So soft,” he always reminds you when he traces a finger along your clit, massaging into it with some of your slick. He’s always gentle when he touches you, always kisses down your sides and aims to please you first.

“Mhm,” you moan lightly, hand brushing his soft hair back so you could see his big boba eyes look up at you while he kisses your navel. They distract you from his hand until you feel his middle finger tease your entrance.

“It’s so hard to keep my hands off you,” he always makes sure to remind you when he’s making you feel good with those hands. He’s never shy when it comes to touching you either, always knows just when to curl his fingers or rub your clit while he does it. When he can tell you’re close, he likes to kiss you, swallow your moans and feel your tighten around his fingers.

ᯓ★ KAI

He thought it would be easy at first but he quickly realized how wrong he was.

In the beginning, he did his best to treat you like a friend and nothing else. He would talk to you like he talks to the other members and he wouldn’t make a scene whenever you talked too long to someone else.

He would only get nervous when you would look at him for too long, or wink at him, talk about how he’s your favorite or sit close to him.

And you loved to get him riled up when no one’s looking.

You’re the one to usually initiate something, like when you casually trace your fingers through his hair.

How is he supposed to act unbothered by it?

When you’re out with them all and someone tries hitting on you, and you have to quietly explain that you’re kind of seeing someone which leads the others to ask who, how is Kai not supposed to shout out that it’s him?

How’s he supposed to just join in with the interrogation and act like he doesn’t know anything either?

“Wait, have we met him?” Yeonjun asks you and none of them seem to notice how you look over at Kai and smile so innocently while he’s sweating billets.

“I don’t kiss and tell,” you always say, half laughing at how annoyed they all look and Kai has to pretend to be just as annoyed when in reality he wants to smile too.

“I don’t think we’ll ever know,” he’ll try and pipe in, trying not to smirk and when they’re not looking at him, he winks at you and enjoys the little secret you share.

To be honest, you’re the one who fell for him first.

For some reason his cringey jokes and over the top laugh really pulled you in and when you made the move on him, he hadn’t known what to think.

For the longest he thought of you as a friend so the night you were on video call playing a game together and you were laying on your bed, barely covered by the blanket… he kept getting distracted.

Then you would say something flirty while shifting around and showing the little shorts you wore to sleep and how they barely covered anything, along with your tank top. He would remind himself that you’re just a friend and he’s probably reading too into it

So everything was on the low to begin with. None of the others knew how the two of you would spend almost every night on the phone together and Kai could tell them but why would he? So that they could think they could call you too and take your attention away?

Plus, did he really want them to know about how you looked fresh out the shower on the phone with him? Or how you sounded when you whispered softly with your hand down your panties asking if he’s touching himself too?

And it was known Kai had such a nice voice that you couldn’t help but encourage him to let you hear it when he stroked his stiff member in his bedroom late at night.

“I can’t hear you,” you would remind him, hand touching down your body and showing the camera what he can’t see in person.

“They’re going to hear me,” he whispers, letting out a small moan when you pull down your top and tease him with a view of your bare chest.

“Everyone’s asleep,” you say, “Please? It’s not fair, I don’t ever get to see you alone.”

Your words always got to him, and he would stroke himself just a little faster and whisper, “I want to see you too.”

::.

I’ve been gone for months and I needed something kind of quick and easy to write so hope you guys liked it 😭should I do more of these?

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matcha-binz · 1 year ago

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Valentine : C.SB (1/5)

꒰ 🌷 ꒱

soobin would be the type to bake you those cute lil checkerboard cookies, and deliver them at your house with some pink tulips ontop of the box he stored his cookies in. He'd look so cute too!!! with a nice pink fuzzy sweater and clear frammed glasses, saying "Happy valentines sweetie!" And you swear you fall inlove for the second time.

would def spend the entire day with you, telling you that he's just so grateful that you're his <3 the day would end with him cuddling into bed with you, pressing a soft kiss on your lips as he reminds you for the umpteenth time that he loves you.

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cbeargyu · 3 months ago

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prophecy ﹢﹑ ⊹ ﹒ [smut]

summary: wow, you love your dedicated, sweet husband — a man who grills like a god, folds laundry like a pro, and kisses you like he’s still trying to win you over. but once upon a time? he was your worst enemy. sharp words, rolled eyes, and a rivalry that made high school unbearable… until one prophecy, one kiss, and one chaotic love story changed everything.

pairing: husband!taehyun x fem!reader

genre: enemies to lovers, slow burn, fluff, smut, domestic/family life, hint of magical realism.

warnings: explicit sexual content (18+), strong language, mentions of pregnancy and parenthood, soft angst, suggestive humor, implied prophecy/magic, fluff overload.

wc: 3555

notes: hi everyone! i’ve been having a lot of recurring thoughts about dad!tae lately 👀 i truly believe that devoted husband, multitasking good father taehyun is a headcanon, and i love himmm. i hope you enjoy the story! 💛

PRESENT.

you and the girls are settled in deep garden chairs overlooking the lake, legs tucked under light blankets, iced teas sweating in your hands. it’s one of those rare, golden moments — where the breeze is gentle, the laughter is low, and the chaos feels like home.

taehyun is at the barbecue, of course, wearing that stupidly tight apron that says “dad’s the #1 bbq king”, flipping ribs like a damn pro, forearms glistening in the sun, jaw flexing as he tastes marinade off his thumb. beomgyu stands beside him, supposedly helping, though he’s clearly more interested in sneaking bites than actually grilling.

a few meters away, yeonjun is on the grass with seori and dawon, arms wide, pretending to be a dinosaur while the kids scream with laughter. soobin is up on the patio, changing baby yoonjae with the seasoned skill of a dad of two, and huening kai just pulled into the driveway, arms full of snacks and extra diapers — ever the reliable uncle.

you glance at your kids: seori and seojeong, your five-year-old twins, are building a rock castle near the water, arguing over who’s king; little jeongwoo is chewing on a toy car in chaemin’s lap. nuri, soobin and naara’s daughter, is sharing bubbles with chaeyoung, yeonjun’s two-year-old girl. it’s loud, messy, perfect. the rest of the guys are setting up the picnic tables as their wives laugh softly nearby, glowing in the late afternoon sun.

you look at the same girls who were with you the night everything changed — outside that witch’s shop, giggling and skeptical.

“sometimes I still can’t believe we’re all moms now,” naara sighs.

“well,” Hana laughs, “not all. kai and i are still happily child-free, thank you very much.”

“but not forever, right?” jiyoon teases, hand resting on her pregnant belly, six months along.

“maybe. eventually,” Hana shrugs. “when we’re not still pretending we’re twenties”

everyone laughs.

“i mean,” chaemin grins, “y/n was the first. married first. kids first. like the prophecy said.”

you roll your eyes, but your stomach still flips. that prophecy. that stupid night. that damn witch. and yet — here you are. married to taehyun. three kids. just like she said.

you glance at him now, just as he licks a bit of sauce off his finger, slow and deliberate, his eyes locked on yours from across the garden.

the fucker knows exactly what he’s doing.

you swallow hard.

“what?” he smirks, “you want a taste, baby?”

you arch a brow, arms crossed. “i’m good. i already had you for breakfast.”

he chokes on a laugh, turning back to the grill, but not before tossing a wink over his shoulder. “round two later. when the kids are asleep.”

you roll your eyes, heart fluttering anyway.

you sit down on the edge of the porch, letting the sun kiss your face.

and just like that, the memory hits.

FLASHBACK.

you remember it vividly — that summer night years ago, stumbling out of karaoke with your friends, still giggling about hana’s terrible high notes and the way naara kept butchering the lyrics. the street was buzzing, the kind of neon-washed chaos that made everything feel a little magical.

then you saw it.

that crooked little alleyway lit by flickering candles, lined with strange shops selling crystals, talismans, jars of dried things you didn’t want to identify. and right at the center — the one with the purple curtains and the wooden sign that read “destiny & darkness: magic for the brave.”

“let’s go,” chaemin had dared, already pulling you by the hand.

the woman inside looked like she’d stepped out of a fairytale — silver hair, too many rings, eyes that felt like they could see through timelines. she said she could read your futures together. and laughing, tipsy, you all agreed.

one by one, she gave vague clues to the others. but when it was your turn, she looked serious.

“you,” she murmured, taking your hand, “will be the first. first to marry. first to bear life. your fire matches his.”

you blinked. “his?”

“the boy with the sharp tongue and the hurt behind his eyes. he hides desire with cruelty. but he is yours. three children. you’ll know him when the truth hits.”

the others were already laughing. “taehyun?” naara joked, “no way. he called y/n ugly last week.”

“what the actual fuc—”

“language,” the woman snapped. “you’ll be a mother.”

you’d scoffed. you hated that cocky, smug, insufferable basketball player.

you hadn't spoken to him since that day. since he'd leaned in with that cocky smirk, expecting you'd melt like the rest of them, and when you didn’t, when you raised a brow and told him to try harder, he blinked—just once—and spat out:

“tch. you’re prettier from far away.”

you’d laughed in his face, the most venomous, biting laugh you could muster. the kind that echoed in his ears long after you walked away.

so no, you hadn't spoken since.

not until now.

it seemed like he was determined to get close to you at any cost. the first move came when he used a flimsy excuse to return your chemistry notebook, which you had purposely left on your desk. you had planned to grab it in the morning, knowing you’d need it for class first thing.

the hallway smelled like cheap disinfectant and teenage sweat. nothing unusual. but something in the air felt different. subtle. tense.

ever since that night at the karaoke bar, since the damn witch, your friends looked at you like you had property of kang taehyun tattooed across your forehead. and worse—he looked at you the same way.

now he watched you like he'd figured something out. like he knew a secret you didn’t.

you hated it.

you hated him for making you doubt everything.

you were at your locker, pulling out your books, when his voice landed behind you.

“you left this in chemistry.”

you turned. And there he was. the bastard. holding your notebook like it was breakable.

“thanks,” you muttered, flat, avoiding his gaze.

“you shouldn’t be more honest?”

your head snapped up. you met his eyes. the loosened tie, the half-buttoned shirt, that stupid unruly hair falling into his lashes. goddamn him.

“oh, thank you so much, kang taehyun,” you drawled. “you’ve saved me from failing chemistry. however can i repay you?”

he smiled.

not like before. not like the boy who laughed at everything. this one was softer. quieter. more dangerous.

“i accept offerings in snacks. or praise. preferably both. but i’ll settle for you not pretending you hate me.” the second act occurred a week later, it was after practice, a late afternoon when the gym smelled like sweat and wood polish and the sky outside was melting into peach and violet. you were there to pick up your friend’s forgotten phone, not to run into him.

but of course, there he was. shirt half off, hair damp, alone. the others had left. he must’ve stayed behind to shoot.

you told yourself to ignore him. walk in, grab the phone, leave. simple. clean. civil.

except your damn eyes betrayed you.

you glanced.

and he caught it.

his smirk was lazy as he wiped the sweat from his jaw with his shirt. “you stalking me now?”

you rolled your eyes. “yeah. i came here just to bask in your body odor.”

he chuckled low, dribbling the ball lazily as he looked at you through his lashes. "still got that sharp mouth, huh?”

you stepped closer to the bleachers. “still got that inflated ego, huh?”

silence stretched between you, not awkward, but loaded. his dribble slowed.

then he said, quieter than you expected, “what i said that day… was a dick move.”

you blinked. his tone didn’t match the taehyun you knew — didn’t drip with arrogance, or sarcasm. it was raw, almost shy.

“…yeah,” you muttered, folding your arms. “it was.”

“i thought being an asshole was easier than—”

he stopped himself. his fingers tightened around the ball. you waited.

“than what?” you pushed, stepping off the last bleacher.

his eyes flicked up to meet yours, dark and unreadable. “than actually wanting to get to know you.”

that caught you off guard. completely. and you hated that it did. hated the way your chest fluttered, hated the way his voice didn’t sound rehearsed or smooth, just… honest.

“why would you want that?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

he took a slow step forward. “because you didn’t fall for my shit. That pissed me off. and then it interested me. and now… i don’t know. you live in my head.”

you snorted. “that’s sad.”

“i know,” he said, smiling.

you should’ve left then. should’ve walked away like you had last time.

but you didn’t.

instead, you stood there in the low light of the empty gym, heart racing, while he bounced the ball once, then let it roll.

“wanna shoot?” he asked, nodding toward the hoop.

“…i suck.”

“i’ll teach you.”

you hesitated.

then stepped onto the court.

then, the climax of the third act also arrived.

it was the end of english class when they called for the dictionaries to be returned. the library was quiet, the usual buzz of chatter replaced by the soft shuffle of pages and the sound of students neatly lining up their books. you walked over to the shelves, pulling the heavy dictionary from your bag, the weight of it making your fingers brush against the spines of other books. you weren’t paying attention to anything in particular—until you felt him.

taehyun appeared beside you, too close for comfort. his usual smirk was missing, replaced by something else, something quieter. he didn’t say anything at first, just watched as you placed the book on the shelf. the air between you felt heavier, charged. his presence was overwhelming, the scent of his cologne mixing with the musty smell of old pages.

“you know,” he said, his voice low and just for you, “i’m starting to think you really do enjoy ignoring me.”

you didn’t look at him, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. but then, his hand brushed lightly against yours, a casual touch that sent an unexpected jolt of warmth through your body. you froze, feeling the pull between you both, the moment hanging in the balance. you didn’t want to acknowledge it, but you couldn’t ignore it either.

before you could move away, he stepped closer, his chest almost touching your back. his breath fanned across the nape of your neck as his lips grazed the shell of your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

“you know what i’ve been thinking?” his voice was almost a whisper now, the words teasing and close enough to make you tense. “maybe you don’t hate me after all.”

you swallowed, the tension thick in the air, and tried to step back, but his hand moved, resting just above your waist, guiding you back towards him. you could feel the heat of his body, the press of his chest against your back, and the way his lips hovered near your skin.

and then, as if it had all been building up in silence, his lips touched the side of your neck, a fleeting, hot kiss that made your heart race. he pulled back quickly, just enough to look at you, his expression unreadable.

"guess that answers my question," he murmured, his voice rough with amusement.

your breath caught in your throat. for a moment, it was as if time stopped. his teasing smile was back, but there was something in his eyes—something deeper. you were too close. everything was too close.

you turned to face him, your back now against the bookshelf, heart thudding in your chest. he was watching you—waiting, maybe even testing you. and maybe you should’ve walked away. maybe you should’ve said something scathing and left him there with his smug little smirk and sinful mouth.

but you didn’t.

instead, you tilted your chin, eyes locked on his.

“i think i have my answer too,” you whispered.

and then you kissed him.

you were the one who did it. you reached up, grabbed a fistful of his collar and dragged him down to you, your lips crashing into his with more hunger than you'd admit to anyone. your fingers curled into the soft fabric behind his neck, anchoring yourself, like you’d waited too long and couldn't wait any longer.

for a second, taehyun didn’t move. he froze, like his brain had short-circuited. then his hands found your waist—strong, warm, his—and he kissed you back like he’d been holding himself back for years. his mouth moved over yours, desperate and deep, and he pulled you against him until there wasn’t a breath of space left between your bodies. the bookshelf behind you rattled quietly as you leaned into it, not caring if the world burned around you.

and then it was over.

just like that.

you both pulled apart, lips tingling, breathing fast, eyes wide. no words. no promises. just that look—like you both knew something irreversible had just happened.

everything after that moved fast.

you started dating. somewhere between library makeouts and late-night texts that lasted until sunrise, the bickering faded and the heat stayed. then came the wedding. then came the kids. now there were sticky fingers on glass doors and toys buried in the garden, soft lullabies and sleepless nights, the scent of barbecues and baby powder and love that felt like home.

you never questioned your feelings. you loved your husband—loved him—with every bone in your body. but remembering how it all started… in the shadows of dusty shelves, hearts racing, breath stolen between whispers…

it was strange.

strange—but the kind of strange that makes a love story unforgettable.

PRESENT.

funny how things turn out. you started off hating each other—really hating each other. petty insults, eye rolls, tension so thick you could cut it with a knife. and now? now you were married, sharing a mortgage, three beautiful kids, and a calendar full of playdates and parent-teacher meetings. Ironic, isn’t it? how the boy who once called you annoying is now the man who kisses your stretch marks and whispers “thank you” after every bedtime story.

the house is finally quiet. the lake outside hums instead of roars, and the soft creak of floorboards is the only sound accompanying the anxious thump in your chest.

the kids are out cold. seori curled around her unicorn plushie. seojeong half-off the bed like always. jeongwoo snuggled in a sleepy little knot in his portable crib. all your babies, safe and dreaming.

and now… your husband.

taehyun’s in the kitchen, shirtless except for that old, stretched-out tee of yours that reads “bad decisions make good stories”. his hair’s a mess. his eyes shine in the low kitchen light, and that goddamn smile’s already waiting for you.

“you should be sleeping, babe,” he murmurs, still drying a plate with a towel like he has all the time in the world.

you lean against the doorway, arms crossed. “can’t sleep. too wired. maybe it’s the leftover sugar from the s’mores.”

“or maybe it’s me.”

you shoot him a look, but he’s already tossing the towel aside, walking toward you like gravity’s pulling him.

“you looked so hot today,” he says into your neck, his voice a hush meant just for you, “watching me grill, biting your lip like that… i swear, i could feel your eyes burning through my damn apron.”

“you did it on purpose,” you mutter, your grin impossible to hold back as his hands slide around your waist.

“of course i did. i always do it on purpose.”

“you’re impossible.”

“and you’re still mine.”

he kisses you. slow at first, like he’s reminding you how it started — that ridiculous flirtation, that first real kiss in the back of the library after weeks of pushing each other’s buttons, the kind of kiss that changed everything. like he still has something to prove.

“taehyun...”

“you think i don’t still get hard every time you say my name like that?” he whispers against your mouth. “you think i forgot how to worship you just because you made me a father?”

your knees go weak. the fire in your chest spreads, low and warm and relentless.

“bedroom. now,” you say, breathless.

taehyun’s grin is all cocky pride and boyish hunger. “god, i love when you get bossy.”

“and i love when you shut up and fuck me.”

he chuckles, deep and low, then lifts you like it’s nothing, carrying you through the house without breaking the kiss. your legs wrap around him, fingers buried in his hair. and even after all this time, even after the kids and the chaos and the late-night feedings, that fire — the one the witch predicted — still burns.

and you have no intention of putting it out.

he kicks the door shut with his foot, never taking his mouth off yours. the room’s dim, the only light coming from the sliver of moon sneaking through the curtains, painting his skin silver. you gasp when your back hits the mattress, the cool sheets a sharp contrast to the heat rolling off his body.

taehyun hovers over you, eyes dark, chest rising and falling. he looks at you like he’s starving — and you know it’s not just lust. it’s you.

“god, look at you,” he mutters, dragging his fingers up your thigh, slow and reverent. “how the hell did I get this lucky?”

you laugh, breathless. “maybe it was the witch.”

he smirks, teeth flashing. “remind me to send her a fruit basket.”

you yank him down by the collar of your shirt now stretched over his torso. “just remind me why i married you.”

taehyun’s mouth crashes into yours, hot and needy, his kiss all tongue and teeth and promise. his hands are everywhere — cupping your breasts through your shirt, sliding under the hem to feel skin, gripping your hips like he wants to memorize the shape of you.

“you drive me insane,” he breathes into your neck, sucking a mark just beneath your jaw. “you’ve always driven me insane.”

“good,” you whisper, arching into him, your fingers slipping under his waistband. “then it’s mutual.”

clothes are tossed blindly — your shorts hit the lamp, his boxers land half on the nightstand — until it’s just skin against skin. his body presses into yours like he belongs there, like you were carved to fit together. and in a way, maybe you were.

he sinks between your legs, groaning low when he feels how ready you are for him. but he doesn’t rush. no, taehyun’s never rushed you — he savors, teases, worships.

“you think i don’t still fantasize about that first kiss in the library?” he murmurs against your breast, kissing it softly before dragging his tongue in slow circles. “you think i don’t remember the exact sound you made when you grabbed me?”

you whimper, fingers tugging at his hair.

“say it,” he demands, voice thick. “tell me you remember too.”

“i do,” you gasp. “i remember everything.”

his mouth finds yours again, and this time when he pushes inside you, it's slow but deep — a stretch you still crave, even now. your bodies find a rhythm that’s old and new at once, urgent but familiar, desperate but safe.

and when you come, clinging to him, moaning his name like it’s a prayer — he follows right after, burying his face in your neck, whispering “mine” over and over like a sacred chant.

after, you lie there tangled in sheets and sweat and love.

the sun barely begins to filter through the curtains when the soft cries of Jeongwoo echo through the baby monitor. you groan, stretching beneath the still-warm sheets, and feel taehyun shift beside you, arm instinctively reaching for your waist.

“your turn,” you mumble, eyes still closed.

he chuckles sleepily. “we both know i’m going either way.”

you hear him pad out of the room a moment later, humming something low and sweet as he picks up your son. soon, seori’s giggles join the morning chaos, followed by seojeong’s sleepy demands for cereal now. the house fills with life again.

you toss on a robe and follow the noise to the kitchen, where taehyun stands in that same ridiculous t-shirt, hair sticking up in all directions, a baby on one hip and a juice box in his mouth like a cigarette.

he sees you, grins.

and right there, watching your husband juggle toddlers and toast like a pro, your heart aches — in that full, quiet, overwhelming kind of way.

the house stirs quickly after that.

naara appears first, hair a mess, nuri clinging to her leg like a koala. soobin trails behind, already bouncing baby yoonjae in his arms. yeonjun comes in with chaemin, both still in pajamas, laughing about something seori said in her sleep. hana yawns dramatically as she pours herself coffee, and kai steals a pancake right off the skillet with zero shame.

the kitchen turns into controlled chaos—tiny feet pattering on hardwood, spoons clinking, someone yelling about missing socks, someone else cleaning spilled juice. taehyun bumps your hip with his as he flips another pancake, and you pretend to be annoyed, but he knows better.

outside, the lake glimmers in the morning light. another sunny day. another memory in the making.

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