#yeonjun ff

[koqabear]

Attention

♫: 5 STAR, CL

“Yeonjun thinks there’s nothing better than to wind down after a show with his pretty girlfriend— Beomgyu also thinks there’s nothing better than winding down after a show with Yeonjun’s pretty girlfriend.”

yeonjun x fem!reader x beomgyu

Genre: rockstar!au, smut, pwp, established relationship w/jjun 

Word count: 5.8K

warnings: mc has acrylics. that’s it. 

smut warnings: hard/mean doms! yeongyu, sub!mc, threesome, strength kink(?), scratching, pet names (baby, good girl, etc.), name calling, dry humping, spanking, breast play, manhandling, degrading, fingering, oral (f&m rec.), choking, marking, biting, hair pulling, mirror sex, dumbification, slight brat taming?, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, dacryphilia, voyeurism, exhibitionism, masturbation, unprotected sex, size kink, bulge kink, rough sex, creampies, mentions of safe word, facial, sloppy seconds, slapping, spitting, lmk if i missed anything 🤗

Notes: i’ve recommended every genre but rock for this.. final part of rockstar!txt, and my personal favorite; this was still barely edited—enjoy tho bc i definitely branched out quite a bit here >w<

Your legs feel shaky as you make your way away from the stage— whether it’s from adrenaline or anticipation for what’s to come, you’re not really sure. 

Another successful show has gone by with you in barricade; pushed up against the barrier by other eager, sweaty bodies, forced to endure another intense show in favor of watching your boyfriend perform— there’s a strange sense of satisfaction that you get from it, watching the way they all crowd around you and try to take your spot, hands reaching out desperately for even a brief touch from him. 

The most they’ll ever get from him is a brush of his fingers against theirs— but even that is enough to have them screaming in your ear, jumping eagerly as they don’t stop to realize why Yeonjun might be so eager to hog the section they’re currently in. 

You’re fully aware; maybe it’s because he’s always quick to spot you during his shows, sending you a wink before he’s striding over— subjecting you to a few hours of flirty and suggestive behavior, able to drink in the way your doe eyes look up at him with every thrust of his hips or growl of his voice— and if you weren’t paying attention, you would’ve almost missed the quirk of his lips as he drank in your reaction desperately.

Your body felt a bit more buzzed than usual— maybe it’s because you were subjected to the absolute torture that was Yeonjun purposefully teasing you, completely ignoring you and sticking to the side opposite yours in favor of teasing and interacting with other faceless fans— you still remember the way your jaw dropped as you watch him reach out to a fan, holding her hand and winking playfully as he clearly mouthed a ‘call me’ to her.

Luckily for you however, you were quickly distracted by a different sight— meaning, Beomgyu and the way he very obviously seemed to stare you down every chance he got; where Yeonjun began to lack, he quickly took charge, lingering by your side and even taking a moment to go along with the way you reached out to him playfully, allowing him to hold your hand as he sang his part directly to you; you could feel deathly stares from both the fans around you and Yeonjun after that.

So now, here you are; one elaborate firework show later and the fans finally began to disperse and the crowded pit finally began to empty— leaving you, alone and antsy as you began to make your way backstage, where you knew a staff car was waiting to take you to the hotel Yeonjun was currently staying in.

Your leg is bouncing the entire ride there— fans outside seem to think the van you’re in may contain a member of the infamous band, and you watch with a small smile as they line the sidewalks and wave cluelessly; for a moment, you almost feel bad. 

You’re at the back entrance in the blink of an eye; that could also be attributed to the fact that you may have dozed off on your way there, but you don’t really mind it as you find yourself much more energized as you make your way out the van, thanking your driver before you’re off. 

Room 705, you tell yourself, pressing the number seven on the elevator as you lean back on the railing— you let out a soft, exasperated sigh as you make your way up, feeling the nerves from before creep up on you the longer you wait in this eerie silence— you’re practically running the moment the doors open, eager to see your boyfriend as you feel a wide smile form on your face. 

A moment passes after you knock on the door. 705, you reassure yourself, glancing back at the room number as you rock on your heels, waiting impatiently for someone to answer. Just when you begin to wonder if you’ve got the room wrong, pulling out your phone to check your messages with Yeonjun, the door suddenly swings open.

And you’re immediately pulled in. 

If the air hadn’t been knocked out of your lungs as Yeonjun pushed you roughly against the door, the way he captures your lips in a needy kiss definitely did. Your mind is spinning and you’re barely able to process what’s happening as you moan into his lips, feeling his hands wander up and down your sides, shivering at the feeling of his hands on your bare skin. 

You’re left to place your hands helplessly on his chest— you don’t bother to push him away though, indulging instead in the way his firm muscles tense under your hands, the thin material of his tank top not leaving much room for the imagination as you let your nails scratch and grasp at the material. 

He’s clearly reluctant to pull away as you begin to pat at his chest, attempting to signal your lack of air as he finally obliges after a second of struggle— you’re panting and dizzy as you take in the way his lips are swollen and shiny, his eyes lidded and dark as he takes in your outfit with a breathy chuckle. 

“Seriously?” he asks, reaching up to play with the hem of the shirt that barely covers you, the words “I ♡ TXT” written across them boldly, “You couldn’t have gotten one of those I heart my boyfriend shirts with a little picture of me? I saw a ton of fans wear those today.”

You scoff. 

“I dunno, I think this is more eye-catching— especially because it means that I don’t have to rely on getting the attention of just one of you.”

“Ohhhh, is that right?” he asks, tilting his head innocently as he wraps a hand around your waist, a cute smile on his face as he begins to walk backward to lead you further into his room, “Is that what your little attitude was about back then? Did I neglect you, baby?”

You pout. You hate when Yeonjun gets like this, teasing and petulant as he tries to back you up into a corner, trying to get you to say the wrong thing and set you straight by fucking you until you can’t think— it makes you feel undeniably small before him.

“Well, you did ignore me during the second half of the concert,” you admit, and you try to take a step back from him only to get pulled back in, your view obscured by him, “Seriously, you didn’t even come to our side.”

“You felt ignored?” he pouts, cooing softly at the way you meekly nod in agreement, “But Beomgyu didn’t ignore you. Isn’t that right?”

“Yup. Made sure to take good care of her.”

It’s only then Yeonjun lets go of you— he’s behind you now, interlocking his hands over your navel and pulling you back against him as he slots his chin on your shoulder— your stomach drops, and you’re able to feel the way Yeonjun presses against you perfectly from behind. 

Beomgyu lays back against the headboard, looking up from his phone as he sends you a pretty smile and a wave. 

“Shit baby, when did you get this skirt? It barely covers you.” you’re blinking out of your stupor as you feel Yeonjun grinding against you, your body beginning to rock from the motion as you grab onto his forearms weakly— you’re startled, unable to help your weak whimper as you take in the way Beomgyu stares at you with hungry eyes. 

And Yeonjun’s absolutely right— the pleated skirt is so short that it’s already ridden up, and you can feel your eyes hazing at the way he grinds his cock against your ass, against your panties that are already beginning to become soaked and sticky from your arousal. 

“You know, I saw the way you were so eager to interact with gyu once I left,” he purrs into your ear, punctuating his words with a harsh thrust that has you bouncing and yelping weakly, “Have I been neglecting you that much, cutie? Am I not enough for you?”

“No, no no no,” you babble, already too stupid to make coherent sentences despite having yet been fucked, “Saw you flirting with fans, I just… wanted to get back at you, ugh—!”

Your mouth is falling open at the feeling of Yeonjun’s hand falling sharply on your skin— your ass stings from the sensation and your back arches in response, and Yeonjun’s free hand snakes its way up to grope your chest, pressing you back against him and spanking you again as he laughs darkly in your ear.

“Get back at me? You know I was just doing my job, right?” he’s mocking you— it’s mean and belittling as he rubs the stinging area for a second before landing another smack— hmm? he hums, egging on your response as his hand squeezes your breast warningly.

“You still ignored me,” you whine out, clearly not the answer Yeonjun wanted as he scoffs and undoubtedly rolls his eyes; he lets go of you, and you let out a soft yelp at the way he pushes you toward the bed— you stumble and fall face-first into it, bouncing on the mattress before you’re looking up in a daze— you’re meeting Beomgyu’s wicked smile the moment you come to your senses. 

“Okay baby, if that’s how you wanna play. You really seemed to enjoy Beomgyu’s attention today, how about you get some more?” You’re not sure what he may mean by that until you’re being moved; you’re seated in Yeonjun’s lap on the bed, a pained whimper ripped out of your throat from the way he tugs your hair and pulls your head back— you’re staring at the ceiling as you feel your legs get thrown over Yeonjun’s, left to his mercy as he spreads you open completely. 

“Fuck. Such an attention whore, aren’t you? How are you so wet already?” his tone is so, so mean and mocking as he rubs a hand over your panties, two fingers pressing down against your entrance as he watches the way your folds spill out from the action, hissing quietly before he’s laughing softly, “Did a little bit of grinding do all this to you? Or…”

He leans into your ear— he places a kiss behind it before his teeth begin to nibble at the flesh, laughing airily as his hands begin to rub up and down your trembling thighs. 

“Were you thinking of getting fucked the whole show?”

Your lips fall into a silent gasp— Beomgyu’s lips are leaving open-mouthed kisses at the inside of your knees, his soft hair brushing against your skin as you attempt to look down at him— only to squeeze your eyes shut, Yeonjun’s long and slender fingers coming up to press down on your throat and hold your head up as he prevents you from looking, adding more pressure as he takes in the way you squirm from his grip.

Your hands are gripping your skirt. It’s bunched between your fingers as you attempt to close your legs, only to be stopped by Yeonjun’s as he continues to hold you open— in response, he spreads his legs a bit more, indulging in the pained whimper you let out from the stretch. 

Beomgyu’s lips are inching up your thigh. He’s sucking and leaving marks, teeth teasingly sinking into the flesh as he takes in the way you jump and whine at the feeling— your eyes are screwed shut, and all you can hear is Beomgyu’s breathy laugh before he continues to make his way up. 

Beomgyu is nothing but cruel as he continues to tease you; you think you might begin crying as you feel his lips begin to kiss softly at your clit, the feeling barely there as you begin to whine petulantly.

“Don’t be like that,” Yeonjun scolds, taking the way you’re practically trembling, “Shouldn’t you be thankful Beomgyu’s here to give you some attention? If you keep this up, I’ll just make you fuck against a pillow and leave you here while I go out for drinks with the others. You wouldn’t want that, would you?”

You can feel Yeonjun smile against your jaw as you frantically shake your head no. He gives you a chaste kiss on your cheek in return. 

“Good girl. Now be patient, okay?”

God, how can you be patient when Beomgyu is still teasing you over your panties? They’re soaking and you feel pathetic as he continues to toy with you with his tongue, clearly eager to make you messier than you already are as his spit continues to soak the rest of your panties through— the whine you let out once he presses his tongue flat against your entrance is pathetic, but you don’t have any energy to feel embarrassed from it as he begins to press against your panties in an attempt to fuck you with his tongue.

You don’t know how long this goes on for— all you know is that you’re shaking and you feel your eyes sting with tears by the time his fingers begin ghosting along your thighs, his soft groans and sounds that come from below only leaving you more needy by the time his fingers finally hook under the waistband of your panties. 

Your hips lift eagerly as he slides them down, and you don’t bother to take their teasing comments seriously as you blindly buck your hips toward Beomgyu’s face instead. 

“What’s got you acting like this?” Yeonjun asks, his voice deep and gruff as he speaks in your ear, “Don’t tell me a little bit of teasing is what’s got you like this.”

A little bit of teasing is a severe understatement. You’re trembling over Yeonjun and your voice is breaking as you protest quietly— and if your boyfriend thinks you haven’t felt the way he’s been bucking and rutting his hips into you this whole time, he’s sorely mistaken. 

All your spite melts away the moment Beomgyu gets his mouth on you— you’re jolting in surprise at the feeling of his face pressed flush against you, his tongue entering you with ease as he begins to fuck you with it like you desperately wanted; his nose is brushing against your clit and your hands blindly go to tug at his hair in a weak attempt to pull him closer still, entirely shameless of the way your hips grind into his face to chase pleasure— the way he groans and hums against you only makes your head spin, tugging at his roots weakly in an attempt to distract yourself.

Yeonjun’s hand presses against your throat— the pressure has you going dizzy, and you don’t seem to realize that he’s tilted your head back down until he’s squeezing teasingly, growling in your ear to look.

Slowly, your eyes flutter open. 

“Gyu…”

The said man’s eyes flicker up to gauge your expression— only he finds that you’re not looking at him, but rather behind him— in other words, straight at the full-length mirror you sit in front of, hazed eyes taking in the sight of you on your boyfriend’s lap, his hand on your throat and the other pushing up your crop top to play with your breasts, followed by the sight of Beomgyu kneeled between your spread legs, his head neatly tucked under the skirt you wear as he diligently goes back to eating you out like a starved man.

Your mind has gone dumb from the stimulation— so much so that you were barely able to keep track of the hands on your body, your chest jutting out from the way Yeonjun plays with your nipples and your thighs shaking from the way Beomgyu massages them teasingly. You think you might just receive a noise complaint from the way you can barely keep your sounds down, your hips beginning to roll against Beomgyu’s face as you feel your orgasm beginning to approach. 

“So fucking loud,” Yeonjun growls, his hand leaving your tits before he’s putting two of his fingers into your mouth— and like the “good bitch” you are, you take them without hesitation, your lips sucking on them while your tongue runs along his fingers diligently. 

It does little to muffle your sounds, however. You can’t take your eyes off the sight in front of you, incredibly needy as you begin to push Beomgyu against you and practically suffocate him with your pussy— but, judging by the way he groans in response and moves his head side to side before pressing firmly against your cunt, you don’t think he minds it.

“Is he making you feel good? Yeah?” Yeonjun asks, cutting off your frantic nodding before he’s shoving his fingers deeper into your mouth and pressing down on your tongue— your mouth is left open and you can only watch helplessly as drool begins to gather at the corner of your lips, your hips jumping up at the way Beomgyu’s tongue toys with your clit before he’s back to fucking you— the way you react to the action has him repeating it, and it isn’t long before you’re letting out a long whine and cumming all over his face. 

“Good girl. Fuck that’s so hot, that’s right, ride it out…” Yeonjun’s hand leaves your neck in favor of gripping your hips and guiding your movements, grinning wolfishly at the way you simply cry softly and wrap your lips around his fingers in response, a stray tear running down your cheek as your mouth falls open weakly once more, beginning to melt from the way Beomgyu has yet to pull away, feverish mouth still on your cunt as he begins to clean you up despite your weak cries of overstimulation. 

Beomgyu’s face is shining from your arousal by the time he finally pulls away. He’s sitting back on his knees and looking up at you with puppy eyes as he pouts, swollen lips reddened as he takes in the way your pussy still glistens from your arousal and his spit, your body twitching from the aftershocks as you merely whine once your eyes meet. 

“Felt good baby?” Yeonjun asks you, letting you go before he’s laying you back on the bed— you’re reaching out for him, grabbing his shirt and tugging him back to you in a weak attempt to get him on top of you, only to fail miserably— he chuckles softly before his hands come up, encasing your own before he’s pulling them off; his gaze darkens. 

“Show me just how much you liked gyu’s attention, yeah?” he asks, and you watch with wide eyes as he begins to step away, ignoring your weak attempts to get him to come back before he’s getting comfortable on a chair across the bed; squeezing your legs together, you’re left helpless as you watch Beomgyu rise to his feet and begin to hover over you instead. 

“Don’t you wanna be good for him?” Beomgyu asks, placing a tentative hand on your waist and watching as you shiver from the sensation, “For us? Hmm?”

The pathetic whine you let out in response is enough for him, watching as you shyly reach up to grab at his shirt before you’re pulling him towards you. 

Beomgyu’s hands are big and warm as he places them on your thighs, sneaking to the underside and pushing them against you as he begins to spread you properly— you’re left folded and at his mercy as you simply look at him with curious eyes, fingers splayed neatly on your chest as you begin to play with your breasts absentmindedly. 

You’re shameless as you watch Beomgyu take his cock out— even more so when you begin to squirm, eyes widening slightly just from the mere sight; god, he’s huge. 

“What’s with the reaction baby?” Yeonjun calls out, and you’re snapped out of your daze as you look at where your boyfriend sits, slouched in the chair and palming himself casually as he watches, “Something on your mind?”

You shake your head no— but as Beomgyu slowly aligns himself with your entrance, leaking tip beginning to glide along your cunt as he spreads your arousals, you can’t hold back the shaky whimper you let out, your voice breaking from the sound as you grasp at the sheets under you. 

He’s big— just like your boyfriend, who always has to take his time prepping you before he finally fucks you; the only difference here, however, is that Beomgyu has never fucked you before, so he certainly won’t be aware of the struggle he’ll be met with as his tip finally begins to prod at your entrance, testing out the waters before he finally pulls out again. 

Yeonjun, however, is fully aware of this fact.

Maybe that’s why you take in the way his lips quirk up in a mischievous smile as Beomgyu finally begins to enter you— hissing at the stretch, going insanely slow due to the way you clench down on him like a vice, the feeling enough to make him cum if he’s not too careful. 

You’re a trembling and squirming mess under him— your eyes are screwed shut when he grabs onto your hips, telling you to stop fucking moving as the sheer strength of his hold is enough to have you freezing. 

“Shit, such a cute little thing, always begging for attention— don’t even care that it’s not your boyfriend fucking you, huh?”

God, this is so embarrassing— especially with the way you practically melt at Beomgyu’s touch, weak whimpers flowing from you the moment you feel him bottom out, hips pressed flush against yours as he simply… remains still. Clenching around him pathetically, all shame is thrown out the window as you begin to attempt fucking yourself on his cock, trying to get any stimulation you can before his fingertips are digging into your skin— a clear warning to fucking sit still, as he growls out. 

Slowly, he pulls out; you can feel every vein that runs along his length from how slow he goes, your walls fluttering in a desperate attempt to keep him inside as you let out a soft whine— he quickly rams into you after that, ripping a shameless moan from you and making your body jostle back against the mattress, only to get pulled back into him by his hands. 

He’s able to build his pace that way— your body is his to control as he begins fucking you, rutting into you wildly as he takes in the way your eyes glaze with pleasure, weak cries and moans escaping your mouth as he simply smiles down at you coyly.

“Beomgyu,” you hear Yeonjun say, though you don’t have the strength to look over at him as you watch Beomgyu turn his head over, his thrusts slowing to something deep and slow as the two seemingly converse— you’re unable to hear what your boyfriend says, but you know he’s up to no good as you pick up on his last words.

“Do it, you’ll see how much she likes it.”

Before you can question what he could possibly mean by that, a choked cry is leaving you; Beomgyu has returned his rough pace of fucking you, your words dying on your tongue as you’re left to pant and moan pathetically— your back arches off the bed the moment you feel his hand fall on your stomach, pressing down on the bulge of his cock inside you and watching the way you bite your lip in a failed attempt to conceal the squeal he rips out of you; the pressure of his hand makes you tighten around him more, and the laugh he lets out would be enough to embarrass you if you weren’t so fucked out. 

“Like feeling me? Am I too big for you, sweet thing?” he asks, whiny and attempting to mimic your tone as he sends you a pathetic pout, no doubt a reflection of your expression, “Can you feel me, baby? Feels good?”

Your eyes roll back the moment he brings your hand over to press on the bulge yourself; you’re letting out a soft fuck that has the two men chuckling, only able to come to your senses long enough to see that Yeonjun has begun to stroke himself where he sits, dark gaze never leaving your body as he watches everything with interest. 

Yeonjun is mumbling something again— it makes your heart race that you’re unable to pick up on it, much more focused on the way Beomgyu continues to fuck you to be able to pay attention to the conversation the two are having; before you can take any offense to it, Beomgyu is pulling out, the two of you hissing from the suddenness of it all before he’s guiding you to move. 

“You look so pretty like this.”

Yeonjun’s smile is warm as he meets your gaze— though you’re unable to see it for much longer, your head being pushed into the mattress as Beomgyu raises your hips a little more, landing a slap to your ass before he’s thrusting into you fully in one go— you think that if your face hadn’t been buried in the sheets, you definitely would’ve been scolded for being so loud. 

This position allows Beomgyu to fuck into you a little rougher; something Yeonjun told him you just go crazy for, and he knows it must be true if the way your walls flutter and suck him in are any sign, the feeling making it harder for him to not dump his load inside you then and there. 

“Pull her hair,” Yeonjun grins, watching as you nuzzle your face into the mattress for comfort, “She loves when you do that— isn’t that right, baby?”

Beomgyu doesn’t need to be told twice; he’s grabbing a fistful of your hair and tugging you hard enough that you’re being pulled up, pressed flush against his chest as Beomgyu’s hand snakes around your waist and circles your clit— if it weren’t for his arms that held you up against him, you’re sure you would’ve collapsed back down from the sheer pleasure.

His hand lets go of your hair in favor to wrap around your neck; his index finger taps at your cheek as he begins to put a slight pressure, watching as you become lightheaded and struggle to open your eyes upon his request. 

“Don’t you want your boyfriend to see how good you’re getting fucked?” 

His words shouldn’t spur you on as much as they do— but the way Beomgyu continues to spew absolute filth in your ears paired with the way Yeonjun stares at you as though he’s ready to pounce on you any second has you nearing yet another orgasm— and judging by the way Beomgyu hisses into your ear, you’re sure he notices it.

“Shit, such a greedy thing, so desperate to get fucked that you don’t care who it is, hmm?” Beomgyu says, laughing softly at the way you begin to squirm from his grip, “Feel good? Gonna cum on my cock? Hmm? Don’t even feel guilty that your boyfriend is watching you get fucked so good, just wanna get used, isn’t that right?”

You’re barely able to keep track of the shit Beomgyu is saying— all you know is that you’re intoxicated with the way his voice sounds, strained and shaky as his broken moans interrupt his sentences, the sound of skin against skin overwhelming your senses as you finally come down— your eyes are shutting tight as you feel yourself go weak, falling limp under Beomgyu’s hold before he lets you go entirely— and you’re falling back into the mattress, grabbing desperately at the sheets in a weak attempt to ground yourself. 

The sudden rush of blood to your head only amplifies everything as Beomgyu lets you ride out your orgasm; he’s rough and unrelenting as he chases his own high, reassuring you quietly that he’s almost there, just a bit more, be a good girl and take it, okay?

It doesn’t take long before Beomgyu’s pace is stuttering, his hands gripping your waist and using you as a fucktoy as he begins groaning that he’s close. 

“Want me to cum inside?” he asks, his voice breathy and dazed as he watches the way you simply whine and nod your head, “Yeah? Dump my load and fill you up like a good cumslut? Love letting me use you how I’d like?”

A weak yes! yesyesyes! is all that leaves you before he’s burying himself as deep as he can and cumming inside you; you feel so warm and full as you feel him spurt his cum inside you, whining quietly and nuzzling more into the blankets as you let him ride his orgasm out.

A moment passes— he has yet to pull out.

“So?” Yeonjun asks, a lot closer than you expected as he suddenly takes your hair and forces you up, ignoring your weak protests with a roll of his eyes, “What do you think baby? You want more of his attention, or are you finally gonna apologize for being such a fucking bitch to me?”

You let out a noncommittal whine— Yeonjun’s brow quirks in interest, but he simply looks back at Beomgyu with a soft smile. 

“Think you can dump another load in her?”

Beomgyu’s cock is already hardening inside you— the whine you let out is left in vain as Yeonjun simply directs his hardened cock to your lips, tapping his leaking tip against them as he begins to spread his arousal along them, smiling wickedly as you send him a pleading smile. 

“You know how this works, doll,” he hums out, smacking his dick on your lips with a soft laugh, “You know the safe words; you say it and everything stops— so stop acting like a helpless bitch.”

Softly, his hand taps your cheek.

“Now open up, won’t you?”

You’re obedient as always as you do what he says immediately. Your eyes are watery as you allow him to use your mouth just how he likes, the vibrations of your moans from the way Beomgyu continues to fuck you making Yeonjun pathetically bite his lips to conceal his sounds— of course, it doesn’t work, and all he’s left with in the end are swollen and reddened lips you’re fighting the urge to kiss. 

By the time Beomgyu is cumming inside you again, Yeonjun is above you groaning that he’s close; you’re whimpering at the feeling of being filled a second time tonight as Yeonjun takes his cock out and furrows his brows in concentration, taking in your fucked out face before he spills his load all over you; your eyes close as you feel the spurts of cum land on your lips, cheeks, and shirt, over the bold I ♡ TXT  as Yeonjun only smiles with pride; you’re whimpering pathetically as Yeonjun proceeds to use his sensitive tip to spread his release across your lips, hissing quietly as your tongue darts out to lick it teasingly. 

“Yeonjun,” you whimper out, looking up at your boyfriend with eyes that almost make his knees buckle, “Still need you. Want you inside me.”

He grins— how could he deny such a request?

In the blink eye, you’ve changed positions, now lying on your back— Beomgyu is no longer inside you, sending you a wolfish grin as he places one last kiss on your head, patting your thigh slyly before he’s sending you off to Yeonjun; after all your teasing and subjecting himself to watch for so long, Yeonjun can feel his refractory period turn to ashes the moment he finally slides himself inside you, your thighs dripping with Beomgyu’s cum as more comes out the moment Yeonjun bottoms out. 

“Fuck,” he hisses, moving slowly before he’s forced to stop from the feeling of you clenching around him, “How are you still so tight? Did you miss me that much, pretty?”

Without a second thought, you nod— Yeonjun simply laughs at that, beginning to move slowly and watching the way your face contorts in pleasure before he’s glancing back to the chair he sat in, making eye contact with Beomgyu as he sends him a grin. 

“You know, she really likes it when you do this,” he says, taking your legs and throwing them over his shoulders as he begins to fuck you roughly; you’re yelping and crying from the overstimulation, highly sensitive as hot tears begin escaping your eyes, “Don’t you, baby? Feel good right now?”

“Too— too much, jjunie,” you hiccup, though the way your pussy tightens around him says otherwise, your hands are desperate to grab onto something as you hold onto your skirt, crumpling the fabric in your hands as you allow Yeonjun to pull your shirt up, feeling the way his expert fingers play with your breasts and tug at your nipples, the movement almost memorized at this point.

“Too much?” he coos, not slowing his pace for a second as he watches you nod, taking in your teary eyes hungrily, “Want it to stop? Gonna say the safe word?”

You don’t respond. 

“‘Course you won’t,” he hums, slapping you softly and huffing out a laugh at the way his cum has begun to dry on your face, the feeling filthy as you simply whine, his hand cupping your face and squeezing your cheeks until your lips are forced in an open pout; he leans in, his hair brushing against your forehead as he continues to fuck you. 

“You love being used as a cumdump too much to say it, don’t you?”

Without a further warning, his index finger tugs at your lower lip, forcing your mouth open a little more— then, he spits. 

You come undone shortly after.

Yeonjun’s pace doesn’t slow down throughout any of it; not when you squeeze him so tight your cunt is practically choking his dick, not when you begin squirming and crying under him, and certainly not when he feels his own high approaching, only fueled even more when your pretty acrylics come up to dig at his shoulder, letting out a loud cry as he hits a particularly sensitive spot and scratching along his back, the stinging sensation enough to set Yeonjun off as he cums inside you— he sits back and watches as even more cum leaks out, your body already exhausted beyond relief as you simply let your eyes close and your chest heaves as you catch your breath. 

Yeonjun is rubbing your thighs soothingly, waiting for your eyes to flutter open again before he begins to speak. 

“Was that enough attention for you?” he asks— he’s hovering over you again, a mischievous smile growing on his face as he looks down at you and the mess he’s made, “I think you deserve a bit more.”

Fuck Yeonjun and his petty grudges. 

[hyukascampfire]

THE TERRIBLE HALF-TRUTHS OF THE UNDEAD ҜING

⠀(🍂 ) 𝓡EVENANT in folklore, a revenant is a spirit or animated corpse that is believed to have been revived from death to haunt the living ... ( 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑦𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 )

1︎5.5k revenant!yeonjun · ƒ ! r ft. soobin ⸺ ✴︎ 𝖿𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖺𝗌𝗒 ... smut, violence, angst, death, animal death & vivid descriptions of animal death, major character death, unprotected sex, cumming inside, dry humping (because bring it back), biting, dom yeonjun sub reader, mentions of death in childbirth, reincarnation, teasing, breast worship, yj calls reader ‘my love’, def some typos

🪶 ⦂ how fun is this collab? :,) this fic was so fun to write. i personally believe that tsfawc enjoyers will love this one,, but you'll have to read it to confirm that, right? hehe. and of course, go read everybody else's if you love this one! they're all set in the same world, and everybody worked so hard on these fics. send some love their way!

rꫀׁׅܻblogs & asks arꫀׁׅܻ always apprꫀׁׅܻciatꫀׁׅܻd!

𝒪𝑁𝐶𝐸 𝒰𝑃𝑂𝑁 𝒶 𝒯𝐼𝑀𝐸, in a land far, far away, where the treetops touched the soft clouds of the sky and the water sparkled under the glowing sun, where mountains rose high, and long, deep caves ran through them, where the sea met shore in collisions of swirling, foamy punches, where the undead walked among the living, where the winged flew above the finned, there was a land where things beyond reason and rhyme existed perfectly true. Among those strange beings and within the veils of Aethera, there was a girl loved by death. 

He sits on your shoulder, a dark, boding shadow and glared at those around you with promise in his eyes.

That’s how it seems, anyway. That’s how everybody looks at you. They dodge you, whisper about you, evade your gaze as if he might reach his claws for them next if they linger for too long.

Crows with dead eyes arrive at your doorstep like some lover’s cheeky gift, other poor creatures like fat grey mice are left to rot in the wheatfields, and yarrow stocks wilt outside the wall of your room. If Death thinks that you are flattered, he misunderstands you. You are terrified of nothing more than dying. The first time, it was a sly joke. Then it happened again, and you watched their eyes change. And it happened again and again, and your people are a suspicious type. Something can only be a coincidence so many times.

When you began to sneak into a little shack with a village boy, you thought that maybe, somehow, this would all pass. He died too. There’s really no coming back from that, is there? You don’t blame them. You’re not the freak that they all believe you to be—none of them get close enough anymore to know that, though.

The wickerbasket’s handle creaks under your fist. You usually only forage along the shallow line of the forest; you pluck from bramble bushes topped with plump berries that crawl between trees during the summer, and when the crab apple tree’s branches hang heavy with the fruit, you snatch those up too. You’re more useful to your family out here, in the woods that they deem just as cursed as you. Where you won’t be their burden.

Crisp autumn leaves crunch under your boots. You scan between them—more grey and rotted this late in the season than fresh and orangey—for the edible mushrooms and roots that you usually forage at this time of year. The basket’s already pretty heavy with a variety, black morels and sorrel and burdock, as you bend down to pull a truffle from the dirt against a tree.

You drop it down with the rest of your finds. The basket smells like earth, no doubt your hands do too. You dust your palms off on your skirts and go to rise back from your squat.

A deep, billowing horn pierces the forest’s silence. It’s both far away, wiggling between the whispers of rustling leaves, and much too close. It draws out. Long. Bone-chilling. You freeze, scanning between each tree trunk and praying that you won’t find what you fear you might.

You are much deeper into the woods than you usually are. Than you ought to be. And you know what that horn means—you know that it means something far worse than what you’d been afraid of, coming into these woods. Much more primordial than the hide-behinds you were scared you might find this deep, much less avoidable than the faerie rings you stepped around.

Why would The Wild Hunt be here? A shudder runs down your spine, and you curl your fingers into your skirts and lift them as if to prepare to run, but you don’t. Your feet find root in the forest floor and all you can do is stand terribly still in catatonia. Their horn sounds again, and a procession of wicked whoops and howls follow. Wild hoofbeat rumbles under it all—the hunt and their rides. You hope that they’re just passing through, and you won’t so much as see one of those wild riders. There were plenty of folktales that the matrons of your village would bolster to terrify you as children, but you knew even then that their stories of the riders, with their flesh falling away from them and their pale or beady eyes and their gnarled maws and frightening figures as they rode on the backs of equally terrible steeds, were not fabricated. They are not a bogeyman or a wailing banshee; they are death made in the flesh, and they are here. In your forest. 

Your legs won’t work. You curl your clammy fingers tighter around your basket and lean into the tree beside you. How deep had you wandered into the forest? Hopefully not too far; when you gain the courage to run, you hope that they do not send their hounds to snap their foul breath on your heels. Maybe just standing here and blending into the trees is best. The Hunt would love a chase, and you don’t want to become their next.

The next call comes and you throw that all to the wind. Your heart pounds against your ribcage as you let your basket clatter to the leaves and you take off. You fly over roots and shrubbery and between the trees, your blood roaring in your ears faster. You’d oblige if you could.

Above the loudness of your frantic mind, the harrowing whinnies and The Hunt’s ruckus dulls until it’s faraway again, and then it’s gone. Well, you don’t stop to check if they’ve really passed through the forest. You just run.

“There you are, love.”

His voice cuts through your frantic escape and stops you dead in your path. You almost go crashing down over the ground with the force that you dig your heels into it. Though the voice is non-threatening, you don’t turn to face the source.

He speaks again. You already know who it is. He, old as the earth you stand on itself, leads that band of wild riders. Is the king of the undead, collects souls for reaping.

And he’s the one who’s plagued you with his attention. Death.

“Why do you keep your back turned to me?” he says. “I frighten you. That hurts.” His voice lilts with amusement and sharpness. “I wish that you would face me.”

You’re not fond of the way that he speaks to you with a familiarity. But then again, you’re not fond of dying, either. Your legs are boneless beneath you. Turning, you slowly indulge him, though it takes a great amount of willpower to not run again like your jittering jaw and trembling hands ask you to.

The King of Death stands tall and utterly preternatural, leaned against a crooked tree in the woods behind you. His smile cracks across his face in a jagged way that suggests he finds you amusing, but none of that meets his eyes. They’re the color of the greyish, rotted leaves beneath you. The dark shadows beneath his eyes are the only thing belying the weight that his infinite life might have on him. That, and the hollowness that rings from him.

And though he sounded entirely playful, you are shaken by the sorrow that you find in him now that you’ve turned. Even more so, you’re not sure why you feel it echoed somewhere in the hollows of your bones. “I’m sorry,” you say. It trembles terribly. You want to say that you’re sorry you caught his attention, but it seems you’ve always had his attention. It’s more that you are petrified down to your marrow that the time’s come that you face this… strange infatuation. Here he stands: the one who leaves hollowed out husks of creatures at your doorstep. Should you run or thank him? Is Death as prideful a creature as the other kinds that inhabit Aethera? “I don’t mean to…”

He pushes off his tree, fixing his cape that cascades over only one of his shoulders. It’s tattered and falling apart like the rest of his clothing, though you think that the bronze stitching and swirling oakleaf patterns in the black say that they might have been immaculate at some point. Or maybe they weren’t, and they had started that way. He is Death, anyway. “You’re sorry?” he says. “Why are you apologizing to me? You’ve hardly done a thing to warrant it.”

Faltering, you wet your chapped lips. You’re not really sure. Holding back another apology for fear that you’ve offended him and he’ll now strike you down for it, you say, “I thought that, maybe the hunt was…” Wow, you sound stupid. You can see in the sly smile his lips form that it amuses him. That’s almost worse than angering him: intriguing him. What you really should be doing is boring him so that he’ll find you a waste of his time. Then, maybe, he’d give up haunting you.

“After you?” he finishes. Shaking his head, he says, “My hunters only answer to me.”

“Oh,” you say plainly. Part of you wants to ask why that should comfort you, especially when you’re the one that he sends little bits of death to, but rationality keeps those words in the back of your throat. You don’t really want to know. “Why are you passing by here?”

Something akin to old longing passes through those witty eyes, and then he eats up the distance between you with languid steps of his long legs until he’s nothing more than one last step in front of you. The closeness consumes the air in your lungs, leaving nothing for you but short and shallow drags. The forest has gone dead silent aside from the sound of it. His voice is even more magnetic now that he’s so close.

You recoil when he brings a hand up to brush the pad of his thumb over your cheek and then cup your jaw, as if afraid that he might snuff you out here and now. His fingers are softer than you thought they might be, and the lines of his face sharpen into what you think is hurt. Hurt that you flinched?

“We go here and there,” he says, “but it’s been a very long time since we came here.” There’s a certain thickness to his words; a certain tension coiled over them from something that you’re not privy to. And yet, there’s a farawayness, too. You bet he’s full of a lifetime of secrets. Lifetimes of secrets. “But I think I’ve found myself a reason to finally return.”

Breathy and still struggling to flatten out your breathing, you ask him, “Why?”

The Undead King’s smile turns wicked once more, and he doesn’t answer you. It’s awfully eerie.

“Do you have… business here?” you try again. It’s a roundabout way of asking, do you have someone to take away?

“I have business wherever the living go,” he says, letting your face go but not giving you any more room. You narrow your eyes. He’s quite good at non-answers. “Nothing is more certain than that I will greet every living thing eventually. I’ll come to take you, too, when the time comes.”

Your mouth dries up. The entirety of your home, all the people you’ve ever known, fear you for all the death you bring. Not one of them fears it more than you do. You’ve seen it enough to fear its frightening finality.

The drop of your face must’ve told him how much that scared you. “Dying is not such an awful thing, love. Living pales in comparison.” Searching your eyes, he adds, “But I’ve not come to take you.”

That’s easy for him to say: that death isn’t something to fear. His words don’t calm your thundering heart, but you offer him a, “Thank you…” It trails off toward the end when you realize that you don’t have his name. If he has one, anyway.

“Yeonjun.” He tilts his head, strands of sparrow hair brushing over his watching eyes. “Most don’t know it, but you’re not most people, are you?”

Your breathing had just begun evening out. It’s a shame, the way that it kicks back up at the way he looks at you. “What do you mean?” you say, but of course you know. Nobody else is given dead things like you. It’s not like you yourself are very strange; you like pretty dresses and sharing gossip with friends just as much as any other girl your age.

Giving you another one of those knowing smiles that he uses just like words, he steps back. “I’m sorry that I scare you how I do.”

You don’t answer him. What could you say to that? That he doesn’t? That would be a lie, and he would know it.

Yeonjun’s eyes flit over your face, over your cheeks made pink by the autumn cold, lingering on your lips for a few unexplainable beats, and then landing on your eyes where he searches and finds something that sends his throat bobbing with a thick swallow. “I don’t mean to be your monster. It’s only that…” He steps back again. “You remind me a terrible amount of someone I once knew.”

“Who?” Though your shoulders relax a bit with some distance between the two of you, you do your best to not let your guard down. All the stories that you recall being told, all those cautionary tales passed down through word of mouth around a fire, end with some stupid girl thinking that the monster could be changed or tricked. You’re willing to bet that the man in front of you, no matter how human he looks or how enchanting his words are, could be neither.

That doesn’t explain the ache in your chest when he holds your eyes for too long. But you shove that feeling way, way down. It’s nonsensical.

His voice takes on a parting tilt when he says, “It doesn’t matter anymore. Death takes us all.” Yeonjun dips his head at you. His smile wavers. You’d think that crooked smile on his mouth was indelible had you not seen it twitch down at the corners only for a moment. If you’d have blinked, you’d have missed it. “You think I’ll hurt you,” he says, “well, don’t let me stop you. Go ahead, run. I apologize for your basket.”

Death takes us all. You’re not sure what that’s supposed to mean, coming from him, but it sends a cold wind up your spine and goosebumps crawling over your skin.

He watches you go. You don’t look back when you do, but his gaze sits on your back until you’re sure you’re out of his sight. When you return to your home, your mother asks where the basket full of ingredients for supper went.

You imagine what her face might look like if you told her the truth. But that was impossible, so instead you tell her some stupid story about a wolf that startled you so bad that you ran home paying no mind to where your basket was. It’s close enough to the truth.

༺ ꘏ ༻

It doesn’t matter what you do; you can’t get his face out of your head. While you cut butter into flour and then roll out dough, simmer fruits over flame and you slice cheese off blocks, you replay that meeting in the forest. The memory spins and turns over no matter how hard you try to put it away from your thoughts.

It’s not every day that somebody meets the likes of him. You can’t blame yourself; he had such captivating eyes. Dark, playful, and endless. There they are again. You sigh and dust your hands off. Maybe you are just as strange as they all think that you are. Morbid curiosity is like that, though. Taking the most normal of us and making you wonder what you absolutely should not wonder about.

And you absolutely should not wonder about him.

The sun has begun to hang high in the sky, but the breeze that crawls through the window you pulled open before you got to work is a crisp one. Autumn’s really come, now. Outside the window, a huddle of children play around in the leaves that you’d raked up. You’ll have to rake those back up, but you hardly have the heart to tell them to take their playing elsewhere. Their giggles and small voices waft in with the breeze, and a traitorous part of you yearns for a family that you know you’ll never have. No man would risk that fate, not after what happened to the last man who paid you any attention. You grit your teeth at the memory.

Having a face for the thing that’s made your life the way it is is strange. Seeing him in the flesh, with handsome eyes and a taunting mouth, looking something near human, you think you’ve come to resent him for it. How dare he ruin your life? He, more than anybody, should know how fleeting life is. What is in it for him to deface what little time you have? You keep going back to that thought: why did he ever even appear to you in that forest? There is not one story in which you remember Yeonjun showing his face to those he hasn’t come to claim. Death makes his visits swift and purposeful.

Moreover, why on earth would he even look your way? You wish there was a plain way to ask him why, or even to plead with him to stop. Whatever it is he’d ask of you, you think you might give him. To get back to living, you would.

A deep, familiar voice from behind you gives you pause. “Want some help with that?” Soobin says. He stands  in the doorway, his head nearly brushing the top of the frame. It’s made too small for him. Most things in your tiny village were made too small for Soobin. There had been a time where you’d been taller than him, that had hardly lasted long enough.

“As if,” you dismiss and gesture at his dirty hands. He’d no doubt been out working his family’s field, his tunic sleeves rolled up to his elbows.  “Cow shit isn’t an ingredient.”

Anybody else might’ve scoffed or taken offense, but he just laughs and invites himself in anyway. It never fazes Soobin. He doesn’t let you push him away.

It’d be better if he did. How long before he ends up dead, too? Alive one moment, and then a husk without a soul next. You don’t think you could handle seeing cold, dead eyes where the annoying, warm shine should be. Of course it would be better if he stayed away, if he had half the mind to. Even most of the children have heard enough from their mothers to stay a healthy distance. He’s not too much better than a child, though.

“Isn’t it?” he says. His cheek is smudged with whatever sort of dirt he’s got on his hands and under his nails. “I’m done with work for the day. Want to go out to the field?”

You two have always ran off and avoided your life in between willowy, flaxen wheat stocks. They were just tall enough at this time of year to hide you away. But, for some reason, your stomach does a quick flip at the thought of being outside. It’s silly; couldn’t he find you here, too? “I’m busy,” you say. You’d already kneaded this roll of dough plenty, but you dig your fingers into it and begin again.

“Busy?” he scoffs, “Since when are you too busy to get away from work?”

Gritting your teeth, you let the sounds of your kneading answer. Now, more than ever, he should keep his distance. You know one thing that you’re sure nobody else does: Death’s come to visit. 

His brows shoot up in your peripherals. “I don’t get answers today?”

“I’m sorry,” you say, giving up working the over-kneaded dough only because your arms ache. “Why don’t you go talk off the ear of some other poor village girl? I’ve heard as much as I can handle today. And then when that one’s tired, you can bother the next, I’m sure.”  You soften the words with a quick smile his way. No matter how many times you say something sour in hopes that it’ll send him away, as soon as you glance up at his face, you reel it in.

His company is all you’ve ever had. The least you can do for him is make sure he doesn’t end up like carrion, even if he chooses to take that risk himself. You don’t know why he does.

Voice playful, he says, “I’m glad to hear that you believe I’ve got ladies falling at my feet, but I’d rather not annoy a pretty girl, so you’re my only option.” He pokes at the sleeve of your simple cotton dress. “Should I drag you out of here? Don’t your arms hurt doing all that?”

“Oh, you are a refined man, aren’t you?” you say, shuffling out of his reach. Damn him, he makes it difficult. “Well, I am a pretty girl, so you should take yourself elsewhere.”

Soobin smiles easy. “I’m bored out of my mind. You’re just going to let me suffer?”

“That’s not my issue.”

“I’d argue that it is,” he says. “Come on. Why are you giving me a cold shoulder?” Leaning, he tries to get a look at your face. “Did I upset you? I wasn’t aware that you cared much about what I thought.” When you spare him a sharp glance, he says, “I think you are very, very beautiful. Would you stop ignoring me, now?”

You wish you could fall into the easy banter that comes with being around Soobin, but you can’t. You can’t let him be around you. “Soobin, stop it,” you say, draining your voice. You don’t look at him while you say it.

Going quiet, he seems to notice that today’s different. His gaze is heavy as he stares at you for a few long moments. Crossing his arms over his chest, he asks, “What happened?”

You swallow. “Nothing. I’m just doing something.”

“Oh, alright,” he says, tone inflicting in a way that says he doesn’t believe you one bit. He pushes off the counter. “I’ve put up with you pushing me away for years. You think I don’t know what you’re doing?”

“Soobin,” you warn. If you look at him, you fear you’ll be forced to watch the only one who never cared much what a risk it was being around you leaving. So you don’t.

Your friend raises his hands in the air defensively. “Okay, then.” He makes for the doorway with languid, lingering steps. As if he doesn’t want to leave. “Tomorrow..”

That’s both a threat and a promise, knowing him. Sighing and watching the rowan tree out your window sway, you bid him a curt goodbye.

If only that jerk took offense to things. It would make things an awful lot easier for you.

༺ ꘏ ༻

Being out in the wheat fields brings you peace when you’re alone, but you find it to be terribly lonely. The earthy, sweet scent of it wraps around you, and the stalks whisper against each other in a soothing way.

When you look beside you, the patch of wheat imprinted with the shape of your bodies is empty on his side. You are quite weak; it makes you want to go knocking at his door for his company. But that would be the selfish thing to do, so you card your fingers between the golden straw instead.

A chill trickles down your spine. You feel his presence before you even see him; it’s a feeling that you used to get fleetingly, as if something far away was tugging at you. But then he became real, a living thing in front of you that can touch, and that is much different.

“Why is it that I always find you out in the wilderness?” Yeonjun says. His voice comes from behind you.

Has he been watching you? You stand and dust your bottom off, heart kicking to life. “It’s nice out here,” you say. In truth, you haven’t come outside since that day. You’ve dodged Soobin and made a million excuses as to why you won’t go anywhere past the fences of your home. “I like to… watch people go about their days. It’s interesting.” It’s true—you always watch from afar how the village folk interact. How groups of girls your age link arms and whisper to each other, how neighbors come together to fix up a shoddy fence. You watch them be a community that you are not a part of. Watching it tastes bitter sometimes, but mostly you take pleasure in imagining yourself there with them. You’re not sure why you try making small talk with him, but what else? Should you go running again? If you were to listen to your pattering heart, maybe that’s what you’d do. He’s hardly shown you any bad will, though, and he’s the one that’s come to you. Maybe it’s silly to wait until something bad happens to be cautious.

A thousand pounds in stones sit at the center of your chest, though, and his voice makes them feel lighter. Why on earth that is, you’re not sure. It’s a nice relief regardless.

He smiles. It's different from the ones he showed you before. It’s knowing; more sweet than cracking over his face like the smile you would expect from the likes of him. What use might he have in being sweet? “Could I join you?”

Blinking dumbly at him for a second, you nod. “Oh, uh… Yeah.” Settling back down into your spot, you spare him a few curious sideways glances.

The breeze billows over the gold stems, moving them like gentle waves over the ocean and blowing your hair in it too. The flattened bits rustle under his weight. He doesn’t even turn his face toward the village; instantly, his gravitational eyes are on you.

“Do you come here often?”

“I do,” you answer. Mostly when you and Soobin have too much to do and not enough will to do it. “It’s nice. The village doesn’t like me much, so it’s easier out here.” You don’t mention that mostly you don’t come here alone.

Yeonjun’s face becomes far away. It looks strikingly like somebody forced into an old, unpleasant memory. “Don’t like you?” he asks, “What reason would they have for that?”

“They fear me. Things go wrong around me, that’s all.” You pluck at the hay absentmindedly. “Things die. They’re smart to stay away.”

The hay whispers much louder for the long moment he remains quiet, digesting what you’ve said. Maybe deciding what to say, considering that it’s his fault.

“Die?” he asks, voice inflected with surprise.

Turning to him, your brow creases. Shouldn’t he know? He’s the one that’s done it to you. “Everything that gets too close ends up dead. Everything,” you say, resting your temple on your knee. “So, I guess, I just keep it all at arm’s length.” You look back at your tiny village, a collection of familiar, un-familiar thatch-roof homes. 

Continuing to blink at you, his eyes narrowed in a strange grimace, Yeonjun says, “Death follows me, too.”

What? A laugh of disbelief bubbles up in your chest. Of course, death follows him. You cover your mouth with a hand to obscure your laugh, but you just giggle at him harder.

A laugh twitches at the corners of his mouth, too. “I mean it,” he says. The lines of his face become distant again, eyes both trained on your face and melancholic as if the sight reminds him of something.

It ignites a question in your mind about something he said in the forest. “You said that I reminded you of somebody,” you say, testing the waters. “Who?”

A muscle feathers in his jaw. He looks away, as if he can’t look at you while he says it. “I loved a girl from this village once. When I was human, no less than you.”

You falter, mouth falling open to ask all the questions that flurry through your thoughts. You settle on one. “You were human?”

“I was,” he says ruefully. “And I had everything. I had the love of my life. I think that even the most bitter of creatures on this island had envy for our love. She would braid dandelions into my hair, and then I’d braid them into hers.” He swallows thickly and pauses, as if the wound was still festering and fresh. “And then she died. She died starting our family. She died because of me, in my arms.”

You don’t know what to say, so you just look into his shining eyes as if that’ll help. You’re not very useful with people, much less comforting them.

“I couldn’t accept that. I wouldn’t. So I went where I shouldn’t have gone, and angered something much bigger than myself. They thought it would be a fitting punishment for me to live an eternity, the King of Death who could not bring back his dead lover.” The harrowed look that he gives you, only briefly, has your chest heavy all over again. “They have a sense of humor, the forces.”

You imagine what it would’ve been like for him to lose his lover in that way. How far he’d gone to try and have her back, but death does not give back. Where had he gone to have been turned into this? An immortal thing, forced to roam the world and scoop up the souls of the living for an eternity? To be bound in ancient bones and made to remember forever how you had lost your lover?

The grandness of what you want to say is too big, but all those words feel pitying and patronizing in a way that you don’t think will actually bring him any comfort. Rather, you doubt anything you say will be able to patch up a wound older than you could imagine. Simply, you offer him a raw, “I’m so sorry.”

Yeonjun lets a crooked smile replace the trembling at his lips. “As long as I live, so too will she,” he says, placing his palm over his heart. “Death doesn’t so much happen when we leave behind our bodies, but when we’ve left the minds of the living.” Narrowing his eyes at you, he brushes hair behind your ear with his knuckles. “I know she lives on, somewhere out there. Somewhere. I’ll find her.”

That intrigues you. “Is there some way that you could bring her back?”

The grim light in his eyes tells you his answer. “My curse is to take life,” he says, “not to give it. But the one who made me this, he is cruel in a twisted way. If I were to find her, as a human or an animal or a blade of grass in the forest, only then could I rest.”

It is cruel. “You’ve been searching, then,” you conclude. “When you find her, you’ll both be able to rest.” But how could he find her, if as he says, she could be any living thing? Where would he even begin?

Slowly, he shakes his head, throat bobbing. “Death needs a farrier.”

She would become what he is. You swallow thickly. Was it not him who caused the deaths that follow you? Or, at least, it was not on purpose?

Opening your mouth, you go to tell him that you’ll help him look. You’re sure you’ll be of no help. He’s spent an immortal lifetime searching, and he still hasn’t found his dead lover. Nobody would know better than him where to look.

The ground shakes beneath your palms with impact, and something cuts through the wheat. The noise of its bleating becomes nearer until the both of you scramble up to find out what’s in such distress.

A deer stumbles around wildly. It looks lame, but you don’t see anything wrong with its legs. Your throat tightens at the awful sound, piercing and sad. Frozen, you watch it try to stay upright before it finally collapses down, legs still kicking as though it still wants to run but its body has begun weakening on it. “Oh my god,” you say, stumbling back. The sounds; its sounds are awful, echoing in your bones and constricting your thoughts until they’re a pinched panic.

There’s an arrow lodged into its ribcage, deep and at a terrible angle. You already know that it’s pierced some vital organs, if not its heart. It continues to writhe on the ground, not ready to give up. You’re not sure if you should approach it—you don’t want to scare it, and you can tell by the look in its wet eyes that it already wants to be away from you.

Or, maybe it had come to you. How else had it found the two of you in the middle of this field?

Yeonjun’s already on it. He puts his knees into the dirt and dried wheat to kneel by it, running his hand over the beast's pelt in long strokes. The small buck flinches at first but relaxes once he learns that his touches are gentle, not the gnashing of hungry teeth ready to make him a meal.

Blood runs like lead through your veins. You say, “Can we help it?”

He shakes his head. “He’ll die.”

Whip-lashed, you swallow thickly. He says it so unphased, and you’re sure he is. You can hardly make yourself mirror that serenity that he exudes as he runs his hand over its flank, but you get on the ground beside him anyway.

The buck’s breaths slow to desperate drags for breath. For a few long minutes, the two of you sit in silence and stay with him until he no longer fights, until his breaths are ragged. You feel his side, still warm and alive, but you see the life going from his eyes. You sit here, talking to each other about nothing just so it hears gentle voices as it goes, for a while.

Eventually, he’s gone. Quiet and at peace, no longer hurting. This time, when you look over to Yeonjun who still smooths over the deer’s skin even as he goes, guiding him delicately into whatever greets us when we go, you see death as a gentle thing.

༺ ꘏ ༻

Though you never seek him out, Yeonjun always finds you. In hidden places, away from prying eyes, he appears behind you and makes himself known. Well, you have a feeling that he watches you for a while before saying anything. It’s hard not to feel the strange tingling of his gaze over your form. It’s akin to the sixth sense that’s supposed to keep you safe out in the dark hearts of forests, an innate feeling that tells you some beast with a rotten, pale maw watches you between the trees.

Yeonjun doesn’t feel rotten, though, preternatural and eerie as he is. As you shirk your duties and talk with him for hours, you stare into ancient eyes and watch his crooked mouth move around his words and you feel an odd comfort. As if he’s the only one who’s ever understood you, or maybe that your strangeness pales beside him and for once you’re nothing but who you are. So many nights, the sun fell on your talking until the night insects buzzed from the grasses and your eyes were heavy.

Sometimes, as you dozed off with your back to a hay bale or a hardwood wall of the abandoned home beside yours with its sagging thatched roof, you caught such festering longing in his his eyes that you’d let your lashes fall and pretend to sleep so that you could imagine what it was that he longed for. No doubt his lost lover. When you imagine him, bound in bones and coming back to haunt the living for an eternity as he mourns her infinitely, searching for her in impossible places, your chest aches with a gnawing intensity.

It’s a terrible, cursed existence. Even the nothingness of death becomes a paradise beside it.

“Is it scary?” you ask into the air, sat criss-crossed on the thick duvet of the bed. He sits across from you, looking perfectly lazy. Moonlight pools in like sterling mist through the shutters.

“What?” He watches you, sitting in your plain dress, as though you’re the only thing in the world.

You’ve begun to wonder. Wonder about those looks he gives you.

Shifting, you fix the shoulder of your soft chemise where it’s slipped down when you catch his eyes lingering on it. His throat bobs. “Dying,” you elaborate. “Is it really nothing? After we go, all of it was for nothing?”

A slow smile tugs his full lips, made a bit red in the middle where he likes to worry it. It’s such a human habit to see on something so far from human. “Hardly,” he says. “It’s like going home, right where your soul is supposed to be. Who do you think rides with me?”

Furrowing your brows, you tilt your head toward one shoulder and let your hair pool there. “The riders are dead?” You had thought they were undead in some way like Yeonjun, other sorts of revenants come back to life with their own purposes. Then, are their creepy horses dead, too? A chill goes down your arms. Sometimes, sitting here with him when his face is made soft by the orange glow of the fire he puts on, you forget what he is.

“They are.” He nods, leaned back onto his elbows, his eyes alight with a hunger that makes your insides feel funny. “It doesn’t stop once we’ve died. You don’t need to be scared, my love. So many things end, but then so many things begin. The earth no longer holds you down, the weight of being is gone. You don’t know anything like it; you don’t know leaving behind the pleasures of earth to know the ones that only the afterlife can show you.”

His eyes laced with something entirely else, he adds, “And it’s not the end. Not for everything. For some it’s only the beginning, and for others, those who have not yet fulfilled their purpose, they come back to the flesh. They return.”

You can’t tell if he means himself, or something else. The weight in his eyes, dark, endlessly swirling pools, makes you wonder again why it is that he’s lingering here: the place that he had not visited once since the death of his lover, for the fact that it still hurts too much. Why his shadow of death, his fault or not, was tangled in your soul enough to brush its fingers over the things around you.

“It’s scary,” you say, breathy. The thought of eternity.

Soft hairs brush over his eyes as he tilts his head at you. “Do I scare you?”

“No.”

“No?” he echos, pushing himself up so that he leans back onto his palms. “Isn’t that strange? Pretty little thing says she’s not afraid of death, but her heart races when I’m near. Her sweet heart jumps at just the brush of my leg. Are you sure you’re telling me the truth, love?”

Your blood roars in your veins, inflaming your cheeks and making your head dizzy. Nobody’s ever looked at you like that before. Hair prickles on your skin. “Yes,” you breathe.

Feral delight sparks in his eyes, black as pitch. His smile turns up all feline at the crooked corners. “Crawl to me, then.”

Like how fire licks up oxygen in any room it is in, his words steal the breath right from your lungs. What does he think you are? You blink at him wide-eyed and dumb for a moment.

How can he say that as though it were nothing? Moreover, how does the ravenous flare in his eyes, his head tilted back as he watches you down his nose expectantly, do that to your belly?

Your mind glazes over with something thick and heady, and you damn the nerves in your belly and begin to crawl from your end of the bed to his. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, making sure you feel every inch of the taunt in his eyes as he trains them on you. When you’ve gotten to him through the thickness in the air, you settle into his lap and bracket his waist with your thighs.

Yeonjun takes the soft fat of your hips in his fingers. “Fuck,” he says. It sounds like he’s barely holding the gates on something endlessly consuming. Something that might break loose on the two of you, and leave you changed forever with its hungry, gnashing teeth. His head hits your collarbone. “Tell me to stop. Please, tell me to go. Because I don’t know how.”

“Don’t,” you say. “Don’t stop. I want it, Yeonjun. I want this.”

He straightens, pupils blown and eyes as tense as his set jaw. “No, you don’t understand what you’re asking for. All I’ve ever done is ruin. All I’ll ever do is ruin. I won’t ruin you; not again.”

That rings bells somewhere outside the heavy fog that’s infiltrated your mind, but they don’t sound too alarming when he looks as though he wants to drag his teeth over your heart to taste its beating. It doesn’t touch the ground, when you want him to, so badly. So badly that you taste it on your tongue and it tinges your words as you tell him, “I do know what I’m asking for. I want you. Yeonjun. Don’t you want me too?” Voice and confidence wavering, you pull back. Maybe you’ve read this all wrong. A tickling shame crawls over your skull. “Do you not want me?”

“You think I don’t want you?” he says, straightening up and meeting your gaze. His breath is hot on your mouth. “I want you so fucking bad. You are in the marrow of my bones. Fuck, I have done nothing but want you, but I am foul. I will only hurt you.”

He takes your hand and places it over his chest, where a heart should be. Beneath your palm, you do not feel the thumping of an alive thing. Yeonjun has no heart. You knit your brows and examine the strain of his features. Does he think that you’ll be disgusted? Maybe the girl you were in that forest might’ve been, but being near Yeonjun has changed you in ways you couldn’t start to put your finger on. “I’m asking you to,” you say. “Show me what you want to do to me. What you’ve wanted to do to me.”

Searing silence burns between you as he drinks that in, and then he shoves you onto your back. Supporting himself with an arm beside your head, he curls his fingers into your hip and nudges your thighs wider. He doesn’t lift the hem of your chemise like you expect him to. No—Yeonjun begins to grind himself into your cunt through all the layers of your clothes. Though your dress is bunched up and his pants lay between any real contact, Yeonjun’s hard and that friction tastes fleetingly sweet.

“I want you to beg me for it,” he says, grinning down at you with cruel intention. “Beg me, and make it so pretty.”

You let little sounds linger in that back of your throat and become hungrier each time he grinds against you. It’s so much, mind swimming and sparks spraying up your spine, and yet each time it is not near enough. Damn that foxish smile on his face; you beg for him anyway. “Yeonjun,” you breathe, curling your fingers around the wrist of that hand with which he pins your hip. “P…lease, will you help me? It feels so good; I want more, please.”

He raises his eyebrows at you and an eager grind comes right over your throbbing clit. 

You know he wants more than that, but mortification already is making your voice unsteady and your cheeks burn. “Yeonjun,” you huff, hips wiggling.

The king of the undead delights fully in your shame and rewards you with more of those pointed, dry grinds. Your legs tremble; he’s giving you so little, and yet your need takes it and magnifies it into something grand.

Though he pretends he’s on some high ground, you hear his shuddering breaths each time his fucks his hips against you. He feels that roiling, liquid need in his belly just as vehemently as you do. The room fills with your breathy pants and grinding bodies. You catch your lip in your teeth and begin to meet him half-way. Your moans are low and sweet, and each one sends his jaw tighter. 

You twist and grind against each other like fumbling teens until you’re coiled up so tight that he has to pull himself away. Your throbbing cunt protests, but you know he doesn’t want you cumming like this.

“You want me to show you what I’ve wanted to do to you?” he says, working at his pants. His eyes are so drunk on you, and his cheeks betray his state. “Open your legs, my love. Let me show you a little death.”

Throat gone dry, you slowly let your thighs fall open. The dull throbbing between your thighs roars to life. He slides your skirt up your leg, stopping when he frees your knee to pepper a few hot kisses into it. Once he’s got it bunched up at your ribcage, he runs his tongue over his dry lips to wet them. “Fuck. Such a pretty pussy. I want to fucking eat you up.”

“Yeonjun,” you whine. His name is all you can muster out, anticipation sharpened to a knife point.

Flashing his teeth, he purrs, “You like that, you filthy thing. I bet you’d like for me to fuck you till your brain’s gone and all that’s left is my name. Isn’t that right? Is that what you want?”

Your thoughts stall and you nod, making your mouth into a filthy pout. God, how you want that. Maybe he’s right about you being filthy. Coming from him, it sounds like a delicious thing to be.

The pretty, leaking tip of his cock brushes your clit as he slides it up and down your slit to collect the mess there. Your thighs jump to close before your mind gets the better of it. He does this a few times—up and down, letting you feel and get used to the size and length of him all the way till his cockhead kisses your clit and you squeak.

“Are you comfortable, love?” he asks, shifting your hips with strong hands. “Do you need anything from me?”

It’s so at odds with his other, nastier words. Your head spins, the moonlight blurring. “I’m okay,” you tell him. “I… just want you. Want you to put it in, want to feel you.”

His cock catches on your hole, and he begins to push forward with promising pressure. But then he pulls back, smiling downturned. You whine; why can’t he save his capriciousness for later? You’d almost had it…

“I could give it to you, or I could not…” He hums. “Wouldn’t that be so cruel of me? To leave you wanting?”

You flutter around nothing. Every inch of your body buzzes. Alive. You are more alive now, at the promise of Death’s touch, than ever before. The irony might be something to wonder about if you weren’t dribbling down onto the bed sheets with crude need. “Stop it,” you say. Your voice is whiny. You’re glad you can hardly hear yourself past the pounding in your bloodstream.

That delights the King of Death. He wrinkles his nose at you, burning you alive with his eyes as he presses his palm to your belly and guides himself into you with his free hand. You wrap around each inch of him slowly. The air between you bows under the weight of your gazes; he holds your eyes the whole way, inch by inch until he’s seated fully into you with his groin flush to your body. He stretches you to fit, and yet it’s just right. You could ask for no more or no less; you might even think your body was made for him, were you not too busy circling your hips to feel him.

“Good?” he says, squeezing your hip. “Do you need a moment?”

Pursing your lips, you test out the shape of him with another wiggle. “Maybe… Maybe a second.” Truth be told, you need a moment to grapple with the sparks sprinkling over your mind more than you need a moment to adjust to his stretch. You let out a shuddering breath.

He traces circles into your belly, just beneath your navel. The pad of his thumb goes round and round, warm on your flesh. “As long as you need,” he says, but it’s more like a triumphant, playful coo. There’s that lopsided smirk. One day, you’d like to kiss it off him. Taking that hypnotizing finger, Yeonjun trails it up your stomach, over your ribcage. He hooks it beneath your dress and drags it higher, revealing the soft swells of your breasts to the air. You shudder, body so, so hot that your nipples peak and tighten against the cool air.

“Such pretty tits,” he says, brushing his knuckle up the underside of one. “Everything about you. Such a pretty, pretty body. God, I don’t know if I want to worship it or ruin it.” His breaths fan over your skin as he bends down and pops an eager nipple into his mouth, lavishing it before releasing it with a lewd pop and letting his mouth fall all over your breast. Lick here, nip there, until you’re squirming adequately and squeezing him like a virgin. Then he blows cool air over it and watches with eyes like a cat toying with its prey as you shudder harder, your chest jumping. “Fucking look at you,” he sneers.

“Junnie,” you say, lost for breath. You think you’ve walked yourself into the lion’s den.

His breathy laughs fall over your breast. Taking his teeth, he drags them over your skin, right over where your heart thunders a rhythm fully for him, and then he bites. Nothing more than a shallow mark, the shape of his teeth in your soft tit. He lingers there, admiring the sight before he straightens himself up again.

“Fine.” He pulls out of you slowly, but you know what comes after that, so you savor every second of it. “I suppose you’ve wanted after it long enough. Let me hear your sweet voice again, my love.”

Yeonjun fucks you just right. His cock nudges right up on your sweet spot as if he’s done this before. Like he knows where to find it. You gasp and whine—you’re just happy he’s finally giving you something. 

“Oh, fuck,” you mewl. His shoulders wear the red crescent marks of your nails. “That’s—so good right there.”

Ever egotistical and cocky, he croons, “Yeah?” Rolling himself back, he makes it his mission to hit it ruthlessly.

A sharp, pitchy sound comes tumbling past your lips. You bring your hand up over your mouth, letting your eyelids dust your burning cheeks so that you can brave the flipping in your spine and deep in your belly. It’s nearly insufferable—the way pleasure licks up your spine, how it spreads out into your veins and takes control of you.

“No,” Yeonjun growls. “Don’t you dare close your eyes. Let me see that look in your eyes when you cum.”

Your eyes are heavier than they’ve ever been, but you open them. The sight that greets you is worth the effort. Yeonjun’s lip twitches and then he throws his head back, the column of his neck on display as his Adam's apple jumps around a thick swallow.

If that sight wasn’t enough to send you teetering down into whatever depths of lust and ecstasy that he crawled out from, then the angle he hits as he pushes one of your thighs to your chest is. The world frays, deep tremors starting at one small point in your cunt and then exploding up through your stomach and down the back of your thighs. Your chest arches off the bed and you mewl helplessly, fighting and embracing your orgasm in an intoxicating death.

“Oh, fuck,” Yeonjun growls, strained with something whinier as he watches you shake beneath him. “Fuck. I’m gonna—fuck, I’m gonna cum…” His voice chokes as his hips become stuttered more than pointed, the slick sounds of your own release tangling up with his grunts and pants until he shudders and stills, cumming into your puffy, fluttering cunt.

You both catch your breaths as if there’s no air in the room left for a while. His hair’s damp on his forehead, as is yours on your neck, and his eyes droop lazily. More lazy and content than you’ve ever seen him.

Collecting you to his chest, where only your heart thumps away frantically, he presses his mouth to your ear and says, “Do you think death is so scary now?”

With your limbs nothing more than boneless and liquid pleasure floating slowly through your thoughts, you smile.

A little death can be more visceral than living, you think.

༺ ꘏ ༻

The tree stump beneath you makes your tailbone ache. You sit criss-crossed, watching Soobin work away at the soil and tend to that section of the fence that’s begun to rot and sag. Your mouth moves endlessly, filling the space that would otherwise just be made up of his grunts of hard work.

“You know, you ought to help me if you’re just going to sit and watch,” he says, straightening to swipe at his forehead, sweaty despite the cold in the air.

“Totally improper,” you say, smiling at him cheekily. “Are you saying that you can’t handle yourself, strong man?”

He glares at you with the venom only somebody made to put up with hours of chatter could muster. “What’s got you so talkative?” he says.

You know he means why you’re suddenly not glaring him away. You can’t tell him that you’ve spoken with Death himself, so instead you say, “Nothing.” Letting your legs dangle down, you smile at him.

Yeonjun hadn’t done any of it. It’s a comfort, to some degrees, to know that. It’s not your fault that they died. Being around them, being around Soobin, won’t make them turn up dead. The rest of them still don’t know that—and they wouldn’t believe it, anyway—but the black shadow hanging over your shoulders dissipates.

For the first time in so, so long, you do not feel marked by death.

“Sure.” His smile tilts. “A week ago, you wouldn’t even look at me.”

Rolling your eyes, you decide to give him a hard time. “Not true. You just have a way of getting on my nerves.”

“I take pride in that.”

“Take pride in what? Being insufferable?”

Crinkling his nose, he says, “Knowing how to bother you best.”

“Get back to work, stupid.” Your heart soars. It’s good to have friends. To let yourself have friends is an ever better thing. Is this how it is? To be with others and not feel like their burden, or like they’re crossing their fingers behind their back to ward off whatever bad things you might bring onto them? He’s made it his mission to hover around you no matter what, but this feels different.

Maybe, for so long, part of it has been your own gloom that’s obscured it all. Maybe if you didn’t bare your teeth to anybody who got too close, it could’ve been like this always. You hate to think that your own isolation could be some part your own fault. But how were you not to show your teeth when someone tried to reach their hand out to you?

It doesn’t matter now. You shove that all down and let yourself feel the slight warmth of the sun’s glow on your skin where it peeks through the clouds. It’s a nice day, you shouldn’t ruin it with those thoughts.

The sun’s begun making its descent when Soobin’s done. He takes a long drink of water, hissing with relief and crumpling down to the ground with his back to your stump.

“Are you making any way with that girl you were talking to me about?” you prompt.

Giving you a long look over his shoulder, he says, “Don’t.”

“What?” You laugh a little, raising your brows down at him. “I’m not doing anything.”

“You know what you’re doing,” he says, voice flat as he picks stickers out of his fingers.

Soobin’s had a thousand different crushes. There was that daughter of the shepherd, and then the wealthy merchant’s daughter and her long pretty hair, and then the neighbor… Well, you could go on. None of them ever really came to fruition for the poor guy. He thinks that it’s because he’s a poor farmer’s son, but you always tell him that it’s because he’s got an insistent mouth, and that he should be more grateful that you deal with him. Your lips turn up at the corners a little thinking about it—he’ll find the one eventually, but you like the indignant look on his face when you say it.

“I mean it!” you say, nudging him with your leg. “Tell me. I want to know.”

“You won’t even tell me what’s happening with you. Until one of us quits keeping secrets,” he says, placing accusation heavy over the words, “I’ll keep my dealings to myself. What’s it to you, anyway?”

Feeling the weight of his head as he lets it loll lazily against your thigh, you decide that it couldn’t hurt to tell him. The itch to tell somebody crawls under your skin. Especially to tell him. “You know the other day? When I was… being awful?”

His body shakes with a vindicated laugh. “If you’re nothing else, at least you’re self-aware.”

You skirt around that with your own, more awkward, laugh. It’s nice that he thinks so, but you don’t feel it. “Stop,” you huff and nudge him again. “I was foraging out where I usually go. But I guess I wandered out farther than I thought I did. You remember when they used to tell us stories, right? Like the bogeyman. That he’d come snatch us up if we didn’t listen.” Your mom especially had loved that one, back when she cared what became of you. Would she care again, if you told her that everything was fine? “Well, I don’t know if you remember the one about The Wild Hunt, but… Anyway, I was picking some stuff, and…”

Sitting up from his exhausted slouch, Soobin looks like he’s suddenly come back to life. “What?” he interrupts. His voice is strangely serious.

“What?” you say, brow creasing. “They travel here and there… but they were here. In the woods. Like, I heard them.”

Tersely, he asks, “What were you doing that deep in the woods?”

“I mean, I just kept on finding nice stuff until I just… was deeper.” You survey him. You hadn’t thought that he’d react like this. “So I ran, and then there was this guy,” you say, watching realization fall over his face. He knew those stories as much as you do—knew where you were going with this. He is as starkly superstitious as the rest of your people, you forgot. Pushing past the grimace on his face, you say, “And I knew that he was the king. The one from the stories. It was so weird; it’s like you can feel it. And I spoke to him, and then…”

Stood up now, he cuts you off once more. “Are you kidding?”

“Why are you being like that?” you say, messing with your skirts to quell the defensive bite in your tone. “I didn’t do anything.”

“You didn’t do anything? Are you trying to get killed?” He throws up his hard-working hands. “We have rules for a reason. Don’t go out into the forest, don’t make deals with faeries, don’t follow a banshee scream. And then you go and talk to the king of death? How am I not supposed to be upset about that? You know that…” Soobin blinks a few times as if second-guessing what he’s about to say, but he says it anyway. “You know that he’s the reason that they treat you how they do. You know that he’s the one who ruined your life. Why would you ever mess with that?”

You push yourself up from the ground, eyes burning. That stings like a cut. “He didn’t do it. None of it is his fault,” you say, furrowing your brows. “What are you trying to say, Soobin? Just say what you want to say. Come on.”

“He didn’t do anything?” He scoffs, letting a heavy silence hang suspended in the air for a moment before saying, “Is that what he told you? And you just believed it? Listen to yourself, does that make any sense? He’s played with your life like it’s some fucking toy, and now he’s come to rub it in your face. Think about it: do animals just fly into anybody else’s windows and die? Do the trees that they pick from just end up dead? It’s his fault that they all treat you the way you do.”

Mouth opening and closing, you don’t know what to say. 

He sees the hurt in your burning eyes and tries to reel it back in. “What I’m trying to say is—”

“I know what you’re saying,” you say, grabbing up the lunch you’ve been nibbling on. “I know exactly what you’re saying. I just never thought you’d say it out loud.”

“Say what?” Soobin says, his voice raising behind you as you storm off.

That you think it’s my fault, you want to say. That they all die because I am a plague, and you are a charity worker for being my friend. Instead, you just leave and try to choke down the tightness in your throat.

༺ ꘏ ༻

You curl your arms around yourself, the night biting cold. Yeonjun had dragged you from bed, and who knows what hour of the night it is? If the heaviness beneath your eyes is to judge it by, it’s far too deep in the dead of night to be outside with your boots half-laced and nothing but your sleep chemise on.

You might’ve just stayed wrapped up in your blankets if you weren’t so lonely as you’ve been. Soobin’s been scarce. The most you see of him is in the fields from morning to afternoons. You hope that he’ll stop by your doorstep and knock so that you can groan about it but swing the door open anyway each time, but he doesn’t. He thinks that you won’t want to see him, and so he allows you your space.

That couldn’t be further from the truth. It’s hard to be the one to come back after a conversation like that, though. You watch him from the windows and hope he understands at some point instead. It’s an awful lot easier.

Other than preparing meals and window watching, you’ve been up to nothing much at all. You hadn’t realized how much you had, but you feel him in his absence. 

“It’s cold…” you say. The fog of breath that punctuates it makes your point. Whatever he’s brought you out here for, you have no doubt it’ll be something strange. The grin on his face tells you as much.

Leading the way, he heads for the Darkwood. “Only you would come rushing out without a cloak for your shoulders.”

“Well, only you would drag me from my nice, warm bed at this time of night. For what?”

“Can’t anything be a surprise with you?” he says, shooting you a cheeky glance over his shoulder. “Surprises are fun.”

“Surprises!” you say, working your legs to catch him. “Not surprises that involve you bringing me out into the woods. You know, it’s awfully suspicious. Somebody who sees this might think that I am the type to… sneak out with men.”

“Aren’t you now?”

Your lips tug down. “You know what I mean.”

He laughs in his airy way, a twig snapping under his foot. You’re well in the woods, now. Probably somewhere near where you’d first met him.

Lifting a brow, you look at him expectantly. Maybe a will-o’-the-wisp will come floating through with its light bouncing off the trees. That would be a nice surprise, you admit.

Yeonjun circles you. His presence behind you tingles in the way it always does, but true chills erupt when his breath puffs against your ear. “Close your eyes. I have something I want to show you.”

Your mind wanders back to what Soobin had gotten so twisted up about. It might be naive and reckless and against everything you ever learned, but you let your eyes fall shut to blackness. If he was going to hurt you, you imagine he’d have had that opportunity a mind-numbing amount of times before.

“Are they shut?” he asks, waiting for your nod. His voice comes from in front of you now. “I want you to keep them shut. You can’t open your eyes, or it will all go away. Okay?”

“Okay,” you breathe, mind full of a bounty of questions. You don’t even know where to begin to assume what he’s got going on, so you stand there shifting your antsy feet.

There’s a strange, rustling sound that catches you off guard with your eyes closed. It drags on for a long moment. Curiosity pries at your eyes; you want nothing more than to just crack an eye open to spy the source of the ruckus. 

It’ll be gone if you do, anyway.

You let out a surprised squeak as something rises up beneath you, as if risen from nothing more than the dirt and roots of the forest floor, bringing you up from the earth. You wobble and send your hands out to find a perch.

A horse. It’s a horse, its mane so tangled and windswept, but matted and clumped with leaves that crunch under your palm when you find them. It reeks of mud—everything around you begins to smell of earth and decomposition.

You know that if you open your eyes, you’ll find yourself sat upon the pale white steed of the Undead King, its eyes white and its knobby knees almost as famous as the leader of The Hunt himself. It chuffs beneath you.

“Are you ready?” Yeonjun says over your shoulder. You can hear the feral grin in his voice. It’s the leader of The Hunt, a creature of folklore, that sits behind you now. He curls an arm around your waist and tugs you closer to him, securing you against the wall of his chest. “Hold on tight, my love.”

The call of the wild, that horn, bellows again like it had the first time you heard it. Rather than coming from nearby as you thought it would, it dances between trees far off just like it had that time, too. Your heart jumps up into your throat.

Taking off with a howl, the Wild Hunt follows it.

You dig your fingers into Yeonjun’s at your waist. Weight melts away, and you know you’re in the air. Your belly swoops in tandem with the howls and hoots of the riders, heart palpitating to the hoofbeats. How there’s hoofbeats as you ride through the air, you’re not sure. The ghostly fleet manifests around you in vivid imagery, though you squeeze your eyes shut. They are wild enough to imagine just what they might look like: with their clothes and flesh in tatters, with their eyes beady or pale, with their hounds piercing the air with their calls and running alongside them, they are a perfect personification of freedom.

Whip-lash sends you reeling, body going rigid. You grit your teeth and squeeze your eyes harder, wishing that you’ll touch ground soon and that everything would become real again.

Yeonjun feels you go stiff. Bringing his head back to your shoulder from his own delight, he says, “It’s okay. You’re okay. Let it into your bones. Do you think I would let it hurt you?”

He is their leader. If it got too much, you know Yeonjun would be there to catch you. Curling your fingers into his, you release that tension and allow their drumbeat to echo through you.

And when it does, your blood begins to sing along. The wind whips your cheeks and your hair, and you begin to laugh with them. The Hunt twists and turns and dances through the air, an apparition in the night, but nothing more than that.

It comes to a slow, eventually, until the noise and even your steed crumbles back down into the dirt it appeared from. Your eyes pop open hoping to catch at least a glimpse of them, but only the dark forest and pale moonlight answer. Your legs threaten to give out on you, veins still thrumming, but, oh, do you feel alive.

You feel more alive than you ever have, more than you ever could have hoped to have known. Mind spinning, you stumble. Yeonjun catches and steadies you before you can go scraping your knees on a rock.

“Oh my fucking god,” you say.

The laugh that Yeonjun breaks into has you sending him a glare, but you break too. Everything about him is ironic; and how ironic indeed that Death himself should show you how to be alive, rather than to just live?

༺ ꘏ ༻

The air is so fresh in your lungs when you step outside that it nearly burns. You clutch your basket of warm fig tarts. Songbirds trill and fly between tree tops that slowly become more bare the deeper you fall into the season, singing their sweet songs that sound like new beginnings.

Raising your hem from the ground churned up into mud from the afternoon’s trickle, you prance into town with a lively pep in your step. You spent all last night making these—Yeonjun had kept you company, watching you how he always does as you pored over making them just right. His cruel snicker when the jam had simmered over flame for too long and became too thick bounces off your bones in a sweet melody. You’ve come to adore his wicked delight, the way his smile cracks over his face and the facetious raise of his brows, more than you fear it.

Sending small smiles to the people that you pass, you stop by a huddle of kids digging sticks into the mud. They look up at you with curious eyes, stopping to gawk.

“Hey, guys,” you say, pulling back the cloth laid over the sweets. “I’ve made some fig tarts. Do you like fig? I bet you’ll like them; they’re sweet.”

The kids stand up, eyes big as they share a look. They don’t let out so much as a peep before they scurry off home.

You blink. Well, you’re used to weird reactions, but that was… different. Picking up your deflated shoulders and hesitant limbs, you make a shoddy attempt at not letting it dampen your good morning. You were expecting wary looks, anyway.

You head down a little further toward the far side of your home village, the side that breaks off after a fenceline into a great, grassy field. There’s a bustle, mothers washing their clothes in pails and hanging them up to dry and a few others whispering at each other lowly as they go about their days.

An old woman so old her back curves and her fingers have gone knobby makes her way to wherever the day’s duty demands her to be. Your neighbor—an eccentric old lady bound in her times. You decide on her: the elderly are forgotten by the young. She might enjoy knowing that her neighbors still know she exists.

“Hello,” you say, showing her your basket with a hopeful, excited heart. “I have some treats that I was wanting to give out. I know they might not be much, but would you like one? I’m not the best baker, but I do it often enough.” A face like that, dragged down by her years on this earth and not long to death, has no doubt spent many years making meals for her family. You imagine your goods would be nothing beside hers, but it’s the gesture, no?

“Oh, girl,” she says, voice crackling as she clutches her shawl tighter around her shoulders. “I’m afraid it’s best if you found yourself missing from this place. Hurry yourself up and spare the drama.”

The incessant cawing of a crow from a clawed tree fades into the background as you furrow your brows and lower your basket to ask, “...Huh?” Your belly goes up in knots; terrible knots done up tight and fast. You haven’t got a clue what she’s talking about. Elders always did speak a bit strange, though. It could be nothing much; she’s a stern old lady.

But her eyes are not angry and glaring in the way that a harrowed old hag might turn her nose up at the youth. They drag down with a cold pity.

“Listen to me, girl.” She points at you with one of those worn, sun-spotted hands. “You had best leave. The boy’s gone, and they are already not fond of you. Who will they point their fingers to?” the woman says. “I hardly know you, but I would hate to see it.”

The rest of her words fade into the roaring in your ears, the feral drumbeat of your heart like a wardrum in the cage of your ribs as it beats against them as if to escape from you. You don’t feel the basket in your hands, don’t feel the solidity of the earth beneath your feet, and don’t feel a single one of your thoughts like tangible things. They flit as if liquidated into a rotten, sick mush.

Nothing. You can think of nothing. Nothing real; nothing holding you to the earth.

“What?” Your voice hardly reaches your ears, but what does is weak and broken and like a plea for her to tell you that it’s not really what you think it is.

And if you could see or hear anything beyond your fraying little rift in reality, you would’ve heard the man coming up to you. You would’ve heard the words coming from his angry, sneering mouth, and would’ve done something when he picked up a pail of water, and you would’ve been shaken by the nasty ice water that runs down your frozen body and plasters your hair and clothes down as he pours it over you. But none of it cuts through your stupor.

He yells some awful, stabbing things at you, and a few others join him. They tell you that you are nothing but a plague, tell you to leave and to not come back here.

But this is your home. Where else would you go?

With your sopping wet dress clutched in your shaking fists as though that might keep you grounded, you choke down the tightening of your throat and sift through their faces, searching for his face. Those brown eyes, brown and always shining with nagging playfulness, do not come up anywhere. Jaw trembling, you search harder. Out on the field where he should be at this time of day, at your doorstep demanding that you go spend the day doing nothing with him, in someone’s yard helping them fix up a broken fence, no matter where you look, neither his broad silhouette nor his cheeky, dimpled face is there. You continue to stand stricken dumb, looking for him even though you know by the churning in your belly that it’s true, and you’re just hurting yourself trying to find him right where he should be.

Fine. Alive. Untouched by your disgusting, destructive presence.

When you can no longer fight the strangling tightness in your lungs and your dress is as heavy as your heart, you take off. The hem of your dress drags in mud and sticker bushes and catches on stray twigs, and you don’t know where you’re going, but you just run. You’ll give them what they want. 

You stumble, probably like some lost, undead thing, until you find yourself at the edge of the forest. Only then do you let the wall of whittle-edged tears roll down your face. And you assume you sound like a choking, dying animal with how you choke and heave on them, but he was the one you might’ve dropped your head and cried to, so what’s the use of making it pretty? No; you let it all fall as it is.

Soobin’s dead. Soobin’s dead, and it’s nobody else’s but your own fault. You clutch your chest to staunch that old ache that’s grown teeth and tears at your heart; you have and will always be the end of everything that comes near. You are just as much the plague that you began to pretend, to believe, you weren’t. It was your stupid hope that maybe you could have something and not watch it become carrion that drove that pick. It was by your hope that he’s gone.

The hair on your arms begins to raise. You pick your head up and find Yeonjun standing in front of you.

There’s a few beats of long, dreadful quiet as he takes in the state of you. He drags his eyes down and they become liquid flame—something different from the impious delight that he is made of. He becomes the King of Death.

“What happened?” he says. The chills on your arms prickle furiously at the words, furling out distant and yet furious like the center of the fire.

You shake your head, wiping your soaked cheek.

“What the fuck happened?” he growls again, taking your face into his hand. “Who did this? Who did this to you, my love? I need you to tell me who the fuck did this to you.”

Letting the venom in your mouth out, you shove his chest and say, “Get away from me. Don’t fucking touch me.”

Yeonjun’s face twists up, looking scalded. Not surprised, though. “Don’t do this,” he says. “Let me hold you while it hurts. Don’t push me away. I can’t… I won’t lose you again.”

All the pieces that you had been putting into the corners of your mind snap together at that. As many suspicions as you had, though, it feels sour hearing it confirmed from his mouth. That you are his dead past lover, reincarnated or whatever you are. That it was his presence—because even though he stayed away for centuries, a part of him still lingered with you—that now has torn down everything you ever thought you could love. He, standing there in front of you like a kicked puppy, is the ruination of your life in the flesh. The flipping of your stomach is nauseating.

“I hate you,” you spit. “I hate you so much.” You repeat it a few more times, and you sob it into his chest as he takes you into his arms. “Is this what you wanted? You’ve been waiting for this forever, haven’t you? To find me again, so that you can die and fucking leave me here. So that you can make me exactly what you are, while you get your peace. You are a liar and a thief. All you’ve ever done is steal and take. How could you do it? Huh? Tell me…” Your voice trembles and staggers off. “Tell me how you made love to me, how you made me believe that you loved me, and all you ever wanted was to save yourself? You betrayed me.”

Pulling back, Yeonjun says, “No.”

“Yes,” you say, stumbling back away from him with a shaking, accusatory finger pointed at him. “Yes you did.”

Fingers itching to reach out to you, he holds them back by curling them into fists. “No. That’s not fair. I have spent an eternity loving you. I spent the entirety of my immortal, monstrous life searching for you, just so that I might find you in any form. I would have been glad to find you as a leaf in a tree, as long as I found you. But, then, I find you alive. Alive and back, as if… it never happened.” He steps toward you, aching to be near you. His voice wavers. “Please, don’t do this to me, love. Please, just let me have you again. I’ve waited… I’ve waited and I’ve waited, and I finally have you, and now you’re looking at me like I… Like I’d ever hurt you. Finding death—finally getting to die would be worth nothing if you weren’t there with me. It was never about that.”

“I could never love you,” you say, matching his steps forward with steps away from him. “I could never love a monster that does… Does nothing but kill. Take.”  You know your words are cruel, but you need them to be. You need him to hurt, you need him to go so far away from you that never again will you cause another living thing’s death. 

“You did.” Yeonjun’s mouth cracks into a pained smile, sharp at the corners. “You loved me just as much as I love you, once.”

“Just leave me. Leave me, and I wish to never see you again. If you love me, then you’ll give me that.” 

He looks at you, clever eyes intense and glassy, for a long time. And then he says, “Would that make you happy? Would it make it so that you could live a happy life, and find yourself something to live for?”

What’s left for you? A small village that won’t ever embrace you? No, it wouldn’t fix your life. But you open your mouth and tell him, “Yes.”

“Okay,” he says, brushing his knuckles over your cheeks reverently. He swallows in your features, running over them for what he knows is the last time he’ll be seeing you—the very last time he’ll see the face of his undying love. When he finally opens his mouth again, his voice is gentle. “I’ll leave you. If my being here hurts you, then I won’t be selfish. I love you, darling.”

Don’t go, you want to tell him. Please don’t leave. Please, hold me. But your mouth is dry, and you let the radiant hurt in your chest stop you. You let him go.

༺ ꘏ ༻

There’s only one place you can think of going to. It’s the only place your vagrant feet take you.

His spot still is held sacred by the flattened, gold wheat stalks. Your best friend, still living here on Earth in at least one way even if he’s not here to listen to your stupid rambling. And he would maybe complain, but he’d always listen.

The last thing you’d done was fight with him. What an awful thing—what an awful way to repay him for being the only one who ever dared to get close.

You sit in your spot, beside his, and rest your chin on your knees. If only the ground beneath you would open up and swallow you whole. You’d deserve it.

What’s left for you? Is there a place in the world that would keep you happily once they see what you do? No. There is not. You wish you knew what to do; you wish you had somebody to ask.

Releasing a long, tight breath, you just sit and wait for something to give you answers. A gentle breeze makes your hair dance, but it does not whisper anything to your ears. Something’s circling over head, but it doesn’t caw in the cadence of his laughter.

The day moves along without you. You’re not sure how long you sit, but it stretches somewhere between a few minutes and eternity. No matter how long you wait, there are no answers. No matter how long you mull over it.

Conceding, you begin to push yourself up from the ground. A rustle in between the foliage stops you before you stand.

A tawny hare leaps out in front of you. It sniffs around you, nose twitching. Then it stands back on its haunches. It stares straight at you, an intelligent light in its eyes that knits your brows. The wild thing stands there with a purpose that is uncharacteristic of a forest animal.

But entirely familiar in the face of your best friend. That shine in its eyes as it stands there, nose still twitching, makes your chest tighten up.

“Hey,” you say, as if it might answer you. Your eyes well up with hot tears again. Of course, it doesn’t. 

Maybe you’ve gone mad, but you know that it’s him. That idiot, coming to show you that he’s okay in the afterlife—to visit one last time and to let you know that you shouldn’t worry for him or cry for him. Look at me, full of life once again, he seems to say. The hare blinks its beady eyes. It lingers there for a long time, the ease of peace found in his gaze that Soobin hadn’t had in this life, saying that there is still something waiting out there for us once we go. You reach out a hand. He does not flinch as you scratch behind his ear.

“Okay,” you whisper. “I’m glad to know you’re alright. I know what I need to do, now.”

He blinks.

You laugh a hoarse, breathy laugh, familiar in only the way that Soobin could achieve. “You look stupid.”

Indignantly, the hare stomps a bratty foot in a way reminiscent of one of Soobin’s huffs before it settles back down onto its forelegs and scurries off. He goes to live out this new form of life, because it’s true: life does not end in death. He’s shown you that.

Maybe, like this, he’ll find that pretty lady that loves him the way he deserves. That loser.

༺ ꘏ ༻

You spend only one night in your home and you know that what you’ve chosen is right. After spending your day out in the field, you sneak under night’s cover into your husk of a room and let yourself sleep there under the covers one last time. When morning breaks through the window, you gather your weary bones up and leave. 

You run into your mother on the way out. She doesn’t yell at you to leave, but her eyes have gone cold. Colder than you’re used to. You’ve killed again, in every way that counts. So you don’t bother with bidding her or any of them any grand goodbyes. You couldn’t handle the relief you might find falling over them, should you.

Plopping down to the floor, you take a few bites of the cheese and bread lathered in sweet jam that you’d swiped from the kitchen. The grass is long and willows in the wind, bending and dancing prettily. It’s so soft; you enjoy the feeling of it beneath your fingers in your quiet serenity. The scent of it, fresh over the baseness of dirt, you breathe into your lungs.

It would be the loveliest place to spend the rest of eternity.

For the first time, Yeonjun appears in front of you rather than behind you. He materializes from nothing, his elbow on his knee as casual as if he’d been sat there the whole time. The darkness beneath his eyes seems heavier, but then again you know that exact heaviness. It sits right in the very center of you.

You both are quiet for a bit. You let the tall grass whisper, instead.

“Bread?” you say and slant your lips into a smile. Bringing it up, you offer it to him.

His smile wrinkles his nose and curls at the edges. Entirely him. Yeonjun accepts the bread, ripping a bite out before throwing it away into the sea of green. Once he’s chewed, he leans in and captures your lips in a kiss that’s utterly at odds with his sharp mouth. Your lips move over each other gently, save for an indulgent nip or bite here and there.

He pushes you back into a bed of sweetgrass, never letting your lips go. Not to breathe, not to say something that’ll pale in comparison to the sweetness of your mouths on one another. He kisses you until he’s had enough to fulfill a lifetime without it, and then some more.

“My love,” he whispers into your skin, his breath hot on your collarbone. “Mine,” he says, pressing a kiss into the column of your neck, and then he says it again with a hot kiss to the place where your dress suggests your breasts. He says it a handful more times as he pushes your skirts up your thighs. “My love forever. I waited for you so long, and I would do it again.” Lowering his voice to a honeyed whisper, he adds, “I would find you no matter what.”

Laughing softly, you run your fingers through his raven hair to better see his eyes. You know he would.

Gently giving you one more of his lingering kisses that make your skin tingle, right into your bare shoulder, he presses into you. You loose a soft breath, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. The beating in your chest slows to a content purr as he begins languid thrusts in and out of you, rolling pointedly and unhurried.

Yeonjun makes love to you in a thousand dusted kisses and sweet words, your hands holding each other’s soft edges. Yeonjun traces the lines of you, taking the pads of his thumb down your cheeks and your lips and then his hand over the swell of your breasts and down your belly and over your thighs. Clamping down on him as your belly grows tight in the way it had the first time you had done this, your thighs begin to shake.

 Breathlessly, as you hurdle over the edge, all that you can say is, “I love you, ‘Junnie.” 

Yeonjun smiles at you and then presses his face into your neck. He doesn’t even brace himself against the grass to chase his own peak. Neither of you want this to end; you want to hold on to this moment and let it span forever. Slowly, Yeonjun rolls up into you until his hips finally stutter and he cums into you, his cheeks pink. The weight of him above you as he shakes with your shared ecstasy, and even as you both have come down and are nothing but lazy, is the only thing in this world. He is the only thing in this world.

Once you’ve both evened your breathing out, you roll apart and face each other, still just two forms bending the grass into your shapes. Blinking slowly and digesting his features one at a time—the angle of his eyes, softened but never tamed, the line of his nose, the line of his mouth always so proud and playful, and that pretty dot below his left eye—you let them solidify fully in your mind.

“Yeonjun,” you say, finally meeting his eyes across from you. “I want to go. I’m ready.”

The gentle, knowing look that he gives you soothes over the way your heart begins to race in your chest in rebellion. “I know,” he says.

Of course he had known. Yeonjun had been called here to ferry you into the afterlife. He had known the moment he appeared in front of you that his last soul to reap would be you; an ironic circle of karma that should be cruel, but you two make it something sweet. Chewing on your lip, you will your hands to not shake as you curl toward him. You’re no longer scared of going. You know that if you’ll be with him, it will be okay. It won’t be so scary. A hot tear rolls down your temple and then drops into your hair. “Will you be with me? I won’t be there alone?”

He tucks some hair behind your ear reverently and then leaves his hand there. “I don’t know,” he answers. “But I won’t leave you. I’ll stay right here with you.”

You lay there for a long time. Chatting and giggling and just looking into each other's eyes, until your heart becomes slow and all you feel is the wind singing in your blood. Yeonjun presses one final kiss to your forehead.

Maybe, in some years, somebody might dig up your bones and find you immortalized like this in your love. Your bones bowing toward each other, as if even death were not enough to stop you from reaching for each other. Or maybe they’ll just find yours, and Yeonjun still curling into them how you know he will for an eternity more.

Either way, the going is still slow and gentle, as death always is.

🪶 ⦂ tears. omfg i cried writing this which could totally be me being a bitch baby but it DAMN. omfg.

rꫀׁׅܻblogs & asks arꫀׁׅܻ always apprꫀׁׅܻciatꫀׁׅܻd!

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[viasdreams]

.ᐟ.ᐟ

yeonjun convincing you to come to his frat’s party !!

a/n: hes so hot, it drives me up the walls 😵‍💫

[hyukalyptus]

prove it. — yeonjun x fem!reader

cw. yeonjun is implied to be an idol but it's not super relevant to the story, reader is jealous of another woman, established relationship, chubby!reader implied, friends to lovers implied, kissing, cunnilingus, nipple play, fingering, use of a butt plug, penetration (protection not mentioned), eating ass (f. receiving), a bit of exhibitionism, multiple orgasms, hickeys, marking, edging, masturbation, joi, "fat" as a positive descriptor, "I love you," pet names (baby, babe, love, my love), swearing, lube, mostly porn w little plot tbh, aftercare. notes. hello! i haven't posted in forever and i feel like i haven't written smut in a while so i may be a little rusty, lol. wc. 6.3K

Looking down at the city through the glass railing that lines the rooftop, you draw your knees to your chest. No matter how hard you try, staring at the city isn’t enough of a distraction to divert your mind from the images of them. But your jealousy is unwarranted; you know that. You weren’t even dating him at that time, but he knew how you felt and he felt the same way about you, but the timing simply wasn’t right. You were about to leave for three months and that’s no way to start a new relationship. He did anything and everything to try and get you off his mind—drinking, partying, sleeping with strangers, dyeing his hair, and…dating her.

Thinking about you sitting in endless hotel rooms, longing for him while he was kissing, hugging, fucking another woman is too overwhelming. That’s why you’re here. You’d wanted to surprise him after a long work day, but instead of finding your Yeonjun taking a coffee break alone in a dance studio while he scrolled Instagram, you found her all over him. 

You couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. It didn’t matter if he was calling after you. You just ran and found yourself on the roof. But he knew where to find you. He explained he was trying to put a stop to it, but it still hurt. You couldn’t stop yourself from asking who she was even if you tried. But he always told you about his relationships and dates. He was your best friend; you told each other everything. But he kept her a secret from you.

“We never overlapped, did we?”

“Of course not. You know I wouldn’t do that.” Reaching for your hand, he brushes his thumb across your knuckles and asks, “You okay?” You nod, but he knows you too well. “Stop lying.” 

“I dunno…” you shrug. “I can’t sit here and say I didn’t hook up with anyone while I was gone, but I never dated anyone. Just kinda stings.”

“I’m sorry,” he says seriously. “Listen,” he sighs. “I know it’s weird I dated her then, but I love you more than anything. You have absolutely nothing to worry about.” And you want to believe him, really you do. Especially while you look into his eyes only a few inches away from yours while on the rooftop of his agency, stories above anyone else, alone as the breeze chills your nose and he looks at you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. 

“Prove it,” you say softly. He hums. “Prove it. Prove you love me more than anything.” 

Seconds pass before he pulls you by your ankles, wrapping your legs around his waist and his lips fall into yours, kissing you so amazingly. His kisses still make you dizzy. Then he guides your body to lay on the ground, trailing his lips down your neck and chest, pulling down the hem of your shirt to access your skin, all while working at the button of your jeans. 

“What if someone sees us?” You ask, breath heavy. There’s a low chance of that happening, but you can’t help but think about it. 

“Let them.” Fully pulling your jeans off your legs, goosebumps prick your skin as it makes contact with the cold air. Stuffing his nose into your pussy over your panties, he inhales while his hands wrap around your thighs. Shaking his head to dive deeper, his nose teases your clit. 

“Yeonjun…” you groan, letting your head fall back while his hair slips between your fingers. He’s not wasting a single second. Desperately moving your panties to the side, he spreads your pussy lips, dragging his tongue up your pussy so deliberately you may faint. The tip of his tongue teases your clit forever, never quite touching it.

When he finally flicks his tongue over your clit, you gasp and your back arches off the roof while your hip rolls accompany his movements. God, he’s so fucking good at eating you out. Sometimes you can’t believe it. It’s genuinely the best oral you’ve ever had. Slow at first, getting you all worked up and wet, then he dives right in, making your head reel. 

Then he slides two fingers inside you, curling them up, perfectly hitting the exact right spot. He is absolutely gonna be the death of you. You moan, blissfully watching as a plane goes by thousands of feet above you. Can they see you? You’re not quite sure. Either way, it’s thrilling to think about. A couple hundred people watching as the sexiest guy in the world makes you feel like the sexiest woman in the world. 

“Oh my fucking god,” you say, your chest heaving. He comes up for air, but doesn’t take his fingers out of you. As he makes his way back up to your face, he kisses you slowly, letting you taste yourself on his mouth, and finishing it off with a lick across your bottom lip. 

“Let me take you inside,” he suggests. “I wanna worship your body for hours,” he whispers against your lips, nudging your nose with his own. “Wanna show you how much I love you. How much I crave you. How much I need you,” he says, punctuating each power word—love, crave, need—with a stroke against your g-spot. “Wanna make you feel things you’ve never felt before. Wanna make you forget every word you know except my name,” he keeps adding on to this incredible list, leaving wet kisses all over you. “Wanna make you so wet you drip all over my bed. Wanna make you cry from how good I’m making you feel. Wanna make you cum so many times you’re begging me to stop,” he says. “And then I’d make you cum again. Wanna taste every inch of you.” Finally taking his finger out of you, he sucks and licks every last bit of you up. “Wanna leave marks on you that stay for days so you never forget how much I love you.” 

Which is more delicious? Him whisking you off to his bedroom to fuck you raw or him fingering you on the roof? The way your heart races at every glance of each glowing window across the street is almost too good to give up but the thought of him filling you to the brim with his cock is too tempting. And when he pulls his face away just enough to look down at you with those gorgeous-as-fuck eyes and his black hair barely hanging in front of his face and asks—

“Is that okay?”

Your body crumbles to dust. That contrast of whispering the dirtiest shit you’ve ever heard along with the sweetest form of gaining consent—literally asking—is overwhelming. Part of you scoffs at how something so bare minimum, something so basic decency as consent, turns you on so much. 

But fuck you need him more than ever. 

“Fuck yes,” you say confidently. 

He barely gives you enough time to slip your jeans back on before lifting you to your feet to lead you to the roof access door, down the elevator, into his bedroom, and onto his bed. 

While you wait on his bed for whatever’s about to happen, you watch as he takes his time unbuttoning and unzipping his pants. What shall he do with you? So many parts of him want to rip your clothes off and ravage you with fast, hard, and dirty sex; cover you in spit and sweat and cum until you’re trembling and begging for rest. But another part of him wants to do exactly what he said: worship your body for hours. Slowly, carefully, intentionally, tenderly. 

Ditching his t-shirt, he smiles at you—not in an I’m gonna fuck you so hard way, but in a You’re perfection kinda way. Letting him take your clothes off so carefully like he’s unwrapping a vintage book waiting to be adored is one of the best parts of it all. Showered in love and kisses and attraction and compliments for who knows how long. 

“I love your body so fucking much,” he says as his lips brush your collarbone, but his hands are everywhere else—your tits, tummy, hips, ass, thighs. Taking a beat to look into your eyes, he says, “I meant it.” You nod. “I’m gonna worship your body for hours.” 

“I don’t know if I can wait that long to come, babe…” you trail off. 

“Hm…” you can feel his smile against the sensitive skin under your breast. “Who said you have to wait? You can come as many times as you want.” 

Relief floods every part of your body. You could already tell you weren’t gonna last long but he absolutely loves making you wait. Edging you until you’re begging him to let you—wait. His words from earlier, Wanna make you cum so many times you’re begging me to stop—echoes in the back of your mind. A couple orgasms is exactly what you need right now. 

“Lay on your tummy, love,” he says gently. Face down, you hear him rummage through his bedside table drawer. The smell of eucalyptus lavender massage oil fills the air before his strong hands work through your tense shoulders, back, and ass. Perhaps you dozed off because the next thing you know, he’s turning you over to lay on your back. Then his fingers work through your arms, kneading your tits so good your breath hitches in your throat, then up and down your waist. 

As you start to drift off again, his hand carefully slides up your thigh to gently cup your pussy—nothing vulgar or pushy, just resting his hand there while his other hand brushes all over your skin. You succumb to him, letting your hips roll as gentle as his touches. Then your body slowly welcomes his middle finger inside, no deeper than his first knuckle. 

Are you floating? Flying? Spinning? You can’t tell—just that it’s warm and dizzying and that you can’t get enough of it. Then his fingers spread your pussy lips with slow precision and your breath catches. Your eyes burst open, but he shushes you, brushing his thumb across your brow, coaxing your head back onto the pillow. Your lashes flutter closed, the weight of everything melting under his hands. You ache at the loss of his finger from inside you, only for him to circle your pleading clit with a maddening patience. The touch is slick and deliberate, then his other hand finds your breast, palm gliding over your nipple in slow, teasing spirals. Every nerve is tuned to him as everything shrinks and dissipates like he has all the time in the world.

No more than three lazy circles later, he stops teasing your clit. One thumb stays on your nipple, warm and firm, while he leans down to flick his tongue over the other. Oh. He knows how much you crave this—how nipple play drives you crazy—and this time, he’s drawing it out. Every touch, every word, every slow stroke leading up to now has left you raw in the best way, so keyed up you don’t know whether to squirm away or pull him closer.

It doesn’t take long until you’re gasping, rolling your body involuntarily, and feeling so on edge you’re about to fall off something. And all he’s doing is playing with your nipples—rubbing then circling, biting then licking, teasing then soothing. Spit covers your nipple before he backs off, blowing cold air to perk it up. Gentle bites flicker your body like sparks, subtly like fireflies. Internally begging for something—his cock, his tongue, his fingers, anything to be inside you—but you don’t say a word because this alone feels too good to stop. 

Then it sneaks up on you, a shiver that starts somewhere deep and unnamed. You’re holding it, but only for a second. Then you let it overcome your entire being. It crashes over you, an orgasm so strong it’s hard to believe it came from nipple play alone shocks you until you’re seeing stars. But it’s no longer those gentle fireflies. It’s lightning—bright, electric, and unstoppable. 

While you catch your breath, he waits patiently and silently, not daring to ruin this moment. Giving you space to relax for a moment while he hums against your collarbone, skating his lips across your skin while he leaves tiny kisses that make your ears burn. 

And fuck. It finally sinks in. You came. Just from him playing with your nipples. He’s never gonna let you live this down after tonight. And you know he’s gonna beg you to try it on him. 

Right now, though, he doesn’t care about himself. You’re the only thing on his mind. And he’s ready to get back to it. 

“That’s my girl…” he murmurs, smug and low. “You’re so fucking sexy like this. I want to memorize every way your body falls apart for me.” And fall apart you do. Your legs are still trembling from the last orgasm, but he’s already bringing you back up for another. “I just want you to feel good for me,” he whispers, his breath hot against your ear. “That’s all I care about.” His middle finger finds your clit again, slow and careful, drawing soft circles that make you melt all over again. “You feel that?” he asks. 

But there’s no way you can form a sentence, but he doesn’t really need an answer—he can feel it in the way your body responds. You simply nod with a blissed out, closed-mouth smile across your lips and he chuckles, basking in how right he is—he makes you feel so fucking good. 

It’s almost embarrassing how much you crave this: slow, gentle, sweet, simply caring for you in the best way possible. Is it selfish that you want this to last all night long? Are you not allowed to be selfish once in a while? And it’s not like he’s not enjoying this—you can tell he loves this from how hard he is alone. But his subtle hip thrusts make that even clearer. 

“Baby…” you whine pathetically. 

“What is it, love?” He asks sweetly. “I’ll do anything you want, just tell me what it is.” 

“Your mouth,” you murmur. 

“Of course,” he hums, placing a gentle kiss to your shoulder, then your arm, and makes his way down toward your pussy where your clit is begging for his tongue all on its own. It doesn’t take long before you’re edging on euphoria again. You’re chanting his name, which then makes you chuckle as his Wanna make you forget every word you know except my name, plays in the back of your mind again. And you suppose he noticed too because you feel the smile tugging at his lips against your core.  

How was he able to get you here again so quickly? Your body craves his touch and it surrenders to him every time. The heat builds low and fast, curling and billowing in your stomach like a firework ready to fire. There’s no point in holding back. Not only has he proved how much he loves you, he’s proven he can pull another orgasm out of you like it’s nothing. 

But that doesn’t make this one any less intense. It’s sharp and deep and crashes through you in an insistence that leaves your fingers clawing at the sheets and your breath caught in your chest. The fireworks fill your body like a night sky—sudden, bright, and everywhere at once. 

“How many orgasms are you planning on giving me tonight?” You ask breathlessly. 

“Hm…at least five,” he says. Can you even handle five of his orgasms in one night? You’re not even halfway through and you’re exhausted. But who are you to say no? “I’m just trying to figure out what to do with you next.” 

Still breathless, you mumble, “My plug—” trying to support yourself on your elbows, but he slyly encourages you to lay back down; he’s not letting you lift a finger tonight. 

“Oh…” he says cheekily. “Oh, fuck,” he chuckles. You hum in question. “Just thinking about it in your little asshole. Made my cock twitch,” he says matter-of-factly as he starts looking through his bedside table drawer. It doesn’t take him much time to find it but first, “Get on your knees, my love.”

You do as you’re told, shaking your hips to put on a bit of a show. Well, as good of a show as you can give when your legs feel like jelly. Then his big hands grab your hip fat. To simply feel and squeeze. You can’t hear, “I love your body so fucking much…” enough. Your heart flutters every single time as if it's the first time you heard it. And, “I love you so fucking much, baby…” 

And he’s continuing to prove it, you’ll give him that. Then he spreads your cheeks, shoving his face right between them while his tongue circles your hole, earning an insatiable moan as you resist the urge to double over in pleasure. How do you always forget how good it feels when he eats your ass? 

It’s simply so vulgar—going from him worshipping your body in such a loving way to absolutely devouring your asshole with his strong hands on your hips, squeezing so harsh you’re certain he’ll leave marks and groaning as if you’re the most delicious thing he’s ever tasted. 

He’s always had a thing for your taste, even outside of the bedroom. Can’t help it; you’re too yummy…he’d whisper after licking your neck once the elevator door closed you off the world. Or leaving the tiniest kitten lick on the back of your hand before a kiss. Just a little secret between the two of you. But when you’re in bed, his fascination is on full display. So many parts of you glisten with his spit—tits, thighs, collarbone, lips, clit. One harsh spank to your asscheek wakes you up again, fueling the need for more. 

“Baby, please…I feel so empty.” 

He chuckles—low and amused—and you hear the soft click of the lube bottle opening. A beat later, the coolness hits you as he rubs the gel around your hole with his thumb. It jolts you, making everything feel hotter in comparison—your skin, your breath, his body behind you. But he’s not rushing. He never does. You picture his face: focused, patient, and just a little smug.

Then you feel him shift, and you know he’s slicking up the plug, almost certainly more than necessary. You relax as best you can, bracing for what’s about to happen. It always takes a bit of time. There’s the stretch, the sting, that moment where your body wants to resist—but he knows how to help you through it. And fuck, it’s always worth it in the end. The way it makes you feel full, needy, desperate—like he’s taking care of you in the filthiest way possible. 

“Tell me when it hurts, love.”

“I know,” you say with a smile, voice soft but sure. He always checks, always looks out for your comfort. He presses in slowly, carefully, the plug stretching you open millimeter by millimeter. At first, it’s fine—just pressure—but then the burn edges in and your breath catches. “Okay…hurts a little,” you murmur, not quite wincing but close. 

Immediately, he pauses and pulls back just a bit. “Take a few deep breaths for me,” he says, his voice low, grounding. One hand stays on your hip, steadying you, the other rubbing soothing little circles along your lower back while you focus on your breath. 

It becomes a rhythm. A slow, patient dance of pushing in, holding still, easing out, and beginning again. Each time he sinks in a little deeper, your body adjusts a little more, until the edge dulls and gives way to something warmer, thicker, heavier. Then it’s finally fully seated inside. You let out a sigh of relief, giving yourself time to adjust to the feeling of it with more breathing and relaxing. He’s perfectly content watching the shimmer of that cute pink heart gem poking out of you.

Then he rubs soothing strokes down your hips and asks, “What now, hm?” 

“I told you I feel so empty,” you whine. 

“I’m not fucking you yet.” A strangled noise escapes your throat, unintelligible yet unmistakably disappointed. “You’re getting at least one more orgasm before I’m inside you.” Rummaging through his side drawer again, you know he’s going for a dildo but—

“I don’t want anything else inside me before you,” you say. “I want the first thing I feel with the plug in to be you—just you, nothing else.” Moving awkwardly behind you, he’s unsure of himself for the first time tonight. “Guess you’ll have to figure out another way to make me cum…” you sing. 

“Get on your back,” he says, voice smooth but firm. His hands trace the curve of your hips, obviously killing time while he brainstorms. “Hmm…” His eyes search everywhere, and you can’t help but giggle. You’ve got him stumped. But then that smirk appears, slow and wicked. “Touch yourself.”

“What?” Your voice is higher than you’d like, breath catching in your throat.

“You heard me.” He tilts his head, eyes darkening. “Touch yourself.” Heat blooms across your skin, embarrassment and arousal twining together. You haven’t felt this flustered since the very first time he undressed you—that same nervousness, that same raw vulnerability. “Don’t be shy.”

You bite down on your lip, dragging your hand lower, fingers trembling. You’re caught in that delicious limbo, equal parts exposed and excited, your face hot as you fight the urge to hide under the covers.

“It’s okay, baby,” he coaxes, voice low, a little rough. “Why are you nervous?”

A shaky breath escapes and you look away. “I dunno…I liked you being in charge,” you say, the words slipping out in a rush. 

“What if I told you how to touch yourself? Would that be better?” Reaching for your dominant hand, he kisses your palm, closing his eyes to savor the feeling of your skin against his lips before turning your hand over to kiss the back of it. Once he flips it back over and his lips meet the pulsepoint of your wrist, your spine tingles. Then he sucks on your thumb before letting spit pool in his mouth to douse your first two fingers, making them slippery and wet. “As if you need any help getting wet.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask with a laugh. 

“Touch your nipples for me,” he whispers, dodging your question while you do as you’re told. With the fire your body’s been feeling all evening along with the shyness you feel, they’ve become soft and tired. But, under your touch, they spark back to life, pebbling once again. “That’s it, baby.” It’s silly how much of an affect those three words have on you. “Look at you…” he groans, tilting his head to look at your pussy. “Check.” 

“Huh?”

“I made you so wet you’re dripping all over my bed,” he says, casual as anything. “Just checking that off my list from earlier.”

You roll your eyes, a smug smile playing on your lips. “Pretty sure I did this to myself.”

“The first two orgasms didn’t contribute?”

You shrug, playing coy. “Nah. You just warmed me up.”

He snorts, brows lifting. “Oh, is that right?” He moves like he’s about to stand, brushing his hands off dramatically. “Well, if you’re so good at it, I guess you don’t need my help.”

“Wait, come back,” you say, the words slipping out before you can catch them. He turns around immediately, grin wide and shameless. “You’re still missing something off your list.”

“What’s that?”

“You haven’t left any marks. I might forget how much you love me.”

“Oh, that’s right,” he says, drawing it out, his eyes bright with that mischievous gleam. “You want me to leave some marks while you touch yourself?” You nod, perhaps a little too eagerly. His grin widens as he leans in, his lips a whisper away from your neck. “You’re not touching yourself yet, are you?” he asks, voice all slow and syrupy. You hum, shaking your head. “Good,” he says, sinking his teeth into the soft curve of your shoulder. 

He takes his time, leaving one dark mark, then another, each hickey followed by a slow, soothing lick. “Start moving your hand down to your pussy,” he says. “But don’t touch yourself yet.” He nips at your ear, hot breath making you shiver.”Just drag your fingertips across your skin.” Your stomach jerks at the tickle and it makes your breath hitch. “Now the insides of your thighs.” Your hand inches closer to your center, your breath coming out in shallow, shaky puffs. 

“Tell me you love me,” you gasp. 

As his expression softens, his thumb traces slow circles over your hip. “I- love- you-” he says, each low and velvety smooth word punctuated by a kiss. He closes the gap between his lips and your neck again before whispering against your skin, “And I’m gonna make sure you don’t forget it.” He sucks gently, then harder, a deep, deliberate mark blooming just above your collarbone. His tongue soothes over it, slow and lingering. “Want everyone to look at you and know how good I make you feel,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin.

“Can I touch myself yet?” you ask, your voice barely more than a whimper.

He pulls back just enough to catch your eyes, his gaze heavy and intense. “No. Not yet.” He pauses, his thumb stroking over that fresh mark. You nod in defeat. “Remember earlier when I pressed my palm over your pussy, baby?” You nod again. “Do that again.” You follow his instructions, your palm pressing down, letting relaxation spread through your body as you sink deeper into the mattress. His lips are a paintbrush, each hickey blossoming like a petal against your skin. Some marks are soft, faint as the blush of a rosebud. Others are darker, deeper, rich as crushed violets, spreading slowly beneath his mouth like flowers unfurling in the dark. “Feel how wet you are.” 

“I’m so fucking wet for you,” you say, a whimper escaping you. 

“I know you are,” he says. “Cup your pussy again,” he whispers. “Grind your hips against your palm,” he says, telling your body exactly how to move. “But that’s still not what you want, is it?” You shake your head. “I know,” he soothes. “I’ll get to your clit in a bit.” 

Clenching your jaw, it takes everything in you not to touch exactly where you need most. He chuckles evilly. “Please…” 

“Not yet, babe,” he chuckles. “Touch just around your clit, not right on it. I love hearing you whine and beg for me.” He takes a few deep breaths, trying to steady himself.

“Baby, please let me touch my clit. Please…” 

“Go ahead. Touch your clit.” You finally indulge in yourself, letting your moans and body rolls roam freely. “That’s it.”

“God, you feel so good,” you say, throwing your head back.

“That’s all you,” he coaxes.

“I love it when you talk to me like this.” The knot in your stomach tightens—his voice along with your fingers are delicious. “I’m so close,” you say, close to being out of breath.

“Don’t stop,” he insists. You don’t change anything—you don’t need to. You know your clit better than anyone and the way he’s playing with your body and leaving marks adds that much more pleasure. 

“Cum so good for me,” he says and you push yourself over the edge for the third time that night, moaning loudly through gritted teeth, letting the sparks fly, lighting your whole body ablaze once more. “Just like that,” he praises, along with all kinds of sweet things. 

“I could do this to you forever…”

“Look how well you listen…”

“You’re such a good girl for me…”

When you finally open your eyes, your vision is hazy, your body weightless above the sheets. His gaze is waiting for you, dark and warm. He’s leaning over you, hair tousled, chest heaving like he’s just as wrecked as you are.

“That was fun,” you say, a breathless laugh spilling out, caught between a moan and a sigh.

He smirks, his thumb tracing one of the love bites on your chest. “Yeah?” he asks, voice dipping low. “Liked being good for me, huh?” You nod, a shiver running down your spine when his thumb presses a little harder, enough to remind you how each mark got there.

Two more left. 

And thank fuck because he’s  finally on top of you, stroking your pussy lips with his hard cock. If you thought he’d finally jump straight into it, you’d be wrong. He teases you with his words and hands, brushing your most sensitive spots and whispering dirty shit to you. 

“Can’t wait to feel you squeeze around me like you don’t want to let go…”

“I’m so lucky I’m the only one that gets to make you feel like this…”

“You belong to me and me alone…”

But he’s still just teasing. “How long do you think I should make you wait again?” He hums, watching you writhe. “How long should I keep my cock from you?” You whine while he circles your clit with the tip of his cock. “Right there?” You shake your head. “No? You were begging me to let you touch your clit ten minutes ago and now you don’t want me to?” He tsks. 

“Please,” you practically shout. “I can’t take it anymore…”

“Yes you can, baby,” he smirks. But he places his cock right at your entrance and his own confidence falters, groaning at the slightest touch of your pussy. “Shit,” he chuckles. His hips inch forward so slowly, letting his head inside, his mouth falling open. Already full from just his head and your plug, you feel everything just that much more. Then he pulls back out. You groan again, throwing your head back in a fit. 

“Fuck you,” you laugh, resting your forearm over your eyes. He snickers but doesn’t know if he’ll last much longer than this himself. But you’ve still got two left. Either he needs to get you to cum as fast as possible—which might be difficult after three orgasms already—or he needs to pace himself significantly. Teasing you again, he lets his head prod your pussy, but then he finally pushes in as slow as he can physically force himself. It’s exhilarating and sensual and romantic and dirty. 

The way the plug makes you feel along with him inside you is incredible, perhaps a bit too much but in the best way possible. You don’t think you’ve ever felt so full and so his. Your eyes go wide at the sudden intensity, your body caught off guard by how overwhelming it is. But then you exhale slowly and surrender to it and let yourself bask in the feeling, relaxing all your muscles to feel everything—the shape of him inside you, the way his cock presses onto your plug, his hands on your hips. 

The muscles in your body melt like glass in a fire, slowly and gently as you relax into the sensation of the thick weight of him inside you. The plug is tight inside, pressing just right while his cock shifts and nudges against it with every slow thrust, sending sparks through your spine. His hands are firm on your hips, grounding you, guiding you, worshipping you. 

Speechless. That’s the only way you know how to describe this. You let him fuck you slowly and deliberately, succombing to the feeling of him and nothing else. Your body is slack as you let your throat react by itself, not holding any sounds back—you can’t even hear yourself over the immense amount of pleasure he’s giving you. 

There’s this intense sense of trust and security in it, in letting him overcome your body; you know you can let your guard down with him. He’d never do anything you wouldn’t want. Everything is sparks and glitter and sugar. You can’t even hear him, if he’s even talking at all.

Then he rubs your clit with his thumb and you wake back up. “Fuck—” you gasp. It must’ve been a bit more sudden than you realized, because it made him pause, but it wasn’t long before he started back up with a smile. When he adds his other thumb to your nipple, that’s it. An echo of an orgasm is in the distance, like he’s calling you from across a valley, urging you to jump, telling you you’ll fly. 

And you believe him. You answer him, doing what he’s asking by jumping off your cliff, but you don’t fall. You fly just like he said you would. Your orgasm is swift like a tornado and carries you through it, gusts of pleasure and want and need swirl around you as you let yourself trust him in the rawest way possible. 

The tornado settles into a gentle breeze, bringing you back down as he holds you there, letting you feel everything gently, knowing exactly when to stop pushing your buttons so you don’t get overstimulated and it becomes impossible to make you cum again. 

“How was that?” You can only muster up a lazy nod. “Can you give me one more, baby?” He asks, rubbing soothing strokes up and down your thighs. Blissed out, you nod happily. “Of course you can.” 

He might start out slow, but once you’ve adjusted again to the feeling of him sliding in and out of you, along with the plug stretching you comfortably, he picks up speed, finding the speed that both of you like. The way his demeanor shifts once he’s taking what he needs takes your breath away. His eyes darken, his brows furrow, and his jaw is clenched tight with desperation. 

It’s fast and rough and downright nasty the way he fucks you. He’s got your legs spread wide open while he holds them in his arms, thrusting into you fast and hard, skin slapping on skin making it sound that much more desperate, and he’s breathing so fast you know he’s not holding himself back any more. 

And this new dirty way of fucking you makes your pussy and ass feel so full and sensitive and overstimulated after the four orgasms tonight. Your nipples are tired and spent, clit’s worn out and puffy, lips swollen and red from kissing, hips and neck and chest covered in hickeys and love bites, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t want more, more, more. 

It should be impossible to come again after all that’s happened tonight, no? How the fuck does he do it? How does he still make your pussy clench around his cock after hours that should’ve left you immobile? You can’t help but give credit to the amount of care he’s taken with you. Not just tonight, but every single time you’re together. The way he looks at you—it’s the same whether you’re across the room or spread open right underneath him: an aching adoration that you feel in your core. Like literally nothing could ever tear you two apart. 

But it overcomes you once again. Bursts of pleasure whip around your body as he fucks you right through your fifth orgasm that night. Five. What the fuck? Sometimes you don’t even cum five times a week, let alone five times a night. And to make it even more delicious, he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t stop thrusting into you until his hips stutter while he spills inside you, filling you with cum while his mouth drops open, groaning like it’s the best he’s ever felt. 

And it very well could’ve been. Fuck, edging himself for hours to lead up to one of the best orgasms he’s ever had. It was all so worth it, worshipping your body for hours, showing you just how much he loves you and can’t imagine being with anyone else but you. 

You’re still coming down from your high when he pulls out, the sudden emptiness makes you miss him already. His hands are firm on your hips, but these are gentler squeezes this time. The room is thick with the scent of sweat and sex, the silence heavy before he presses his forehead to yours, still slightly out of breath. He says confidently, “I love you so much, baby.” You may be the giddiest you’ve been all night—doesn’t matter how many times he’s said it tonight.

It doesn’t need to be said how exhausted you are. You whimper as he eases the plug out of you, and his hand immediately returns to your thigh, steadying, soothing. “I know,” he murmurs, voice thick with something more than lust. “You did so well.” It’s worship in its quietest form—soft touches and whispered reminders that you’re his favorite person in the whole world. He moves slowly, gently. Not just because you’re weak and spent, but because you’ve given him everything, and he knows it.

The towel is warm and damp when he presses it between your legs, and you can’t help the soft sigh that escapes you. “Up,” he says gently, patting your leg, and you groan in protest. “I’ll carry you if I have to, but you’re going to the bathroom.” You try to glare at him, but your body is too soft, too pliant, too thoroughly taken apart. Still, you shuffle up onto wobbly legs, bumbling to the en-suite. 

By the time you’re back in bed, he’s already waiting, holding out a glass of ice water and you can’t help but think that maybe this is what true love really looks like—your body aching, your heart steady, your mind blissfully blank—because he knows how to care for you even when the sex is over. Especially then.

You curl onto your side, and he’s there immediately, pulling you back to his chest, tucking you into the warmth of his body. You belong here. His fingertips trace lazy paths along your arm, slow and soothing, like sand slipping through fingers—gentle, rhythmic, grounding.

Up and down. Over and over.

The world fades. Your muscles unwind. And with his breath against your neck and that soft, steady touch guiding you, you sink into sleep—safe, satisfied, and loved all the way through.

[gyorouis]

── ✦ blue back into me.

⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚 ˚⋆ synopsis ⸝⸝ and in that darkness, you realized that the boy you loved was already gone.

꒰ genre⸝⸝ heavy angst, strangers to friends, friends to lovers, lovers to (??) fluff, suggestive (slight) pairing⸝⸝ bf!yeonjun x afab!reader (soobin, beomgyu, jay, sunghoon, and jungwon mentioned) wc⸝⸝ 27.4k warning⸝⸝ this story contains themes of emotional distress, heartbreak, regret, and bittersweet endings. it explores the complexities of love, self-worth, and the weight of unspoken expectations. proceed with care if sensitive to these themes. tune in⸝⸝ blue back into me playlist ୨ৎ ꒱

seventeen. you were seventeen years old when he first held your hand. your childhood best friend, yeonjun. 

it was a cool autumn evening, the kind where the air carried a faint crispness, and the fading sunlight painted the world in hues of gold and amber. you were walking back home from school, his backpack slung over one shoulder, your shared laughter echoing down the quiet street.

it wasn’t the first time your hands had brushed—years of friendship meant countless high-fives, casual nudges, and playful shoves. but this time, his fingers lingered, tentative but steady, until they intertwined with yours. his palm was warm, a contrast to the chilly air, and you felt your cheeks burn.

“what?” he asked, looking at you with that familiar grin, though his eyes held something softer, something new.

“nothing,” you mumbled, though your heart was racing, your steps slower now, as if to make the moment last longer.

but to understand how you got there—to that perfect, terrifying, wonderful moment—you’d have to go back to the very beginning.

it was a sweltering july afternoon, the kind of heat that made the neighborhood pool the most coveted spot in town. your parents had taken you there to cool off, but between the towering slides, the screaming kids, and the endless sea of unfamiliar faces, you quickly felt out of place.

“stay close,” your mom had said, her voice barely audible over the chaos. but curiosity got the better of you. you wandered toward the deep end, mesmerized by the older kids diving effortlessly into the water.

that’s when you realized you were lost.

“mom?” you called out, your voice trembling, but the crowd swallowed your words.

“are you okay?”

you turned to see a boy about your age, dripping wet with a towel slung around his neck. his dark hair clung to his forehead, and he had an air of confidence that felt out of place for someone so young.

“i’m—i can’t find my parents,” you admitted, tears threatening to spill.

“don’t cry,” he said quickly, his voice surprisingly gentle. “my dad’s the lifeguard here. i can help.”

he grabbed your hand without waiting for a response, his grip firm but reassuring. weaving through the crowd like he owned the place, he led you to the lifeguard station, where your parents were frantically scanning the pool.

“found her near the diving boards,” he announced casually, as if it were no big deal.

“oh, thank goodness!” your mom exclaimed, pulling you into a tight hug. “thank you so much, young man.”

he shrugged, flashing a grin that showed off his slightly crooked front teeth. “just doing my job.”

you stared at him, a mixture of awe and embarrassment swirling in your chest. “thanks... uh...”

“yeonjun,” he said, giving you a mock salute. “and you are?”

you mumbled your name, feeling suddenly shy under his confident gaze.

“nice to meet you,” he said, ruffling your hair like you were old friends. “maybe i’ll see you around.”

you didn’t think you’d actually see him again. but the universe, in its strange sense of humor, had other plans.

a week after the pool incident, your mom handed you a carton of eggs with the kind of authority that made refusal impossible.

“take these to the new neighbors,” she instructed, her hands on her hips as if to emphasize the importance of the task. “we’ve been meaning to welcome them for weeks. honestly, it’s a little embarrassing we haven’t yet.”

“why can’t someone else do it?” you grumbled, eyeing the carton as if it were some impossible burden.

“because your brothers are useless at remembering their manners, and you need to learn to be neighborly,” she retorted. “just go.”

so there you were, trudging down the driveway in the sweltering heat, clutching the eggs like they might explode if you weren’t careful. the whole way, you muttered under your breath about how unfair it was to be roped into such chores.

the house next door was modest but welcoming, with a small garden out front and a wind chime that tinkled softly in the breeze. you hesitated for a moment, debating whether to knock and run just to avoid the awkward conversation. but you weren’t a coward. squaring your shoulders, you knocked.

the door swung open almost instantly, and there he was.

“lifeguard!” you blurted out, your brain short-circuiting.

the boy from the pool—the one who had found you when you were lost and made it look so effortless—stood in the doorway, a lopsided grin spreading across his face.

his eyes widened in recognition, then crinkled with amusement. “oh, it’s you!”

you stood frozen, staring at him like he’d just stepped out of a dream and into your reality.

he leaned casually against the doorframe, his presence somehow both relaxed and magnetic. “uh, it’s yeonjun,” he corrected, though his tone was playful. “but yeah, that’s me.”

“you live here?” you asked, your voice higher-pitched than you intended.

“since, like, five months ago,” he said, tilting his head slightly. “your parents never told you?”

“they might have mentioned something,” you mumbled, your cheeks heating under his gaze.

the truth was, your parents had mentioned the new neighbors. several times, actually. they’d even hinted that you should introduce yourself, but you’d always found an excuse. you swore you’d never seen him before—how could you have missed someone like him?

but as if reading your mind, yeonjun smirked. “you know, i’ve seen you around.”

“what?”

he shrugged, crossing his arms. “you’re always out in your yard. playing badminton with your friends, arguing with your brothers, sitting under that big tree when you’re reading.”

your mouth fell open. “you’ve been spying on me?”

“spying? no.” he grinned, clearly enjoying your flustered reaction. “just... noticing.”

“creepy,” you shot back, though your heart was hammering in your chest.

“says the person who called me ‘lifeguard’ instead of my name,” he teased, raising an eyebrow.

you wanted to argue, but the words stuck in your throat. instead, you thrust the carton of eggs toward him, desperate to end the conversation before your face combusted.

“here,” you said, avoiding his gaze. “welcome to the neighborhood or whatever.”

his grin widened as he took the carton. “thanks. i guess this means we’re officially neighbors now.”

you nodded, taking a step back, but before you could escape, he added, “by the way, nice to finally meet you properly. next time, don’t wait five months to say hi.”

“i didn’t know you existed!” you protested, your voice more defensive than you’d intended.

“sure you didn’t,” he said with a laugh, his eyes glinting with mischief.

as you turned to leave, your stomach fluttered in a way that annoyed you. yeonjun. your neighbor. the lifeguard. apparently, the boy who’d been noticing you long before you even realized he was there.

you swore under your breath as you walked back to your house. this was going to be... interesting.

and that was just the start of your friendship with yeonjun.

what began as a coincidental meeting soon became the foundation of everything you knew. yeonjun wasn’t just your neighbor anymore; he became your partner-in-crime, the person who knew all your quirks, and the one you always looked for when the world felt heavy.

elementary school was where it truly began to solidify. it wasn’t long before he was waiting for you outside your house every morning, backpack slung over one shoulder, a grin that could rival the sun spread across his face.

“you ready?” he’d ask, even though you were always the one who wasn’t.

“give me a minute!” you’d shout from the doorway, fumbling to tie your shoelaces while he laughed at your chaos.

on the walk to school, he’d talk your ear off about the most random things. dinosaurs, video games, the newest episode of his favorite cartoon.

“do you think velociraptors were actually that smart?” he asked one morning, kicking a rock down the road as you walked.

you frowned, considering it. “probably not as smart as they show in movies. but maybe smarter than chickens.”

“chickens are terrifying, though,” he countered, and you couldn’t argue with that.

over the years, those small conversations turned into deeper ones. he was there when your parents started fighting more than usual.

one night, after your dad slammed the front door and your mom locked herself in her room, you found yourself sitting on the front steps, arms wrapped around your knees.

yeonjun climbed over the fence separating your houses like it was the most natural thing in the world, plopping down beside you. “what happened?”

you didn’t even need to explain. you just leaned your head on his shoulder, and he let you sit there in silence until the tears stopped.

“you know they love you, right?” he said softly, breaking the quiet.

“sometimes it doesn’t feel like it,” you whispered.

he nudged you gently. “hey. you’ve got me, though. and i’ll always love you. even when you’re super annoying.”

you laughed, even though it was shaky. “thanks, lifeguard.”

“don’t call me that,” he groaned, but he was smiling.

then there was your first heartbreak. yang jungwon, the quiet boy from the football team, had somehow wormed his way into your heart during your freshman year of high school.

“he’s cute,” you admitted to yeonjun one day, watching jungwon from across the cafeteria.

yeonjun squinted at him like he was trying to solve a puzzle. “he’s... alright, i guess.”

“just alright?” you teased.

“what? you want me to call him hot or something?” yeonjun shot back, rolling his eyes.

but when jungwon broke your heart a few months later—something about “not being ready for a relationship”—yeonjun was the one who showed up with your favorite snacks and a stack of your favorite movies.

“he’s an idiot,” yeonjun declared, sitting cross-legged on your bedroom floor. “anyone who can’t see how great you are doesn’t deserve you.”

“you’re just saying that because you’re my best friend,” you mumbled, wiping your eyes.

“no, i’m saying it because it’s true,” he said firmly, tossing a popcorn kernel at your head to make you smile.

it worked.

your friendship with yeonjun wasn’t just about the big moments, though. it was the small things, like the way he got along with your brothers, soobin and beomgyu, as if they were his own siblings.

“hey, yeonjun, wanna join our soccer game?” beomgyu asked one saturday afternoon, already tugging him toward the backyard.

yeonjun glanced at you, and you shrugged. “go ahead. i’ll cheer when you lose.”

“me? lose?” he scoffed. “not happening.”

you sat on the porch steps, laughing as he and your brothers turned the yard into a chaotic battlefield. it was like this all the time—yeonjun seamlessly fitting into every part of your life.

and then there were the sleepovers.

it started as a summer tradition when you were twelve. either you’d sneak over to his house with a bag of snacks, or he’d show up at your door with a stack of dvds.

“what are we watching tonight?” he asked one evening, flopping onto your living room couch like he owned the place.

“something scary,” you said, holding up a horror movie.

he groaned. “why do you always pick the ones that’ll make you scream?”

“because it’s funny,” you said, grinning.

he rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. halfway through the movie, when a jump scare made you yelp and grab his arm, he smirked. “told you.”

“shut up,” you muttered, but you didn’t let go of his arm.

those nights always ended the same way—falling asleep on the couch, the tv still playing in the background, and waking up to the sunrise spilling through the windows.

“what do you think happens after high school?” you asked him once, staring at the ceiling in the dim light.

“like, after college and everything?” he asked.

“yeah.”

he was quiet for a moment before saying, “i don’t know. but i think as long as we’re still friends, it’ll be okay.”

you turned your head to look at him, and the softness in his expression made your chest feel warm. “yeah,” you agreed. “it’ll be okay.”

and for years, it was. you and yeonjun, inseparable, unshakable. a friendship that felt like it could withstand anything.

you just didn’t know how much it would be tested.

time came when you were both seventeen. you were both seventeen years old when he first held your hand.

yeonjun, your childhood best friend. the boy who had been by your side through scraped knees, whispered secrets, and endless summer nights. the one who had seen you at your most vulnerable, who always knew how to make you laugh even when the world seemed too heavy.

it was a cool autumn evening, the kind that made you want to linger outside just a little longer, soaking in the last traces of warmth before winter took over. the air smelled faintly of woodsmoke, and the streetlights had just started flickering to life, casting golden halos over the quiet neighborhood.

the two of you were walking back home from school, the weight of textbooks in your backpacks offset by the lightness of your conversation. yeonjun had his backpack slung over one shoulder, the strap threatening to slip off with every step, but he didn’t seem to care.

“i still can’t believe you actually said that to mrs. cho,” you said, shaking your head, the memory of the afternoon making you laugh.

yeonjun grinned, his signature dimple making an appearance. “what? someone had to call her out. her explanation didn’t even make sense.”

“you’re unbelievable,” you replied, rolling your eyes. “you just love stirring the pot.”

“and you love watching it happen,” he teased, nudging your shoulder lightly with his own.

“maybe,” you admitted, a small smile tugging at your lips.

the conversation faded into a comfortable silence as the two of you continued down the street, the only sounds coming from the crunch of leaves beneath your sneakers and the occasional distant bark of a dog.

then it happened.

it wasn’t the first time your hands had brushed—years of friendship meant countless high-fives, playful shoves, and absentminded touches. but this time, his fingers lingered, tentative but steady, until they intertwined with yours.

your breath hitched, the warmth of his palm contrasting sharply with the coolness of the air.

“what?” he asked, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. his voice was casual, but there was a softness in it that wasn’t usually there.

“nothing,” you mumbled, your heart racing so loudly you were sure he could hear it.

you tried to focus on the sidewalk, on the way the leaves scattered with each step, but all you could feel was the way his thumb gently brushed against yours, as if testing the waters.

you should have let go. this was yeonjun, your best friend, the boy who had been there through everything. but instead, you found yourself holding on tighter, your steps slowing as if you could somehow stretch the moment out longer.

the streetlights seemed brighter tonight, or maybe it was just him. you glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, taking in the way the golden light softened his features, highlighting the curve of his jaw and the way his dark hair fell messily across his forehead.

“have you always been this handsome?” the words escaped before you could stop them.

yeonjun stumbled slightly, his eyes widening as he turned to look at you. “w-what?”

“uh... nothing,” you blurted, your face heating up as you quickly pulled your hand from his.

“wait—” he started, but you were already backing away, your house just a few steps away now.

“s-see you tomorrow!” you called over your shoulder, practically sprinting up the porch steps and yanking the door open.

yeonjun stood frozen on the sidewalk, staring after you with a mix of confusion and something else he couldn’t quite place.

“see you...” he murmured, his voice barely audible as the warmth of your touch lingered on his hand.

he glanced down at it, flexing his fingers absently. his cheeks felt strangely warm, and he rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous laugh escaping him.

when did her voice change? he wondered. you used to sound so squeaky and high-pitched, like a little mouse. but now? now your voice seemed softer, warmer, wrapping around him in a way that made his chest tighten.

it’s just puberty, he told himself. that had to be it. hormones or something. it wasn’t like he hadn’t noticed you before—you were his best friend, after all. but lately, things felt... different.

like the way you’d smile at him when you thought he wasn’t looking. or the way your laughter seemed to linger in the air, making his heart race for reasons he couldn’t explain.

he shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts as he turned to head home. but no matter how hard he tried, his mind kept drifting back to the way your hand fit perfectly in his, the way you looked at him under the streetlights, and the way he had to fight the sudden, inexplicable urge to kiss you.

“what’s happening to me?” he muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair.

but deep down, he already knew the answer. and it terrified him just as much as it thrilled him.

the transition was slow, like the gradual change in the seasons. one moment, yeonjun was still your best friend—the boy who knew everything about you, the one who could make you laugh even when you felt like crying. and the next, he wasn’t.

it started small, subtle. at first, it was just the little things—holding hands for a few seconds longer than usual, the gentle brush of fingers when you passed something to him, or when you’d sit side by side, letting the warmth of his presence fill the space between you without a word spoken.

but over time, those little moments grew into something more, something undeniable. it was in the way you’d talk for hours, hands intertwined as you both sat on your porch, watching the stars slowly appear one by one. it was the way yeonjun would absentmindedly play with your fingers, tracing patterns on your skin while talking about nothing and everything all at once.

it was the quiet smiles you exchanged when you thought no one was looking, and the way your heart fluttered when his thumb brushed over your palm.

but none of this was ever spoken aloud.

it wasn’t until one evening, when you were sprawled out on the couch with your brothers, that you were forced to face it.

you had just settled in, the sound of the tv filling the living room while the three of you snacked on popcorn, when beomgyu, who had been unusually quiet for the past few minutes, suddenly broke the silence.

“so,” he began, his voice casual, but you could tell by the mischievous glint in his eyes that he was up to something. “is yeonjun your boyfriend?”

your stomach dropped, your heart racing as your eyes widened. you shot him a look, but beomgyu was still looking at the screen, pretending to be uninterested.

you didn’t know how to respond. not when your mind was racing with a thousand thoughts at once. you couldn’t deny the fact that yeonjun felt different now—more than just your best friend. but was he your boyfriend?

you glanced at yeonjun, who was sitting beside you, his attention still on the tv but with a slight tension in his posture that wasn’t usually there. his hand was resting near yours, and for a moment, you both just stared at it, neither of you moving.

“y/n?” beomgyu asked again, his tone light but insistent. “is he?”

you didn’t know what to say.

“i—I don’t know,” you mumbled, your voice barely audible. your fingers curled into your palm, a nervous habit, as you struggled to find the right words. “i... don’t think so?”

but as you said it, a strange feeling bloomed in your chest. you looked at yeonjun again, this time noticing the way his lips pressed together in a tight line, as if he was holding something back. he didn’t say anything, but you could feel the unspoken tension between you, the weight of the question hanging in the air.

your heart started to beat faster.

what was this? what had changed?

beomgyu must’ve sensed the hesitation in your voice because he didn’t push further. instead, he threw a wink in your direction, a playful grin on his face as he nudged your shoulder.

“if you say so,” he said teasingly, then leaned back, returning to the tv as if nothing had happened.

but you couldn’t focus on the show anymore. all you could think about was yeonjun, sitting beside you with his hand inches from yours.

when your brothers finally left the living room, giving you some much-needed space to think, you were left alone with yeonjun.

you sat in silence for a long moment, the air between you thick with unspoken words. your heart was pounding in your chest, and every breath felt heavy. you finally turned to him, finding his eyes already on you, a look of uncertainty in his gaze.

“yeonjun,” you said softly, breaking the silence. “are we... something else now?”

his gaze flickered, and for a moment, he didn’t answer. he just stared at you, his expression unreadable. but you could see the way his hand fidgeted nervously by his side, the way his fingers twitched, like he was waiting for you to say something.

finally, he let out a breath, his voice quieter than usual. “i don’t know,” he said honestly. “i’ve been wondering the same thing.”

you swallowed, your heart doing an odd flip in your chest. you hadn’t expected him to say that, and yet... it made sense. because how could it not be strange? you had both changed, and now you were walking this fine line between friendship and something more.

“it feels different, doesn’t it?” you whispered, your gaze dropping to your hands. “like, we’re not just... friends anymore. but we’re not... i don’t know what we are.”

yeonjun let out a soft chuckle, but there was no humor in it. just a trace of uncertainty. “yeah. it feels different to me too.”

for a long while, neither of you spoke. you both just sat there, side by side, in a silence that was no longer comfortable, but still familiar.

finally, yeonjun shifted, turning to face you more fully. his expression was soft, his eyes searching yours, as if trying to find something there.

“y/n,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “i... don’t want to mess things up between us. i’ve known you forever, and i don’t want to lose that.”

you swallowed hard, nodding as you turned to face him fully. “me neither,” you replied, your voice trembling just slightly. “but i can’t pretend like things are the same anymore. i don’t want to lose you either, yeonjun. but...”

“but?” he prompted, his voice gentle.

“but... i don’t know what this is either,” you said, the words coming out before you could stop them. “i don’t know where this is going.”

yeonjun gave you a small, uncertain smile. “maybe that’s okay,” he said softly. “maybe we don’t have to know right now.”

you took a deep breath, letting his words settle in your chest. maybe it was okay not to know. maybe it was okay to just take things one step at a time.

you met his eyes, your gaze steady now, and for the first time in a long time, you felt the weight of the moment—the shift in your relationship, the change that was inevitable but still terrifying.

“we’ll figure it out, right?” you said, your voice soft but determined.

yeonjun smiled, the familiar, comforting smile that you had always loved. “yeah. we will.”

and with that, everything felt a little lighter. not perfect, not yet, but perhaps this is just the start of something more. something neither of you had expected.

the days following that conversation were filled with the same routine—talking for hours, hanging out with your brothers, laughing at jokes only the two of you understood—but everything felt different. there was a new kind of tension hanging in the air between you and yeonjun, something both thrilling and terrifying.

the little touches, the shared glances, the moments when your hands brushed—those things still happened, but now they carried a weight neither of you had ever acknowledged before. the silence between you two wasn’t awkward, but it wasn’t as comfortable either. you both had the same question hanging between you, unspoken, and it seemed impossible to ignore.

it was a quiet saturday evening when it all finally came to a head. the sun had set, leaving the sky painted in shades of deep blue, and you were sitting together on your porch. the cool night air wrapped around you both, but the warmth of yeonjun’s presence was enough to make it feel like the world had paused. your brothers had gone out, leaving you and yeonjun alone, a rare occurrence these days.

he was sitting beside you, his elbow resting lightly on the arm of the porch chair, and you were leaning back against the wall, legs stretched out in front of you. for a while, neither of you said anything. you just stared at the stars, lost in your own thoughts.

finally, yeonjun broke the silence.

“y/n,” he said softly, his voice almost a whisper.

you turned to look at him, heart suddenly racing. there was something in his eyes—something you hadn’t seen before, something that made your stomach flip.

“yeah?” you responded, your voice barely louder than his.

he hesitated for a moment, chewing on his bottom lip as if he were trying to find the right words. the air between you felt thick, like the world was holding its breath.

“i’ve been thinking a lot,” he started slowly, his gaze never leaving yours. “about us. about everything.”

you swallowed, unsure of what to say, but you didn’t look away either. the words you had both been avoiding were finally hanging in the air.

yeonjun took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. “i don’t want to make things complicated, y/n,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost fragile. “but i can’t keep pretending that i don’t feel... something more. i can’t keep pretending that i don’t care about you in a way that’s different from anyone else. because i do. i do care about you.”

your heart was hammering in your chest, but you didn’t speak. you just watched him, feeling the weight of his words settle in your chest, filling the spaces you had been too afraid to acknowledge.

yeonjun’s eyes softened as he continued, his voice trembling slightly. “it’s scary, y/n. but i don’t want to keep hiding how i feel. i don’t want to lose you, but i can’t ignore it anymore. i’m in love with you.”

the words hit you like a wave. for a moment, everything stood still. time froze, the world faded away, and it was just the two of you, sitting in the soft glow of the streetlights, the sound of your hearts beating in sync.

“yeonjun,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “i—i don’t know when it happened, but... i feel the same. i think i’ve felt the same for a while now.”

his eyes widened in surprise, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. but then, a smile tugged at the corners of his lips—soft, relieved, and full of something you couldn’t quite name.

“you do?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper, as if he were afraid to hear the wrong answer.

“yeah,” you breathed, your heart feeling lighter now, the weight of uncertainty finally lifting. “i’m in love with you too, yeonjun.”

and then, just like that, it felt like everything clicked.

without another word, yeonjun closed the small distance between you, his hand finding yours, fingers intertwining in that familiar way that now felt like the most natural thing in the world. you smiled at him, your heart soaring with something new—something beautiful.

“i’ve wanted to hear you say that,” yeonjun murmured, his thumb gently stroking the back of your hand. “i’ve wanted to say it for so long.”

you chuckled softly, feeling like you were floating. “me too. i just... didn’t know how.”

he leaned in, his forehead resting gently against yours, and for the first time, you felt the certainty that this was right. there was no doubt, no fear. just the warmth of his breath mingling with yours, the soft rhythm of your hearts beating together in the stillness of the night.

“i don’t want to lose you, y/n,” he whispered, his voice full of raw sincerity. “i don’t care what happens next. i just want to be with you.”

“you won’t lose me,” you replied softly, your voice steady and full of conviction. 

and in that moment, everything else faded away. there was only yeonjun, and only you, and the love that had bloomed between you in the most unexpected of ways. and for the first time in a long time, you felt like everything was exactly as it should be.

by the time of senior year at high school, both of you had already stepped into the roles that would define the rest of your high school lives: you, the school council president, and yeonjun, the captain of the basketball team. your schedules were packed—meetings, practice sessions, classwork, and the looming pressure of college applications—but somehow, despite the chaos, you both always found time for each other.

you remember one afternoon, a particularly grueling day of school, when the bell rang to signal the end of your final class. your brain was fried, your body sore from the endless meetings and responsibilities, but there was one thing you were looking forward to: lunch.

you glanced at your phone, seeing the message from yeonjun: "meet me at the usual spot. got 20 mins before practice."

it wasn’t much, but to you, it was everything. you texted back quickly: "see you there."

you headed to the courtyard behind the school, the spot where you’d spent so many of your afternoons together—hidden from the chaos, just the two of you, surrounded by the world but not quite a part of it. yeonjun was already waiting for you when you arrived, leaning against the wall, his hoodie pulled up over his head to shield him from the autumn wind.

“hey,” you greeted him, smiling, already feeling your heart lighten at the sight of him.

yeonjun grinned, his eyes lighting up when they landed on you. “hey, it’s been a minute, huh?”

you nodded, collapsing beside him. “feels like we’re ships passing in the night with our schedules lately.”

“yeah, i’ve been so swamped with basketball, i barely have time to think,” he said, leaning back against the brick wall, his hand finding yours instinctively. "but right now, all that matters is this."

you squeezed his hand, a smile tugging at your lips. “me too. this is the best part of my day.”

there was something so simple, so perfect, about the moments when it was just the two of you. the world could spin around you, and as long as you had this—just being together—it didn’t matter.

the bell rang, signaling that lunch was over. you sighed dramatically. “i wish we had more time,” you said, your voice tinged with a little sadness.

“me too,” yeonjun said softly. He shifted, pulling you into a brief, but tight hug. “but i’ll see you tonight, right? i can’t wait to just... be with you, even if it’s just for a little bit.”

you nodded, burying your face in his chest for a moment before pulling away. “of course. see you tonight.”

as you parted ways to go back to your respective duties, you felt a bittersweet tug in your chest. senior year was supposed to be the most exciting year, but sometimes, it felt like you were both drowning in expectations. between your responsibilities as president, his duties with the basketball team, and the pressure of college applications, it was hard to carve out enough time for each other. but when you did, it felt like everything.

that night, after you had managed to get through your meeting with the council, you finally collapsed into your bed, exhausted but happy. you barely had time to change out of your uniform before yeonjun was at your window, tapping gently with his knuckles, his face glowing from the soft light outside.

you slid the window open, and his familiar face filled your view. “hey,” he said, his voice full of warmth. “got a few minutes to spare?”

“you know i always do for you,” you replied, smiling as you climbed out of bed to open the window wider. yeonjun stepped inside, and you both sank into your comfort zone—no pretenses, just the two of you in your shared space.

“i missed you,” yeonjun admitted quietly, his hand finding its way to your back as you both sat on your bed.

“me too,” you said softly, leaning your head against his shoulder. “it feels like forever since we just... hung out.”

he chuckled. “we’re busy, aren’t we? but at least we have tonight.”

you smiled, threading your fingers through his. “yeah. tonight’s for us.”

for the next hour, you talked about everything—everything that wasn’t the stress of school or college. you found yourselves laughing about ridiculous things—like how you both dreamed of going to universities far away from each other just so you could become those long-distance couples who “would make it work,” only to be met with hilarious glances from your friends.

“so, what’s your dream university?” yeonjun asked, his eyes soft with curiosity.

you glanced up at him. “hmm, i’ve always wanted to go to stanford, but i think i’ll end up at somewhere more practical. how about you?”

yeonjun smiled, his expression thoughtful. “i always thought i’d be good at ucla, but i’ve been looking at nyu too. new york would be crazy.”

“oh, so we’ll be on opposite sides of the country?” you teased, raising an eyebrow.

“maybe,” yeonjun grinned, poking your side. “but i’ll make it work. as long as you’re with me, i’ll figure it out.”

you stared at him, feeling something stir in your chest. “yeonjun... if i get into nyu... would you... really?”

he turned to you, his expression suddenly serious, but there was a tenderness in his eyes that made your heart flutter. “of course. wherever you go, i go. i’ll always make time for you. we’ll figure it out.”

a warmth spread through you at his words, and you couldn’t help but lean in to kiss him. it was soft, lingering—an unspoken promise to keep fighting for each other, no matter what life threw at you.

the night grew quiet as you lay beside each other, tangled in blankets, your fingers still intertwined. the silence between you felt natural, comfortable. you spoke in soft murmurs about your futures, about your hopes and fears, but through it all, there was one constant: you had each other.

and that was all you really needed.

as the weeks passed, things didn’t slow down. you both threw yourselves into your respective roles with all the energy you had. but in the middle of it all, there was always a moment for the two of you—lunch breaks, stolen kisses, late-night texts, and moments just like this, when you could talk about your dreams and plans without the pressure of the world bearing down on you.

one late night, after an exhausting student council meeting, you and yeonjun found yourselves at your window again, sitting in the stillness of your room.

“you know, no matter how busy we get, i want to always make time for this,” yeonjun said quietly, his arm around your shoulders.

“me too,” you whispered, smiling. “you’re my rest.”

he laughed softly. “and you’re mine.”

and in that moment, wrapped in each other’s arms, you knew that no matter where life took you, you would always find your way back to each other.

midway through senior year, time seemed to slip faster than it ever had. it was as if the days were being written in invisible ink—one minute, you were discussing college applications, the next, you were at a university's entrance exam with yeonjun, sitting side by side in a room full of nervous energy, but somehow, both of you found peace in the shared silence.

you both had chosen paths that were worlds apart: you, determined to follow your dream of becoming a nurse, and yeonjun, with his passion for film and the arts. it was a strange contrast, but it was one you never questioned, never thought of as anything other than perfectly you and him.

one evening, months before the entrance exams, you were sitting in your room, the soft glow of your desk lamp illuminating the scattered papers around you. yeonjun had come over to study, though neither of you were really studying—just quietly existing in each other's company, as you often did.

“so, have you decided?” yeonjun’s voice broke through the silence, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“hmm?” you asked, glancing over at him. he was flipping through his sketchbook, clearly distracted by his thoughts.

“nursing. still?” he asked, his eyes catching yours, filled with a mixture of curiosity and understanding.

you nodded.

yeonjun hummed, a small smile playing on his lips. “it’s a good choice. i can totally see you in scrubs, saving lives and looking all badass.”

you chuckled, tossing your pen onto your desk. “and you? still film school?”

“yep,” he grinned, “i have always wanted to make films. tell stories in a way that makes people feel something, and i don’t think i could do anything else.”

you leaned back in your chair, gazing at him thoughtfully. “i love that. you’re so passionate about it. i think it’s the perfect choice for you.”

yeonjun’s eyes softened as he set his sketchbook aside, moving closer to you. “and you’re going to be an amazing nurse. i can already see it. you’ve got this caring side... it’s something special.”

you blushed slightly, not used to him being so sincere, but it made your heart flutter. “thank you, love,” you whispered.

he reached over, gently brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, his hand lingering at your cheek. the moment felt like a soft breath in a noisy world.

“we’re really different, aren’t we?” yeonjun murmured, his eyes tracing the contours of your face, as if committing this moment to memory.

you smiled. “yeah, but somehow, it works. we’re... stupidly compatible, aren’t we?”

yeonjun chuckled, his thumb brushing over your lips. “yeah, we are.”

you couldn’t help but smile at the irony of it all—without thinking, you leaned in, brushing your lips softly against his. the kiss was gentle, lingering, full of promises and unspoken words. it wasn’t grand, but it was everything you needed in that moment—simple and real.

“we’ve got this, huh?” yeonjun whispered as you pulled away, his forehead resting against yours.

“yeah, we do.”

college entrance exams loomed closer, and the weight of the future hung heavily over both of you. but somehow, amidst all the stress, you found little pockets of time for each other. moments of relief, of warmth, of shared smiles.

one afternoon, a few weeks before the exams, you both made a spontaneous decision to visit a couple of universities for your applications. you weren’t sure if it was the best use of your time—especially with your council duties taking up most of your schedule—but it felt like a moment of freedom in an otherwise chaotic year.

yeonjun, ever the spontaneous one, had suggested, “let’s go to the city. we’ll check out some campuses and maybe grab lunch afterward. just... breathe, you know?”

you’d agreed instantly.

walking around the campuses, you couldn’t help but feel the gravity of the future pressing in on you. but every time you caught yeonjun’s eye, a quiet reassurance settled in your chest. no matter what happened, you had each other.

as you visited one school after another, you both joked about what your lives might look like in the future. yeonjun, with his usual mischievous grin, would point to buildings and say, “this will be my studio. i’ll make my first movie here.”

you laughed, teasing him, “i thought you said you wanted to film in new york?”

“eh, i’ll make it work. i’m flexible,” he said with a wink, before pulling you closer by the hand. “and you’ll be in the hospital, saving lives. i’m already picturing you as the hottest nurse on the floor.”

“oh, stop it,” you said, but your cheeks flushed anyway.

it was simple moments like that—walking through crowded campuses with him, your fingers intertwined—that made everything feel like it was going to be okay.

the sound of papers shuffling and the faint hum of your office filled the room as you glanced at the clock. the game was starting in a few minutes, and you were still stuck at your desk, wrapping up council work. your phone buzzed, pulling your attention away from the endless to-do list. it was yeonjun.

yeonjun: game's about to start. you coming, right?

you: still at the office, love. trying to finish this proposal.

yeonjun: what? i thought you said you'd leave early today!

you: i tried! something urgent came up. i'm so sorry.

yeonjun: don’t stress. just… do your best to get here, okay?

you: i’ll be there, promise. even if it’s late.

yeonjun: okay… but if i don’t see you in the crowd, i’m blaming you if i miss a shot.

you: you’re gonna be amazing. now stop worrying about me and focus, mr. team captain.

yeonjun: only if you swear you’ll come.

you: i swear.

yeonjun: alright, i love you!

you smiled softly at the screen, mouthing “i love you more”, his nervous energy practically radiating through the text.

the clock ticked on, and you worked faster than you’d ever thought possible. your thoughts were divided—half on the council report in front of you, half on yeonjun. you couldn’t miss his last game, not after how much it meant to him.

finally, you slammed the folder shut and grabbed your bag, practically sprinting out of the office. the gym was only a ten-minute walk from school, but it felt like an eternity as you weaved through the crowds.

the stadium buzzed with electric anticipation, the crowd roaring as yeonjun’s basketball team prepared for their final game of the season. it was his last game as team captain, the culmination of years of dedication, and everyone could feel the weight of the moment. everyone except yeonjun, who was too busy scanning the stands, his heart sinking with every empty seat he saw.

he’d checked three times already, his eyes searching frantically for you. but you weren’t there.

he tried to shake off the disappointment, telling himself you were probably caught up with your council responsibilities. it wasn’t like you to break a promise, but the weight of senior year had been heavy on both of you. “it’s okay,” he murmured to himself as he adjusted his jersey, “i’ll win this one for her.”

the game started, and the first half was brutal. the opposing team was relentless, and though yeonjun played with his usual precision, something was off. his passes weren’t as sharp, his shots just a bit too cautious. his mind kept wandering back to you. where were you?

by halftime, his team was trailing by six points, and the coach’s pep talk barely registered in yeonjun’s ears. all he could think about was how much he wanted you to be there, to see him play one last time.

but then, as the second half began, everything changed. 

by the time you arrived, the first half was already underway. the crowd’s cheers echoed through the stadium as you slipped into the stands, scanning the court for him.

there he was. yeonjun, in his captain’s jersey, his movements fluid but tense. his eyes flickered to the stands every few seconds, as if he were looking for something—or someone. 

you waved frantically, hoping he’d see you.

it wasn’t until a timeout was called that his eyes finally landed on you. yeonjun stepped onto the court, ready to push through his nerves, when his eyes caught a familiar figure slipping into the stands. it was you. you were breathless, still dressed in your school blazer, your hair slightly disheveled from rushing, but you were there. and you were smiling at him. even from the distance, you saw the shift in his expression—the relief, the spark of determination. he grinned, just slightly, before turning back to his team.

the second half began, and yeonjun was unstoppable. it was as if seeing you had flipped a switch inside him. every play was sharper, every pass more precise. you could barely keep up with the game, your voice hoarse from cheering.

the final moments of the game were nail-biting. the score was tied, and the clock was ticking down. yeonjun had the ball, weaving through defenders, his eyes locked on the hoop. the gym seemed to hold its breath as he took the shot—a clean, perfect arc that sent the ball straight through the net.

the buzzer sounded, signaling their victory, and the crowd erupted into cheers. yeonjun’s teammates swarmed him, clapping his back and yelling in celebration, but his eyes weren’t on them.

his gaze darted to the stands, searching for you. and then he saw you, your arms extended wide, your smile brighter than the gym lights.

without a second thought, yeonjun broke away from his teammates and sprinted toward you. the crowd blurred into nothing as he reached you, wrapping his arms around you and lifting you off the ground.

“i thought you weren’t coming,” he murmured against your hair, his voice tinged with relief and disbelief.

you laughed softly, still catching your breath. “well, i was able to come here at halftime. something came up in the office, and i had to grind it out for 30 minutes.”

yeonjun pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands cupping your face. “oh, love, you don’t have to explain,” he said, a smile breaking across his lips. “what matters is you’re here now.”

you rolled your eyes playfully. “so cheesy, mr. mvp.”

he chuckled, his forehead resting against yours for a moment before he tilted his head and kissed you. it was a kiss filled with everything he hadn’t been able to say—the gratitude, the relief, the love.

you pulled away first, a soft laugh escaping your lips as his teammates called him back to the court for the celebration.

“we’ll celebrate later, yeah?” he said, his thumb brushing over your cheek.

you nodded, your smile unwavering. “i’ll wait right here.”

yeonjun hesitated, his hand lingering in yours, as if letting go would mean the moment would disappear.

“go,” you said, laughing softly.

he groaned playfully, leaning in to steal one last kiss, short and soft. “god, i love you,” he whispered, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe it himself.

“i love you too,” you replied, and with that, he finally let go, running back to his teammates with a grin that could rival the sun.

as you watched him join the celebration, your heart swelled with pride and love. he turned back to look at you one last time, mouthing, “wait for me.” and you knew, no matter what came next, you’d always be there for him—just as he’d always be there for you.

after the game, the celebration was in full swing. the locker room had been a frenzy of cheers and shouts, the sound of victory carrying out into the hallways. yeonjun had barely made it through his team’s congratulations before he slipped away to find you waiting in the gym lobby, exactly where you said you’d be.

the second he spotted you, his smile lit up the entire room.

“there’s my good luck charm,” he said, pulling you into another hug, this one softer but no less tight. his jersey was damp from sweat, but you didn’t care. the warmth of his arms, the lingering adrenaline from the game—it made your heart race in a way you couldn’t explain.

“mvp and a charmer,” you teased, poking at his chest. “you’re on fire tonight.”

“and it’s all because of you,” he said, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering just long enough to make you blush.

“stop being so cheesy,” you mumbled, shoving him lightly, though you didn’t pull away.

he grinned, his eyes sparkling. “never. now, let’s go celebrate. my treat.”

you ended up at a cozy little diner near campus, one you both loved for its late-night snacks and quiet booths. the place was nearly empty, the hum of fluorescent lights and the distant clatter of dishes creating a soothing backdrop.

yeonjun slid into the booth beside you instead of across, his knee brushing against yours under the table.

“what are we having, champ?” you asked, flipping through the menu.

“everything,” he said, leaning his head against your shoulder. “we earned it.”

“we?” you raised an eyebrow, but the fondness in your tone gave you away.

“yeah, we. you were there, weren’t you? cheering me on, looking all cute in the stands?” he said, his voice dropping slightly, the teasing lilt making your cheeks heat up.

you nudged him, trying to hide your smile. “you’re ridiculous.”

“and you love it,” he shot back, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek.

the food came, a mix of fries, milkshakes, and whatever comfort food you could order without thinking. you shared everything, stealing bites from each other’s plates, laughing over nothing and everything.

at one point, yeonjun reached over to wipe a smudge of ketchup from your lip, his thumb lingering for just a second too long.

“you’re staring,” you said, your voice softer now, the playful edge replaced with something more vulnerable.

“can’t help it,” he said, his smile small but genuine. “you’re beautiful.”

you rolled your eyes, but your heart fluttered all the same. “you’re insufferable.”

“and yet, here you are, stuck with me,” he said, leaning in just close enough that his breath fanned against your skin.

“who says i’m stuck?” you challenged, though your voice betrayed you, a little breathless under his gaze.

he didn’t answer, not with words. instead, he closed the gap, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was slow and sweet, the kind that made time seem to stop.

when he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, and he whispered, “thank you. for being here, for everything.”

“always,” you said, your hand finding his under the table, your fingers lacing together.

the walk home was quieter, the night air crisp against your skin. yeonjun draped his jacket over your shoulders despite your protests, his arm looping around your waist as he guided you down the familiar path.

“so,” he said, breaking the comfortable silence, “what’s the plan now? sleep? movie marathon? or...” his voice dipped, playful but suggestive, “something else?”

you laughed, shaking your head. “don’t push your luck, mr. mvp.”

“hey, can’t blame a guy for trying,” he said, grinning as he squeezed your side.

when you finally made it to your place, yeonjun didn’t let you go right away. he leaned against the doorframe, his hands resting lightly on your hips as he looked at you, his expression softer now.

“i mean it,” he said, his voice low. “tonight was one of the best nights of my life. and it wouldn’t have been the same without you.”

“you’re sappy,” you teased, though your smile betrayed how much his words meant to you.

“only for you,” he said, leaning down to kiss you again, this one deeper, leaving you both a little breathless.

when you finally pulled away, your fingers tugging at the collar of his shirt, you whispered, “you coming in, or are you just gonna stand out here all night?”

yeonjun laughed, his eyes glinting with mischief. “lead the way, love.”

you led yeonjun into your room, the soft click of the door behind him signaling a shift in the air. the night outside was quiet, the world hushed as if giving you both the space to exist only in this moment.

he tugged off his jacket, tossing it onto the chair in the corner, his movements unhurried but purposeful. his eyes found yours across the room, and the way he looked at you—soft, adoring, with just the slightest edge of something deeper—made your breath hitch.

“come here,” he murmured, his voice low and inviting.

you stepped closer, and as soon as you were within reach, his hands found your waist, pulling you gently but firmly into him. his touch was warm, grounding, the slight roughness of his fingertips brushing against the fabric of your shirt.

“you know,” he began, his lips quirking into a half-smile, “i don’t think i’ll ever get over how beautiful you look when you’re just... here. just being you.”

“you’re hopeless,” you replied softly, but your heart was racing.

“and you’re perfect,” he said, his tone so sincere it made your cheeks heat.

his hands slid up your back, guiding you closer until there was nothing between you but the rise and fall of your breaths. his forehead pressed against yours as his fingers traced idle patterns against your skin.

“yeonjun...” you whispered, your voice trailing off as he tilted his head, capturing your lips in a kiss that was slow and deliberate, the kind of kiss that felt like a promise.

the world seemed to blur as the kiss deepened, his hands anchoring you to him as if letting go wasn’t an option. your fingers found the nape of his neck, threading through the soft strands of his hair, pulling him even closer.

he guided you backward until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed, and you sank down, your hands tugging him with you. he followed willingly, bracing himself with his arms on either side of you, his weight a comforting presence.

“are you okay?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes searching yours.

you nodded, your hands resting against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palms. “more than okay.”

he smiled then, the kind of smile that reached his eyes, and leaned down to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, then the sensitive spot just below your ear. the soft, trailing kisses sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn’t help the quiet sound that escaped your lips.

his name fell from your mouth like a prayer, and it only spurred him on, his touch becoming more confident but never rushed. he moved slowly, his lips ghosting over your collarbone as his hands slid to your waist, his thumbs brushing the exposed skin where your shirt had ridden up.

“you’re so beautiful,” he murmured against your skin, the words making your cheeks flush even as they filled you with warmth.

you tugged him up, your lips finding his again in a kiss that was soft yet urgent, your fingers fisting the fabric of his shirt. he pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours as he whispered, “we don’t have to rush anything.”

“i know,” you said, your voice steady despite the rapid thrum of your heart. “but i trust you, yeonjun. with everything.”

his expression softened, and he leaned down to kiss you again, this time slower, pouring every unspoken word into the connection. time seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you, wrapped in each other’s warmth, the world outside forgotten.

every touch, every kiss, every whispered word felt like a declaration—a quiet but certain acknowledgment of the love you shared, a love that was yours and his alone.

after the finals, you and yeonjun had been caught in the chaos of college applications. despite the hectic schedules, the two of you always found moments to spend together, whether it was studying side by side, sneaking in late-night phone calls, or holding hands during walks to clear your minds.

when the acceptance letters came, excitement quickly mingled with a bittersweet feeling. you’d both been accepted into universities in new york, but they weren’t the same one. you had hoped, deep down, that fate would place you in the same halls, but it seemed like it had other plans.

“it’s okay,” yeonjun reassured you one evening as you lay curled up on his bed, your head on his chest. his fingers absentmindedly traced circles on your back. “we’ll figure it out. new york isn’t that big, and we’ll still be close enough to annoy each other whenever we want.”

you laughed softly, the sound muffled against his shirt. “but what if it gets too hard? what if we’re too busy?”

he tilted your chin up, his eyes meeting yours with the kind of certainty that made your chest tighten. “then we’ll make time. besides, I already have a plan.”

“a plan?” you asked, raising a brow.

“we’ll live together,” he said simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

you blinked at him, surprised. “together?”

“yeah,” he said, grinning. “you’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

the reassurance in his voice soothed the small ache that had settled in your chest.

when senior graduation came, the bittersweetness of the moment was palpable. the ceremony was a blur of caps, gowns, and speeches. when your name was called, you walked across the stage to receive your leadership award, the applause echoing in your ears. but it wasn’t the applause that made your heart swell—it was the sight of yeonjun standing in the crowd, clapping the loudest, his smile brighter than anyone else’s.

“congratulations, president,” he teased later as he met you outside the auditorium, wrapping his arms around you in a hug that lifted you off your feet.

“thank you, mr. mvp,” you shot back, grinning.

as the night wound down and the celebrations faded, yeonjun leaned close, his breath warm against your ear. “i have something for you,” he said softly.

“oh?” you asked, tilting your head to look at him.

“i’ll give it to you later,” he said, his smile tinged with mystery.

later turned out to be when the two of you were alone in your room, the soft glow of your bedside lamp casting warm light over the space. yeonjun reached into his pocket and pulled out a small red velvet box, handing it to you with a slightly nervous smile.

your fingers trembled slightly as you opened the small red velvet box he’d handed you. inside, resting on the cushion, was a shiny key. confusion knit your brows together as you looked up at him.

“what’s this for?” you asked softly, voice barely above a whisper.

yeonjun’s gaze softened, his lips curling into that familiar, heart-melting smile that he reserved just for you. “our home,” he murmured.

your breath hitched. “our home?” you echoed, the words feeling surreal as they left your lips.

he nodded, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear as he leaned closer, his voice warm and steady. “yeah. for college. i’ve been saving for a while, and with the consolation prize from the mvp award, i was able to pay the down payment for an apartment in new york.”

you stared at him, wide-eyed, emotions welling up in your chest. the effort, the thoughtfulness, the sheer love behind his gesture left you speechless.

“it’s not huge or anything,” he continued, chuckling nervously. “but it’s ours. one room—our room. and there’s a little kitchen, a cozy living area, and—”

you didn’t let him finish. overwhelmed, you leaned forward, your lips finding his in a kiss that was soft but filled with every ounce of gratitude and love you couldn’t put into words. you couldn’t stop the tears from falling as you launch yourself into his arms, holding him as tightly as you could. “yeonjun,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

he held you just as tightly, his hand coming up to gently cradle the back of your head. “hey, don’t cry,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple.

“i can’t believe you did this,” you said, pulling back slightly to look at him, your eyes shining with unshed tears.

“of course, i did,” he said, his smile warm and unwavering. “i told you—we’ll figure it out. i just wanted to make sure we had a place that felt like home, no matter how busy things get.”

his breath caught for a second before he melted into you, his hand cupping your cheek as his thumb gently swiped away a stray tear that had escaped. you pulled back just slightly, enough to rest your forehead against his.

“yeonjun,” you whispered, voice trembling. “you didn’t have to—”

“but i wanted to,” he cut you off gently, his eyes searching yours. “i know we’re going to different universities, and that scares me too. but i want us to have something that’s ours. a place where we can come back to each other. where you don’t have to worry about missing me because i’ll always be right there.”

a fresh wave of tears threatened to fall, but this time you laughed through them, shaking your head. “you’re impossible, you know that?”

“yeah,” he said, grinning. “but you love me anyway.”

you nodded, letting out a soft laugh as you pressed your lips to his again, your hands framing his face this time. he kissed you back slowly, his lips moving against yours like a silent promise. when you pulled back, your voice was barely audible, thick with emotion.

“i don’t know what i did to deserve you,” you said.

“funny,” he replied, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “i think the same thing about you every day.”

the two of you sat there for a moment, the red velvet box now forgotten on the bed. yeonjun shifted, lying back and pulling you with him until you were resting against his chest, your legs tangled together like they always seemed to end up.

“our home,” you repeated softly, the words feeling warm and hopeful.

“our home,” he confirmed, pressing a kiss to your temple.

you couldn’t hold back anymore. you kissed him again, your lips meeting his in a soft but fervent expression of everything you couldn’t put into words. he kissed you back just as deeply, his hands coming up to frame your face, thumbs brushing away the tears that spilled down your cheeks.

when you finally pulled back, your foreheads resting together, you whispered, “i love you so much.”

his smile widened, his own voice soft as he replied, “i love you more.”

and just like that, with his heartbeat steady beneath your ear and the promise of a future together in the key you held, the world outside didn’t seem so big or so daunting anymore. it was you and yeonjun—just as it had always been, and just as it always would be.

the days following graduation were a whirlwind of packing, paperwork, and last-minute errands. the reality of leaving for college loomed closer, and while the excitement of starting a new chapter in new york buzzed in the air, there was an undercurrent of bittersweetness as you prepared to leave the familiar behind. every corner of your room, every street you walked with yeonjun, every little mundane routine now carried a weight it hadn’t before, like it was all slipping through your fingers faster than you were ready for.

yeonjun, of course, had a way of keeping you grounded amidst the chaos. he made the busy moments feel lighter, turning even the most tedious tasks into something memorable.

“who knew packing could be this romantic?” he teased one afternoon as you sorted through a pile of old clothes. he was lounging on your bed, flipping through a magazine you’d almost thrown out, while you tried to decide which t-shirts to keep and which to donate.

“romantic?” you echoed, raising an eyebrow. “how exactly is this romantic?”

“because it’s us,” he said simply, setting the magazine down and leaning on his elbows. “even folding laundry with you feels special.”

you threw a balled-up sock at him, laughing when he dramatically pretended to dodge it. “you’re such a dork.”

“a dork you’re moving to new york with,” he reminded you with a wink, and you couldn’t help but smile at that.

sometimes, though, the moments weren’t about productivity at all. they were about soaking in the last bits of quiet together before life inevitably got busier. one afternoon, the two of you found yourselves sitting on the floor of your nearly empty bedroom, surrounded by boxes. the sunlight streamed through the window, casting a warm glow over everything. yeonjun reached into one of the boxes and pulled out a framed photo of the two of you from your junior year.

it was from one of your first official dates—a trip to the local fair. in the picture, you were laughing at something, your head tilted toward him, while he grinned at the camera, his arm draped casually around your shoulders.

“this one’s coming with us,” he said decisively, holding it up like it was the most important thing in the room.

you scooted closer, peering at the photo. “obviously,” you said, rolling your eyes playfully. “i can’t believe you still have that goofy grin in every photo.”

“what can i say? you make me happy,” he said, his tone teasing but sincere.

you nudged him with your shoulder, a smile tugging at your lips. “cheesy.”

“but true,” he countered, leaning in to press a quick kiss to your cheek.

the kiss lingered for a moment longer than either of you expected, and when he pulled back, his eyes searched yours. “i know we’ll be busy with school and everything, but... this? us? it’s what keeps me grounded,” he said softly.

you reached up, brushing a strand of hair from his face. “same here,” you admitted. “no matter how hectic things get, we’ll figure it out. together.”

he smiled at that, the kind of smile that made your chest tighten in the best way.

later that evening, as the two of you sat on your bed, surrounded by half-packed boxes and the remnants of your childhood room, yeonjun pulled out his phone and started playing a playlist he’d made for you.

“what’s this?” you asked, leaning against his shoulder.

“a soundtrack for new york,” he said, grinning. “thought we could use some good vibes for the road trip.”

“you’re really planning everything, aren’t you?”

“of course,” he said, kissing the top of your head. “i want to make sure it’s perfect for you.”

you didn’t say it out loud, but in that moment, you knew that as long as you had him, it already was.

when the day finally came to move, the two of you stood in the doorway of your new apartment, staring at the blank canvas that would soon become your home. the faint hum of the city buzzed through the open window, a reminder that this was the beginning of something new, something entirely your own.

“it’s perfect,” you said softly, stepping inside and letting your fingers trail along the smooth surface of the kitchen counter.

yeonjun set down the box he was carrying and walked up behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist like they belonged there. “it’ll be even better once we make it ours,” he murmured, his chin resting on your shoulder.

you leaned back into him, letting the warmth of his presence settle your nerves. “ours,” you repeated, the word feeling both unfamiliar and deeply comforting.

the day passed in a flurry of activity—unpacking boxes, arranging furniture, and debating over the smallest details. yeonjun insisted the couch should face the window to take advantage of the natural light, while you argued it would make more sense angled toward the wall where a TV could eventually go.

“we don’t even have a TV yet,” he pointed out, laughing as he balanced the couch on its side to test your suggestion.

“but we will,” you shot back, hands on your hips as you watched him struggle. “and when we do, you’ll thank me.”

“sure, sure,” he teased, finally setting the couch down in what he begrudgingly admitted was a decent spot.

by the time the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, the apartment was still far from finished. there were half-unpacked boxes stacked against the walls, and the dining table was still in pieces in the corner. yet, somehow, it already felt like home.

later that night, as you lay on the bed—the only piece of furniture you’d managed to fully set up—yeonjun pulled you close, his arm draped over your waist and his face nuzzling into the crook of your neck. the mattress was still bare, and the faint smell of fresh paint lingered in the air, but none of that mattered.

“you know,” he murmured, his voice low and laced with exhaustion, “i was worried this would feel too fast or too much, but it doesn’t. it just feels right.”

you turned to face him, your fingers brushing the hair from his forehead, smoothing it back as his eyes met yours. “that’s because it is right,” you said softly, your words carrying the weight of your certainty. you leaned in, capturing his lips in a kiss that was slow and lingering, a reflection of everything you felt but didn’t need to say out loud.

when you pulled back, yeonjun’s eyes searched yours, his expression tender in the dim light filtering through the window. “thank you,” he said suddenly, his voice barely above a whisper.

you frowned slightly, your brows knitting together. “for what?”

“for believing in us,” he said, his thumb tracing gentle circles against your hip. “for making this feel like the best decision i’ve ever made.”

your chest tightened, a wave of emotion washing over you as his words settled in. “you don’t have to thank me for that,” you said, your voice breaking just slightly as you tried to contain the depth of what you felt. “i’d choose us every time.”

his smile was soft, almost shy, as he leaned in to press a kiss to your forehead. “me too,” he whispered against your skin, the warmth of his breath sending a shiver down your spine.

you lay there for a while, tangled in each other as the city lights outside cast a soft glow over the room. his fingers traced lazy patterns along your arm, and you found yourself lulled by the steady rhythm of his breathing.

“this is it, huh?” you murmured after a moment, your voice filled with both awe and disbelief.

“this is it,” he confirmed, his hand finding yours and threading your fingers together.

it wasn’t perfect yet—there were still boxes to unpack, challenges to face, and a lifetime of moments to fill the space you now called home. but as you drifted off to sleep in yeonjun’s arms, the quiet hum of the city serving as your lullaby, you knew that this was the start of something beautiful. and that was more than enough.

the first few weeks of college were a blur for both you and yeonjun. between adjusting to new schedules, navigating unfamiliar campuses, and diving into coursework, it was easy to feel overwhelmed. yet, despite the demands of your separate universities, the two of you were determined to make your relationship the anchor that kept you steady.

every morning started the same way: with yeonjun’s groggy voice mumbling your name from the other side of the bed. “five more minutes,” he groaned one morning, his face buried in the pillow.

“you said that ten minutes ago,” you teased, tugging at the blanket he had wrapped around himself like a cocoon. “if you don’t get up now, you’re going to miss your bus.”

he groaned louder, finally rolling onto his back with his hair sticking out in every direction. “this is why i need you around. without you, i’d probably just sleep through life.”

“and here i thought it was my charming personality that won you over,” you replied, grinning as you threw a pillow at him.

breakfasts during the week were a chaotic rush of toast, coffee, and sometimes sharing a banana as you both scrambled to get out the door. but weekends were a different story entirely. saturday mornings became your time to slow down and just be together.

one saturday, yeonjun decided he was going to make pancakes. “how hard can it be?” he asked, confidently holding up the box of pancake mix.

“famous last words,” you muttered, watching him as he squinted at the instructions on the box.

the first pancake came out lumpy, the second one burned, and by the time he attempted the third, the kitchen was filled with smoke. “maybe i should take over,” you suggested, biting your lip to keep from laughing as yeonjun fanned the smoke detector with a towel.

“absolutely not,” he declared, his determination shining through the chaos. “i’m going to make at least one decent pancake if it kills me.”

eventually, he managed to make a stack that was somewhat edible, and the two of you sat at the kitchen table, laughing as you drowned the pancakes in syrup to mask their slightly charred taste. “see?” he said, pointing his fork at you. “i told you i could do it.”

“sure,” you replied, smirking. “with a little help from mr. syrup and ms. butter.”

in the evenings, no matter how hectic your days had been, you always made time to reconnect. some nights, you’d cook dinner together, bumping into each other in the tiny kitchen as you experimented with recipes you found online. one night, yeonjun insisted on making pasta, only to realize halfway through that you were out of garlic.

“how am i supposed to impress you without garlic?” he lamented dramatically, holding up the empty container.

“you’ll just have to rely on your charm,” you teased, handing him a wooden spoon to stir the sauce.

other nights, you’d order takeout and sprawl out on the couch, sharing stories about your classes and professors. “my econ professor is a literal drill sergeant,” yeonjun said one night, his head resting on your lap as he scrolled through his phone. “he assigned a ten-page paper on the second day of class.”

“sounds like a nightmare,” you said, absentmindedly running your fingers through his hair. “at least you don’t have to deal with group projects.”

“ah, the classic college experience,” he replied, smirking. “if anyone gives you trouble, just let me know. i’ll intimidate them with my charm.”

“yeah, i’m sure your puppy-dog eyes will really strike fear into their hearts,” you said, rolling your eyes.

he grinned, reaching up to pinch your cheek. “don’t underestimate these eyes. they’ve gotten me out of plenty of trouble.”

some nights, you didn’t do much of anything at all. you’d curl up on the couch, the tv playing softly in the background, and just talk. those conversations ranged from the mundane—like what to cook for dinner the next day—to the profound.

“i think i’m starting to figure out what i want to do,” yeonjun said one night, his voice thoughtful as he stared at the ceiling.

“oh yeah? what’s that?” you asked, turning your head to look at him.

“something creative,” he said. “i don’t know what exactly, but i want to make things that mean something to people.”

you smiled, reaching over to take his hand. “you’re already amazing. whatever you choose, you’ll be great at it.”

he turned his head to meet your gaze. “and you? what’s your big plan?”

you hesitated, shrugging. “i don’t know yet. but i think as long as i’m happy and i have you, i’ll figure it out.”

he squeezed your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “we’ll figure it out together.”

and that’s how it went. your days were hectic, filled with classes, assignments, and the occasional stress-induced breakdown. but your nights were yours—little pockets of time where the rest of the world faded away, leaving just the two of you. no matter how busy life got, you always found your way back to each other, and that was all that mattered.

the love between you and yeonjun wasn’t loud or flashy; it was in the little things, the small, unspoken acts that made life a little easier, a little brighter. the kind of love that wasn’t about grand gestures but about being there for each other in the moments that mattered most.

one night, after pulling an all-nighter for a paper due the next day, you stumbled into the apartment looking like a zombie. your backpack hung off one shoulder, barely clinging on as you trudged through the door. your eyes were red and puffy, and your hair was a chaotic mess that even you couldn’t care to fix. yeonjun was sitting on the couch, scrolling through his phone, but the moment he saw you, his face shifted into a mix of concern and tenderness.

“you look like you just survived a war,” he said, setting his phone down and standing up to meet you.

“it feels like i did,” you mumbled, dropping your bag unceremoniously to the floor before collapsing onto the couch.

yeonjun followed you, crouching in front of you so he could look into your eyes. his hand reached up, brushing a stray strand of hair out of your face. “did you eat anything today?” he asked softly, his voice full of worry.

you shook your head, too drained to explain that you hadn’t even thought about food between your back-to-back classes and endless study sessions. without another word, yeonjun stood up and disappeared into the kitchen. you leaned back against the cushions, your body sinking into the familiar comfort of the couch, and let out a long sigh.

a few minutes later, yeonjun returned with a steaming bowl of ramen, the smell immediately making your stomach growl. he had even added a soft-boiled egg and a sprinkle of green onions on top, the way he knew you liked it.

“here,” he said, sitting down beside you and holding out the bowl. “eat this. it’ll help.”

you blinked at him, the exhaustion momentarily replaced by a wave of gratitude. “you didn’t have to do that,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

“shh,” he said, cutting you off as he grabbed the chopsticks and guided them toward your lips. “just eat. no arguments.”

you opened your mouth obediently, letting him feed you the first bite. the warmth of the broth spread through you instantly, soothing the ache in your chest and stomach. as you continued eating, yeonjun stayed by your side, his eyes never leaving you. he made sure the bowl didn’t tip, nudging it closer whenever your hands started to falter from sheer exhaustion.

“you’re too good to me,” you said between bites, your voice heavy with emotion.

“someone has to be,” he replied, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “you don’t exactly make it easy for yourself.”

when you finished, yeonjun took the empty bowl back to the kitchen, returning a few minutes later with a glass of water. he handed it to you, watching as you drank before gently pulling you to your feet.

“come on,” he said, his arm slipping around your waist to steady you. “you’re going to bed.”

“but i still have—”

“nope,” he interrupted, guiding you toward the bedroom. “whatever it is, it can wait. you need to rest.”

once you were in bed, yeonjun pulled the blankets up to your chin, tucking you in like you were the most precious thing in the world. his hand lingered on your forehead for a moment, checking for any signs of a fever.

“sleep,” he whispered, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your temple. “i’ll wake you up in time for class.”

you closed your eyes, the weight of the day finally lifting as his warmth and care enveloped you. as you drifted off, you couldn’t help but think how lucky you were to have someone like yeonjun—someone who always knew exactly what you needed, even when you didn’t know it yourself.

the next morning, you woke up to the soft light filtering through the blinds, casting a gentle glow across the room. for a moment, you just lay there, trying to remember where you were, what day it was, and why you felt so much better than you had the night before. as your mind cleared, you realized that yeonjun had kept his promise. you weren’t exhausted anymore, the weight of the all-nighter lifted by the sleep you’d gotten.

you stretched, feeling the satisfying crack of your back, and turned to check the time. to your surprise, it was still early. your phone buzzed on the nightstand, and you reached over to grab it, seeing a message from yeonjun.

“good morning sleepyhead. i’ll make sure you’re not late for class, promise.”

a smile tugged at your lips as you texted back.

“thanks for last night. i actually feel human again.”

a few seconds later, your phone buzzed again.

“of course. now get up, i made you breakfast.”

you blinked, confused at first, before the realization hit. breakfast? he actually made breakfast? with a groan, you pushed yourself out of bed and pulled on your robe, heading for the kitchen. as soon as you walked in, you were hit with the delicious smell of eggs and toast, and you saw yeonjun standing at the stove, flipping something in the pan.

“good morning,” he said, turning around with a bright smile. “i didn’t burn it this time, i swear.”

you chuckled, leaning against the doorframe. “you made breakfast?” you asked, a little in awe.

“yep. i thought i’d take care of you for once,” he replied, setting the plate down on the table. “i wasn’t sure what you wanted, so i made a little of everything.”

the table was laid out with eggs, toast, some fruit, and a pot of tea. it wasn’t anything extravagant, but the care he put into it made it feel special. you sat down, feeling a warm rush of affection for him.

“this is perfect,” you said softly, picking up your fork. “thank you.”

yeonjun sat across from you, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “you’re welcome, but only if you promise to eat it all. i spent a solid twenty minutes on the eggs.”

“deal,” you said, taking a bite. “these are really good. did you learn how to make eggs from youtube?”

“i might’ve watched a few videos,” he admitted with a sheepish grin. “but it’s not as easy as it looks. i almost ruined them, actually.”

you laughed, feeling a little lighter than you had the day before. as you ate, you both fell into a comfortable silence, the kind that only came with time spent together. it was these moments, the quiet ones where you didn’t need to say much, that made you feel the most connected to him.

after breakfast, yeonjun stood up to clean the dishes, but you stopped him. “i’ll do it,” you said, getting up from the table.

“no, i’ve got it,” he insisted, pushing you back toward the couch. “you just relax. you’ve got a long day ahead.”

you rolled your eyes but let him take the dishes anyway, knowing he wouldn’t relent. as you sat back down on the couch, you scrolled through your phone, mentally preparing for the day. it wasn’t until yeonjun finished the dishes and returned to sit beside you that you realized something: you weren’t dreading the day like you usually did after an all-nighter.

you felt light. you felt like you could handle whatever came your way. and you realized it was because of him—because yeonjun always knew how to make everything feel easier, how to make the hardest days seem a little less overwhelming.

he nudged your shoulder, pulling you out of your thoughts. “ready to go?” he asked, offering his hand.

you smiled, taking his hand as you stood up. “yeah. but only because you’re with me.”

he grinned, that familiar, comforting smile that made your heart flutter. “always,” he said, his voice soft but sure. “i’ll always be with you.”

and as you both walked out the door together, side by side, you knew that no matter how hard the day might get, as long as yeonjun was by your side, everything would be okay.

and then the rainy days.

rainy days were never your favorite. you hated the way the damp air clung to your skin, the cold chill that seemed to seep into your bones no matter how many layers you wore. but the thing you hated most was carrying an umbrella. it always felt too bulky, too inconvenient, and you’d often complain about it when the weather turned. the thought of lugging around an umbrella for hours just didn’t sit right with you, and yet, you always ended up doing it.

but then there was yeonjun.

yeonjun, who somehow made it his personal mission to make sure you never had to carry an umbrella again. he had noticed early on how much you disliked it, how you’d sigh and grumble when it started raining, and how you’d leave your umbrella in your bag, trying to avoid the hassle of opening it. and so, whenever the weather turned gray, yeonjun was there, always with an umbrella in hand, ready to protect you from the downpour.

one particularly rainy afternoon, you were at the library, buried under a mountain of books, trying to finish an assignment that had been eating up your time all week. the rain had started coming down in sheets, and you could hear it tapping against the windows, the sound almost rhythmic. you were so focused on your work that you hadn’t even noticed your phone buzzed until a few minutes later.

yeonjun: stay put. i’m on my way.

you frowned at the message, glancing out the window. the rain was relentless, and the idea of walking to the bus stop in it made you groan. you texted back, halfheartedly: it’s fine, i’ll be okay.

but yeonjun didn’t take “it’s fine” for an answer. he knew you too well. just as you were packing up your things, trying to brace yourself for the walk, you saw him.

he walked into the library, his hair damp from the rain, his coat slightly clinging to his shoulders from the wetness. despite the storm outside, there he was, with that same soft, confident smile that always seemed to make your heart skip a beat. and in his hand was the umbrella.

“yeonjun,” you said, feeling a warmth spread through your chest despite the chill in the air. “you didn’t have to come all the way here.”

he just shrugged, looking at you with that playful glint in his eyes. “and let you walk in the rain? no way.”

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “seriously, i can handle it. it’s not that bad.”

he shook his head, holding the umbrella up over both of you as you stepped outside into the downpour. “i’m not letting you handle it. you’ll catch a cold.”

“yeonjun, you’re going to get soaked,” you pointed out, as the rain continued to fall heavily.

“don’t worry about me,” he said, his voice light. “i’m fine. now, let’s go.”

as you walked together toward the bus stop, yeonjun adjusted the umbrella, tilting it more toward you to make sure you stayed dry. you couldn’t help but notice how his shoulder was getting soaked, the water dripping down his sleeve, but he didn’t seem to care.

“yeonjun,” you scolded, trying to nudge the umbrella back toward him. “stop. you’re getting wet.”

he looked down at you with a mischievous grin. “stop worrying about me. i’m taller. i can handle a little rain.”

you shook your head, laughing despite yourself. “you’re impossible.”

but even as you scolded him, you secretly loved how thoughtful he was. it was in the little things he did, the way he always thought of you before himself, the way he made sure you were okay before he even considered his own comfort.

the two of you continued walking in comfortable silence, the sound of the rain falling around you and the soft shuffle of your footsteps filling the space. yeonjun’s shoulder kept getting wetter, but he never complained. he just kept that same warm, steady smile on his face as he focused on making sure you were dry.

as you neared the bus stop, you glanced up at him, realizing how lucky you were to have someone like him. someone who would go out of his way, rain or shine, to make sure you were okay.

“thank you,” you said quietly, your voice soft.

as you neared the bus stop, you glanced up at him, realizing how lucky you were to have someone like him. someone who would go out of his way, rain or shine, to make sure you were okay.

“thank you,” you said quietly, your voice soft.

yeonjun’s smile was gentle as he looked down at you, his eyes filled with affection. “you don’t have to thank me,” he replied, his tone sincere. “i’ll always be here for you, rain or shine.”

you couldn’t help but feel your heart swell at his words. it was moments like these, when he wasn’t saying much but his actions spoke louder than anything, that made you realize just how much he cared. you stood there for a moment, feeling the warmth of his presence, even with the cold rain still pouring down around you.

when the bus finally arrived, you both got on, settling into your seats in comfortable silence. as the bus ride went on, you found yourself leaning into him, the chill from the rain still lingering on your skin. yeonjun’s hand found yours, squeezing it gently as if to reassure you that he was still there, still taking care of you.

when you reached your apartment, you both hurried inside, eager to escape the dampness of the rain. the warmth of the apartment wrapped around you, a stark contrast to the cold air outside. yeonjun hung his wet coat on the rack, then turned to you, his eyes locking onto yours. there was a softness to his gaze, but also something deeper, something more intense.

without saying a word, he closed the distance between you, his hands gently cupping your face. the cold from the rain still clung to his skin, but it didn’t matter. you could feel the heat radiating between the two of you, the connection that was always there, but tonight, it felt stronger.

and then, he kissed you.

it started slow, tentative, as if he was savoring the moment. but as the kiss deepened, it became more urgent, the need for each other rising with every touch. the coldness of the rain outside was quickly forgotten, replaced by the warmth of his lips, the heat of his body pressed against yours. you melted into him, your hands finding their way to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips.

you pulled away for a moment, breathless, but yeonjun wasn’t ready to stop. his lips trailed down your neck, sending shivers down your spine, and you let out a soft gasp, your hands tangling in his hair. the world outside seemed to disappear, leaving just the two of you in this small, intimate space.

“yeonjun…” you whispered, your voice shaky from the intensity of the kiss.

“shh,” he murmured against your skin, his hands slipping to your waist, pulling you closer. “let me take care of you.”

the night stretched on like that, the two of you lost in each other, the coldness of the rain replaced by the warmth of your bodies.

yeonjun wasn’t the only one who cared. you had your ways of looking after him too.

one evening, after he came home from a long day of classes and basketball practice, he flopped onto the couch with a groan. “i think my legs are going to fall off,” he muttered, collapsing onto the cushions with a dramatic sigh.

you walked over and sat beside him, already feeling the exhaustion radiating from his body. your hands instinctively reached for his shoulders, finding the tightness in his muscles. “let me help,” you said softly, beginning to knead the knots that had formed after hours of practice and running.

he let out a deep sigh, his head dropping forward as you worked on his neck. “you’re too good to me,” he murmured, his voice thick with exhaustion.

you smiled as you pressed a little harder, working your fingers into the tension. “someone has to take care of you,” you said, your tone playful yet affectionate. “besides, you deserve it. you’ve been working so hard.”

he groaned again, a contented sound escaping him as the pressure of your hands began to soothe his sore muscles. “if you keep doing this, i’m going to start thinking you’re an angel sent to fix me,” he joked, but his voice held a softness that made you melt.

you leaned forward slightly, your hands gliding down his back, finding more areas that needed attention. “well, i’ll take the credit for now,” you teased, “but seriously, you need to rest more. basketball practice and schoolwork don’t have to take over everything.”

“yeah, but you know me,” he said with a lazy smile, “i’ve got to keep pushing myself.”

“you’re allowed to take a break,” you replied, pressing your thumb into a particularly tense spot. “you can’t always be the one pushing forward.”

“i know, i know,” he muttered, clearly enjoying the attention. “but with you taking care of me like this, it makes it all worth it.”

your heart fluttered at his words, and you leaned down to press a soft kiss to the top of his head. “i don’t mind,” you whispered. “i love looking after you.”

he turned his head slightly, meeting your gaze with a look that made your chest tighten. “remind me to marry you one day,” he said, his voice low but filled with sincerity. though his words were light, there was a warmth in his tone that made your cheeks flush.

you chuckled, the soft pink of your cheeks growing deeper as you continued to work on his shoulders. “maybe i will,” you teased, giving him another kiss on the top of his head, this time lingering for a moment longer.

he smiled, his eyes half-lidded in contentment as he relaxed further into the couch, letting you take care of him. “well, i’m glad to know i’ve got someone like you looking out for me.”

you leaned back, letting your hands rest gently on his shoulders as you gazed at him with a soft smile. “always,” you whispered. “always.”

and when yeonjun found out he’d earned a spot on his university’s basketball team—and a scholarship to go with it—he couldn’t contain his excitement.

“i did it!” he yelled, bursting into the apartment and nearly tackling you in a hug. you barely had time to react before he had you lifted off the ground, spinning you around with an energy that made your heart race.

“yeonjun!” you laughed, your breath caught in your throat as you clung to him for support. “put me down!”

he didn’t seem to hear you at first, still caught up in his excitement, but finally, with a wide grin on his face, he set you down gently, his arms lingering around you, pulling you closer as if to keep you in the moment with him.

his eyes sparkled with an intensity that made your heart swell. “i made the team,” he said, his voice a mix of disbelief and pride. “and i got the scholarship. i can’t believe it.”

you cupped his face in your hands, your smile spreading across your face as you looked at him. “i’m so proud of you,” you said, your voice filled with affection. you could see the relief and happiness radiating from him, and it made your chest tighten with joy.

“i couldn’t have done it without you,” he said softly, his voice laced with sincerity. his hands slid down to your waist, pulling you even closer as he looked into your eyes, as if to say he truly meant it.

you chuckled, shaking your head as you wrapped your arms around him. “yes, you could’ve,” you teased, nudging him with your elbow. “you’re incredible on your own. but i’m glad i could be here for you.”

he grinned, his eyes twinkling with that mischievous glint you loved so much. “well, it’s nice to know i have someone cheering me on, even when i feel like giving up.” he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, his hands still resting on your hips, holding you in the quiet joy of the moment.

later that night, after a celebratory dinner of takeout and a cheap bottle of wine you’d picked up from the corner store, you sat on the couch, the soft buzz of the alcohol making the evening feel even more relaxed. the warmth of the apartment wrapped around you both, and yeonjun was sitting close, his arm draped over your shoulder, his fingers gently tracing circles on your skin.

as you clinked your glasses together, toasting to his success, yeonjun looked at you, his expression softening as he set his glass down on the coffee table. “i really couldn’t have done it without you,” he said again, his voice lower now, filled with a quiet sincerity that made your heart flutter. “you’ve always been there for me, supporting me through everything.”

you felt a lump form in your throat, the weight of his words hitting you deeper than you expected. you swallowed and smiled, brushing your thumb over his hand. “i’m just glad i could be here. i wouldn’t have it any other way.”

he pulled you closer, his lips brushing against your temple in a tender kiss. “you’ve always believed in me, even when i didn’t believe in myself,” he murmured. “i think that’s what really pushed me to make it this far.”

you snuggled into his side, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. “you were always capable of this,” you whispered, resting your head against his shoulder. “i’m just lucky enough to be here to see it.”

he smiled, his hand moving to your back as he held you closer. “i’m the lucky one,” he said quietly, his voice almost a whisper. “i’ve got you by my side.”

you closed your eyes for a moment, letting the sound of his heartbeat soothe you as you drifted in the comfort of each other’s presence. this was the beginning of something bigger, you knew that for sure. yeonjun’s dreams were starting to take shape, and you were right there with him, cheering him on every step of the way.

“we’re going to celebrate even more when you win that first game,” you said with a smile, lifting your head to look at him.

he grinned, his eyes filled with determination. “you bet we will,” he said, pressing a kiss to your lips, sealing the promise of everything that was to come.

and in that moment, everything felt perfect.

your first holiday together in your shared apartment was a mix of chaos and magic. neither of you had much experience decorating, but that didn’t stop you from going all out.

“this tree is way too big for our living room,” yeonjun said, struggling to fit the massive tree you’d picked out into the corner. the branches brushed against the walls, threatening to knock over the lamp you’d just placed there. his arms were outstretched, pushing and pulling, but the tree stubbornly refused to settle in any position that seemed reasonable.

“it’s perfect,” you insisted, standing on tiptoe to hang a glittery ornament on one of the branches, your voice laced with excitement. the ornament wobbled a little before it hung straight, and you stepped back, admiring the sparkle it added to the already glowing tree. the sheer size of the tree seemed to make the space feel even cozier, despite the crowded corners.

yeonjun sighed dramatically, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead. “i swear this tree is going to be the death of me.” he gave one last push to the tree, stepping back with a satisfied grunt.

you grinned, crossing your arms. “you’re being dramatic. it’s just a tree.” you tilted your head, amused by his antics. you loved how seriously he took the decorating process.

“just a tree?” he echoed with a raised eyebrow, glancing around at the pile of decorations scattered across the floor. “this tree has taken over our apartment.” but even though he sounded like he was about to explode from the absurdity of it all, his smile never faded, and his eyes never lost the warmth that made everything feel right.

the two of you spent hours decorating, laughing as you tried to get the garland just right and joking over how many ornaments were too many. you baked cookies, the smell of cinnamon filling the air, though some of them came out a little more “crispy” than intended. yeonjun claimed they still tasted good, but you both secretly agreed that the burnt ones were more “charmingly imperfect” than actually edible.

after the decorating madness came the argument over which christmas movie to watch. you wanted the classic, sentimental feel-good film, while yeonjun argued that something more fun and lighthearted would set the mood. you went back and forth for a while, teasing each other as you fought over the remote.

finally, you settled on one of your favorites, the perfect blend of sweet and funny, and collapsed onto the couch together. the tree twinkled softly in the corner, and the lights flickered like a thousand little stars. the living room was cozy, a small sanctuary filled with warmth and laughter.

yeonjun pulled you close, his arm around your shoulders as you leaned into him. you let out a content sigh, your eyes fluttering closed as you melted into the warmth of his embrace. the movie played on, but you didn’t care about the plot anymore. you were too busy soaking in the simple joy of being with him. this was your moment, and nothing else seemed to matter.

“this is nice,” yeonjun said quietly, his voice low and filled with affection. he sounded like he was holding onto the moment as tightly as you were, and you felt your heart swell with the realization that this was more than just a holiday. it was a promise, a shared dream of building something together.

“it is,” you agreed, your voice thick with the warmth of the moment. your head rested against his chest, and the sound of his heartbeat was the perfect lullaby, steady and calming. it felt like the world had paused just for the two of you.

as the credits rolled on the movie, yeonjun turned to you, his expression shifting into something more serious, more vulnerable. you looked up at him, your heart suddenly racing. “thank you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, but there was a weight to it that made your stomach flutter.

“for what?” you asked, a smile playing at the corners of your lips, though your heart was already bracing for something deeper.

“for making this place feel like home,” he replied, his gaze softening as he looked at you with such tenderness that it took your breath away. he leaned down and kissed your forehead, the warmth of his lips lingering long after he pulled back.

your chest tightened, a feeling of overwhelming affection blooming inside you. “merry christmas, yeonjun,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, but filled with everything you couldn’t quite express in words.

“merry christmas,” he echoed, his arms tightening around you, pulling you even closer. it was as if he never wanted to let go, as if he was afraid that if he did, the moment would slip away. and in a way, you felt the same. this was a memory, a feeling you wanted to hold onto forever.

those moments, as small and simple as they were, were the foundation of your love story. they were proof that love didn’t have to be extravagant to be meaningful. it was in the way you took care of each other, celebrated each other, and found joy in the everyday. in the way you decorated a too-big tree and laughed over burnt cookies. in the way you bickered over movies and then forgot about it in the warmth of each other’s arms. in the way you created a home together, not with things or grand gestures, but with moments that felt like they could last forever.

and that, you realized, was what made your love so special. it was the quiet, unspoken moments. the feeling of being seen and cared for. the promise of forever in a simple kiss, a shared holiday, a memory that would live in your heart long after the tree came down.

after that first holiday together, things fell back into the usual rhythm. the excitement of the new year faded into the mundane, but there was something undeniably comfortable about it. yeonjun was still adjusting to the pressures of college life—balancing basketball with his studies—and you were still trying to navigate the demanding courses that felt more overwhelming with each passing day. but through it all, yeonjun was always there, offering you support, his quiet understanding a constant presence in your life.

as the weeks went on, yeonjun began introducing you to his friends from college—jay and sunghoon, his teammates from the basketball team. you hadn’t made many friends of your own since starting college. truth be told, you hadn’t felt the need to. you had yeonjun, who was both your boyfriend and your best friend, and that was enough for you. the thought of making new friends seemed like a burdensome task, especially with how difficult school was for you. besides, yeonjun had a way of making everything feel less daunting. if you had him, you didn’t need anyone else.

jay and sunghoon were easy to get along with, full of energy and charm. whenever they came over to your apartment, they’d crack jokes, teasing yeonjun in the way that only close friends could. at first, you found their easy camaraderie a bit intimidating. they had their own group, their own world, and you felt like an outsider, just tagging along. still, yeonjun always made sure to include you in their conversations, trying to draw you out of your shell.

“come on, join us,” jay would say with a grin, nudging you as he and sunghoon sprawled on the couch, already deep in conversation about the latest basketball game. “you’re not just gonna sit there and watch us, right?”

you’d laugh awkwardly, still unsure of how to interact with them. “i’m just... i don’t know. i don’t want to interrupt.”

yeonjun would look over at you, his gaze warm. “you’re not interrupting, babe. we want you here.”

but despite his reassurances, you still felt out of place. their friendship was effortless, while yours with yeonjun felt like the only bond you needed. college was hard enough without having to deal with the complexities of socializing. you had your own quiet space in your shared apartment, and that was where you felt most comfortable. the outside world could be chaotic, but here, in the quiet of your home, you had everything you needed.

still, yeonjun’s social life kept growing. as a rising star on the basketball team, he was constantly invited to parties and events, surrounded by people who admired him. at first, he’d ask you to join him, a hopeful look in his eyes. “come on, babe. you can’t just stay home all the time. you’ll have fun, i promise.”

but you’d always find a way to decline. “i’ve got so much work to do,” you’d say, your voice soft but firm. “i’ll just get in the way.”

yeonjun would frown, but he never pushed. he understood. “i get it,” he’d say. “but you’re always welcome to come with me. it’s no fun without you.”

most nights, yeonjun would go to the parties without you. you’d be left in the apartment, working late into the night or watching tv shows alone. you never minded it too much, but there was a small part of you that felt disconnected from his world, from the life he was building outside of your shared space.

then, one night, you decided to go with him. it wasn’t that you were suddenly interested in the party scene; it was more that you didn’t want to keep missing out on the parts of his life that mattered to him. you didn’t want to be the one left behind.

when you walked into the party, the noise hit you first—the thumping bass of the music, the laughter and chatter filling the room. yeonjun, ever the popular one, was immediately surrounded by people. friends from the basketball team, classmates, strangers—everyone seemed to know him. and everyone seemed to gravitate toward him. they complimented him on his latest game, joked around with him, and made him the center of attention. and there you were, standing on the edge of it all, watching as he effortlessly navigated the social maze. you felt small, invisible even.

people would glance at you, nod politely, but then turn their attention back to yeonjun. it wasn’t that they were rude, it was just that they were so enamored with him, so focused on him, that you felt like a shadow in the background. you smiled awkwardly, trying to join in on conversations, but it was clear that you didn’t belong in their world. the attention always circled back to yeonjun, and you were left in his wake.

you tried to shake off the feeling, but it lingered. when you finally left the party with yeonjun later that night, you didn’t say much. you just followed him home, lost in your own thoughts. you couldn’t deny it—yeonjun had changed. college had changed him. and though you loved him with all your heart, there was a part of you that felt like you were losing him, piece by piece, to the world outside.

the night ended quietly. yeonjun had drunk a bit more than usual, and when he came home, he was tipsy, his words slurring as he apologized for the night. “i’m sorry,” he mumbled, stumbling toward the couch. “i didn’t mean to drag you into that... i should’ve been more considerate.”

you smiled softly, helping him onto the couch. “it’s fine, yeonjun. i’m just glad you’re home safe.”

you made him a quick meal—something light, just enough to help him sober up. as you set the plate down in front of him, he looked up at you, his eyes heavy with sleep. “thank you,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “you’re always here for me.”

you brushed his hair out of his face, your fingers gentle. “of course i am. i love you.”

he smiled sleepily, closing his eyes as he drifted off to sleep. you sat there beside him for a while, watching him rest, feeling the quiet warmth of his presence beside you. there was a peace in those moments, in the simplicity of taking care of each other.

the next morning, yeonjun was up early, as usual, for basketball practice. he leaned over and kissed you softly on the forehead before pulling himself out of bed. “i made breakfast,” he whispered, his voice hushed with sleep. “i love you. i’ll see you later.”

you smiled, watching him leave with a mixture of affection and a little sadness. you weren’t sure what it was—maybe it was the parties, or maybe it was the growing distance between you two that had been slowly creeping in. but in that moment, you felt the weight of everything that had changed.

you stayed in bed for a little while longer, content in the quiet of the apartment. yeonjun was busy with basketball, and you had your own work to focus on. life had become a series of routines—mornings filled with breakfast and soft kisses, nights spent working or watching tv shows alone. and though there was still love, there was something missing, something that neither of you could put into words. yet, for now, you were content with what you had.

in the end, that was all that mattered. at least for now.

the small changes continues to crept in, so subtle at first that you almost didn’t notice them. at first, it was just a little shift. yeonjun’s calls became shorter, his voice a little more distracted, as if something was always pulling him away. the long, late-night conversations you used to have, talking about everything and nothing at all, started to dwindle. texts, once a constant stream throughout the day, now took longer to respond to. sometimes, you’d send a message and wait hours for a reply, and when he did get back to you, it was often just a quick “sorry, been busy” or “talk later, okay?”

you rationalized it, convincing yourself that it was just a phase. he was adjusting to his new life, balancing basketball, studies, and everything else that came with being a college student. this was normal, right? everyone went through it. he still made time for you, didn’t he? he still called, still checked in. it wasn’t like he was ignoring you, it was just... life.

but with each passing day, the silence between you two seemed to grow a little longer. the warmth you’d once shared felt more distant, and though you tried to ignore it, the feeling of being left behind slowly began to creep in.

you tried not to make a big deal of it. after all, yeonjun was still yeonjun—the guy who’d once held your hand in the middle of the chaos, who had kissed you softly under the glow of the christmas tree. he was still the one who had promised that no matter what, he’d always make time for you. but promises, you were beginning to realize, were sometimes harder to keep when life got in the way.

one evening, you were sitting on the couch, flipping through the pages of a textbook that you were supposed to be studying, but your mind kept drifting. your phone sat beside you, silent, and for a brief moment, you wondered if you should call him. but then, you caught yourself. what would you say? would he even have time to talk?

just as you were about to return your focus to the textbook, your phone buzzed. you glanced at it, and your heart gave a small, hopeful flutter when you saw yeonjun’s name. but as you opened the message, your smile faded a little.

“hey, sorry i’ve been distant. i know you’re probably wondering what’s up. practice is killing me lately, and there’s a lot going on. i miss you though. i’ll call when i get the chance, okay? see u when i get home.”

it wasn’t the first time he’d apologized, but it still stung a little. you typed out a response quickly, wanting to be understanding, but the words felt heavy on your fingertips.

“it’s okay. i know you’re busy. i miss you too. just... don’t forget to eat, okay?”

you stared at the message before sending it, unsure if you had said too much or not enough. but once it was out there, you hit send, watching the little dots appear as he typed back.

“i’ll make time soon, promise. ah, i need to get back to practice. i’ll see u at home.”

you hoped that was true. you really did. but deep down, there was a part of you that feared it wouldn’t be that simple. life didn’t always give you the luxury of time. sometimes, it took more than promises to make things right.

that night, you tried to go to sleep early, but your mind wouldn’t quiet. you lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying the days in your head. yeonjun’s growing distance, the way his attention seemed to be drawn elsewhere. the parties he went to, the late-night practices, the endless commitments that seemed to pull him farther and farther from you.

the next morning, you woke up to an empty bed. yeonjun had already left for practice, and his usual good morning text was waiting for you. “i love you. have a good day, babe. i’ll see you later.”

it was the same text, the same words, but they felt hollow now. like something was missing. you sighed, pushing yourself out of bed and starting your day, but the weight of the silence lingered.

you told yourself it was just a phase. just a small bump in the road. things would get better. you had to believe that.

later that afternoon, yeonjun finally called. his voice sounded tired, a little strained, but it still made your heart race when you heard it. “hey,” he greeted softly, “how’s your day going?”

“it’s going,” you replied, trying to sound upbeat. “just studying, you know. how about you? how’s practice?”

“exhausting,” he muttered, a small chuckle escaping his lips. “i swear, coach is trying to kill us. but it’s all good. i’m just ready for a break.”

you both fell into an easy rhythm, but even then, there was a slight tension in the air, something unspoken hanging between you. yeonjun was trying to be present, but his mind was elsewhere, and you could tell.

“so, i was thinking,” yeonjun began, his voice light, “maybe we could go out this weekend. just the two of us. i know things have been... busy, but i miss spending time with you.”

your heart fluttered at the thought. it was a small gesture, but it meant everything. “that sounds nice,” you said softly. “i’d love that.”

you both talked a little longer, but eventually, the conversation came to a close. yeonjun had to go. “i’ll text you later,” he promised, his voice warm, but hurried. “i love you.”

“i love you too,” you whispered, your fingers lingering on the phone after the call ended.

but as you put the phone down, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was slipping through your fingers, just out of reach. and no matter how much you tried to hold on, you couldn’t ignore the fact that things were changing. slowly, imperceptibly, but they were changing all the same. but then that weekend came, and you were waiting for yeonjun to come home from basketball practice. he’d texted you earlier, a quick, excited, “start getting ready, babe, i’ll be home in thirty minutes.” you could practically hear the smile in his words, and your heart fluttered in response. the thought of finally having a night for just the two of you—a break from the silence, from the distance that had quietly seeped into your relationship—felt like a balm for the ache you hadn’t admitted was there.

you’d planned this evening in your head all day. maybe you’d go to that small italian place he’d been wanting to try. maybe you’d walk hand-in-hand through the park afterward, laughing at his bad jokes, stealing kisses under the streetlights. or maybe you’d stay home, light a candle, and eat takeout on the couch while watching a movie. it didn’t matter what you did. all that mattered was that it would be just the two of you, uninterrupted.

you got ready quickly, excitement buzzing in your chest. you pulled out the dress he’d once told you was his favorite—the one that made him look at you like you were the only person in the world. as you zipped it up, you smiled at your reflection, imagining the way his eyes would light up when he saw you. carefully, you applied your makeup, each brushstroke deliberate, the anticipation building with every passing second.

you checked the clock. twenty minutes. you sat down on the couch, your phone in hand, scrolling idly through social media as you waited. thirty minutes wasn’t long. you glanced at your phone again, watching the seconds crawl by.

but thirty minutes turned into forty-five. then an hour.

at first, you told yourself it was fine. practice might’ve run late. maybe he got held up talking to the coach or his teammates. you sent him a quick text—“hey, are you okay? let me know when you’re coming.”—and put your phone back down, determined not to let the creeping worry ruin your night.

but the hour became two. the excitement that had filled you earlier began to wane, replaced by a heavy, uneasy feeling. you checked your phone again, but there was no reply. no missed calls, no messages.

you paced the small living room, your mind racing. what if something had happened? what if he’d gotten hurt? what if he needed you?

you sent another text, this one shorter, more direct. “yeonjun, are you okay? please call me.” you hesitated before pressing send, staring at the words on the screen. your fingers hovered over the keyboard, tempted to call him, but you stopped yourself. you didn’t want to seem clingy. you didn’t want to overreact.

three hours.

the makeup you’d carefully applied felt like a mask now, heavy and suffocating. the smudged eyeliner traced faint shadows beneath your eyes, and your lipstick had faded into uneven patches, a cruel reminder of how much effort you’d put into tonight. effort that now felt wasted. standing in front of the bathroom mirror, you stared at your reflection, your chest tightening with every passing second of silence from your phone.

your fingers trembled as you reached for a makeup wipe, the motion robotic, devoid of the hope that had fueled you hours ago. the coldness of the wipe against your skin matched the dull ache in your chest, and as you began wiping away the remnants of your effort, the doorbell rang.

your heart leapt, an involuntary burst of hope surging through you. you dropped the wipe and sprinted to the door, not caring about the uneven streaks left on your face. this was it. he was here. he was finally here.

you swung the door open, breathless, ready to greet him with relief and maybe a little anger for making you wait so long. but instead, you froze.

yeonjun was slumped between jay and sunghoon, his teammates from the basketball team. his head lolled forward, and his eyes were glassy, unfocused. his cheeks were flushed, his shirt wrinkled and slightly damp with sweat. the sharp, unmistakable scent of alcohol hit you before they even spoke.

“the team had a small gathering after practice,” sunghoon said softly, his tone almost apologetic. jay offered a half-smile, awkward and sheepish. “he, uh... overdid it a little.”

a knot formed in your throat, but you swallowed it down. “thanks for bringing him back,” you murmured, stepping aside to let them in. your voice sounded strange to your own ears—calm, steady, like this was normal. like you weren’t breaking inside.

they helped ease him onto the couch, his limbs limp and uncooperative. jay adjusted a pillow under his head, while sunghoon muttered a quiet, “sorry about this,” before they both left, closing the door softly behind them.

and then it was just you and yeonjun.

you stood there for a moment, staring at him sprawled across the couch, his head tilted back, mouth slightly open. this was supposed to be your night. the night you’d been holding on to all week. the night that was meant to remind you that you still mattered to him.

but here he was, drunk and incoherent, too far gone to even remember the promise he’d made to you.

with a sigh, you went to the kitchen, grabbing a towel and soaking it in warm water. you knelt in front of him, the ache in your chest spreading to every corner of your body. as you gently wiped his face, his hand suddenly shot out, weakly grabbing yours. his touch was clumsy, his grip loose, but the desperation in it made your breath catch.

“i’m sorry,” he mumbled, his voice thick and slurred. “i’ll make this work, i promise. don’t leave me. i love you.”

his words hit you like a punch to the gut, and before you could stop yourself, tears began to spill down your cheeks. they came fast and hot, blurring your vision as you stared at him. don’t leave me. the irony of it twisted something deep inside you.

you wanted to scream at him, to shake him awake and ask if he even realized how much of yourself you’d already given up just to hold on to him. instead, you wiped at your tears with the back of your hand, your voice breaking as you whispered, “i love you more than you know.”

you wanted to say more—to tell him how much it hurt to feel like you were slipping further and further down his list of priorities. to tell him how scared you were that you’d already lost him, even though he was right in front of you. but the words wouldn’t come. they were lodged in your throat, a lump of fear and sadness that refused to budge.

yeonjun’s eyes fluttered closed, his breathing evening out as he slipped into unconsciousness. you sat back on your heels, the damp towel still clutched in your hands. the silence in the room felt deafening, pressing down on you like a weight you couldn’t escape.

the dress you’d chosen so carefully now felt suffocating, its fabric clinging to your skin in all the wrong ways. you stood up, peeling it off and pulling on an old sweatshirt, comfort replacing the pretense of a perfect evening.

you sat on the floor beside the couch, knees pulled to your chest, watching the slow rise and fall of his breathing. this was supposed to be your night. but instead, it was just another reminder of how much you were losing him—to basketball, to his teammates, to a life that no longer seemed to have space for you.

is this what love is supposed to feel like? you wondered. like holding on to something that’s slipping through your fingers, no matter how tightly you try to grasp it? when did this start? you thought. was it when you got into the basketball team? or was it when he started seeing a new world—a world without you in it? 

you stayed there until the first light of dawn crept through the curtains, too afraid to move, too afraid to let go.

yeonjun had always been your sunshine—a warm, steady presence in your life. but lately, that warmth had dimmed, replaced by something heavier, something unfamiliar. he was still sweet, still kind, still yeonjun, but there was a distance you couldn’t ignore.

he would still hold you, kiss your forehead, and call you by the nickname only he used, but it felt different now. his arms around you weren’t as tight, his kisses weren’t as lingering, and his words carried a shadow, a flicker of something unspoken.

at first, you told yourself it was just stress. college was demanding, basketball even more so. he was balancing so much, and you didn’t want to add to his burden. “it’s just a phase,” you whispered to yourself at night, staring at the ceiling. “we’ll get through it. we always do.”

but the gnawing doubt in your chest refused to quiet.

you tried to brush it off when he came home late, exhaustion written all over his face. you told yourself it was nothing when his replies to your texts became shorter, more rushed. you didn’t say anything when he started canceling plans, apologizing with that boyish grin that always made your heart ache.

“next time, i promise,” he’d say, pressing a quick kiss to your temple before running off. and you’d nod, swallowing the lump in your throat, pretending it didn’t hurt as much as it did.

and then there was his social media—photos of him with his teammates, candid shots of him laughing, carefree and radiant. the way his smile stretched wide, his eyes crinkling at the corners. you double-tapped the pictures, your stomach twisting as you scrolled through them. it wasn’t jealousy that stung. it was the realization that he looked happier there, surrounded by them, than he did with you.

you stared at the pictures for too long some nights, tracing his smile with your thumb. “why don’t you smile like that with me anymore?” you whispered to the screen, your voice breaking.

one evening, as you sat across from him at dinner, you tried to bring it up. the words felt heavy on your tongue, but you pushed them out anyway.

“yeonjun,” you started softly, setting your fork down. “do you ever feel like... like we’re not the same anymore?”

he glanced up, startled. “what do you mean?”

“i mean... i don’t know. you just seem... different,” you said, your voice faltering. “like you’re happier when you’re not with me.”

his brows furrowed, and he reached for your hand across the table. “that’s not true,” he said firmly. “you know how much you mean to me.”

“do i?” you asked, the question slipping out before you could stop it.

his grip on your hand tightened. “of course you do. babe, come on. i’m just... i’ve been busy, you know? with school and basketball. it’s a lot.”

“i know it is,” you said, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. “but it feels like... like i’m not part of your life anymore. like i’m just... here.”

he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “that’s not fair. you know how much i’m trying.”

you bit your lip, trying to hold back the tears. “are you? because it doesn’t feel like it, yeonjun. it feels like you’re trying for everything else but us.”

his expression hardened, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of frustration in his eyes. “i’m doing my best, okay? what more do you want from me?”

“i want you,” you said, your voice cracking. “i want the yeonjun who used to light up when he saw me, who used to make me feel like i was his whole world. but now... now i just feel like i’m in the way.”

the silence that followed was deafening. he looked at you, his jaw tight, and you could see the conflict in his eyes.

“i don’t know what you want me to say,” he finally said, his voice quiet but strained.

“i don’t either,” you whispered, the tears spilling over now.

that night, you lay in bed, staring at the empty space beside you. yeonjun had fallen asleep on the couch, his face turned away from you. the ache in your chest was unbearable, a hollow, gnawing pain that refused to fade.

you thought about the boy who used to send you good morning texts before his eyes even opened, who used to surprise you with your favorite snacks and kiss you like he couldn’t get enough. where had he gone?

“when did we become like this?” you whispered into the darkness, but the silence offered no answers.

it happened on a whim. you’d planned to visit yeonjun at college, surprising him after weeks of missing each other. the idea had felt romantic in your head, like something out of a movie. you imagined his face lighting up, the way he’d pull you into his arms and kiss you like he couldn’t believe you were real.

but reality had other plans.

you arrived on campus in the late afternoon, nerves buzzing in your chest as you texted him.

“hey, surprise! i’m here. can’t wait to see you. where are you?”

the response didn’t come immediately. five minutes passed, then ten. your excitement began to waver, the anticipation souring into unease. finally, your phone buzzed.

“oh, you’re here? uh, i’m with the guys right now. can we meet up later?”

you stared at the screen, rereading the words until they blurred. the lump in your throat was sudden, sharp, and unyielding.

“sure,” you typed back, your fingers trembling. “later sounds good.”

you found a bench near the quad and sat down, watching groups of students walk past. they laughed, chattered, and moved with purpose. you felt like a ghost, sitting there in the middle of it all, invisible and out of place.

later turned out to be hours.

the sky had darkened by the time he finally texted again. “hey, done now. where are you?”

you forced a smile when you saw him approaching, his stride casual, his face devoid of the excitement you’d hoped for. he pulled you into a hug, but it was brief, his arms loosening too quickly.

“hey,” he said, his voice warm but distracted. “sorry about earlier. the guys wanted to hang out.”

“it’s fine,” you lied, trying to ignore the sting in your chest.

he offered to show you around campus, and you agreed, hoping it would salvage the visit. he walked you through the library, the basketball courts, his favorite spots. his words felt rehearsed, like he was giving a tour to a stranger.

“this is where we hang out after practice,” he said, gesturing toward a cluster of benches. “and over there’s the coffee shop. their caramel macchiato is insane.”

you nodded, laughing at his jokes, smiling at his stories. but it felt hollow. the natural rhythm between you—the effortless connection that used to make everything feel right—was gone.

you wanted to grab his hand, to tell him you missed him, to ask if he missed you too. but something held you back, a quiet voice in your head whispering, “don’t ruin it.”

the breaking point came as you walked through the quad. yeonjun’s phone buzzed, and he pulled it out mid-conversation.

“sorry, it’s just the group chat,” he said, his eyes flicking to the screen. his fingers moved quickly, typing out a reply.

you watched as his face lit up, his smile brighter than it had been all evening.

“everything okay?” you asked, trying to keep your tone light.

“yeah,” he said, glancing up briefly before returning to his phone. “the guys are just making plans for tomorrow.”

“oh,” you said softly, the word barely audible.

he didn’t notice the way your shoulders slumped, the way your gaze dropped to the ground.

that night, as you both sat on the edge of his dorm bedcourt bench, you couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“yeonjun,” you said, your voice trembling.

he looked up from his phone, startled by your tone. “yeah?”

“do you even want me here?” the words spilled out before you could stop them.

his eyes widened. “what? of course i do. why would you ask that?”

“because it doesn’t feel like it,” you said, your voice cracking. “i planned coming here to see you, and it feels like... like i’m just in the way.”

he frowned, setting his phone down. “babe, come on. you know that’s not true.”

“do i?” you shot back, tears welling up in your eyes. “because you’ve barely looked at me all night. you were more excited texting your friends than you were to see me.”

“that’s not fair,” he said, his tone defensive. “i’ve been busy, okay? college is a lot. basketball is a lot. i’m trying my best.”

“trying your best?” you repeated, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. “yeonjun, you didn’t even know i was here until i texted you. and when i did, you made me wait for hours while you hung out with your friends.”

“what was i supposed to do? bail on them?” he asked, his voice rising.

“yes!” you shouted, the frustration and hurt boiling over. “just once, i wanted to feel like a priority. like i mattered more than your stupid group chat or your teammates or—or anything else in your life right now.”

his jaw tightened, and he looked away. “i don’t know what you want me to say.”

“i want you to say that you still love,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “because i don’t feel like you do, i can’t feel you anymore.”

he didn’t respond. the silence was deafening, a chasm opening up between you that felt impossible to cross.

you stood up, grabbing your bag. “i should go,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“wait,” he said, reaching for you. but his hand fell short, his hesitation palpable.

you looked at him one last time, searching his face for something—anything—that would make this hurt less. but all you saw was confusion and guilt.

“i’ll see you at home,” you said, walking out the court grounds before he could say anything else.

the tears didn’t fall until you were outside, the cold night air biting at your skin. you wiped at your cheeks, your heart shattering with every step you took away from him.

that night, he indeed came home. you lay on your side, back facing the door, pretending to be asleep. the sound of keys jingling outside made your heart sink, followed by the soft click of the door unlocking. his footsteps were uneven, heavy, the telltale signs of someone who had too much to drink.

you kept your breathing steady as he shuffled into the room, setting down his things with a clumsy thud. the bed dipped under his weight as he sat down beside you. the familiar scent of him was there—cologne, warmth—but it was drowned out by the sharp reek of alcohol.

you felt him hesitate, then slowly, carefully, he reached for you. his arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer.

“i love you,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your shoulder.

you bit your lip, fighting the tears already forming in your eyes.

“i love you,” he said again, this time pressing a kiss to the back of your head.

you stayed still, your heart aching with every word.

you knew what was coming next—he always wanted to see your face when he said it. you felt his hand gently nudge your shoulder, urging you to turn toward him. you closed your eyes tightly, pretending to be lost in sleep.

“i love you,” he said once more, this time kissing your forehead.

and then you felt it—a warm, wet drop landing on your cheek. it wasn’t yours.

he sniffed, the sound muffled but unmistakable.

“i’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice cracking. “i’m so sorry.”

your chest tightened painfully, the urge to open your eyes and hold him overwhelming. but your mind held you back. you didn’t want to ruin the moment, didn’t want to face the reality that had been slowly unraveling between you.

you stayed like that, motionless, as his tears dampened your skin. his grip around you tightened as if he were holding on to the last shred of what you used to be.

and in that fragile, heart-wrenching silence, you made a wish—a desperate, aching hope—that tomorrow would be better.

but it wasn’t.

the next morning, you woke to the sound of his alarm blaring. he groaned, fumbling to silence it. for a brief moment, as he stirred beside you, you thought things might be different.

“morning,” he mumbled, his voice rough with sleep.

“morning,” you replied softly, forcing a smile.

he kissed your temple—a gesture that used to make your heart flutter. now, it felt routine, mechanical.

“i’ve got practice,” he said, already reaching for his phone.

“do you have time for breakfast?” you asked, hopeful.

he glanced at the screen, his brow furrowing. “sorry, no. i’m running late. i’ll grab something on the way.”

you nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. “okay.”

he left in a rush, leaving behind the faint scent of his cologne and an ache that refused to leave your chest.

days passed, and nothing changed. if anything, the distance grew wider.

he came home later and later, always with an excuse—practice ran long, group projects, a quick drink with the guys. you tried to be understanding, to hold on to the love you’d built together, but it felt like grasping at smoke.

it was your anniversary. three years together. you’d spent the day hoping—hoping that maybe he remembered, that he’d come home early with flowers like he used to, or text you something sweet and simple like “can’t wait to celebrate tonight.” but the hours dragged on, and with each passing minute, hope turned into a quiet ache.

you thought about the way it used to be. last year, he’d surprised you with a picnic under the stars, even though he hated the cold. he’d spent weeks planning it, down to the little thermos of hot cocoa and the playlist of your favorite songs. he’d held your hand, kissed you like the world was ending, and told you how lucky he felt to have you.

this year, there was nothing. no message, no plan. just the familiar sound of keys in the door around midnight.

when he stumbled in, the smell of alcohol hit you before you even saw him. he was drunk again.

“yeonjun,” you said, your voice steady despite the storm brewing inside you.

he didn’t even look at you at first, too busy fumbling with his phone. when he finally glanced up, his expression was tired, almost annoyed. “yeah?”

“do you know what today is?” you asked, your heart pounding.

he frowned, clearly trying to think. “uh… thursday?”

you let out a bitter laugh, tears pricking at your eyes. “it’s our anniversary, yeonjun.”

his face fell, guilt flickering across his features. “shit, i—i’m sorry. i forgot. practice ran late, and then the guys—”

“don’t,” you cut him off, your voice trembling. “don’t give me excuses. just… don’t.”

he sighed, rubbing his temples. “look, i’ll make it up to you, okay? we can do something this weekend.”

“this weekend?” you repeated, your voice breaking. “do you even hear yourself? it’s like i’m not even a priority to you anymore.”

he set his phone down, finally looking at you fully. “what do you want me to say?”

“i want you to say that you still care,” you said, tears streaming down your face. “because it doesn’t feel like it. it feels like i’m just… here. like you’re living this whole other life without me, and i’m just waiting on the sidelines.”

“that’s not fair,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “you know how busy things have been. i’m doing my best.”

“your best?” you repeated, the words tasting bitter. “your best feels like nothing, yeonjun. i feel like nothing.”

his jaw tightened, and he looked away. “i don’t know what you want me to say.”

the silence that followed was unbearable. you grabbed your coat and headed for the door, your vision blurred with tears.

“where are you going?” he called after you, his voice laced with frustration.

“i need air,” you said without looking back.

outside, the cold air bit at your skin, but it wasn’t enough to numb the pain in your chest. you walked aimlessly, the weight of everything crashing down on you. it felt like the world was moving around you while you were stuck in the same moment, stuck in the same suffocating silence.

and then, as if the universe was mocking you, the rain started pouring.

“shit,” you muttered, pulling your coat tighter around you. you didn’t care that you were getting soaked; the rain was almost a relief, hiding the tears streaming down your face, hiding how broken you felt. you didn’t know where you were going or what you were doing. all you knew was that you couldn’t be inside with him anymore. you couldn’t keep pretending that everything was okay when it was slowly killing you from the inside out.

you didn’t hear the footsteps behind you until someone grabbed your arm, spinning you around.

“what the hell are you doing?” yeonjun’s voice was hoarse, his eyes red and swollen, his body shaking from the cold or maybe something deeper. it didn’t matter. all that mattered was that he was here, standing in front of you, but you couldn’t help feeling like you were still miles apart.

“what am i doing?” you shot back, your voice shaking with the weight of everything you’d been holding in. “what are you doing, yeonjun? because it feels like you’re not even here anymore.”

his grip on your arm loosened, and for a moment, he just stood there, rain dripping from his hair, his eyes too tired to be angry. “i’m trying,” he said finally, his voice cracking, raw with something you couldn’t name. “i’m trying so fucking hard, and it’s still not enough.”

“then tell me!” you cried, your hands trembling. “tell me what’s wrong because i’m so tired of feeling like i’m the only one fighting for this. i can’t keep doing this alone. i can’t keep pretending like i’m not suffocating.”

he swallowed hard, his eyes darting away from yours as if he couldn’t bear to face you. “i’m scared,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “i’m scared of losing you, of not being good enough for you. and i know i’m screwing it all up, but i don’t know how to fix it. i don’t know how to be what you need when i don’t even know what i need anymore.”

your heart shattered at his words, at the vulnerability in his voice that mirrored your own. “yeonjun…”

“i hate the team,” he said suddenly, his words tumbling out in a rush, as if he’d been holding them back for far too long. “i hate basketball, but it’s the only thing keeping me in school. if i quit, i lose my scholarship, and then what? and then there’s you—perfect, brilliant you. you deserve someone who has their shit together, not… not me. not someone who can barely keep their head above water.”

you blinked, the words hitting you like a physical blow. the rain was coming down harder now, but it didn't matter. the storm inside you was far worse. you opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out. the weight of it all—the expectations, the fear, the silence between you two—felt too much to bear. your chest tightened, your hands still trembling, but you forced yourself to speak anyway.

“don’t you dare say that,” you said, voice low but fierce, despite the cracks that were starting to show. “you think you’re the only one who’s scared? you think you’re the only one who feels like they’re falling apart?”

yeonjun flinched at the intensity in your voice, but you couldn’t stop now. you couldn’t hold it in any longer. “i’m fucking terrified too, yeonjun. i’m so scared that i’m losing you, but it feels like i’m already too late. i’m already lost, and you’re so busy drowning in your own shit that you can’t even see me anymore. i’m not perfect, okay? i’m not perfect, and i don’t need you to be either.”

he looked at you, confusion flickering in his eyes. “but i’m not—i’m not good enough for you. i can’t even make this work. everything’s falling apart, and i don’t know how to fix it.”

“yeonjun, stop!” you snapped, taking a step forward, the distance between you two feeling both so close and impossibly far. “you’re not some fucking project. you’re not some puzzle that i need to fix. i never asked you to be perfect. i never asked you to be someone else. i just wanted you. but right now, i don’t even know who the hell you are anymore.”

the words were out before you could stop them, and you immediately regretted it. the hurt on his face was too much, and for a second, you thought you might break. but then he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper.

“i don’t know who i am either,” he said, his words so raw they almost cut through you. “i don’t know who i am without basketball, without the team, without the scholarship. i don’t know who i am without you, without this... us. but it’s like i’m losing everything. everything’s slipping through my fingers, and i can’t keep pretending like i’ve got it all together when i’m barely holding on.”

the pain in his voice mirrored your own, and it was too much. too much to hear, too much to process. you wanted to scream, to break down, but instead, you took a deep breath and steadied yourself. you didn’t know what you were fighting for anymore. you didn’t know if this love, this relationship, was even enough to save either of you.

“i can’t do this anymore, yeonjun,” you said, your voice quieter now, broken and defeated. “i can’t keep waiting for you to see me. i can’t keep waiting for you to choose me. it’s killing me. it’s killing me, and i’m not sure how much longer i can take it.”

he stepped forward then, his eyes pleading, his hand reaching out as if he wanted to touch you, but he hesitated. “please, don’t say that,” he begged, his voice barely audible over the sound of the rain. “please, don’t leave me. i don’t know what i’m doing, but i swear to god, i’m trying. i’m trying to be what you need, but i don’t know how. i don’t know what the hell i’m doing, but i swear to you, i’m not trying to hurt you. i’m not trying to push you away.”

you took a step back, the pain in your chest tightening like a vice. “you don’t have to try, yeonjun. you don’t have to be perfect. you don’t have to be someone you’re not. i just need you to see me. to fucking see me, for once. but you’re too busy chasing this thing that doesn’t even matter. and i’m standing here, falling apart, and you can’t even hear me.”

the silence that followed felt suffocating, the tension hanging between you like a thick fog that neither of you could cut through. yeonjun’s eyes were wide, and for a moment, you thought he might say something, anything to make it better, but he just stood there, trembling, as the rain continued to pour.

finally, he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. “i don’t want to lose you. i don’t want to lose us.”

“but we’re already lost, yeonjun,” you said, the words leaving your mouth before you could stop them. “we’re already lost. and i don’t know how to find my way back to you. i don’t even know if i can anymore.”

his eyes widened in shock, his lips parting as if he was about to say something, but no words came. instead, he just stood there, the rain soaking through his clothes, his face pale and lost. and for a moment, you both just stood there, drowning in the silence, unable to find a way back to each other.

the apartment was eerily silent, the kind of silence that made your chest ache. the hum of the refrigerator was the only sound that kept the emptiness from swallowing you whole. you stood in the doorway, dripping wet, your clothes clinging to your skin, the cold biting into you like a punishment. you didn’t know why you came back here—maybe it was muscle memory, or maybe it was that small, pathetic part of you that still believed he’d come back.

you curled up on the couch, your body trembling as exhaustion seeped into your bones. your eyes stung, but no tears came. you’d cried too much already, screamed into the rain until your throat was raw. now, all that was left was the heavy weight in your chest, pressing down, suffocating. you closed your eyes, willing yourself to forget, to sleep, but the ache refused to leave.

yeonjun came home that night. it was late, far later than he should have been out, but that was who he had become—always running, always avoiding the things that mattered. he stepped inside, the click of the door barely audible in the suffocating stillness. his head hung low, his steps hesitant, like he already knew what awaited him.

and then he saw you.

you were still in the same clothes you’d worn in the rain, your body curled into the corner of the couch like you were trying to disappear. your hair was a damp mess, your face pale and tired even in sleep. his breath hitched, and for the first time in what felt like years, he broke.

tears spilled down his face before he could stop them, hot and relentless. his knees buckled, and he sank to the floor beside you, his hands trembling as they hovered over you, unsure if he even had the right to touch you anymore.

you had waited.

he didn’t deserve this. he didn’t deserve you.

“i’m sorry,” he choked out, his voice barely a whisper, broken and raw. “god, i’m so sorry.”

his fingers brushed against your cheek, pushing damp strands of hair away from your face. you stirred but didn’t wake, your breathing soft and steady. he wished he could freeze this moment, hold onto it forever, because he knew it was slipping through his fingers like sand.

he gathered you into his arms, cradling you as if you might shatter. you felt so small, so fragile, and it killed him to think he had been the one to make you this way. he carried you to the bathroom, his steps careful and deliberate, like he was afraid the weight of his guilt might crush you.

he ran the bath, the water warm and soothing, and gently began to clean the remnants of the storm from your skin. his hands moved with a tenderness that made his chest ache, his mind replaying memories he hadn’t dared to touch in so long—the first time he’d held your hand.

he remembered the way you’d laughed at his stupid jokes in high school, the way your eyes sparkled with excitement when you talked about your future. he remembered how you used to hold his hand like it was the most natural thing in the world, how you’d believed in him even when he couldn’t believe in himself. somewhere along the way, he had lost that version of himself, and in doing so, he had lost you too.

and now, here you were, and he didn’t know how to fix what he’d broken.

he dressed you in clean clothes, his hands careful as if you were made of glass. he tucked you into bed, pulling the blanket up to your chin, and sat beside you, his gaze fixed on your face.

the moonlight spilled through the window, casting a pale glow over the room. it illuminated the tear tracks on his face, the hollow look in his eyes. he sat there for hours, his thoughts a storm he couldn’t quiet.

he thought about the person he had become—the way college and the weight of adulthood had twisted him into someone unrecognizable. he thought about how he had pushed you away, how he had let the best thing in his life slip through his fingers.

and he realized, with a clarity that cut deeper than any pain he’d ever felt, that he couldn’t keep doing this.

he couldn’t keep dragging you down with him.

you deserved better.

you deserved someone who could love you the way you deserved to be loved—freely, fully, without the weight of their own broken pieces. and he wasn’t that person, not anymore.

he sat there until the first rays of sunlight crept through the window, painting the room in soft hues of gold. and then, with a heavy heart, he stood, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

“i love you,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “and i’m so sorry that wasn’t enough.”

by morning, the bed beside you was empty. the hollow ache in your chest returned as you reached out instinctively, only to feel the cold, unwelcoming sheets beneath your fingertips. the room felt colder than it should have, the silence pressing against you like a second skin.

you lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, trying to convince yourself that he was still here, that maybe he’d just stepped out for a moment. but deep down, you already knew. the absence was too loud, too final.

you stumbled out of the room, your legs heavy and unsteady, your heart pounding with a mixture of dread and disbelief. the faint smell of breakfast wafted through the air, a cruel reminder of normalcy. your feet carried you to the kitchen, where soobin stood at the stove, his back to you.

he glanced over his shoulder when he heard you enter, his expression softening with something that felt like pity, and it made your stomach churn. “yeonjun already left,” he said quietly, his voice gentle, as if trying not to shatter you.

your heart sank, the words hitting you like a punch to the gut. “to where?” you asked, your voice small, barely audible.

“he said he’s going home for a while,” soobin replied, turning back to the pan in front of him. his tone was calm, but there was an edge of frustration beneath it, like he didn’t fully understand yeonjun’s decision either.

“what about college?” you pressed, the desperation in your voice growing louder, more tangible.

soobin hesitated for a moment before shrugging, his shoulders rising and falling in a gesture that felt like resignation. “he didn’t say anything about it.”

you stood there, frozen, the weight of yeonjun’s absence pressing down on you like a physical force. your chest felt tight, your breaths shallow, and for a moment, you thought you might collapse under the weight of it all.

without another word, you turned and walked back to the bedroom, your footsteps heavy, your shoulders slumped in defeat. the door clicked softly behind you, and you sank onto the edge of the bed, your hands gripping the blanket as if it could somehow ground you.

your gaze wandered aimlessly, and that’s when you saw it—a folded piece of paper resting on his bedside table, almost as if it had been left there deliberately. your heart skipped a beat, a flicker of hope igniting in your chest despite everything.

with trembling hands, you reached for the note, your fingers brushing against the edges of the paper as you unfolded it slowly, as if you were afraid the words inside might break you.

the handwriting was unmistakably his—messy and rushed, the ink smudged in places, as if he’d been in a hurry or had second-guessed himself while writing. your eyes scanned the first few lines, and your heart clenched painfully.

my love,

i don’t even know where to begin. writing this feels like the hardest thing i’ve ever had to do, but i owe you the truth, even if it’s long overdue.

i’ve been failing—not just myself, but you. i see it in your eyes, in the way your smile doesn’t reach them anymore. and i hate myself for being the reason why.

do you remember when we were in high school? when everything felt so simple, and all i wanted was to make you laugh? back then, i thought i could be someone worthy of you. but somewhere along the way, i lost that part of me. the weight of expectations, the pressure of being enough—it’s crushed me, and i let it pull us both under.

i’ve been selfish, holding onto you when i knew i was hurting you. you deserved someone who could stand by you, someone who could be your anchor, and instead, i became the storm.

i’m sorry. for all the times i wasn’t there when you needed me. for the nights you cried yourself to sleep while i was too lost in my own struggles to notice. for losing sight of the person i wanted to be for you.

i don’t know how to fix this, but i know i need to start with myself. i need to figure out who i am, to rebuild the pieces of me that have fallen apart. and i can’t do that while dragging you down with me.

so i’m leaving—for now. i don’t know how long it’ll take, but i promise i’ll come back when i’m ready. when i can be someone you deserve, someone who can stand beside you without making you carry my burdens.

if you’ll still have me when that time comes, i’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you. but if you’ve moved on, if you’ve found the happiness i couldn’t give you, i’ll understand. all i want is for you to be happy, even if it’s not with me.

i love you, more than words can say. and i’m sorry that my love wasn’t enough to keep us whole.

forever yours,

yeonjun 

the letter slipped from your trembling hands, fluttering to the floor like the weight of your heart. you sat there, staring at the words, letting them carve deep into the fragile spaces of your soul. his voice lingered in your mind, echoing in the quiet of the apartment, every word a wound, every line a bittersweet caress.

you should’ve felt angry. you should’ve screamed, cried, broken something. but all you could do was sit there, the emptiness swallowing you whole. you traced the memory of his voice in your head, the way he used to call your name like it was something sacred.

soobin knocked lightly on the doorframe, pulling you out of the spiral. “are you okay?” his voice was soft, cautious, like he was afraid you might shatter.

you nodded weakly, though your chest ached with the weight of a thousand unspoken words. “i just... i need a moment.”

he hesitated but nodded, leaving you alone with the silence.

hours passed, or maybe just minutes—you couldn’t tell anymore. eventually, you stood, pulling on a jacket before grabbing the letter and folding it carefully, tucking it into your pocket like it was the last piece of him you had.

the air outside was cold, biting at your skin as you walked aimlessly. you ended up at the park you used to visit together, the one where he’d pull you onto the swings and push you higher until you screamed at him to stop, laughing through the fear.

you sat on one of the swings, gripping the cold metal chains. the wind whispered through the trees, carrying fragments of memories you couldn’t hold onto anymore.

for the first time, you let yourself cry. not the quiet tears you’d hidden from him late at night, but the kind of sobs that shook your whole body, the kind that left you gasping for air. you cried for the boy who had once been your world, for the man he had become, for the pieces of yourself you had lost in loving him.

when the tears finally stopped, you looked up at the sky, the stars shimmering faintly through the clouds. you took a deep breath, feeling the cold air fill your lungs, and for the first time in a long time, it felt like you could breathe again.

you pulled the letter from your pocket, smoothing the creases with gentle fingers. you read it once more, the words less sharp now, softened by the tears that blurred your vision.

he wasn’t coming back—not yet, and maybe not ever. but you couldn’t let your life remain frozen in this moment, in this grief.

you stood from the swing, the letter still clutched in your hand, and walked away from the park. each step felt lighter than the last, as if you were shedding the weight of what could’ve been.

you didn’t know what the future held, but for now, you had yourself. and that was enough.

gyo's note: hi, loves! it’s been a while since i’ve written something like this, and honestly, it feels so personal, at least for me, because i had experienced a lot like them, where i eventually lost him in the process, and i had to actually stop writing from time to time because it gets the better of my emotion (literally cried writing this piece). this story came to me during one of those late-night overthinking sessions (you know the ones). thank you for reading and for always supporting me—it means the world. i’m also working on finishing alumni homecoming kai, and planning on posting my first series for beomgyu! but will probably stick to posting some of my pending drafts i’m not sure, but stay tuned for those! if you made it to this part, thank you so much! you will be loved. xoxo

✮ 2024 gyozies, all rights reserved.

[gyu-tori]

Guard My Heart | C.YJ

⟢ Pairing: idol!yeonjun x bodyguard fem!reader ⟢ Genre: Fluff, Light Angst, Comedy ⟢ Warnings:: sasaeng encounter, mentions of a knife, might've missed something

Summary: Yeonjun was supposed to be just another assignment—another idol to guard, another job to do. But from the moment you meet, he makes it his personal mission to get under your skin. With his endless teasing, late-night antics, and shameless need for attention, he tests your patience at every turn. No matter how much you try to keep things professional, he just won’t let up. But somewhere between playful bickering, stolen snacks, and texts that definitely aren’t work-related, you start to wonder… Who’s really guarding who?

⟢ Word count: 6.3k

You expected your new assignment to be difficult.

After all, guarding a top idol—especially one as famous as Choi Yeonjun—was never going to be easy. Fans could be unpredictable, the media relentless, and sasaengs downright dangerous. But you had handled tough clients before. You were trained for this.

What you weren’t expecting was this.

Yeonjun, sitting across from you in the HYBE conference room, arms folded, lips pursed in barely concealed dissatisfaction. His bright red hair catches the fluorescent light, making him look even more dramatic as he narrows his eyes at you.

“This is a joke, right? This is my new bodyguard?” he asks, voice laced with amusement. His sharp eyes scan you from head to toe, analyzing, testing. His lips twitch like he’s holding back laughter. 

You don’t react.

“No offense,” he continues, looking you up and down. “But you’re... you know. Small.”

Still, you don’t react.

Yeonjun leans forward, elbows on the table, clearly testing. “Are you even qualified?”

You blink at him. “Try me.”

For a split second, surprise flashes across his face. Then, to your dismay, his lips curl into a grin.

“Oh, I like you already,” he muses, eyes twinkling with mischief.

You resist the urge to sigh. This is going to be a long assignment.

The manager clears his throat. “Choi Yeonjun, this is Y/N. She’ll be assigned to you for the duration of your solo promotions. Given the increase in sasaeng activity, HYBE has decided that personal security for solo schedules is a priority.”

“Right,” Yeonjun hums, leaning back. “So what, she’s gonna follow me around all the time?”

“Yes,” you reply before the manager can. “I’ll be present at all your schedules, guarding your exits, and ensuring your safety. I’ll also be stationed a few floors below your dorm for emergencies.”

Yeonjun raises an eyebrow, looking almost impressed by your no-nonsense tone.

“So you’re really serious about this, huh?”

You don’t answer.

Yeonjun exhales, shaking his head. “Alright, alright. Let’s set some ground rules then, shall we?”

You nod, waiting.

“One,” he holds up a finger. “No invading my personal space.”

You blink. “That depends. If someone lunges at you, do you want me to ask for permission first?”

He chuckles. “Okay, fair. But if I want to, I don’t know, get some late-night food, you’re not gonna be a buzzkill about it, right?”

You meet his gaze. “For your safety, here’s how this is going to work,” you say, arms crossed as you brief him and his manager. “You will not go anywhere without me. No sneaking off, no last-minute changes in schedule, and absolutely no ditching security.”

Yeonjun hums thoughtfully, tilting his head. “So you’re basically my shadow now?”

“Yes,” you confirm. “You will contact me if anything feels off. Only if something feels wrong. Understood?”

He pouts dramatically. “No fun.”

“This isn’t about fun,” you reply, deadpan. “It’s about safety.”

His eyes gleam with mischief. “We’ll see.”

Yeonjun doesn’t waste any time.

The moment your official duties begin, he takes it upon himself to make them as insufferable as possible.

It starts small.

He walks too fast, then too slow.

You keep pace effortlessly, adjusting without complaint.

Then he fake trips.

You don’t react.

He catches himself—gracefully, of course—and glances at you expectantly, waiting for some sort of acknowledgment.

Nothing.

The corner of his mouth twitches. “You weren’t even gonna try to catch me?”

You adjust the earpiece in your ear, still walking. “If you fall and crack your head, I am not responsible.”

Yeonjun grins. “She speaks!”

You give him a sidelong glance. “Only when necessary.”

He grins. “Good to know.”

For the rest of the afternoon, he keeps trying.

He pretends to get lost inside the HYBE building, just to see if you’ll panic, you don’t.

He “accidentally” walks into the wrong dressing room before a shoot ,you yank him out by the hood.

He even tries to make you laugh by doing ridiculous dances in the hallway.

Nothing works. But he’s determined.

Later that night, you’re posted near the dorm elevator when you catch movement out of the corner of your eye.

You don’t have to turn your head to know exactly who it is.

Choi Yeonjun, dressed in all black like a wannabe spy, creeping toward the doors like he isn’t being completely obvious.

You wait until his finger hovers over the elevator button before speaking.

“If you press that button, I will escort you back to your dorm immediately.”

Yeonjun jumps slightly, spinning around.

“You are way too quiet,” he complains, clutching his chest dramatically.

You cross your arms. “And you are way too obvious.”

He sighs, shaking his head. “C’mon, miss bodyguard. I’m just getting snacks.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Alone?”

His lips twitch. “Guess you’ll just have to come with me.”

You exhale through your nose, weighing your options. It’s not technically a high-risk situation. The building is secure. He’s wearing a mask and cap.

“…Fine.”

Yeonjun’s eyes light up like he’s just won the lottery.

Minutes later, you find yourselves on a rooftop, a plastic bag of snacks between you. The city glows below, the hum of distant traffic filling the silence.

For the first time since meeting him, Yeonjun isn’t talking.

And strangely, it isn’t uncomfortable.

You don’t say anything either, letting the quiet settle between you.

Eventually, Yeonjun breaks the silence with a hum of amusement.

“You know,” he muses, tearing open a bag of chips, “you don’t hate me as much as you pretend to.”

You glance at him. “I never said I hated you.”

He tilts his head, studying you with an unreadable expression. “No, but you try really hard to act like you don’t care.”

You don’t respond. Yeonjun doesn’t push.

After escorting him on his late night escapade and heading back to your respective dorms, your phone vibrates. 

Yeonjun: I kinda bought too many snacks, want some?You: Go to sleep.Yeonjun: A simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ would sufficeYou: No.Yeonjun: LiarrrrYou: Goodnight.

You stare at the screen for a moment before shaking your head, tossing the phone onto your nightstand.

This job is going to be exhausting.

The next few days, Yeonjun seems to make it his personal mission to get under your skin.

It starts with little things.

When walking ahead of you, he suddenly slows down—forcing you to either walk beside him or come to an awkward halt.

When you side-step to keep your usual position behind him, he mirrors you, making it obvious that he’s doing it on purpose.

You ignore it.

Then, he starts talking.

“Why are you always so serious?” he asks one morning on the way to a recording.

You don’t answer immediately.

“Why are you always talking?” you counter after a beat.

Yeonjun grins, as if pleased that you responded at all. “Because I want to know what makes you tick.”

You give him nothing.

He leans in slightly. “Are you secretly in love with me?”

You don’t even blink. “Are you secretly incapable of shutting up?”

Beomgyu, who’s been watching from the side, nearly chokes on his water.

Yeonjun gapes at you before breaking into a wide grin. “Oh, you’re good.”

You roll your eyes and walk ahead.

He follows, laughing to himself. He’s definitely going to crack you.

“Honestly, at this point, you two might as well just start dating,” Beomgyu teases one afternoon.

You’re in the practice room, watching the members rehearse.

Yeonjun, who’s taking a water break, wipes sweat from his brow and smirks. “Honey, what do you think?”

He looks right at you.

You meet his gaze with a deadpan expression. “Sure , but I get half your paycheck.”

Soobin spits out his drink.

Taehyun straight-up claps.

Beomgyu gasps in delight. “Wait—she’s kind of scary. I like her.”

Yeonjun… turns red.

“Oh my god,” Kai laughs, pointing. “He’s actually blushing.”

“Shut up,” Yeonjun grumbles, but the tips of his ears are undeniably pink.

Later that night, your phone vibrates.

Yeonjun: So do you want it in cash or bank transfer?You: Stop texting me.Yeonjun: That’s not a no.

You toss your phone aside.

This man is exhausting.

And yet, a tiny—dangerous—part of you is starting to find it entertaining.

It happens a few days later.

Yeonjun is mid-conversation with a staff member when he catches himself watching you.

The way you quietly scan the crowd at the filming site. The way your head tilts slightly when you’re focused. The way your fingers tap against your leg, subtle but rhythmic, like a habit.

Why am I noticing these things?

He shakes himself out of it, forcing himself back into the conversation.

It’s nothing.

Just curiosity.

Right?

It’s after a music show recording when it happens.

Another male idol—someone from another group—sidles up to you while you’re standing near the dressing room entrance.

“Hey, you’re Yeonjun’s bodyguard, right?” he asks, leaning in slightly. “That’s kinda cool.”

You don’t react. “Can I help you?”

The idol grins. “Just wondering if you’re off-duty later. Maybe we could—”

A hand lands on your shoulder.

Yeonjun.

“She’s with me,” he says smoothly, his arm sliding around you with practiced ease.

The idol blinks. “Oh. My bad, man—”

Yeonjun just smiles, a little too sharp. “No worries.”

The moment the guy walks away, you step out of Yeonjun’s grasp, crossing your arms.

“What was that?”

He shrugs. “Just making sure you weren’t uncomfortable.”

You study him for a moment before shaking your head. “You’re weird.”

Yeonjun just grins.

Later that night—

Yeonjun: I was pretty cool today, huh?You: No.Yeonjun: LiesssssYeonjun: Hey, random question…You: What?Yeonjun: If I was kidnapped, would you pay the ransom to rescue me?You: That depends. How much are they asking for?Yeonjun: ???You: If it’s less than my monthly salary, then no.Yeonjun: That’s so cold. I thought we were getting closer.You: This is a professional relationship.Yeonjun: I professionally think you have a nice face.You: Block.

Yeonjun laughs, tossing his phone onto his bed.

This is definitely going to be fun.

You should’ve seen it coming.

Yeonjun has been running on fumes for days—back-to-back schedules, late-night practices, barely any sleep. His body was bound to give out eventually.

Still, when you walk into the dorm and find him curled up on the couch like a half-dead sloth, it’s… unsettling.

“Are you dying?” you ask flatly, setting your bag down.

Yeonjun groans, burying his face deeper into the blanket draped over his head. “Feels like it.” His voice is hoarse, thick with congestion. “Can’t move. Just leave me here. Tell my fans I love them.”

You roll your eyes.

“Did you take medicine?”

A vague grunt.

“Did you eat?”

Another grunt.

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “I swear to god—”

He groans again, more dramatic this time. “I can’t eat. My throat hurts. I’m weak. Frail. Delicate.”

You sigh and disappear into the kitchen.

A few minutes later, you return with a steaming cup of tea and place it on the table in front of him. “Drink.”

Yeonjun cracks one eye open. “You made me tea?”

“I am contractually obligated to keep you alive,” you deadpan.

He smirks weakly. “You care about me.”

You shove the tea closer. “Drink it before I pour it on your head.”

Yeonjun chuckles but obeys, taking a slow sip. His eyes slip shut as he swallows. “Damn. That’s actually good.”

You cross your arms. “Maybe if you start listening to me like a good patient, you’ll recover faster.”

He peeks up at you with a lopsided grin. “You sound like my mom.”

Without missing a beat, you fire back, “Then start listening to me like a good son.”

For a moment, Yeonjun just blinks at you.

A slow, mischievous smirk spreads across his lips.

“Oooh,” he hums, voice teasing. “You have a mommy kink?”

You shove the tea back into his hands so fast he nearly spills it.

“Drink.”

He laughs through his coughs but does as he’s told.

Later when you leave his dorm, he’s already buzzing your phone.

Yeonjun: So when do I get more tea from my mommy? You: Never texting you again.

It starts as a joke.

You’re standing at the edge of the practice room, watching Yeonjun go through his choreography for an upcoming performance. He moves with effortless precision—fluid, controlled, and stupidly good at what he does.

After a final spin, he shoots you a look through the mirror.

“You should try it.”

You scoff. “I’m your bodyguard, not a backup dancer.”

Yeonjun grins, stepping toward you. “C’mon. Just one move. Super simple.”

“I don’t—”

Before you can finish, he’s grabbing your wrist, tugging you into the center of the room.

“Just follow my lead.”

You sigh, resigning yourself to whatever nonsense this is.

Yeonjun demonstrates a step, slow and exaggerated. “See? Easy.”

You copy him, mimicking his footwork.

He nods approvingly. “Not bad. Now a little faster.”

You repeat the move.

You step forward—directly onto his foot.

Hard.

“OW—” Yeonjun yelps, hopping on one leg. “You actually just—Ow, ow, ow—”

The other members, who had been stretching nearby, burst into laughter.

Beomgyu collapses onto the floor, wheezing. “Bro, she really took you out!”

Yeonjun glares at you, still clutching his foot. “That was personal. I felt it.”

You cross your arms. “I warned you.”

He exhales dramatically, shaking his head. “Okay. Maybe bodyguard work is more your thing.”

You smirk. “Told you.”

His constant texts of nonsense hadn’t stopped, they just got… more creative.

Yeonjun: If I get a paper cut, is that an emergency? You: No. Yeonjun: What if it’s a really bad one? You: Still no. Yeonjun: What if I have an emotional paper cut? You: Blocked. Yeonjun: 😭😭😭

You sigh, dropping your phone onto the table.

This is getting out of control.

Because it doesn’t feel like just a game anymore.

After a long event, you and Yeonjun sit in the company car, exhausted.

The city lights blur past the windows, the hum of the engine filling the silence.

Yeonjun exhales, tilting his head back.

“It’s weird, isn’t it?” he murmurs.

You glance at him. “What is?”

“How you’re always here.”

Your fingers twitch slightly against your lap.

“It’s my job,” you say, more to yourself than to him.

“Yeah, but…” He turns his head, eyes settling on you. “It doesn’t feel like just that anymore.”

Your stomach twists. You don’t answer. And Yeonjun doesn’t push but the words linger between you, unspoken.

It happens during a late-night shoot.

The production team has been working for hours, filming Yeonjun’s new solo music video. He was filming a scene where he pours a bottle of water on himself, then proceeds to dance.

But the thing about water? It makes everything slippery.

You’re standing off to the side, scanning the area as Yeonjun films a take. He moves through the scene flawlessly, his body swaying to the beat, charisma practically dripping off him.

Then—

His foot slides.

It happens too fast. One second, he’s perfectly in sync with the music. The next, his balance wavers.

You react instinctively.

Before he can hit the slick ground, you step forward, grabbing his arm and pulling him upright.

Unfortunately, Yeonjun overcorrects.

Momentum carries him forward.

Directly into you.

The world slows as his body crashes into yours, and suddenly, you’re chest-to-chest.

You brace against the impact, hands gripping his shoulders to steady him. His arms instinctively wrap around your waist to keep himself from fully toppling over.

The set falls eerily silent.

It takes a second to register—how close your faces are, how your breaths mingle in the chilly night air, how you can feel the warmth of his hands even through your jacket.

Yeonjun blinks, looking dazed.

Then his gaze flickers down.

Your heart jumps.

There’s something different in his expression—less teasing, more intense.

The weight of it makes your throat go dry.

For a moment, neither of you move.

Neither of you speak.

“Uh…”

A voice breaks the tension.

Beomgyu.

You both snap out of it at the same time, stepping apart so fast it’s almost comical.

Beomgyu, who was standing a few feet away, only having arrived to support Yeonjun, raises an eyebrow. “So… should we leave you two alone, or—?”

“Shut up,” Yeonjun mutters, running a hand through his hair as if that will somehow erase what just happened.

You clear your throat. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Yeonjun says, still looking a little dazed. Then he exhales a soft laugh. “Guess you really are my bodyguard.”

The teasing is forced. You can tell.

And the way he keeps sneaking glances at you for the rest of the night?

Yeah. You definitely didn’t imagine it.

The tension doesn’t fade.

Even after the shoot wraps, even after the crew starts packing up, even after Beomgyu finally stops wiggling his eyebrows at you from across the set.

You can still feel it.

It lingers in the way Yeonjun keeps glancing at you. The way his jaw tightens every time someone disrupts the silence stretching between you. The way his hands clench like he wants to say something but can’t.

You pretend not to notice.

But of course, Yeonjun doesn’t let things slide that easily.

“Y/N.”

You barely have time to react before he grabs your wrist, tugging you toward a secluded area behind the set. It’s quiet here, away from the lingering staff members and nosy bandmates.

You sigh, already knowing where this is going.

“Yeonjun—”

“What was that?” His voice is quiet but firm. “Back there.”

You fold your arms. “You slipped. I caught you. That’s it.”

He lets out a short laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “Yeah? Is that what we’re calling it?”

You don’t respond.

Yeonjun steps closer. Not too much, but enough that the air between you suddenly feels thinner. “Don’t act like you didn’t feel it.” His voice is lower now, more serious. “Because I know I did.”

Your breath catches.

Yeonjun isn’t teasing anymore. There’s no playful smirk, no mischievous glint in his eyes.

Just quiet intensity.

“I don’t know what this is,” he admits, running a hand through his damp hair. “But I know that it’s… something.”

You swallow hard.

“You don’t want to talk about it? Fine,” he continues. “But don’t pretend it’s not there.”

It’s dangerous—the way his words make your resolve crack, the way your heart betrays you by speeding up.

You know what he’s asking.

You know where this road leads.

And you can’t—

You step back.

“This isn’t a drama, Yeonjun,” you say quietly. “You have your career. I have a job to do.”

Yeonjun’s expression flickers—something unreadable, something almost hurt—but he masks it quickly.

For a long moment, he just looks at you.

Then he exhales, a bitter smile ghosting his lips. “Right.”

The word is simple.

But it stings.

You don’t wait for him to say anything else.

You turn and walk away, willing yourself not to look back.

Later that night, you lie in your bed, recalling the events that happened earlier. Yeonjun’s words haunt your mind. 

Buzz!

The sudden vibration brought you back to reality from your thoughts. You grab your phone and check it.

Yeonjun: Still awake? You: Go to sleep. Yeonjun: I meant what I said. I’m not letting this go.

You stare at your screen.

And for the first time, you’re not sure if you want him to.

Yeonjun sighs when he sees no response from you. He barely sleeps that night. Your words echo in his head, looping like a broken record.

"This isn’t a drama, Yeonjun. You have your career. I have a job to do."

But you didn’t deny it. You didn’t say he was wrong, and that’s enough to push him forward.

So the next morning, he does something reckless.

He walks straight into HYBE’s office and demands a meeting.

The higher-ups look at him with wary expressions, already sensing trouble.

“If this is about your bodyguard—” one of them starts, but Yeonjun cuts them off.

“I need to talk to you about Y/N.”

A long silence.

One of the executives sighs, leaning back in his chair. “Yeonjun—”

“I know what you’re going to say,” Yeonjun interrupts, crossing his arms. “That it’s unprofessional. That it’s bad for my image. That fans see bodyguards as untouchable. That if this gets out, it could ruin things for both of us.”

He meets each of their gazes head-on.

“I don’t care.”

Another silence.

Someone clears their throat. “Yeonjun—”

“I don’t care if people get mad,” he continues firmly. “I don’t care if it costs me fans. I don’t care about any of that.”

The words leave his mouth before he can stop them.

“She’s not just my bodyguard.”

That gets their attention.

One of the higher-ups raises an eyebrow. “Then what is she?”

Yeonjun doesn’t hesitate.

“She’s someone I’m not willing to lose.”

A heavier silence fills the room.

The company doesn’t outright reject him.

But they don’t agree, either. “Yeonjun,” one of them says carefully, “you’re asking us to take a risk.”

He doesn’t waver. “Then take it.”

The executives exchange looks. “We’ll… consider it.”

That’s all he gets, but it’s enough. For now.

You start pulling away.

It’s subtle at first. Small, barely noticeable shifts in behavior.

You stop responding to his late-night texts. You keep conversations brief, strictly professional. You take extra steps to create distance, ensuring nothing about your relationship can be misinterpreted.

Yeonjun notices.

And he hates it.

But he doesn’t get the chance to fix it before everything goes wrong.

It’s late after a music show recording.

Yeonjun is heading out through a private parking lot exit, an area usually low-risk. Most of the security has already left with the other members, and only a few staff linger, packing up equipment.

You do your usual scan.

Everything looks fine.

Then—

Something feels off.

You can’t pinpoint why at first.

A figure near the exit, wearing a staff badge, carrying a clipboard. They look normal—like any other employee wrapping up for the night.

But then they shift, adjusting their sleeve.

That’s when you see it.

A flash of silver.

Knife.

Your body reacts before your mind fully registers it.

They lunge.

Straight for Yeonjun.

You shove him back—hard—causing him to stumble against the car.

The knife swings forward, slashing through the air—missing him but slicing into your arm instead.

Pain sears through you, hot and sharp.

But you don’t flinch.

The attacker lunges again, wild with desperation.

This time, you catch their wrist mid-swing, twisting sharply.

A strangled cry—then the distinct sound of metal clattering to the pavement.

Before they can react, you drive them back with brutal efficiency, slamming them against the car and pinning them down.

Security floods in seconds later, tackling the sasaeng to the ground.

But Yeonjun doesn’t see any of that.

His eyes are locked on you.

More specifically—

The blood dripping from your sleeve.

He’s in front of you in an instant, grabbing your arm.

His hands are shaking.

“Are you hurt?” His voice is rough, like he’s forcing the words out.

You glance at the wound. The cut is deep but not life-threatening.

“It’s nothing.”

Yeonjun’s grip tightens.

“You—” His voice cracks. “You didn’t even hesitate.”

Something about that fact seems to break him.

Because this is the moment he knows.

Knows that you care more about protecting him than yourself.

Knows that he can’t lose you.

Knows that this isn’t just one-sided anymore.

The world finds out.

You wake up to your phone buzzing non-stop. Texts, calls, notifications flooding in so fast you can’t keep up.

At first, you think it’s just company business.

Then you see the headlines.

“Yeonjun’s Bodyguard Takes Down Armed Attacker.”“Who Is the Woman Protecting Choi Yeonjun?”“Should an Idol’s Safety Rely on Someone Getting Hurt?”

Your stomach drops.

Someone must have leaked the security footage.

The video is everywhere—shared across social media, dissected by news sites, blowing up on forums. It’s grainy but clear enough to show exactly what happened.

The moment you shoved Yeonjun out of harm’s way. The flash of the knife. The way you barely hesitated before putting yourself between him and the attacker.

And most importantly—

Yeonjun’s expression when he saw you bleeding.

A mix of horror, panic, and something deeper.

Something that the entire world is analyzing now.

You scroll through the trending topics.

#YeonjunBodyguard#TXTProtectionFail#WhoIsShe#HYBEStatementWhen

Fans are in full meltdown mode.

Some are in awe.

“She took a KNIFE for him???”“That was straight out of an action movie. Who is this woman??”“I’ve never been more invested in a staff member before.”

Some are furious.

“How could security be this sloppy??”“Idols should not be relying on their bodyguards to get HURT.”“HYBE needs to do better.”

And, of course—

Some have already begun shipping you.

“Tell me I’m not the only one seeing the tension between them.”“The way Yeonjun looked at her?? I felt that.”“They have main couple in a k-drama energy. I’m sorry.”

You exhale sharply, locking your phone.

This is exactly what you didn’t want.

Your job isn’t to be in the spotlight. You were supposed to blend in, stay in the background, do your work without anyone noticing.

This?

This is a disaster.

You need air.

You slip away to the company rooftop, hoping for a moment of silence, away from the chaos.

The city sprawls out below, glittering under the night sky. It should be calming.

But all you can think about is the fallout.

The company will have to address this. They’ll want to “manage the narrative,” keep things from spiraling out of control.

They’ll probably pull you from Yeonjun’s security detail. Maybe even reassign you completely.

You should be relieved.

This is what you wanted, right?

Then why does it feel like a knot is tightening in your chest?

You don’t hear Yeonjun approach, but you feel his presence before he speaks.

“You saved me.”

His voice is soft, but there’s something raw underneath it.

You don’t turn. “It’s my job.”

“No.”

This time, it’s firmer.

You feel him step closer.

“That wasn’t just your job.”

Silence.

A heavy, suffocating silence.

Then—

“That’s the problem,” you admit quietly, voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t hesitate.”

The words linger in the air, heavier than you intended.

Because you know what they mean.

You weren’t just protecting an artist.

You were protecting him.

Not out of duty, not out of obligation—

But because you couldn’t not protect him.

You hear Yeonjun inhale sharply, like he’s about to say something.

You finally turn to face him.

His expression is unreadable, but his eyes—his eyes say everything.

There’s frustration. Worry. Relief.

And something else.

Something you’re terrified to acknowledge.

Yeonjun takes another step forward, closing the space between you.

“I don’t want to pretend this is nothing anymore.” His voice is quiet, but there’s a determination behind it that makes your stomach twist.

“Yeonjun…” You shake your head. “Your career…”

His jaw clenches.

“You think I care about that?”

You open your mouth, but he doesn’t let you speak.

“Do you know what went through my head when I saw you bleeding?” His voice is rough, like the words are being dragged out of him. “I didn’t care about the cameras. The fans. The company. I didn’t give a shit about any of it.”

He exhales sharply. “All I could think was, what if it was worse?”

“Then it would’ve been worse.”

“But what if I lost you?”

You stay silent. Something tightens in your chest.

“I know this isn’t just me.” Yeonjun’s voice softens slightly. “And I know you’re scared.”

His gaze flickers over your face, as if trying to read your thoughts.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” he says, almost pleading.

You can’t.

You should.

But you can’t, because he’s right. You don’t answer and Yeonjun smiles. It’s soft. Triumphant.

Like he finally has the confirmation he’s been waiting for. His voice drops to a whisper. “Good.”

Because now? He’s not letting you go.

Yeonjun doesn’t wait.

The next morning, he storms into HYBE’s main office, eyes burning with determination. He doesn’t ask for a meeting. He demands one.

The executives barely have time to process before he’s seated at the head of the long conference table, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

“If you want me to keep working, I need her here,” he says bluntly.

Silence.

The board members glance at one another, their expressions tense.

One of them sighs. “Yeonjun, we understand you’re in a difficult position, but—”

“My position isn’t difficult,” he interrupts. “It’s simple.”

His voice is calm, but there’s a weight behind it. A finality.

“You’re asking us to take a risk,” another executive says cautiously.

Yeonjun doesn’t blink. “Then take it.”

They hesitate.

“If dating rumors spread, it could damage your career.”

“Your image will take a hit.”

“Fans see bodyguards as untouchable. If this gets out, it could ruin things for both of you.”

Yeonjun exhales sharply, shaking his head. “Then we don’t let it get out.”

Another silence.

“Or,” he says, leaning forward, “we handle it together.”

For the first time, the executives actually seem to consider it.

And Yeonjun knows he’s winning.

The call comes in less than an hour later.

When you step into the private meeting room, you already know what’s coming.

The HR rep sitting across from you folds their hands neatly, expression unreadable.

“We’ve discussed the situation,” they say. “And there are two options.”

You nod, waiting.

“Option one: You transfer out of Yeonjun’s security detail. You remain with HYBE but will no longer have any contact with him.”

A clean break.

A professional solution.

A suffocating, miserable choice.

You swallow. “And option two?”

The HR rep exhales.

“You resign completely.”

Your stomach clenches.

Of course.

Keep your job but lose Yeonjun. Or leave everything.

They think they’ve backed you into a corner.

And maybe they have.

But before you can answer—

Before you can decide—

Yeonjun makes the decision for you.

You sit stiffly in the HR meeting room, hands folded in your lap, trying to keep your expression neutral.

The air is tense.

Across from you, two HR representatives sit with carefully blank expressions, as if they aren’t about to completely change your life.

“We understand that Yeonjun is insisting on keeping you around,” one of them says, adjusting their glasses. “But let’s be clear—this is an unprecedented situation.”

You nod once, waiting.

“It’s crucial that you maintain strict professionalism.”

“Understood.”

“Any slip-ups, any public incidents, any unprofessional behavior—” The HR rep folds their hands together. “And we’ll have to revisit this arrangement.”

Translation: One mistake, and you’re out.

You keep your face blank, but your stomach is in knots.

It’s not like you didn’t expect this. You knew there would be consequences, knew the company would want to keep control.

But hearing it laid out so coldly makes your throat feel tight.

“Do you have any questions?”

You open your mouth—to say no, to accept their terms, to pretend none of this is affecting you—

A knock on the door.

The HR reps frown slightly, glancing at each other. “Come in.”

The door cracks open.

And standing there, looking half-apologetic, half-panicked—

Is Soobin.

Your brows furrow. Soobin isn’t the type to interrupt meetings unless it’s serious.

He clears his throat, stepping inside. “Uh, sorry to interrupt, but…” His eyes flick to you. “You might want to see this.”

Your stomach twists.

“What is it?” one of the HR reps asks, unimpressed.

Soobin hesitates, then sighs and just turns his phone screen toward you.

And on it was a Weverse Live.

Yeonjun’s Weverse Live.

You blink.

He’s sitting there in their practice room, casually reading fan comments, TXT members lounging in the background.

And then—

A fan question pops up.

“Oppa, what do you think of your bodyguard? She was so cool!”

Your heart stops.

Because instead of dodging the question—

Instead of laughing it off—

Yeonjun smirks and reads it out loud.

And then, smoothly, “She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. She's practically 99.9% my type.”

You sit there, frozen.

Completely. Frozen.

Soobin shifts awkwardly. “Yeah, so… uh… that just happened.”

The HR reps look deeply unamused.

You are going to kill him.

The next morning, HYBE holds an emergency meeting.

You already know what’s coming.

But this time, you don’t walk in alone.

Yeonjun is waiting for you outside the boardroom.

When he sees you approaching, he doesn’t say anything at first. Just watches you carefully, as if making sure you’re really here.

Then, he holds out his hand.

You hesitate. Not because you don’t want to take it, but because you know what it means. But then you remember—

“You’re not alone in it anymore.”

So, in front of the entire executive board, you take it.

The tension in the room is palpable when you step inside.

The executives take one look at your intertwined hands and exchange wary glances.

Someone clears their throat. “Yeonjun—”

But he cuts them off immediately. “I’ll save you the trouble of trying to decide for me.” His voice is calm. Unshakable. “I’ve thought about everything. The risks, the consequences, the backlash.”

His grip on your hand tightens slightly. “And I still choose her.”

Silence.

One of the higher-ups sighs, rubbing their temples.

“You understand what this could mean for your image, right?”

Yeonjun shrugs. “Then my image changes.”

The executives look at each other again, clearly unhappy.

“You’re really willing to risk it?” one of them asks.

Yeonjun tilts his head.

“I don’t see it as a risk.”

A longer pause.

After a heavy discussion, the company settles on a compromise.

They won’t announce the relationship, but they won’t force you apart either.

“Be discreet,” an executive warns.

Yeonjun grins. “Sure.”

The meeting ends.

And the second you step out of the boardroom, Yeonjun pulls you aside.

“Are you okay?” he murmurs, voice softer now.

You let out a slow breath. “I think so.”

You’re exhausted. Emotionally drained, but also relieved.

Because after everything, you’re still here.

With him.

Yeonjun watches you carefully, eyes scanning your face for any hesitation. Any doubt.

And when he finds none, he moves.

Slowly, deliberately.

He lifts a hand, cupping your cheek.

Your heart stutters.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispers.

You don’t and that’s all he needs.

Yeonjun leans in and kisses you.

It’s soft at first, like he’s giving you a chance to change your mind.

But when you don’t pull away, when your hands grip his hoodie and pull him closer—

The hesitation vanishes.

Yeonjun tilts his head, deepening the kiss, his other arm wrapping firmly around your waist.

You feel the tension in his body—weeks, months of restraint finally breaking.

It’s intoxicating.

And for the first time since all of this started—

You let yourself want this.

Want him.

When you finally pull apart, Yeonjun rests his forehead against yours, grinning.

“You know,” he murmurs, “I think that was worth the risk.”

You huff out a laugh, breathless. “Shut up.”

Yeonjun just smirks and kisses you again.

Months later, things settle down.

There’s still speculation—fans aren’t stupid. Some of them have noticed the way Yeonjun smiles at his phone more often, the way he disappears at odd hours, the way he subtly glances at security whenever you’re near.

But there’s no official confirmation, and that’s exactly how HYBE wants it. Still, you and Yeonjun fall into an easy rhythm. Sneaky dates, teasing banter, late-night texts.

Yeonjun: So are we, like, officially dating? You: What do you think? Yeonjun: I think I love you. You: …Block. Yeonjun: Not a no… Y/N: HUH?? Y/N: NO Y/N: JUN NO Y/N: N O Y/N: I DIDN’T SAY YES Y/N: HELLO???

You see no response.

Your heart drops.

"He wouldn't actually—" No, he would. He absolutely would.

You don’t hesitate to sprint straight to the elevator, mashing the button to his floor.

You barge into the dorm without knocking.

“CHOI YEONJUN, YOUR ASS BETTER NOT BE—”

You freeze, slapping a hand over your mouth because there he is.

Sitting casually in his dorm.

On Weverse Live.

LIVE.

RIGHT NOW.

Yeonjun turns toward the camera, eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Oh, perfect timing,” he says smoothly, as if he didn’t just commit career suicide.“My baby’s here.”

The chat… explodes.

“BABY?????” “who???” “HELLO EXCUSE ME?” “Who’s voice was that??” “WHO’S HE TALKING TO.”

You’re frozen in horror. Your mind is racing at a thousand miles per hour, probably even faster than the chat in his live.

Yeonjun, meanwhile, is as relaxed as ever. He waves you over. “C’mon, don’t be shy now. You were loud just a second ago.”

You stare at him like he’s lost his mind.

Because he has. This man is actually insane.

You lunge forward and smack his arm.

Yeonjun laughs. Actually laughs. “Kidding! Kidding! Relax, baby.”

He turns back to the camera, completely unbothered.

“She’s shy, guys. Let’s not scare her off.”

You cannot believe what is happening. You grab his phone and end the live immediately. Then you whirl it at him.

"WHAT. IS. WRONG. WITH. YOU."

Yeonjun just grins. “So, is this how you wanna soft-launch? Or should I post a couple pic?”

You throw a pillow at his face.

He dodges, laughing.

And despite everything—despite the chaos and absolute madness of the situation— You find yourself smiling.

Yeonjun catches it immediately. His expression softens, amusement melting into something sincere. He steps forward, reaching for your hand, lacing his fingers through yours.

“You’re stuck with me, you know?” he murmurs.

His thumb brushes over your knuckles, gaze gentle.

Your chest tightens. You exhale, shaking your head.

“Yeah, yeah. You’re lucky I like you.”

Yeonjun winks.

“I know.”

© all rights reserved ─ @gyu-tori 2025

Rei's Notes ✎: Just a smaller fic than usual since I've been busy with school so pls enjoy still teehee~ Not my best but I just wanted to put something out after being inactive. Thank you to my bb nina @apeachty for beta-reading this <3 Will definitely be writing something else longer soon~

⟢ Taglist: @yunverie @dawngyu @hueningstar @hhoneyhan @immelissaaa @lovingbeomgyudayone @xylatox @i-like-to-read-at-4am @imlonelydontsendhelp @ode2soob @pagelets @isjsnsjsn

[jooyeonsvape]

murder on my mind- (c.yj)

genre; angst, smut, fluff

pairings; murderer!yeonjun, afab!reader

w/c; 4k

synopsis; after an attack on Y/N leads to yeonjun murdering a man, she realizes the crush he had on her for months is more than just a crush. how will she think of him after the crime?

warnings; murder, man attacking y/n, blood, stabbing, kind of blood play/kink (kind of idk), bathtub sex, fingering, squirting, riding, unprotected sex, cursing, dirty talk, rough sex.

a/n; if this is triggering in anyway, please do not read, its not worth it, i promise!! i tried putting in all the warnings. i want to do a serialkiller!idol, but i want to see how this does first lol, hope you enjoy!! <3

{ masterlists } { txt masterlist }

"oh Y/N, i forgot, i need to drop something off to taehyun before we head back to the house." your best friend/roommate's boyfriend taehyun worked at a small cafe down the street from your apartment and you mumble, "hopefully yeonjun isn't working."

the bell on the door rings when the two of you walk in and taehyun flashes his big smile when he sees your best friend. "here's your energy supplements baby."

you drown out their typical cheesy conversation while looking around to spot yeonjun, and luckily he was no where in sight. "since we're here, can i get an americano?" taehyun turns his attention to you and nods, starting on the order. " how can you make that sweet little face work?" your best friend slaps your shoulder playfully and your nose scrunches, "it's his job weirdo, why don't you strap on an apron and help him the-"

"Y/N?" your eyes widen when you are cut off to a familiar voice behind you. "yeonjunnnn, heeeey." your words were drawn out from awkwardness and yeonjun had a blush on his cheeks.

"i haven't seen you here in weeks, how are you?" he takes a seat comfortably next to the chair you sat in and you just click your tongue, thinking of excuses. "i don't like coffee anymore."

"iced americano for Y/N!! your order is ready!!" taehyun yelled louder than usual and you tsk at him while your friend laughs in the back.

yeonjun had a confused face but you just couldn't bring yourself to tell him he was the reason.

he had an obvious crush on you, everytime you come in he writes his phone number on the coffee cup, or draws hearts and although it was sweet, he's not your type.

he had the personality of a lost puppy and it may have your fault as well, flirting with him before you got to know him because he's quite handsome.

"well, we have to go, come on Y/B/N..."

"wait, i've actually been wanting to ask you-" you could tell yeonjun was nervous by the constent clearing of his throat and sweat on his eyebrow. "do you want to go out sometime?"

you bite the inside of your cheek and breathe out slowly, just be honest with him Y/N.

"i'm sorry yeonjun, you're not really my type, i like men who are dangerous, you're too soft for me." he just stood with a disappointed expression, taking the rejection and nodding slow. "alright."

a couple weeks after you rejected yeonjun, you kept getting a strange feeling that someone has been watching you.

it’s getting to the point where even in the shower, you open the shower curtain every 5 seconds from paranoia.

one night, you wore a crop top with a short skirt to the nightclub and on the way home, you got the same feeling again.

your head turns to see nothing but you couldn’t shake it so you decide to go the safest way home instead of the short cut, but before you turned the corner someone jumps out and grabs your body.

the yell you tried to let out didn’t come due to a mans hand around your mouth and your fight to get away pushed the both of you to the ground.

before you could even see his face, he was abruptly pulled away from your body and you look up breathlessly to see yeonjun of all people.

he had the man in a tight chokehold so he couldn’t get away and you watch him push the stranger to the wall. “look away Y/N.”

ignoring his words, your eyes never leave yeonjun while he flicks open his knife and stabs the man in the neck.

you gasp loud at the sound then tears start coming out of your eyes when the man lifelessly falls to the ground, and blood pours from his neck.

yeonjun looks over at your terrified eyes and rushes over, kneeling down. “are you okay?”

the words weren’t coming out but all you wanted him to do is get away from you. “Y/N, talk to me please.” your eyes flicker up to the once innocent face you dont recognize anymore.

“how could you kill someone? i know he was going to hurt me, but beating him up would’ve been enough, or even running for fucks sake.” all the emotions came over you and now unleashed upon yeonjun.

he grabs your tear soaked cheeks with his bloody hands and the warmness of the liquid made you flinch away, but he held them tight so you couldn't move. "i was mainly saving you, yes, but he has probably hurt so many other women, including you if i didn't stop it."

your breathing quicken from the panic attack you were currently having and yeonjun wraps an arm around your shoulders. "we need to leave Y/N, someone could've seen and called the cops,"

you just nod slow when he helps you stand to your feet and you look up to see blood splatter on his neck. "let me walk you home."

yeonjun kept his arm tight around your shoulders the entire walk, which gave you a sense of security, although ironic, considering he was the one who made you so scared a few moments ago.

when the two of you arrive to your apartment, he opens the door for you and you bow gently. "uh.. i think you should come in and shower."

"good idea, i would be pretty suspicious walking around with blood all over me the same night a man was murdered." even though it was dark, you let out a soft giggle at his joke and invite him in.

yeonjun waited in your room while you dig through Y/B/N's closet for clothes taehyun might have left from when he spent the night.

you finally find a random t-shirt and sleep shorts of his and walk in your room to a shirtless yeonjun, staring blankly out the window. "this is all i could find, is it okay?"

he turns his head and nods, grabbing the clothing from your hands, then points to a door. "is that the bathroom?" instead of answering, you couldn't stop staring at his muscles, and thinking about how his work uniform didn't do his body justice.

"Y/N?" you blink out of your disassociation and clear your throat, "yes, take your time." he had a smirk on his face which made you shiver.

how could you go from being terrified of him to attracted in the matter of 30 minutes?

yeonjun entered the bathroom, closing the door behind him and filla the tub with water while he undresses.

he didn't dare look in the mirror because he knows if he did, the person looking back wouldn't be the same person he's known for 25 years.

when the bathtub was filled to his liking, he sits inside and watches the clear water turn a light shade of red due to the dried blood on his hands.

no regrets. he would've hurt your love if you didn't end up following her home. that scum deserved every painful moment. he needed to be ended.

anger boiled over yeonjun again while he thinks of all the vile things the man could've done to you and he stared at the water, not hearing a knock at the door.

"yeonjun are you okay?"

he looks up to see your head poking in from the cracked door, "yes, are you?"

"i'm kind of scared alone.." you didn't want to admit it, but you feel the safest with him right now. he chuckles soft and sees the blood still on your cheeks. "do you want to join me?"

you nod weakly and walk in the bathroom, looking down at the bath water. with a deep breath, you undress until you're in your underwear then bite the inside of your cheek, "can you look away for a second?"

yeonjun complies and closes his eyes, then faces the other way so you felt comfortable.

when he wasn't looking, you completely undress and wrap an arm around your breasts while you step inside the bath with him. "you can look now."

yeonjun turns his head to see your knees up to your chest, due to lack of room in the small tub and chuckles. "come here."

when he watches you uncomfortably shuffling over to him, he grabs your hips and pulls you on his lap easily. "more comfortable?" you nod and slowly move your arm away from your chest, but he was too busy admiring your face to notice.

your cheeks redden from his eyes trailing every inch of your skin and he reaches up with a wet hand to rub off the blood handprint from earlier.

“oh, let me get you a wash cloth.” you forgot to tell him earlier where they were and as you begin about to stand, he tightened his grip on your hips.

“it’s okay, lets just stay like this.” you relax your body in his arms and nod, “do i look pretty with your handprint on my face?”

yeonjun chuckles then clears his throat, “actually yes, i wish you would never wash it off.”

“i think you kind of look hot with blood all over you too… are we sick?” you blush at your question and yeonjun rubs circles around your hip bone, “i think so, but i’m okay with it.”

you tilt his chin up gently and kiss his lips impulsively, your heart beating fast from adrenaline.

yeonjun grabs your cheeks like he did earlier that night and immediately kisses back, something he’s been waiting for.

you didn’t expect him to be so romantic, but his kiss was the most intense and passionate feeling you’ve ever experienced.

you slide your tongue in his mouth and a soft moan leaves his throat due to your hips moving on his lap under the red water.

yeonjun takes his hands away from your cheeks and moves them back to your hips when he feels his dick growing under you, “Y/N please, you’re making my mind go to dark thoughts.”

you hum and kiss yeonjun on his neck, then up to his ear, “i’m not scared.” your whisper made his body get chills and he uses one of his hands to rub your clit slow.

a gasp came out of your mouth and you dig your face in his neck with a whine at the feeling, “turn around and sit in my lap.”

you do as he says, settling in his lap while he kisses your lips and spreads your legs open wide so he could see your pussy at the angle.

“very pretty Y/N.” you blush at his use of your name and kiss his neck soft when he continues to rub your clit. “does that feel good?” you nod with a whine and thrust your hips gently, wanting more.

yeonjun smirks at you while he trails one of his long slender fingers up and down your pussy lips. you whine again at the feeling and he enters two fingers in slowly.

after a few seconds of teasing, he moves them quick inside of you, the veins in his arm start to show from the speed and you nuzzle your face in his neck again.

yeonjun uses his other hand to rub your clit as the other continues to hit your g-spot over and over, “i don’t think i can last very long like this yeonjun.”

he smirks at your words, but doesn’t stop, “i want to make you cum like no one else has baby, you won’t remember another man after me.”

you could tell he was getting annoyed at the thought of another man being mentioned so you try to test his anger.

“i don’t know, i’ve had some pretty good dick in my life.” yeonjun adds another digit, stretching you out more. “Y/N, i’m warning you.”

you smirk to yourself and look down at his fingers with a moan, “i had a man bend me over at the club tonight and he had such a big dick.” even though you were lying, and yeonjun knew, the thought still made him angry.

“you like being bent over huh?” he asks and slaps your clit hard, making you wince. yeonjun adds a fourth finger and you’ve never felt this good by a man. it made you feel guilty for judging him all these months of him yearning.

you knew you were about to cum so you lean up and swirl your tongue around his neck, tasting the blood with a moan.

“yeonjun i’m about to-“ before you could finish you push his hand away and you lift your hips upwards, squirting on the bathroom wall infront of the both of you.

he chuckles and kisses your neck while still rubbing your clit fast until you stop squirting. “not only has a man never made me cum before, one has definitely never made me squirt,” breathlessly, you sit up to turn around so you were facing him.

yeonjun smiles at the accomplishment and stretches his arm from the work he did. “i’m glad you were pleased baby.”

you pout and crawl ontop of him, “i want to do it again, i didn’t get to feel your cock.” his member twitched at your words and he hums, rubbing your ass in his hands. “do you want to ride me?”

you nod excitedly and stroke him slowly before lifting one of your legs so you could sit down on his cock easily.

yeonjun holds your hips steady and kisses your lips a few times when he feels the warmth of your pussy.

you were still sensitive from your last orgasm and the water pushing inside of you with every bounce on his dick, was making it feel better.

“you are so fucking hot.” yeonjun was already moaning at your movements and he tilts his head back so you had a clear vision of his adams apple. you lean in and give him a few hickeys on the spot while he plays with your nipples.

he had to hold his nut in when he sees your mouth open wide from pleasure and titties bouncing, “i’m not going to last long Y/N, you can make me cum just by smiling.”

you giggle and kiss his lips softly, “i want to feel your cum deep inside of me baby.” yeonjun began thrusting up into you fast at the name you called him and he grunts.

you lean down while still bouncing on his dick and swirl your tongue around one of his nipples. he grabs the back of your hair and pulls your head up to kiss your lips hard, making you moan.

“are you sure it’s okay to cum inside of you?”

you nod and kiss his lips again while his hand was still tangled in your hair. your pussy tightens around him and you cum around him with a loud squeal.

yeonjun couldn’t hold it in anymore, thrusting his cock hard in you again and shooting his load deep inside while kissing your lips rough.

you still bounce on him and stop when he starts shaking from sensitivity, “you have the best dick, i promise.” you giggle while you both catch your breath and yeonjun slaps your butt playfully, “i already knew you were going to be perfect.” he replies with a cheeky smile.

at this point, the blood was already washed off of the both of you so you get up and laugh when it was hard to stand due to your legs feeling like jello.

“i’ll help you.” yeonjun steadies you then stands as well, and grabs a towel on the rack next to him. he lifts you up in his arms and wraps the towel around your body, while he walks you to your bed.

he rests you down gently and kisses your lips, making your heartbeat fasten at his romantic gesture.

yeonjun slides on the shorts you let him wear and you point to the shirt, “can i wear that? i don’t feel like standing up to get mine.”

he shakes his head and walks to your dresser, “i don’t care if it’s taehyun’s, i don’t want you wearing another man’s clothes.” you giggle at his jealousy, and point again but to a long sleep shirt, “that one is fine.”

he grabs the shirt from the drawer and walks to your bed while you sit up, “thank you.” you slide it over your body and pat the bed next to you, “lay with me.”

yeonjun nods and lays down on your bed, giving you another kiss, “i hope this isn’t a one time thing.”

you shake your head and wrap a leg around his waist, then pull the blanket over your bodies. “definitely not, i want to keep you.”

he chuckles at your cuteness and one of his hands plays with your damp hair, while the other rubbed your leg that was ontop of him.

“i have a question, yeonjun.”

he hums tiredly and looks down at your side profile. “would you kill for me again?”

yeonjun kisses the top of your head and smiles, “without hesitation.”

[pombeom]

pose away | yeonjun fic (nsfw)

nsfw, mdni!

pairings: enemies to lovers, arrogant model!yeonjun x sub photographer!reader

warnings: nicknames, slut shaming, blowjob, wall sex, markings, unprotected sex, hair pulling

a/n: this might be my favourite fic written yet! djsjkskssjjaka im craving mean yeonjun so bad rn! not proofread

Working as a freelance photographer bought its many challenges. Today was one of them. You hauled yourself out of bed early in the morning to begin setting up the make-shift studio in your living room. Whilst you were studying photography at a college, working part time gave you the opportunity to build up both your experience and portfolio. Often times you don’t get a choice as you take on whatever projects come your way. Even when the person you despised most on campus comes to you asking for a photoshoot, no matter how much you wanted to refuse, you agreed, setting up a date for your shoot which happened to be today. 

You move the lights arounds, working out the best places for them and begin creating an inspiration mood board on your phone before he arrives. The sun burned through the large windows, raising the inside inside your home so you turn on the aircon, hoping it would cool your house down in time for your guest’s arrival. You know he would complain about it being too warm being the spoiled brat he is. You didn’t want to take any chances, especially not today when he had promised you a large sum of money for your services even though you often charge little to nothing. 

Just as you finished setting up, cleaning up the final bits and bobs around the room, you hear the bell ring and not even a second later, a loud thumping on the door. 

“My god, he can’t even wait a second can he,” you sigh shaking your head at his impatience, already regretting accepting his clientele. 

You open the door to see a tall man standing arrogantly in front of you, wanting to wipe away that smirk on his face as he walked in, shoving past you. 

“Nice set up you there,” he says as he makes his own way through your living room, seating himself down on your leather sofa, manspreading his long legs. 

“Thanks,” you roll your eyes, attempting to suppress your annoyance. Why on earth is Yeonjun in your house right now? How did this even happen? 

He’s wearing a linen shirt, the first few buttons undone, and black slacks making his outfit look laid back in a put together kinda way. His long hair is styled so it’s tucked behind his ear but a few strands strayed and fell onto his face. No matter how much you hated him, you weren’t blind to the fact that he’s probably the most attractive person on campus. There’s a certain aura he possesses that just lures you in. But you were better than that. He doesn’t seem to control you the way he does other girls. No matter how many times you nearly slipped into his charm, you had always managed to bring yourself back. 

“Are you gonna tell me what to do, or are you just gonna keep staring at me like that?” His sharp voice brings you back, slightly embarrassed that he caught you. 

“I wasn’t staring, simply observing you to see what I’m working with.” 

“I’m pretty sure you’ve already “observed” me enough before. Unless you wanna keep staring, then go for it. I don’t mind. I know you like it too,” you let out a sigh, making sure he could hear it, rolling your eyes at his self-centredness. How you were to put up with this for another 3 hours was beyond you. 

“Come stand here. You see the green tape? Just make sure you stand behind it. You can pose away Mr Choi Yeonjun,” you instruct, getting behind the camera as he makes his way onto the white screen. 

Without needing much guidance, he gets into all sorts of poses. He starts off by crouching, sticking out his tongue, eluding with sexiness before shifting to another pose where he’s standing up again, hands in both pockets as he tilts his head ever so slightly but in all the ways that makes a difference. 

For the next 30 minutes, he is constantly moving while you’re almost having to do an entire workout just to keep up with him. The heat of the room also gets to you, your cheeks flushed red which Yeonjun notices. 

“Are you blushing from how good I look, doll?” his smirk, combined with the nickname sets you off, feeling the heat burn through your cheeks even more. 

“Shut up. How about we take a break?” You question, trying to distract you from the fact that you’re now ever so slightly turned on by his comment. 

With that, Yeonjun is slumped back on your couch, while you run to the kitchen, rummaging through your freezer trying to find an ice lolly to cool and calm you down. 

You discard the wrapper in the bin, taking the long stick of coloured ice in your mouth, sucking off the first layer is its juices. You moan at the feeling of the cold entering your mouth, as the ice begins to melt around it. Walking back to the living room, Yeonjun puts his phone down to look up at you, once again with a smile that has a mischievous allure plastered onto it. 

“Doll, you think you could suck a cock like that?” 

His remark has you pulling the ice lolly out your mouth instantly, making a pop as it comes out. Your jaw is left hanging as you feel the butterflies in your stomach travel up to your throat, leaving you speechless. 

He stand up and steps towards you ever so slowly that for some reason you wish he would go faster so he could be closer to you sooner. When he gets less than 2 feet away, you step back hitting the wall as his arms cage you, trapping you in his presence. His fingers wipe away the juice from your iced treat in one swipe as he takes it to his own mouth sucking off the liquid. Your eyes enlarge from the proximity and his actions, feeling the ice drop down your fingers as well as a wetness forming in between your legs. 

“I asked you a question. Do you think you could suck a cock like that?” 

“Mhmm…” you were only able to make a short sound while you nod your head, not shying away from his sharp gaze. 

“Why don’t you show me then, doll?” He caresses your hair before grabbing it into a tight ponytail and before you know it, you’re on your knees below him, almost seeming as if you were begging for his dick. 

With his free hand, he unbuttons his trousers letting them slip down his lean legs and as if on cue, you pull down his black boxers, his long cock springing out. Whilst he may have been an average on thickness, he definitely made up for it in length, so much so that you could already feel it hitting the tip of your cervix. 

“Come on doll, suck my pretty cock.” 

You begin by encapsulating just his tip in your mouth, letting the coldness from the ice transfer onto his hard length to which it reacts by twitching in your mouth as Yeonjun hisses. You slowly move up and down his shaft looking up at his face whilst doing so, meeting his eyes filled with lust. 

“You’re pretty mouth looks so good around my cock, doesn’t it, doll? Go faster.”

His grip on your hair tightens as he begins shoving his dick into your mouth as if on a rampage, tears falling from your eyes. His other hand grabs ahold of your chin, lifting it up further to better his view of what he was doing to you. Your moans vibrate against his cock, sending him into a high as he grunts with every pump. You feel him twitch in your mouth and before he can cum, he pulls out harshly, making the same pop as your ice lolly. Your sobs don’t stop even after he’s pulled out, craving to feel him more. Especially inside you. 

“Aww, is my doll crying because she wants me? I think I can help with that. Stand up,” he commands, his voice firm but flirty. His assurance only made him sexier at this present moment as much as you hated to admit it. 

Once you’re on your feet, he slams you back into the wall and pulls down your shorts in one swift move, revealing your white lace thong. 

“I knew my doll was a slut for me. Even if you hate to actually say it.” 

Your excuse was that you hadn’t done your laundry yet so you were left with your more extravagant pieces of lingerie but even you knew that deep down he was somewhat correct. 

You feel a sudden sensation as you feel Yeonjun’s lips attached to your neck, sucking under your ear, instantly having found your sweet spot. Melting under his magic touch, your hands automatically move around his neck, pulling him in closer, wanting to feel him more. 

“Yeonjun. Touch me please.” 

You were desperate for him and you hated it but with the puddle increasingly seeping through your underwear, you couldn’t care less, only wanting to feel him inside you. 

Yeonjun, strokes your clothed pussy, that being enough to send you off high, as you moan in his ears, humping his hands. 

“Such a slut for me, are you doll? Wonder what you’d be like if you had the real thing slamming into you?” 

And that’s exactly what he did. Pushing your thong to the side, he rams his cock in, not letting you adjust, pushing in and out of your pussy as he holds up your thigh, ensuring that he can hit into you deeper. With each thrust, you let out a sinful moan, as Yeonjun’s pride and ego skyrocket through the roof. As he picks up the pace he lifts you up, supporting you against the wall by holding up both your thighs. Even then, he didn’t slow down, continuing to slam his cock into you, abusing the top of your cervix over and over. 

“You’re so fucking hot, doll. Can’t wait to be cumming on you babe. Can’t wait to ruin you. You want that don’t you?” 

The way he thrusts has you feeling his cock all the way in your throat, making deep moans the only thing that come out your mouth. 

“Going dumb on my cock, doll? Such a slut aren’t you?” 

He rams into you even faster as you feel your orgasm getting closer. Your hole now sensitive as you feel the knot in your stomach build. 

“Yeonjun! I’m gonna cum!” You scream, wanting to reach your high. M

You let out one last moan as the orgasmix wave ripples through your entire body, leaving goosebumps on your skin. Yeonjun rides out your high before pulling out and pulling his own spurts of cum onto your T-shirt which you hasn’t removed. Your favourite black T-shirt was now stained with his cum, not knowing if a round of washing would help. 

You collapse as your legs were physically unable to hold you up but before you reach the ground, Yeonjun’s arms catch you, supporting your waist, helping you remain standing. 

“Fuck, you’re so hot. And you’re such a slut for me. If only I knew sooner. Would have fucked your brains out much sooner.” 

You finally fell. After 2 years of holding it back, you finally fell for Yeonjun’s charm and his lustful aura. Any sense of disappointment you would have felt was overridden with the fact that you had gotten the best sex of your life from this man you despise. 

[featjunranghae]

Do Not Interact - Choi Yeonjun

synopsis: Yeonjun was, in simple terms, the It Boy. Everyone knew him, everyone loved him. He never caught feelings—dating just wasn’t his thing. But then he met you and everything changed. It was the kind of romance straight out of a book.

But one misunderstanding led to another, and your so-called fairytale love story came crashing down. You swore you’d avoid him, promised yourself you’d never go back.

So why, months later, are you waking up in bed with the one person sitting at the top of your do not interact list?

pairing: popular yeonjun x fem reader

yn's gang - yeonjun's squad - moaverse

01. i miss u

02. nuking the tubatu house

03. diabolical

taglist: @sumzysworld [comment to be added]

likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated

[gardnhee]

can we start over? - c.yj

✸ tw/content. intentional lowercase, cussing, angst(very little), fluff, use of baby (only like once or twice.), reader is slightly antisocial in the beginning, not really proofread

✸ exbsf!yj x afab!reader

✸ note. yj drabble cs i love him an unhealthy amount

✸ song rec. start over - jacquees

you stood in a corner like the awkward person that you are. away from all the chatter, laughter, yelling, and horny crowd. this is how you liked it, you indulged in your solitude.

the unbearably loud music rang in your ears, the fact that you were standing just a couple feet from the speakers didn’t help either.

you decided to drown the ringing by taking a sip of your cup, inhaling a sharp breath as the liquid cascaded down your throat.

“…who hired this dj? music’s unbearable…” you murmured as you frowned at the dj who stood a couple steps from you.

it was fairly boring for a while, the music slowly started to feel faint as the stuffy atmosphere began to push its way into your already tight space. you slightly squeeze the plastic cup in your hand, pressing your back against the wall.

you felt trapped.

deciding you’ve had enough of this, you walk away from the corner. as if you were popping a bubble; like a puppy opening its eyes for the first time, but instead of meeting with a fascinating world, you’re met with drunk shit heads who can’t dance, let alone walk in a straight line.

“where is she…” you huffed, looking for the coworker who invited you to this party, if you can even call it that. it’s more depressing than a fucking funeral.

pushing through everyone was a literal pain in the ass, the environment reeked of alcohol, and the air was incredibly thick. you were starting to regret even accepting the goddamn invitation.

go they said, it’ll be fun they said, “fun my ass.” you utter a small ‘tsk’ as a man twice your size bumps into you, not even having the common courtesy to apologize. god, this is horrible.

you somehow ended up in the kitchen. sighing in frustration, you rest yourself against the counter.

“i’m going to fucking kill-“ you started, but were rudely interrupted when someone walked into the kitchen.

your eyes slightly widened as you acknowledge the person. your ex best friend. fun.

he was whistling along to the horrendous noise these people call music, happiness basically oozing from his pores.

he turned his head to you, looking at you from head to toe in shock, shock which soon subsided and was replaced with an expression you can’t quite describe.

“oh.. hey.” yeonjun waved, mullet drenched in sweat as some loose hairs stuck to his forehead. he breathed heavily, his once joyful demeanor now engulfed in…uncomfortableness? melancholy? nostalgia? it’s been so long that you can’t tell anymore.

he slowly made his way to the fridge, giving you an awkward smile as you bite your inner cheek and look away.

it was silent for a while, you could feel his eyes burning holes into your face.

“yn?” he quietly said, arms crossed over the open fridge door. he looked at you, waiting for a response.

in all honesty, he didn’t expect one. at least not after ghosting you completely and then coming back a couple months later like nothing happened.

he scoffed and shook his head with a sad smile, sighing in disbelief. he was disappointed in himself.

yeonjun shut the fridge door and begun to lead himself out the kitchen, “yes?” you replied with urgency, you didn’t want him to leave. not again. not after losing him for months.

he chuckled, looking back at you. “you’re…not mad at me?” he asked, feet moving in your direction. he realized you aren’t so closed off anymore, you’re more…awake, as if you’ve come to terms with the gravity of things, and for that, he’s thankful.

you grew nervous, a prominent lump built up in your throat, making it difficult for you to breathe. “i wouldn’t say i am - or was - mad, i guess i..“ you stopped yourself as yeonjun stumbled, falling onto you.

you tried backing up, but couldn’t. fucking counter…you thought, swallowing slowly as the smell of alcohol invaded your nostrils.

“yeonjun? yeonjun, you’re drunk.” you tried pushing him off, but he didn’t budge. instead, he laid his head on your shoulder, “not drunk, just… tipsy.” he blabbered.

it was silent for a couple seconds until you heard him sniffle. he was crying.

“wha…” he grabbed your waist, sobbing into your shoulder. “i’m so-“ he hiccuped, followed by a groan. “i’m sorry, yn, i’m sorry!” yeonjun cried, lifting his head in an attempt to look at you. you stood there, dumbfounded. heart hammering against your chest. he’s drunk. it was evident, yet he still denied it.

he peeked at you through his wet lashes, incoherent sounds slipping past his lips as he wiped his runny nose. “and you say you’re not drunk? look at you! why are you crying?!” you raised both brows in confusion, stroking his hair softly.

you’re supposed to be cussing him out for all the hurt he’s caused you, for leaving with absolutely no explanation, yet here you are, combing your cold fingers through his sweaty strands as he bawls into your shoulder. you’ve seen him like this more often than not; always manages to surprise you, though.

“i’m not drunk…. ‘m sorry” he hesitated, wiping the wetness from his eyes with the back of his hand. as you realize how close your bodies are, you nod, circling around him.

yeonjun turned, biting his lip. he wants to say something. you know he wants to say something, but he’s holding back and it’s making you anxious and impatient.

“would you maybe…want to leave?” you blink, all previous feelings of discomfort disappearing. “what’re you planning?” you question, crossing your arms as you sternly stare at him.

“maybe grab some drinks and then go to my place?” he smiled, which quickly disappeared when you displayed a doubting look. “i mean, i just want to talk to you…without all the noise…and the multitude of people.” your heart shattered, and you were sure your eyes softened, because his did too.

“fine.” yeonjun’s ears perk up, big smile on his face. “let’s go.” you nodded, grabbing his arm before he left the kitchen.

“i’m driving.”

“but-“ his eyebrows furrowed, “no buts, deny it all you want, we’re not risking it.” he sighed, defeat poking through the pout on his lips. he lowly hummed in agreement, walking out of the kitchen with you trailing close behind.

“home sweet home!” yeonjun exclaimed, arms flying in the air as the bag of soju dangled in his hand. “yeonjun, be quiet, it’s late.” you slowly grabbed his arm, taking the soju away. “i shouldn’t have allowed you to drink on the way here.” you sighed, placing the bag on the counter and taking out the already opened box of soju.

he pouted, stumbling towards the little coffee table that sat in the middle of his living room. “bring some soju, please!” he slurred.

you grabbed the box, nestling it under your arm as you made your way towards drunk yeonjun.

you sat down, setting the box on the coffee table. “oh…i forgot to bring shot glasses.” you groaned, fixing to stand up when yeonjun stopped you.

“no, it’s okay. i’ll go get them.” he smiled, patting your hand.

“but-“

“it’s okay.” he shook his head, standing up and making his way to the kitchen.

in a matter of seconds, he was back, sitting in front of you with soju in hand, two shot glasses already set on the table.

yeonjun held the bottle from the bottom with one hand, and swirled it vigorously with the other. you watched him closely, how his hands wrapped around the bottle, you wonder how they’d feel on your face-

“yn?” you blinked, snapping back into reality. “yes? i’m sorry.” you gulped, noticing a full shot glass in front of you.

as you were about to reach for the glass, you stopped midway. sighing as you plopped your arm down on the table. yeonjun noticed this and raised a brow, “is everything…alright?” he asked, pouring soju into his glass.

“yes…and no.” you admitted, “i mean i just…i missed this, you know? spending time with you. i missed being here. i missed this apartment.” you paused, staring at yeonjun who was now looking down at his thighs.

“i missed you.” you leaned forward, arms now crossed on the table. yeonjun snapped his head up, quickly grabbing his glass and gulping the liquid down.

“ahhh…” he set the glass down, frowning as the liquid burned his throat. “i missed you too yn…” he smiled weakly, you realized he wasn’t in the right mind for all the sappy stuff right now, so you decided to change the subject.

“tell me, what have you been up to?” you smiled, grabbing your glass, tilting your head to the side as you swallow the drink.

“me? hm…not much….” yeonjun leaned forward, smile spread across his flushed cheeks.

✸ ✸ ✸

you lost track of time, it seemed. but you weren’t the only one. yeonjun, too, lost track of how many shots he took. not that it mattered, he was already drunk out of his mind to begin with. “baby…..” he slurred, reaching out to you as you gasped. baby?? are you serious??

“yeonjun what…” you decided to stop yourself, not even questioning anything that came out of his mouth.

after looking around for a minute, you groaned. there is so much to clean up.

an unfinished 20 pack of soju on the table; only 4 remaining, some snack wrappers thrown on the table, and a drunk yeonjun who can’t even utter a proper sentence.

“‘m s’sorry” he hiccuped, head lulling as he smiled like an idiot. his lips glistened under the dim light, most likely from all the constant licking and drinking he’s been doing.

“let me take you to your room so you can sleep.” he shook his head violently, backing up against the sofa behind him as you made your way to him.

“no!” he pouted, looking at you with tears brimming his eyes. “oh you’re such a child, come on let’s go!” yeonjun pushed your hand off his arm, whining.

you stopped and huffed, sitting down beside him in order to comfort him, “why are you crying?”

“i f…feel like shit” he cried, wiping his tears with the back of his hand. “why do you feel that way?” you knew this was just a drunk fit of his, but you had to at least hear him out.

“‘cuz i ruined my chance with the person i love” he sniffles, staring into your eyes with his teary ones. you blinked, wiping his tears with your thumbs. “and who may that be?” you question, stroking his shoulder in a comforting manner.

“you.” you inhale sharply, blinking in confusion. you shook your head, chuckling awkwardly, “you’re just drunk, come on.” yeonjun stopped protesting, defeated by his own tiredness.

you wrapped his arm over your shoulder, dragging him while leaning against the walls for support. “goddamnit, what have you been eating? you’re so heavy.” you strain, sighing in relief as your eyes find his bedroom door.

opening the door was one thing, laying him on the bed was another. you pant, his body weighing you down. as a result you slipped and fell.

on top of him.

jesus fuck.

you froze when he groaned. “i’m so sorry!” you scrambled to stand up, but he grabbed your arm and pulled you against him.

“sleep with me tonight, please.” yeonjun whispered, lazy smile spreading across his face. you shake your head, “yeonjun, you’re drunk. we can’t be doing this. you’re not in the right mind!” you faintly shake your head, “please?” he insisted.

you sighed, pressing your forehead against his chest. “fine. but i will be leaving first thing in the morning.” he chuckled, nodding. “if you want to get comfortable, my shirts are over there-“ he hiccuped. you nodded and patted his chest in understanding. “just sleep, okay?? i’ll be right back.” yeonjun hummed, closing his eyes.

you wake up groggy and disoriented, staring at the window as a ray of sunshine peeked through the curtain, making you squint and smile lazily.

you rub the sleep from your eyes and stretch, “good mor-“ you stop as you notice yeonjun isn’t in bed with you anymore. you look around the room once more, no sign of him.

a pang of worry and confusion washed over you. one would think it’s stupid considering the fact that you’re in his house, yet you can’t help but be alarmed.

what if he left you again?

‘oh that’s stupid, yn. pull yourself together.’ you shake your head and scoff, but the panic settles at the pit of your stomach nonetheless.

throwing the blanket to the side, you stand, yawning as you wobble towards the door.

“yn-“ yeonjun stops, doorknob in one hand and breakfast tray in the other. he eyed you as you stood there, eyes wide in confusion.

yeonjun blinked, “good morning?…” he lets out a breathy laugh, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him with his foot. “i made you breakfast.” you felt your heart squeeze at that. he smiled, walking over to the bed and signaling you to lay down.

and you did. you laid down, placing the warm blankets back on your body and smoothing them over in order to create a flat enough surface for the breakfast tray.

“thank you so much..” you gush as yeonjun placed the tray in front of you. he sat down, crossing his legs and smiling like a total idiot.

“you’ve been nothing but smiles since you walked in the room…did something happen?” you question, making yeonjun hang his head with an even bigger smile on his face. “you look so beautiful.” he mumbled, adjusting his position on the bed.

“what?” you looked up, cheek stuffed with food. he snorted, scooting forward and leaning towards you. “i said,” he wiped your lip with his thumb, eyes traveling to yours, holding them dearly. “you look so beautiful.” he chuckled at your expression, making his heart skip a beat.

“you’re making a mess, be careful, yeah?” you grab the tray, placing it to one side as you choke on your food. yeonjun stands with you, stroking your arms with his soft hands.

“hey, you alright?” you nodded, grabbing onto his shoulder for support. “it’s just…” you stopped, swallowing the lump in your throat. “you caught me off guard, that’s all.” yeonjun’s eyes softened, “i meant it.” he caressed your face as a warm smile tugged at his lips.

“why…why are you being so nice to me?” you stepped away from his hold, sitting back down on the soft bed. he sighed and flopped down beside you, staring at the curtains that blocked the sunlight.

“because i’m in love with you.” his eyes traveled from the window to you, “i’ve been in love with you.” you waver, eyes widening in confusion. “and i don’t want to mess up again.”

“so last night-“

“i remember.” yeonjun nodded, fidgeting with his thumbs as he bit his bottom lip. “i guess i was drunk enough to let that slip but not enough to forget.” he reasoned, gazing at you briefly before staring at his feet.

“it’s okay if you don’t want anything to do with me, i mean-“ you placed a hand on his, drawing circles on it with your thumb. “yeonjun, im in love with you too.” he stopped, shifting on the bed.

“what?…”

“im in love with you too.”

he stuttered, mouth opened for a few seconds before closing it again. you saw the glint in his his eyes before being pulled into a hug.

a long, warm, cozy hug.

a hug you’ve been craving for a while.

his hug.

you broke into tears, nuzzling your face into his shoulder. “oh god, yn, i’m deeply sorry. i’ve hurt you so much.” yeonjun ran his fingers through your hair, cooing softly.

you stained his shirt, but he didn’t care,“i missed you so much, you know? we stopped talking for so long. i thought i lost you for real…��� you say between sobs, lightly punching his chest.

“i forgive you, dumbass.” he stayed quiet, you’re too nice. he didn’t deserve you, he didn’t deserve your forgiveness. yet you gave it. you gave something so precious to someone who doesn’t even deserve a single look from you.

yeonjun held your face in his hands, wiping your tears with his thumbs. he smiled, “how about this, you finish breakfast and then we can go wherever you want. i’ll explain myself. i’ll explain everything.” you nod slowly, grinning.

“there’s my yn, i missed you.” he quipped, earning himself a slap to his arm. he winced, rubbing the spot.

“is this a date then?” you question, grabbing another bite of your once forgotten food.

“hmmmmmmm” yeonjun tapped his chin, laughing as you whine. “yes dummy, it is.” he flicked your forehead lightly as you giggled.

you grab his arm, “let’s get ready then.” yeonjun didn’t budge as you tried dragging him along, “but the food…” you shook your head, “it’s gone cold, plus i know you’re somewhat hung over so let me treat you to food, hm?” you tapped his hand reassuringly.

“yn-“

“i’m not taking no for an answer.” he pursed his mouth, slowly nodding in defeat.

“perfect, where do you want to go?”

“how about…”

you both disagreed the entire way to the bathroom, laughing and giggling as jokes were thrown around between sentences.

you missed this.

you missed yeonjun.

he was willing to start over, and you were willing to let it happen.

© GARDNHEE 2024, do not copy, modify, or upload on other platforms.

💌: im sorry this is lwk ass, i hope you enjoyed regardless! please make sure to leave a like, comment, and reblog!! thank you 🫶

[gyudollies]

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ SPOT ! masterpost

a.n: I am currently unsure of the release date and more content warnings, this will be updated as I write !

"up and down round and round, hit the spot, spot, spot spot."

synopsis: there was Beomgyu, your smart tutor who had anything but a clue in the world. and then there was Yeonjun, the best friend of your ex who might also happen to be your most current hookup. in which you, an aspiring painter gets the choice between love and life.

sneak peek

playlist

CW: SMUT SMUT SMUT ! mdni. dom ! yj, switch! bg, switch! reader. tbz sunwoo, ive's gaeul. the rest of txt do have appearances, reader is lowk a loser, reader is fembodied, unprotected sex (dont do this), breeding kink, pussy slapping, pet names (baby, angel, sweetheart) painter reader, college! au, this is fiction, angst, panty sniffing, phone sex, reader struggles with depression, humor. more t.b.a

W.C, release date: tba

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ read here !

"is guitar seriously all you think about ?"

"that and you, yeah."

synopsis: beomgyu was a man of many talents. he succeeded at being a steady tutor and a somewhat bashful man in the eyes of people whom didn't have the pleasure of getting close. one thing was for sure, he loved his guitar and chasing after you.

W.C, release date: tba

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ read here !

"this isnt right, yeonjun"

"then why are you so wet?"

synopsis: yeonjun's admiration for you went far back, farther back than sunwoo had ever touched you. if the only way to get what he wants was to give in to lust, then so be it.

W.C, release date: tba

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ read here !

[koqabear]

hiii this is for the 2k event, i wanted to ask if u write hybrid!au cause yeonjun dressing up as nick wilde has got me feeling a little delusional. if u don’t completely ignore this but if u do, can i request fox yj and maybe bunny reader?

[2K Masterlist]

"Yeonjun is adamant that you’re a pretty, porcelain doll. You’re more than ready to shatter that idea and show him that you’re stronger than he thinks."

fox hybrid! yeonjun x bunny hybrid! reader // wc: 1.9K // genre: hybrid au, pwp. this is just straight filth im sorry. MDNI.

warnings dom!yeonjun, sub!mc, somnophilia (consensual), oral (f rec.) pet names (bunny, good girl), degrading, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, degrading, kitchen sex, manhandling, dacryphilia, begging, scratching, possessiveness, unprotected sex, breeding kink, creampies, aftercare kinda, girl idk i literally just dissociated when i wrote this i forget how exhausting this all is!!

Notes: the healthcare system is fucked even in fanfiction, you can’t escape. 

Every decision you’ve made throughout your relationship with Yeonjun has led to where you are now:

Face down, ass up, tears in your eyes and words muddled through the drool that spills through your lips. 

You’ve told him countless times that you’re not fragile; that the sweet, docile image he has of bunny hybrids is nothing but a sham, and that you can take anything he offers with a confident stride— and though he simply laughed in endearment and shook his head at your claims, you insisted. You insisted throughout all the sugary sweet times he made love to you, during all the moments where you felt his hands hesitate to hold you, as though he was afraid that putting pressure on your body would be enough to make you shatter. 

The words were tiring to both his and your ears at some point: the petulant whines asking for more, your pathetic attempts to try and take control and change the pace entirely— Yeonjun’s sharp, narrowed eyes that flickered at you in warning was the harshest thing you received from him— but judging by the shivers that flowed down your spine like water, your fluffy tail twitching in attention, you knew that your body only craved for more and your brain wouldn’t settle down until you got your way.

You could say that he warned you. He really did, technically, sitting you down for a serious talk about something you two never really discussed in detail. You watched with wide, slightly confused eyes as he explained to you that his heat was approaching, and that you definitely shouldn’t be around for it— when you perked up to interrupt, he merely shook his head to shut you down and continue his explanation. 

“I usually take medication, but my insurance no longer covers my usual prescription.” he told you, his ginger ears twitching in annoyance from the mere memory, “I’m taking a leave from work for it, and… I want to spend this time alone.”

“It gets intense… I don’t want to hurt you.”

A bruised ego and terribly confrontational personality was truly a god awful combination. Though you suppose it helped you for the better, considering that after a good argument with your ever-so loving and doting boyfriend, he finally gave up. 

You can remember the sight so vividly; his ruffled hair, the fluffy tail that whipped from side to side as he finally slumped back against the couch, out of breath and exhausted— his ears pinned against his head in defeat the moment he took a good look at you, in all your still fired up and energetic glory. 

He knew it was a losing battle the moment you cocked a challenging brow at him, as though begging for him to continue.

The word okay has never sounded better from your boyfriend's mouth. 

••••

That all leads you back to today. It’s been— oh, you really can’t remember. A day? Maybe two? You don’t think it matters at this point, since the only thing that fills your mind now is the feeling of being full, stuffed, and warm. 

Yeonjun gave you a chance to back out the second he opened the door for you. He spoke to you calmly, softly, nervously, watching you hop around his living room and throw your overnight bag on his couch, overjoyed to be taking such a monumental step forward in your relationship. You dismissed every slow, anxious sway of his tail as you ate dinner together, listening intently as he told you about how he’s gotten with his previous partners. 

It was too much for many of them. He gets aggressive. He gets insanely needy, it goes on for hours, even throughout the night. 

You prayed that he didn’t notice the pathetic clench of your thighs and slight arousal as he told you about his details, nodding sweetly when he asked if you were okay with doing the things he mentioned. 

You established a safeword, coddled him the moment you noticed his temperature beginning to rise, and gave him a gentle kiss on the forehead as you murmured your goodnights. 

About six hours passed when you first felt it; you’ve always been a light sleeper, so you were doomed the second your sensitive ears picked up on the sound of restless rustling behind you. You tried your best to ignore it, your drowsy mind eager to go back to sleep, but the white noise of sheets moving around was quickly accompanied by something else— breathy, desperate gasps.

“Bunny…” Yeonjun’s raspy whine was enough to have your ear twitching slightly; more rustling, and suddenly, a scorching heat hovers behind you. “Bunny, need… need you s’bad…”

His hands are heavy on your skin, almost scorching with the way he restlessly makes his way up your shirt, groping at your tits before they slide down your stomach, feeling you up all the way down before they stop at your thighs— without warning, he presses flat against you, a hand snaking beneath your body to wrap around your stomach and pull you flush into him. He was so hard, so needy that the very feeling of your soft ass pressing against him was enough to rip out a broken sob from him.

“Let me fuck you,” he murmured against the shell of your ear, words that slurred together showing that he was also half-awake, probably not too aware of his actions and the way he rutted into you helplessly, “C’mon bunny, lemme use you.” 

Your ass that pressed back into him and the sleepy whine that left you was enough for him.

You can only remember drifting in and out of consciousness that night; the sloppy, wet sounds of skin against skin and desperate grunts was nothing but white noise to you at that point— Yeonjun was glued to you for hours on end, fat cock thrusting harshly into your poor, abused cunt, filled with so much cum that it could only smear onto your inner thighs and his balls, leaving a mess you wouldn’t be able to clean anytime soon. 

When you woke up, you were on your back— your pussy was sore and a whine bubbled up uncontrollably from your throat, hips canting up and against Yeonjun’s face— your hands were shaky as you fisted the sheets, tears pricking your eyes as you listened to Yeonjun’s sweet nothings against your skin, leaving bites and kisses against your thighs as he promised you that he’d be quick, that he just needed to eat your sweet cunt— you’d get cleaned up nicely after. 

Yeonjun was a liar, of course— because none of his sweet promises included his burning desire to fuck you after you came, cleaning you up only to push his cock back in and fuck you right into the mattress; legs pressed against your stomach, wails leaving you as he plunged into you with abandon, frantic hands scratching down his back as you cried from the overstimulation— it only ended with him pressing deeply into you and emptying yet another load into your tired cunt. 

The semblance of normalcy that followed after didn’t last very long, either— yeah, getting carried to the shower and having him clean you up and scrub you down was nice, and sitting at the counter as you watched him make a quick breakfast was nice too, a heartwarming glimpse into a domestic future with him— but you were only able to get halfway through your meal before Yeonjun decided that he’d much rather bend you over the kitchen counter and have you there instead— moaning wantonly as he watched your trembling legs fail to keep up, buckling under his pace and forcing him to hold you up with his insane strength— and just when you thought he was getting tired, he simply flipped you on your back and laid you on the counter instead; he always did think you looked really pretty when you were totally fucked out, anyway. 

Maybe that’s when hours started blending together— he was sweet and caring when he needed to be, cleaning you up with a feather-like touch and kisses that warmed your heart— only to give you the whiplash of the century when his pupils dilated and the only thing he honed in on was you. 

You. You you you. 

His ears would press against his head and his tail would flicker dangerously, narrowed, focused eyes meeting your bleary ones with ease; you could only sit there and let him maneuver you however he liked, shivering and falling limp with each time he’d slide his cock into you, as though you finally felt complete. 

You looked so breathtaking to him— under him, over him, whatever position he suddenly found himself needing you in— teary eyes and swollen lips calling his name like a mantra, a prayer, a plea for him to use your body until he got his fill.

There was something so addicting about the way you trembled from the overstimulation, sobbing and writhing yet never saying your safe word. It had Yeonjun fascinated, the guilty part of his mind berating him for trying to see how far he could take things— yet, no matter what he did or what he said, you only seemed to beg for more, like you’d been waiting for this moment for ages.

“Take it, T-take it like a good toy,” Yeonjun hissed, fingers digging into your hips as his cock battered into you ruthlessly. You merely cried and moaned, cotton tail wiggling with every drag against your walls, the soft fur coated with dried cum, “said you could handle it, right? Stupid fucking bunny— nothing but a cumdump for me, hmm?”

Your squeals and chants of yes! Yes yes yes! only spur Yeonjun on even more— his body feels as though it’s on fire, bright hair sticking to his sweaty skin as he merely pushes himself further— you can practically feel his back hover over your own, able to tell that he’s close from his faltering pace and shaky breaths that fan across your skin. 

“Want me to breed you?” he asks, though there’s no need to ask anymore if the previous loads he’s dumped into you are any indication of your answer. Yet he still does, almost like instinct; it’s much more satisfying to hear you beg for it, anyway. 

And you do— your begging is so cute, how could he ever resist? Yeonjun’s nails might break your skin with how tightly he’s holding you, teeth digging into his pouty lip as he pumps himself into you, once, twice, then empties out everything he has to offer— your back arches and your hips move back to try and glue yourself to him, crying out his name in satisfaction as he fills you for the nth time of the night. 

The way you keen out, the sight of your ears that are pinned to your head along with your tail that shivers with satisfaction is like drugs to him; he’s hopelessly addicted to you, to all of you, from your stuffed cunt that continues to suck him in to your soft voice that whimpers out at every sensation you offer him.

Such a good girl, Yeonjun thinks to himself, butterfly kisses spanning along your sweaty skin, your barely conscious form curling into him for more, how did he get so lucky?

Even after he’s given you a moment to rest, laying down with you on top of him, you still cling onto him, sighing in content as you allow him to cockwarm you, already bracing yourself for the moment he feels himself needing you again. And as you both drift into a much needed nap, Yeonjun can only find himself thinking one thing. 

Thank god for you and your argumentative nature.

[hyukascampfire]

TO: SOMEONE FROM A WARM CLIMATE ... ❨ O6 ❩ ⸺ 𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘺 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦, 𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴

𝓘N WHICH 𝗁𝗎𝗋𝗍 𝖿𝗂𝗓𝗓𝗅𝖾𝗌 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗅𝗂𝗇𝖾𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝖾. "𝗂𝗍 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗆𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝗏𝖾 𝖺𝗅𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗒 𝖽𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗂 𝖺𝗆 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗆𝖾, 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾𝗇'𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎?" 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗎𝗆𝖻𝗅𝖾𝗌 𝗎𝗉 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝖾𝖺𝗍, 𝗍𝗈𝗐𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖺 𝖼𝗎𝗋𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝗅𝗂𝗉. "𝗌𝖺𝗒 𝗂𝗍," 𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗅𝗅𝖾𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗌. "say what i am."

faerie!𝗍𝖺𝖾𝗁𝗒𝗎𝗇 ╱ faerie!𝗒𝖾𝗈𝗇𝗃𝗎𝗇 · ƒ ! r 15k 𝖿𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖺𝗌𝗒 ⸺ smut, angst, unprotected sex, mentions of past trauma, kissing scars, yandere themes, oral f rec, overstimulation, cumming on belly, power play, jealousy and possessiveness ｡ ( playlist )

← rꫀׁׅܻblogs & asks arꫀׁׅܻ always apprꫀׁׅܻciatꫀׁׅܻd! ♡(ᗒᗣᗕ )՞ →

🪶 ⦂ look what's finally out. i almost shed a tear formatting this post. i've missed this series so much. hehe. did i shed a few real tears over this? yes. i know that this part is shorter, and i did cut some stuff out, but i think that it packs the biggest punch. things HAPPEN. there is no meandering here.

“Tomorrow?” Beomgyu says. He’s laid with his shoulder pressed to yours, watching the ceiling the same lazy way you do.

Tomorrow. Leave it to Taehyun to spring stuff on you. Just when this place started feeling like home, here you go packing. You suppose you could stay here with Beomgyu and stick your head in the sand, but what good would that do you? You can’t pretend that the world will stop moving around you if you do. It won’t. Ancient powers will still be toeing at war, and Taehyun will still be general, and you will still be too near to the center of it all than you ought to be. They are indelible truths, so whatever. You’ll go to that war camp with him, if it’s for the best. 

For tonight, though, you’ll enjoy Beomgyu’s presence. You almost want to ask him to come with you, but to the kelpie, being dragged into some meandering court war is worse than being left here by himself. Truly, he’ll probably be here thriving by his lonesome. Kelpie is as kelpie does.

You echo the word with a sigh. “Tomorrow.”

He turns to you, mischief sparkling in his mud eyes. Even without words, you know exactly what that look’s supposed to be saying.

“Don’t even start,” you say, elbowing him. “I was just beginning to think that I might miss you. Of course, you had to remind me of your nagging…” There’s no real bite. You’re never really annoyed, and Beomgyu doesn’t really care to run away. 

Well, he might. You like to think that he’d at least look back twice were he to get the chance to make his grand escape for the treeline. But this conversation is more of a strange, unconventional comfort for the both of you than it is a genuine consideration.

“You’ll miss the nagging most.” He turns props himself up on an elbow. “Will you talk with the grass stalks when you’re there? The Lord isn’t much for words, and you love to hear your own.”

Gasping, you glare. “Are you calling me annoying? That’s not fair coming from you. You love the sound of your own voice more than any faerie I’ve known, and you love the sound of your own voices.”

Of course, Beomgyu takes pride in that. “I do tell a story good. You should love my voice, too.”

He’s awful, but you laugh. He’s right enough. There was a time, when you first brought him here from his forest, that you’d talked to him for so long into the night that your voice went raw. You had never talked so much in your life.

“I guess the grass will have to do.” You interlace your fingers on your belly.

“They are quite humorous.”

“Whatever, liar,” you snort.

“Oh, but they are.” Sitting up, Beomgyu’s snarled hair hangs as he looks down, impish amusement bursting at the seams of his face. “Such a human thing; to think that because you don’t know it, then it can’t be how it is. Everything has something to say, you just don’t hear it.”

Blinking, you look at him. “I guess that’s true,” you say. You’d always known that there was a lot about the world that you didn’t know, but you are reminded of that more than ever these days. Even just in little things like this. “I wonder how it’ll be.”

Beomgyu looks a little bit less playful. “You’ll need to watch yourself. Humans don’t go to faerie war camps. They won’t be glad to have you there. The Lord thinks he’s protecting you, but our world is feeling the unbalance. Not even his mind, as sharp as he thinks it is, can predict what’s unpredictable.”

How terribly ominous is that. “Do you know something I don’t?” you ask, releasing a short breath for a laugh and fiddling with the trim of your pillow that you’d made pretty with gold swirls.

Beomgyu shoots you one of his eerie, knowing grins that leaves you unsure whether you should laugh with him or worry about what it means. 

“What?” you say, giving him a contemptuous frown instead. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You’re reminded of when he’d told you similar things when he’d helped with your geas. You will never be whole again, but you ought to savor what you’ve got left. Perhaps he does it just to mess with you, but you’ll never be sure. That’s the thing about a faerie: the moment you think you’ve understood who they are and what they’ll do, they’re different the next. Capricious and ever-changing, at least to your human mind.

You’d thought you’d known a faerie once. That’s a lesson better taught than learnt.

Or maybe what you have here, in those strange eyes and that fickle smile, is just friendship, and the things he says are just because of what he is. Maybe you’re trying to look at Beomgyu through the same cracked lens that Yeonjun had left you with. You’d been a trusting girl once. Breathing out a sigh, you take a long look at his face. Shouldn’t you let yourself be her again? Isn’t it unfair to assume the worst of him because of what another did?

“It means that I worry for you,” he says, flopping back down beside you. “And that you should be safe. I don’t wish to live in this terrible estate with just the Lord, some servants, and I.”

You blink up at the ceiling, your throat tight for whatever reason. “A lie,” you say. It comes out more as a rueful complaint than the shoddy joke you intended for it to be. It’s hard when you’re not sure whether or not you believe it to be the truth. He’s the one that said he could lie if he wanted to.

His gaze falls on you, old in its weight. “And so, if it is?” he says. His voice is gentle, or perhaps comforting, in a way you weren’t sure he could be. “Would you make yourself sick debating it? Hanging onto every word to discern whether it's a real truth or a faerie truth?”

Instead of speaking when you don’t know what to say, you turn to him and let his words wrap around your bones. 

You would, just as you always have. Out of all the people that’s not fair to, it might just be the most unfair to yourself. You’ll never know for certain, so why torture yourself trying to?

Well, if only it were that easy. If only you could know what someone intends before you give them a tender spot in your chest to leave achingly empty. To leave it bruised and a shriveled, wary husk of its former self. 

“And,” he says, full of humor, “if not you, then who would I bother asking to release me from the bridle’s hold? Not the Lord. He wouldn’t tolerate it. He’d keep me here for an eternity, was it convenient for his own plans.”

No, you don’t think he would. Taehyun hadn’t gotten Beomgyu to serve his menial needs; he hadn’t gotten him for himself. You wonder if you’ve been looking at Taehyun through that same, warped lens you’ve been seeing the rest of the world with. Did you let it bend his image into something untrue?

“Of course,” you say, rolling your eyes. “I was wrong. You are predictable. Maybe I’m with Taehyun on that.”

❆

Cutting through snow up to your calves and with a pack on your back and Taehyun’s silhouette leading the way, it’s impossible to not remember the last time you did this. So much has changed since then, and then so much has stayed unchanged.

It’s been months since you two came north. A lifetime ago. And so much has happened between the both of you, quicksand up to your ears, but you can’t say you know him that much better than you did then. You might even know less now. It’d been cut and clean—he was a dark, impolite man that saw the world down his nose.

Going west, it takes less time for frost and white forest floor to give way to green than it had when you went north. Foliage. Seeing a forest untouched by the cold’s bitter death has you breathing in the air, savoring the way it doesn’t sting your lungs. It’s fresh in a different way.

Once your feet begin to ache, you make a small camp for the night. Camp, meaning a fire made of damp wood off the forest floor that’s reluctant to burn and tree stumps to lean your back against. Good that it’s warmer here.

Taehyun gets some poor small forest animal to roast, and you brought some apples to eat on the way. The gamey tang and the sweetness mesh into something that’s not too awful, considering your circumstances. You sit down by the meek fire, holding your palms out at it. You’re not so far away from home yet that the night doesn’t at least make your bones ache with the chill.

“Did you not know until recently that they’d want you to go to the camp?” you say, trying to warm the air between you in the same way you toast your numb fingers.

With one arm propped up on a bent knee and his apple dangling untouched in his hand, he shakes his head. The fire dances an array of oranges and yellows in his eyes. “I’m their general. It doesn’t matter why I did it; if I don’t play the part, it’ll have been for nothing. If I stayed in my estate, they’d have no use for me.”

So, it was his idea. “Why didn’t you say so earlier?”

Taehyun purses his lips, watching the fire. Thinking about whether or not to say. “I thought it’d upset you,” he says finally after a long moment.

Unsure of what to say to that, you take a pause. Truthfully, you hadn’t expected that—that he thought it would be fine either way, that he hadn’t thought to, that it wasn’t up to him, you might’ve assumed. He was nervous to tell you that he, and by extension you, were going to have to go? He didn’t say it outright. Taehyun never would. But the thought is sweet, in a way. Your lips turn up at the corners, a soft and unexpected smile.

“I guess that’s true,” you say. You would’ve gone either way, though. The fire sizzles and pops as it eats up the wet logs, the little stack falling. “Don’t you worry about the fact that they might find out that you’re not so enthusiastic about the war? To be general?”

“As long as I do their bidding, I don’t think they’ll care what I believe in.” He shrugs. “I play general, they get to have war. If they aren’t coming to our doorstep because we were spies, that’s all I care about.”

You suppose that’s right. Neither of you are looking out to play hero, anyway. Just to survive. The both of you seem to always be doing that together. 

“What are they asking of you?” you say. If they’re moving out into camps, then something must be happening. That was inevitable. 

“The camp is near the King’s castle. Just a little north of it, on a big grass plane. They’re not looking to be sneaky anymore,” he says. “So, it could be anything.”

Nodding, you cozy back up against the tree. You hope it’s not anything too terrible. For his sake.

❆

Taehyun’s not awake by the time you stir, his arms crossed over his chest and his head back on the bark. A few early birds sing back and forth to each other from the boughs of the trees above you. It’s a sound as fresh and clear as the blue dawn sky and the dew that sparkles from the grass.

How sweet it all would be, did the bottom of your spine not pinch from the night spent upright on your ass, and were there not the unignorable muckiness that clings to your skin from a day spent walking. Dusting your palms of dirt where you’d planted them to the ground, you decide to make a trip to the gentle stream that had lulled you to sleep with its rushing last night. A bath in that water would definitely wake you up quick.

You follow the sound of it until it appears from between two trees. It just looks cold, rushing over the mud riverbank a crystal clear color. You kick off your boots and test it, gasping as it bites. You can’t help but smile at yourself—it’s exactly what you need to come out fresh enough to suffer another day of dragging your feet over the ground.

Getting in is like pins and needles. You peel your clothes off and step in up to your hips, your hisses meshing with the sounds of the morning air. Damn it, it’s cold. Ice cold, as it runs down your spine from where you cup it and wet your hair. And when you’ve gone numb to it, you feel the water rushing in between your fingers, scrubbing it over your skin, letting the crystalline coolness make you clean.

Hopefully, they’ll have some way for you to bathe there. The folk don’t need to bathe for hygiene the way you do, and they’d have no reason to bring a luxury like a tub along in that case. It’s a war camp. You wonder in what other ways it’ll be inhospitable for a human.

Maybe you’ll have to find a river, there, too—

Taehyun’s voice startles you. “You didn’t think to at least tell me you were going?” There isn’t any real bite, more like annoyance. 

You freeze, heart kicking into action so hard that you feel it. You thought he’d be asleep for at least until you got back. Covering your chest with your arms, you spin.

“Sorry,” you say, cheeks burning. Why’s this feel so… Well you don’t even know how to put it into words. He’s had his hands all over you, his lips on you, but him catching you like this just is different. Frankly—you’re flustered, aware of each inch of bare skin, water still rolling down your body and your hair laying in wet tendrils,  that he has to pretend he doesn’t see. For your sake.

Or maybe it doesn’t phase him. Your tummy flips. Would that be for the better or worse?

“I thought something happened,” he says. Curt. Short. “You shouldn’t be out alone like this. It leaves you vulnerable.” His eyes stay trained on your face—distinctly, purposefully. It’s almost humorous how stone-faced he is. Almost, if your heart wasn’t pounding in your ears.

“I wanted to clean up.” You shiver, maybe at the soft breeze on your wet skin or maybe at the redness of his ears. “I’ll tell you. Next time.” Please go, so I can put some fucking clothes on, you want to add.

“Yeah. That would be useful.” He thumbs the hilt of his sword. “Finish up and meet me back at camp. We should get going.” Unceremoniously, he turns on his heel and disappears back into the trees, spine straight.

Water falls from you as you step onto land, wringing your hair out. You’re just glad he didn’t insist on closing his eyes and staying as you dress to keep watch. 

Add that to the list of reasons the air becomes suffocating the moment you’re in proximity to him. It seems that the things you leave unsaid and unaddressed, like those words he’d said to you when he kissed you for the second time, the ones that make your spine tingle the more you pretend they didn’t happen, are sometimes heavier than what you do say.

❆

Camp is a scattering of a few tents raised on a grassy stretch, just as Taehyun had said. Their flags willow in the wind, pointed swords strewn out beside straw-stuffed dummies. 

You’re sharing a tent with Taehyun. It’s simple: two beds on opposing sides, trunks for your belongings, and nearly nothing else. You appreciate your bed at home a little more when you plop down into the cushions, but blankets and pillows are better than tree trunks and bark.

Taehyun slips in some time later. It’s dark out behind him as he does, the stars hanging above. 

“It’s certainly functional in here,” you say, running your fingers through nasty tangles in your hair like a comb. “A war camp.”

“We’ve both slept in worse.”

“Yeah, we have,” you snort, but don’t miss the distance in his voice. After a few beats, just watching him lean his sword against the wall, you ask, “Did something happen?”

He breathes out slowly through his nose, eyes caught where he’d just placed his heavy, dutiful sword. “They want to go straight for bloodshed. They thought I’d get here and just march into the fucking palace.”

You open your mouth, bracing your hands on the mattress beside you as if unsure if you want to stand up or gawk at him. “What? Just walk right up? How does that make any sense?” you say. “You said no, right?”

“Yes, I said no.” Taehyun sits on his bed and works on the laces of his boots. “It doesn’t just make no sense. It’s not how war works. Not a faerie war.”

“Were they… okay with that? You telling them no?” He’s not a general that has commanded an army at war—not his father. They know nothing but the fact that Taehyun is the General’s son and that he’s come here pretending that he’s somebody to tell them what they should or shouldn’t be doing. The faerie ego is not sympathetic to that.

He grits his teeth, jaw flickering.

No. Most definitely not. “Why go in with swords? They know that, by hospitality, they’d have to entertain us if we asked to be. A feast, a celebration of nothing, literally anything. And then we could make a quiet move while we’re in there. Battling it out in some field is ridiculous.”

Taehyun blinks. Thoughts turn in his head, visible through his eyes. “That would break the rules of hospitality, though.”

“So, they won’t see it coming. It seems better than just throwing armor on and hoping we can outnumber them. You said that the North couldn’t win this, but isn’t that only if we play by their rules? Of course they’ll do better when it’s the stakes they put up.”

“You’re good at that.”

“Well,” you say, unsure and flustered. “It just makes the most sense. I thought it’d be what you were thinking too.”

He lets his head drop into a laugh. A laugh. You don’t think you’ve ever held on to the sound of someone’s laugh the way you do the soft, mellow sound. 

You linger on the last remnants of his smile, letting its stark contrast with his usual disposition ring through your bones, as he snuffs out the candle and lets a new, uncharted kind of silence fall over the space.

You linger on it as you fall asleep, too. 

❆

The camp becomes more hollow as Taehyun takes up his role. The only time you get to see him now is when he steps into the tent too late in the night. He’s always up earlier than you.

It’s not like you have anything else to do. Other than Taehyun, this place is just an encampment of strange, hard faces and unnerving eyes that watch you as you toil through the days. Eyes that are curious as to why you’re even here. You start to wonder the same, under their scrutiny. It certainly feels like you shouldn’t be. 

You know better than to stick your nose in their business or to try and make friends. Instead, you whittle time down with practicing on the fine, veneered bows and taking your needle to any tattered old fabric you see. 

Today, you snatched one of Taehyun’s simple black tunics to work away at. All you’d brought in your pack when you had stuffed your essentials in there was some black thread. So you stitch blackthorn branches around the cuffs even though nobody would notice unless they cared to look.

You thread and you thread, letting the world blend into nothing as it always does when you work with your hands like this. The sun sinks from its peak, casting golden afternoon warmth onto your skin from in between tents. You focus on that. When you were a girl, you did the same thing with the goldspun threads you had then. It’s one thing you had for yourself.

Only the sound of something different draws your attention enough to drag you away from decorating the cuffs. A familiar sound; melodic and off-kilter in the same way. Something so singular that you’d know it anywhere, no matter if it made sense or not. Faerie music, and not just any faerie music.

Your feet follow the sound until you find him: a flop of golden hair, freckles spackled over his nose, and music floating away from his lute like magic. Because it is magic.

But, why would he be here?

“How come I knew you’d show up right when I was looking for you?” Kai says. He has clover in his hair, of course he does, and wears a faerie smile. “You have such a strange way of finding yourself in the middle of things. Come for a dance?” He plucks a few notes like an invitation.

You can’t disagree with that. Staying put where you are, you say, “What’s a bard got to do in a place like this?”

“A faerie needs music wherever they will go,” he answers, “and none else more than us antsy for a show.” Crisscrossed in the grass, he puts his instrument down for the first time since you’ve known the strange faerie. “It would not be remiss to say that you and I are both here on equally unlikely terms. Who is to say that you are to be here and I am not, or that I am to be, and you are not?”

Beomgyu’s vernacular has made you at least a bit more accustomed to faerie turns of speech, but Kai speaks the wordiest of them all. A taleteller. That was either fully the truth, or a lie disguised somewhere in those long and gossamer words. It has to be at least partly the truth, though, because Kai is sympathetic to the North. 

Or maybe he isn’t. You can’t tell exactly what Kai is, or what he believes in, or if he likes or dislikes you, or if he’s here or there. The only certain thing about him is that you might never know.

“Okay, well,” you say, “I’ll be off then, if we’re playing riddles.”

Kai looks up at you, his brows raised presumptuously. “Why leave when you’ve only just arrived?” he says. “We are two of a kind here. I don’t see why we two can’t be friends. And, oh, do I have something that you ought to see.”

Your interest must show in your face, because he smiles and pats the ground beside him. That could mean a hundred different things, coming from him. You don’t move, eyes narrowed.

“Don’t be wary,” he laughs. It sounds something like bells twinkling in the distance. “What good would it bring me to play tricks on you? You’ll hate to miss what I’ve brought for you.”

Still not entirely convinced, but definitely intrigued, you take a seat on the ground with him, criss-crossing your legs. A gentle breeze tugs your hair one way. It’s a beautiful day. Maybe you should’ve let yourself enjoy it a little.

“Not a trick,” you say, playing with the grass beneath your fingertips. “Then what? I thought you to be the tricksy type.”

The sun gilds his silhouette, making his hair into true gold around the edges. He laughs, nose wrinkling with such joy that you wonder if it really was that funny. “You suffer trust,” he says.

It’s nothing but a flippant, passing remark. Nonetheless, it strikes you deep, because deep down you know it’s the truth. You just hate that it’s so obvious to them and their kind. You hate that everything about you is obvious to them. It’s as though they reach in and flip through your pages, while you’re stuck out here trying to figure it out yourself. Beomgyu had done the same.

The long moment in which you look at him makes him laugh again, shaking his head. “Here. Let me show you.” He reaches into a pocket.

A letter. He produces a letter. You aren’t stupid enough to pretend that it might be from Beomgyu or anybody else. Belly dropping, you know exactly who’s written to you.

“I don’t want it,” you rush out. “Keep it. Send it back to him and tell him I won’t be taking any of his letters.”

You keep telling yourself that you’re past it. Past him. No healed person has to remind themselves that they are, or has to choke down the lump in their throat at a slight reminder as this. It is achingly pathetic.

Kai seems to think so, as well. He furrows his brows. “You don’t want them? Are you not lovers?”

“No, we are not,” you lie. Or, well, it’s the truth, but it’s as venomous as a lie on your tongue. “It doesn’t matter. I wonder why he would send you all the way here just for this.” Now, it’s clear why Kai is here at this camp. 

He grins, because your reaction makes it obvious to anybody looking close enough. “Take it. Read it at least once, and then burn it if you must. I can’t leave this place until you have it.”

That doesn’t sound so awful. Tentatively, you accept it into your hands.

Kai, in a different tone of voice than before, points at the little patch of clover that you wouldn’t be wrong to assume he stole the ones in his hair from. A four leaf clover stands proud in the center of them. “Luck, it seems,” he says, “has its own say.”

What that means, you don’t know. You take his letter and burn it in a candle flame, watching the words float up in curls of wispy smoke. Not for anger, but because you know better than to do this again. You know yourself and how much you love his sweet words too much to even allow yourself to read them first.

And over the weeks the next came and then the next. You burnt those ones too. Seeing Kai becomes your routine, stepping out into fresh air to go sit with him wherever it is. A damp patch of grass, on a fallen log out in the edge of the forest, in between two tents. He’s somebody to talk to, and goodness are you hungry for that. He’ll play old songs for you, telling you stories in which you are even less sure whether or not they’re bolstered with dramatics than Beomgyu’s.

Goodness, you miss that horse. You ask Kai to take something to him for you, since he’s coming in and out anyway. The letter you get back makes you laugh out loud. In jagged, unsightly lines, he scrawled back, sending letters now, are we?  You’re just surprised he knows how to write, honestly. Would it be a cruel joke to write back and say, you’re free? Would that even work over ink? It seems that you’ll be here forever, with the way things are going now. The long haul. Taehyun wouldn’t even know Beomgyu was gone until you got back.

Nonetheless, you are certain he’s content there by himself, though it isn’t the loch he wishes it would be. 

There’s always something happening here, and you live just on the outskirts of it. You’re not sure what. Taehyun doesn’t come to tell you about it, but from what you’ve pried at Kai over, you know that things aren’t going well. You figured as much, what with the quietness that Taehyun returns with every night, the weight of responsibility heavy on his shoulders, and the way his face has become sharper.

The weight of a leader that he will shoulder, because he believes it to be his duty.

❆

For the first time in a while, Taehyun comes back at an hour that you’re not opening one heavy eye to watch him through. Kicking the blankets off your legs, you sit up and watch him peel his doublet over his head, the one with the Blackthorn crest in silver.

And then he takes his tunic off, and there is his back, bared to your eyes. Your stomach erupts with violent butterflies. His muscles move under his skin, precise and powerful, the movement of him throwing the fabric elsewhere showing them off beneath each jagged old wound. At the top, in his shoulder blade, is one that you recognize. 

“That looks better than when I last saw it,” you say, voice gentle with sleepiness. 

Taehyun pauses, looking over his shoulder. “I thought you were asleep. I’m sorry.” 

Tension; tension as thick as smoke in the air between you. It’s been that way for a while now. Suffocating.

“No, it’s okay.” You purse your lips. “I haven’t gotten to talk with you much. I stayed up a bit later.” The fact that it insinuates that you’ve been waiting to speak with him, you don’t address. You sleep in the same little space every night. It’s hard not to want that. 

Sitting on his bed, elbows braced on his knees and his hands clasped, he looks at you for a long moment. “Is that so?” he says. “I didn’t know.”

How could he know? It’s not like the two of you have ever been the way you and Beomgyu had. The way you and Yeonjun had. There’s always been this exact indescribable tension underlying it all between you. Something you are desperate to understand, but in the same way, deeply frightened to. 

Crossing the room, you sit beside him. “I know you’re busy,” you say, filling the candle-lit air with words. “The stitches. They helped? It doesn’t look so bad.” You lie. It’s a gnarly scar, still red and tender, but no longer an open wound. For some reason, though you don’t think another scar would bother him too much, you don’t want him to know that it’s unsightly. It’s not what he deserves to hear. He got that one carrying your poisoned self when he didn’t need to. 

There are a lot of things he did for you that he didn’t need to, and you struggle to grapple with why he did. Why he left behind a spy’s golden trove of information as if those years of his life meant nothing. Why he did a number of the things he did, when it made no sense for him to. Taehyun isn’t one who will do the kinder thing over the rational thing. So, then, why?

“They did,” he hums, his voice low. “It healed up fine. Thank you.”

There’s a few long beats of silence. You’re looking at his back, curved forward into a bend, and you blurt it. You curse yourself even as it's coming out, because it’s a ridiculous thing to ask, really.

“Can I…?” you say, a soft thing that trails off toward the end. Bringing your palm up, you hover it just over his back. 

Taehyun tenses up, but he doesn’t object.

His skin is everything that a living thing’s should not be, under your palm. Cold; bitterly so, and each long, marred line is a groove under the pads of your fingertips. His back is torn up, and then smooth muscle where it isn’t. It makes your stomach sick.

“Are these… all from him?”

The timbred rumble of his voice reverberates through your palm. “No. Not all of them.” You run your fingers over a vicious, sideways scar. Something once festering and visceral, but his skin mended into something whole once more. That jagged mark will never leave, though. “But some are.”

His voice is distant and tight. You know it’s that he thinks speaking of it is pitying himself, when he survived it already. He doesn’t see it how you do—how much it’s clear that those still bother him. Your heart clenches in your chest, but you hold back all the things brimming on your tongue. You don’t want him to think you pity him.

“How did you get that one?”

He surprises you by answering. “The day I learned I was strong enough to fight him.”

Your hand freezes on his back. You knew each had a story, but hearing them is different. “What happened?” you ask, gentle but prodding. You wonder which parts of him were built by that man, and which still remind him of it.

“It doesn’t matter now,” Taehyun says. His voice is terse; walls beginning to draw back up. 

“No, it doesn’t.” You thumb the scar he got with you, and then so very slowly, you press a soft kiss to just beside it . Your breath puffs out from your nose, warmth over the frigidity of him. 

Taehyun shudders. His heart thumps in his chest—you can hear it, up this close. An unsteady rhythm, frantic against his ribcage. When he sits up and turns to look at you, his eyes are something different. Somewhere between intense, frightened, or unsure.

Your heart mimics his. With your voice soft, you say, “I’m sorry for that one.”

Where he had walked in here a war general with hard eyes and his jaw tight, the man you see now is one who hasn’t ever known a gentle touch, who hardened himself so that he couldn’t. And yet—like a frightened, unsure animal, he lets you in just enough to know that you won’t balk at his unsightliness. Beyond just his torn-up body. That doesn’t bother you, beyond the heaviness knowing what he was made to survive leaves you. Rather, down to what he is at his very core.

❆

 Most of what you know about what’s happening comes from Kai. Not that Kai has ever shown animosity toward you—with time, you’ve come to at least enjoy listening to him playing for hours. You wish Taehyun would come to you to talk about it. Wish that he felt like he could. 

What is this, between you? Is it trust, or not? You don’t know. You don’t even know how you feel, let alone even beginning to know how he does. But with this, shouldering it all himself, it looks like maybe he doesn’t. And, then again, his favorite tunic to wear for weeks has been the one that you made pretty. The threading that only he and you would know was there. Small gestures, and whatever they mean from him.

The sentiment toward Taehyun, with the faeries here, and you’re sure back home in the North, is starting to sour toward him. His moves have all fallen apart, ended up with us worse than we started off with. You keep a distance between yourself and all of that—but even you know what’ll happen if that trend keeps up. What use is a general that will lead you into loss? They’ll rid themselves of him. 

Worse. You choose not to think about that, or the dark pit it leaves in your stomach.

It makes no sense at all. Taehyun is capable and intelligent—he doesn’t do anything without considering it. If anybody in this world was to succeed in something like this, it’s him. But suddenly he is not, and you watch it weigh on him. 

And then, there’s Yeonjun. His sending letters tells you he’s at least okay. You might make peace with receiving and burning them forever, did you still not wonder about him, or ache for somebody to hold some nights. There had been a time in your life when you had never known what it was to hold or to be held, and still you lived. A bitter part of you wishes you never did. It’s like what Beomgyu had said: You’ve only got so much of yourself. Each time you fill yourself up with our magic, you lose that space. You will never be whole again

You will never be whole again. Yeonjun’s love was magic in its own right, even if it wasn’t really. It sometimes seems like it’s a hollow, empty spot inside of you where he sat. But that’s not right. It’s that he is still there, and always will be, and you feel as much when you try and pretend otherwise. So now you are to live forever as if you didn’t know him, didn’t love him, and it aches. You cannot pretend it doesn’t.

So, sometimes, you consider whether or not it’s better to live without him forever or to forget yourself and indulge. It’s not like he ever was a pure evil. Hardly that. But when you get to thinking about how sweet he’d been, how much you enjoyed it, you remind yourself of what he did, who he’s left you as. For the better. For the better.

You worry that he really will make good on what he wrote in those letters. Regardless of what he sends you now, you choose not to look. Losing you was fresh, then. Yeonjun is not nonsensical, just hurt. You tell yourself that, anyway. 

Taehyun’s in your tent before you even are tonight, slipping in after a long evening of Kai trying to teach you the lute. As handy as you are, music seems to be out of the question. You don’t just spend time with him on days where he comes with letters—it’s most of your days, now. It’s easier that way.

His shoulders are rigid. He sits, so still and lost in thought. Sword still on his hip and still dressed down to his boots, he probably hasn’t moved since he sat there. It’s not hard to imagine what it is.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, ruffling through your trunk for something to make a snack out of. “Do they still not trust you?”

Taehyun scoffs. “They don’t just not trust me. They want me out. Not all of them, but the loud ones. They think that I’m doing it on purpose.” Laughing with a caustic edge, he shakes his head and looks at you. “I wish I was.” After a moment, he adds, “How did you know?”

“Kai said as much,” you say. Forget eating. 

A look of something akin to realization flashes over his eyes, and then he nods. “Of course. Of course.”

“...What?” you say, knitting your brows. 

“Somebody’s been telling my people that I’m a traitor. Somebody’s been making sure that each and every one of my moves goes down in flames. Somebody was sent here to do a prince’s bidding and give you his letters.”

Pausing, you frown. You didn’t think that Taehyun knew about those, but you also think that he’s just pieced that together himself. “But I’ve been with him most days,” you say. You were today, and then just the day before. “He wouldn’t have been able to.”

Jaw working, Taehyun trains his eyes on you. “Does that mean you were with him always? And that doesn’t mean that he dirtied his own hands.” He pauses, softening his tone the littlest bit. “You don’t know him as well as you think you do.”

You know that. Goodness, do you know that. You might say that he’s just avoiding considering the fact that it could be that his moves have failed, but that’s not Taehyun. If it were that, it wouldn’t bother him like this. He’d try a new approach, find a way, because he is utterly capable. That’s the problem, and why he’s come to this conclusion. Because he already knows that it’s the truth. 

“Then, should we do something that couldn’t be sabotaged?”

He waits for you to elaborate with interest shining in his dark eyes. 

Flushing, you’re reminded of the last time he trusted you enough to follow your lead, and how it ended for you. Still, he looks ready to do it again. You take a gnaw at your lip before saying, “We could do something. Us, if they’re just gonna mess it up when you send others. That way we know that it gets done, and they’ll see that it’s not your fault. They’ll trust you again, even if someone’s running their mouth.”

Taehyun thinks about that for a few moments. The silence as he does reminds you again of what you stand to lose if it went sideways. “They’re not as easy to convince as that. Not if somebody’s still in their ears, and if they’ve already decided that I’m not who they want leading their army.” A beat. “But, better that than letting it happen.”

You let out a long sigh, settling down opposite of him on his bed. Letting the silence stir between you with only your eyes speaking for a few moments, you say, “You think it’s him?” Not Kai—Yeonjun. At least, the one who would want this.

“I know it is.” His face goes hard, a sharpness you’re familiar with. “And you cozied right up with his messenger. It’s ironic.”

Gritting your teeth, you shoot back, “That��s not fair.”

Taehyun doesn’t answer you. His eyes burn with something beyond anger—an expression that you can just barely name hurt. You hold back the reflexive scoff that begs to come tumbling out like an old habit. Back to this. Searching his face, you try to find what, exactly, has him looking at you like that.

“Don’t do that,” you say. The emotion that comes out with it, straining the words, surprises you. “You’re just… shutting me out again. I thought you…” You don’t finish your sentence, but the air carries the meaning along for you. I thought you would let me in.

He doesn’t answer, but there’s a flash of something over his face. A wince. Like he wants to say something, but he can’t let himself.

“Why do you do that?” you say. Your blood roars to life in your veins, and you find your mouth straining under the weight of words you’ve wanted to say, just like it has for so long. And then it buckles. “To be honest with you, Taehyun, nothing you do makes any sense. One minute, you’re looking at me so cold that it looks like I mean nothing to you, and then another you’re… You’re saying stuff that I don’t understand. One second you won’t even speak to me, and then you’re leaving behind your life because I wanted to stay with Yeonjun. Why? Why would you do that? Why didn’t you go back and tell them I was a traitor kissing their prince? Why didn’t you get me killed? You make me think…” Your voice cracks despite you, but you don’t care if it makes him see you weak. “ It’s not fair.”

The tent falls silent, the air a thousand pounds, each beat sounding like you’ve said it now. Chills erupt over your arms, and you can take none of them back, so no matter what, you will at least finally know. Finally. Your  stomach is done so tight up in knots.

“Because I never cared about being a spy,” he says, face dropped. “Or about being general, or being Lord of an estate, or about what people thought of me either way, or about any King or Queen or wars.”

Reeling, you breathe. The slow sound of it fills the room, but the pounding of your heart in your ears roars over it. That makes no sense at all. Your mind buzzes. 

 “Why did you do any of it, then, Taehyun? What do you care about?”

His throat works. Those cold eyes have something tender in them, but not a gentle tender. Tender like an old wound that he’s long since licked clean himself, that he hates to poke and examine out loud. Despite it, he tells you. Just for you, because you tend to always need him to do so. 

“Nothing. I cared for nothing.” He’s rigid, so out of place, sat in front of you. “So I gave myself purposes.”

That word, cared, puts in context so much that you have to blink and make your head stop spinning just so that you can catch a solid thought. He cared for nothing. You have had Taehyun wrong in your head down to a ridiculous, fundamental level. Taehyun didn’t become who he is because that’s what he wanted. He was a ghost, a shell left hollowed out, floating between duties that he assigned himself just to survive, like becoming a spy, or whatever else he did. He had no goal, no place he cared to call home. Never want or let himself want anything—froze himself from the inside out to ensure it.

Cared, as if he found something to care for. Your mouth dries up, belly doing flips. Because, of course he didn’t care about leaving behind his life to follow you wherever you went, when he has been cold for so long, and he felt something. Of course he went to any lengths, no matter how unsure his motivation seemed to you then, to keep you safe. Of course he tried to mold himself into Yeonjun’s shape, as unbending and unmoldable as he is, because he felt that whatever hollowness he saw inside himself, you would not want. He knew that he was pushing you away because he doesn’t know how to nurture something like that, so he tried to veneer himself with bits of the man you were so enraptured with. Filled that hollowness up with something he thought would make you look his way—but of course he’d never say it. He couldn’t make himself, no matter how much he wanted it. Because that is who Taehyun is: a contradiction of himself.

All those time’s he’d frozen up and lashed out at you, because it was fucking killing him. Seeing you with Yeonjun. You had thought moments ago that it was Yeonjun who was the one with a bottomless sea of wants. Well, where Yeonjun wants, Taehyun needs. He will have you, because somebody who has only ever let themselves want something once is not going to just let it go.

What could you even say to that? How could you digest the bigness of it? Instead of trying, you go utterly still and wide-eyed in front of him. 

He wanted something to trust. Searching his eyes, the ones that have gotten even more wildly tender in your silence, you determine that. Taehyun had nothing and nobody, not his father, not his killed mother, not a single one of his own kind in this world, to trust.

You, hands curled into the fabric of your clothes, breath fully for the first time in a while. You think you know the feeling. You think that you have become intimately familiar with the severe lack of it. That much, you can offer him.

The words fall from your mouth floaty and ethereal. Something unreal in the orange, all-too-real glow of the space. “I understand.”

About all the things that just came crashing over your head like ice water, or about the yearning for trust, you’re not sure. Either way, you do.

❆

Crouched behind some bushes, your knees dig into the mud. In front of you, the High King’s palace stands proud, briars crawling up its walls and strange, unpredictable windows here and there. It looks more like a festival hall than a palace.

Taehyun decided that doing something, just the two of you, like you had said, was best. It’s reminiscent of where you began. The two of you, spies again. In a way.

It’s nostalgic, but then it’s also so… new. The air between you, charged with new energy, but energy that grips you all the same. So many questions were answered, but so many cropped up to fill their absence.

But this feels lighter. You can’t discern why, when it fully should leave your spine tingling. The gravity of what he feels for you should tug you straight down to the earth with the force of it. It doesn’t. Turning to where he crouches beside you, you eye the lines of his profile. Your heart does a little jump.

“Now?” you say.

“A minute. We have to wait for the watch to change.” He tilts his head up in a point gesture toward the massive door at the main entrance.

“Or, we could go in another way. I’m sure they have other doors. How can we just walk right in?”

“There could be a door in through the servant’s quarters, but…” he says, eyes flicking over to you.

“That sounds like it would be better, though. Easier.” The hall is massive—you don’t doubt they use servants to make it run.

Running a thumb over the bottom of his sword at his hip, a little thing you noticed he does, Taehyun falters. “They keep human servants,” he says.

Like Soobin. Glamoured to be brainless hands, floating like spirits around the halls to fulfill their assigned purpose. You eye its walls and think of how easily you could’ve found yourself there. Some fates are fairer than others. You wish you knew why. 

“We’ll wait until we see those watchmen leave. Then we can slip in.” He says it as fact. “We’ll search rooms. It’s not much, but we could use leverage. Anything.”

You nod slowly, and then turn to watch through the gaps in the leaves.

The watch does change, as Taehyun has said. You slip in silently, and nobody stops you. If it’s so easy to make your way into here, maybe war with them wouldn’t be so unimaginable. Your eyes dart everywhere as you do. It couldn’t really be that easy.

But it is. You split off from Taehyun. At the center, there’s an opening hall where feasts must be held. You imagine how many of those have happened there, and how many of the kinds of stories Kai tells you might’ve started right beneath that high ceiling. You don’t linger long enough for anybody to find you, but you do take in the look of the walls and imagine how Yeonjun would’ve done the same years ago. His home.

You peek your head into a number of rooms. None look like anything important, but you dip in to scan them just in case. Not counting the guards, you haven’t seen a soul. Empty; each room, empty. With how alive Court had been in the north, this is starkly not that. A dead palace. How strange, considering that the North is known for its bitterness and unwelcoming nature, and this place the opposite. It doesn’t feel that way.

You come to a room that gives you pause. It’s decorated not too differently from the rest, a bedroom as opposed to studies and other sorts of rooms, bathed in crushed velvet greens. The floor is littered with a strange array of things, surfaces dusted. It’s even more vacant than the rest of the hall, left untouched by whoever called it theirs once.

And, it’s familiar. You just get this achy, tingling feeling in your core. Bending down, you blow dust off some paint. It’s bright and colorful in ways only something from the human world is. Reds, blue, yellow, a rainbow in a little palette of dried up colors. A few unfinished, amateurish canvases lean against a wooden dresser. Decks of cards, none like any from here, scatter over the wood panelling. 

Yeonjun always did like keeping human things. Dragging in a long, deep breath, you try and see if you can catch the woody, warm scent of him, left lingering here where he no doubt spent so much time. Nothing but the musk of an empty, dusty room meets you.

Picking up a leatherbound book from the blanket, you sit and pull it open. It creaks like old leather. The pages are moth-bitten and most are blank.

In an elegant hand, you find a written page. That handwriting. You loose a steadying breath. 

It reads, They say I’d only make some stupid order that all humans would be free from our people, were I King. Would that really be so terrible? 

You wet your lips. It’s some letter that never ended up with whoever he intended it for. Seeing that he did, in fact, live a wholly different life is strange. He left it behind for reasons that you know—he hated this place. Still, seeing it all confirmed. In front of your face. The rebellion must mean a lot to him. It seems, reading these little bits left behind, that he had his reasons. And obviously, he did. Nobody leaves behind their life for no reason. The time he spent in the human world changed him. Or, it magnified what had always been there: a soft spot.

Footsteps come for the door. You snap the book shut, but the door’s already opening.

“Hey,” Taehyun says. 

Clinging to the leather, you let yourself breathe. “Hey,” you echo.

“You’re not great at being quiet,” he says, lips tilting up to one side in something that you could call almost playful. “You’re lucky that there’s nobody here. Anybody with my ears would’ve known you were in here.”

You figured as much. “Why, though? Where are they?”

“I don’t know where.” His gaze flickers around the room before landing back on you. “They have never left this hall. I thought that they would’ve just sat in here and let us right in before ever leaving.”

“Eerie…” you hum, hopping off the bed. 

“Yeah.” Thoughts swirl behind those eyes. “They were smart enough not to leave anything, either. I found nothing.”

Looking down at the book you clutch to your chest, you purse your lips. Neither had you, but no part of you wants to leave this to be gnawed on some more. So, you don’t.

❆

Pulling back the bowstring comes easier now. It creaks, your arms aching. But you release your breath in a slow, measured puff, eyes finding the center of a straw bullseye a hundred yards down.

You let it fly. It cuts the air straight and makes its mark a little left of dead center. Always a little left… You huff, arms aching. Kai plays a song that faded into background noise thirty minutes ago.

“You shoot well,” Kai says. You can hear the smile in his voice. “You taught yourself?”

Shooting him a glance, you shake your head.

“Then, the General taught you himself,” he deducts. “An interesting thing.”

“I guess. A lot of things are interesting. Like how you play music the way you do.” A deflection, more than anything.

Kai pats the face of his lute. “You’ve learned how to speak like us, though you can lie. That, of all things, is interesting. You’ve spent more time around our kind than most. Tell me, what have you learned?”

He’s no doubt collecting a story he thinks he can make into a song. A storyteller like him is always listening and watching for another. That’s one way to be immortalized in this world. “I have no reason to lie,” you say, tinted with a laugh.

“Don’t you?” he says, playful eyes watching you. 

“Don’t I?” Forget your bow—you toss it elsewhere. “Am I the one with a reason to lie?”

Cocking his head to the side, his mouth splits into a grin. Many of the folk are glad for animosity; Kai seems to be the type. He knows exactly what you mean. “You have a lot to say. I’d like to hear it.”

You do. But where do you start? Instead of asking him something that beats around the bush, something he could find a loophole in, you’ll ask him plainly. That’s a start. “Why are you trying to sabotage us? Is it because of Yeonjun? Did he ask you to?”

“He did,” Kai answers, without any flounce or fakery. Straight up. It shocks you. It shouldn’t be that easy. He could’ve just as well not answered. That might’ve been as much an answer as saying it outright, though. “Does that make you hate him?”

Freezing in place, your mouth doesn’t move to say yes. You don’t know how to answer that. You wish you did. Instead, you say, “What does he think he’s achieving? What if they find out that he’s sneaking around? It’s stupid.”

“It is,” Kai hums. The day is overcast, but his colors aren’t dulled by the grey sky. “When the prince feels, he feels it true. He makes his mind, and then he lives for it.” The way his eyes meet yours strikes you. Full of meaning. “What, then, would he change his mind on something like a purpose he believed as he did that one for?”

“I’m asking you,” you say. Yeonjun feels deeply and unapologetically, you are already intimately aware of that. From the moment he told you that his initial purpose was to identify and have you as spies killed, you have wondered how deeply he stood for the cause. That’s another thing that’s troubled you for the fact that you can’t make peace with it.

Well, since he’s here in front of you, it’s best to just ask.

“Did Yeonjun love me? Really love me?”

“He did, but I believe you know that already. That’s not what you really wonder.”

You hate that he knows. Gritting your teeth, you nod.

“You interest me, so I’ll give you this. The prince has never cared to become a king. A soft-hearted, joke of an heir. So, then, why would he have rebelled against his father if not to have his spot? Because he had one purpose, after living among your kind. The prince could never stand the way we treat you. That was enough for him to leave his home and try to change it.”

Yeonjun’s book still sits somewhere in your trunk. That lines up with what you had read. 

“The prince cares for you,” he says. “More than even that. Enough to forget what else he did. Enough to forget anything else.”

There that is again. Why does it even matter to Kai? “I’m sure he said the same plenty of times before,” you say. Bitterness, as a habit. “I don’t understand why you do what he says. What’s in it for you, if he has me back? I don’t see what you gain.” Kai, who lived always between here and there.

“He’s an old friend,” he answers. “And I know what it is to love a human. That’s all.”

You purse your lips. He was a part of the rebellion as well. As mysterious as he is, of course Kai has his own reasons. 

“Tell him that, if he does love me, then he’d stop. It’s past the point where we can go back to what it was.”

“I know that what happened hurt you, but I don’t think you really believe that.” 

He says it so matter-of-factly, so airily, that it doesn’t even annoy you. Your ears go hot with defensiveness. “You don’t know me. How would you know that?”

Shrugging, he says, “It doesn’t matter what I say. But you have a few decisions you need to make for yourself. Not for what you should do, but whatever it is that you want.”

“And, what? I should decide to run back to him? Because that’s what you want, and he wants, so that’s what I should want too?” Your knuckles bleach white. “I don’t trust him. I can’t trust a word you or him say.”

“Why? Because he was scared to tell you, but still, he did because you deserved to know?”

Shaking your head, you say, “Does he pity himself? If he was as selfless as you want me to believe, he would’ve left it at that. But he didn’t. You’re here, aren’t you? That’s proof enough.”

“I’m hardly trying to say that he’s selfless. He is selfish. But it’s distorted to pretend that he’d hurt you.”

“What do you know?” you say, scoffing with pure acid. His eyes watch you as you go, but he doesn’t call after you.

Your nails make crescents in your palms, but you dig them in harder so that you feel that, rather than the aching like a poked bruise you thought had healed. His words ring disturbingly true regardless.

❆

Even though it seems that Taehyun is under more stress now than he ever was before, something has changed between you. Something unspoken.

It’s not as if he’s become talkative. But in some quiet moments, you catch him for long enough to have quiet, meaningless conversations with him into the night. And the nights where you get those dreams, he doesn’t mind you taking a spot in his bed to talk yourself out of it. He surely misses out on sleep for it, and as busy as he is, he surely needs it, but he never complains. Just listens to you ramble until you’re too tired to worry that you’ll close your eyes and find something frightening behind them.

He’s awkward. Terribly awkward about it. Sometimes he doesn’t know what to say, so he just stares at you. You imagine that he’s piecing together his speech in his head. It’s endearing in a way that has your heart clenching in your chest. He understands so much of the world so deeply, the darkest corners of it, but letting someone close? Speaking just to speak? It’s as though he’s trying to teach himself when he’s around you.

Orange flickers over the planes of his face. He watches you, his arms crossed over his chest, like he usually does.

“Taehyun?” you say, hair unkempt and your eyes sleepy. He doesn’t seem to care. “Can I ask you something?”

He hums.

Ever since he whispered it into your ear, that unintelligible word, you’ve been viciously curious. Chills erupt over your skin at the memory. Him behind you, the pads of his fingers on your skin, the heat of his breath. And, whatever it had meant, it crackled like magic in the air. Something different. 

“That one day, you said a word that I couldn’t understand. What did it mean?”

Tongue darting out to wet his lips, he shifts. “My real name.”

You freeze, mouth dropping open as though to scoff and laugh it off. But his face is bare of humor. That can’t be right. Having a faerie’s real name is as good as them handing their life over to you. They don’t just hand them over like that. Most will spend their entire life holding it viciously to their chest, and for good reason. Anything you said or commanded, he would have to do. The way Beomgyu’s face had morphed when Taehyun commanded him to do anything—something like that. Anyone with a faeries name could tell them to crawl in the dirt and then take a dagger to cut their tongues out, and they would. They would. 

And, Taehyun, of all of them? It doesn’t seem logical for him to give that to you. For a man so adept at surviving, it’s out of order. “What?” you say, voice peaking. “Why?”

As if it were the most obvious thing in the world, he says flatly, “Because I trust you with it.”

Your chest tightens. What a heavy, unbelievable thing to hold: somebody’s life in your hands, and to know that without a doubt that you will nurture it. His life, with which he did not care for so long about. You understand the gravity of that.

“I could hurt you with it,” you say. You can’t breathe, the air sucked from the room. “Aren’t you worried about that?”

“Then do it.” His jaw flickers. “Hurt me with it.”

How can he just say that? “No—why would I? I won’t ever. I won’t ever even use it. I promise you.”

“It’s yours.” He shrugs. “Use it how you want.”

The words slither up your spine, tickling the back of your skull. Oh. “I don’t even remember how to say it.” Could you? The vivid memory plays out, and it’s as incoherent to you as it had been then.

In a low, breathy voice, he repeats it. The hair on your arms stands up.

It takes you a few tries before you finally manage to get something close to it to come from your mouth. The dimple in his cheek peeks out with each attempt. But when you do get it, his eyes darken.

“There,” he says, nodding once. “Say it again.”

You do. The air crackles and comes alive.

“Do you feel it?”

“Yeah,” you say. “It feels like when I ate Lachrymose.” Tastes like it, too.

He frowns. “When did you?”

The knee-jerk reaction is to lie and say that it was something that happened when you were little. But you’re trying to tell less of those. “There was this time that he took me to a market. I had to have some to even see it.”

Taehyun’s jaw ticks, shadows flickering, but he doesn’t comment on it. “I had a feeling you were off doing dumb stuff.” It’s terse, but not mean. You might even call it an attempt at humor.

Snorting, you cross your arms. “You can’t pretend I’m the mysterious one.”

“Mysterious?” he says, arching his brows.

“Yes, mysterious. What do I know about you? I guess I know that you were a spy, but that doesn’t count.”

“That’s because there isn’t much to know.” His voice goes distant like it always does when he’s thinking.

Even if he had lived a phantom life, everybody has a history. “That’s not true. I’ve never been more curious about anybody’s past than I am yours.”

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“Sorry? For what?”

“That I don’t have anything to tell you.”

A life like that must’ve been awful. Your heart aches for him. Going from one place to another, unsure why you are or what you want or what your purpose is. “Was it lonely?” you ask.

Hair brushes his eyes as he moves. They look softer under this light—not soft, but softer. “It was all I knew. It couldn’t have been lonely.”

But, he felt the lack. Whether he calls it loneliness or not, he knew he was carved out by something. Isn’t that loneliness?

“Did you like being a spy?” Did it hurt you to leave it behind, you want to add. 

“No more than for the fact it was something I was good at. I’m good with swords and metal, and not much else. It was a start.”

You nod, smiling gently, “I’m not good for much else than sewing.”

The air sits still between you, a calming presence that wraps you up in its arms. At ease, safe, like you usually feel with him.

You talk until your throat’s sore. Youdon’t even realize dawn has come until he pushes himself up off the bed and the soft blue light peeks in as he leaves.

Laying under your blankets to fight the morning chill, you say his true name one more time. Just to taste it.

❆

The drooping pearl of the necklace Yeonjun gave you swings delicately side to side. No matter what, you couldn’t leave it. You hold it out, watching it. Just watching it.

Kai had gotten up under your skin. His words peeled the dressing you had so carefully laid down for yourself. He’d done it so easily that you’re almost angry.

It doesn’t feel good to paint Yeonjun out to be all terrible, because he isn’t and never was. The truth of the situation is that he didn’t expect to end up loving you, or maybe he didn’t expect for his job to involve hurting a human life in any way. In any case, he never meant to break your trust.

But he did. Aren’t you a hypocrite, then? You weren’t telling him everything, either. Even if he already knew what you were, that was a decision you made. Because you were afraid. He was afraid he’d lose you, too. At least he told you regardless. That’s what gets you; he did tell you. Is what you’re doing punishment for that? Is it mean? And yet, if you go to him again, what of the fact that he thinks he can make you come back by pulling strings? That leaves a nasty taste on your tongue. 

You don’t know. Dropping your head, you sigh. For a long time, everything has been bubbling up in your chest. Now, it rises into your throat and restricts your breathing. You don’t know, you don’t know. 

The thudding of booted footsteps has you popping your head back up to find Taehyun in the doorway. His mouth moves in a half-smile to say something until he zeroes in on what you hold in your fist. Eyes going sharp, his face twists.

“Oh,” you say. “You’re back.”

His feet remain planted. He’s so still that it doesn’t even seem like he’s breathing. It sends a genuine chill over you, hair prickling. That look; you recognize what it is, now. You’ve seen it once or twice. So intense that it eats up the oxygen in the room and leaves none left for you.

“What’s that?” he says, crossing the room to snatch it from your hand. He watches it spin and glimmer in the lowlight. Last time he had seen it, he couldn’t help but snap it off your neck. His throat bobs around a hard swallow.

“A necklace.”

“Always him,” Taehyun growls, eyes smoldering. “No matter what I do. What will it take for you to stop fucking wanting him?”

You’d breathe, but it all gets caught in the back of your throat. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You don’t?” he scoffs, taking your face in his hands. So gentle in contrast with the razors he sneers with. “Bullshit.”

You do. Of course you know what he means. You try to muster up words, but his thumb down the line of your jaw stops them short.

“Look me in the eyes,” he says. Mush-brained, like you always seem to be around him, you do. His jaw ticks and he breathes out a weakened, “Fuck.”

The mattress meeting your back doesn’t even register through the thick, fire-smoke haze of his mouth on yours. You gasp into his mouth, fingers curling into the front of his tunic. That same one you had embroidered. Him, walking around in your touch all day. It makes your belly turn over. 

He licks the seam of your mouth, his hands in your hair and then running up your torso and then squeezing the plush fat of your hips, as if he can’t decide where he wants to feel you, so he devours it all at once. As if he could make up for all the times he wanted so badly to do this, but could not. 

You gasp for breath when your mouths part, kiss so impatient and frantic that it dazes you and leaves your lips smeared. “Taehyun,” you shudder out. He always leaves you stupid and with nothing to say but that. 

He takes your chemise where it lands on your thighs and brings it up. Each inch is scalding and exhilarating at once. When it’s bunched up above your breasts, those intense eyes eat the sight up. All sharp edges and want, but you see how his ears go red.

“I haven’t wanted anything this bad in my whole fucking life,” he says, palm splayed over your ribcage. “I have gone so long like this. Never had anything to want. But I want all of you. That, I need.”

You shake like a leaf in his hands with it; want. “Take it,” you say. It’s good that it’s nothing more than two words, because you don’t trust your voice right now.

 But, really, is it? You think they’re much more than just words. Your head spins so much that the world blurs into lines around you—everything but him and the beating of your heart. 

Instead of devouring you like you thought he would, he thumbs the hinge of your jaw. Yeonjun, as sure of himself as he is, would’ve. But everything about Taehyun is contrary to what you’ve known. Yeonjun was a slow, tantalizing burn because he knew exactly what he wanted to do with you. Taehyun’s all over you like he cannot get enough, a dazzling white-hot fire. And he cannot get enough.

“Are you sure?” he says, the words tumbling out past his lips with trembling urgency. “Because I’m… Don’t play with me. Please, don’t fucking play with me. You want this?”

You’re just as bad as he is. Worse, even. It’s like he takes whatever is inside of you and makes it tenfold. Your skull pounds to the same terrible rhythm as your center. It goes through you in waves. “Taehyun, please, just do something. I do. I do.” 

His fingers are biting as he tugs you down to the edge of the bed, his hair hanging in his eyes. Dark, swirling pools. You drown in them. They’re even better in between your thighs, down on his knees. 

“Tell me where he touched you,” he says, breaths puffing over your inner thighs. 

So he can replace it all with himself. Your blood boils under your skin.

“Did he do this?” he asks. It doesn’t come out vindictive. No—he’s really asking. He wants to know exactly what you like, to make himself exactly that. Why does that set you on fire the way it does?

“Yes.” You run your palm down the length of your belly, slowly, just to feel it and the tingles. His eyes track it the whole way, darting back up to yours when you take his hair in your hands. “Yes, he did. And he was so good at it, Taehyun.” It’s purposefully antagonistic, but your belly tightens as his face falls to shadows.

The first swipe of his tongue is a test. He watches you jump with analytical precision and then applies that like he does everything else—watching. Observing. Another, trying a flick, and his intelligent eyes note how your thighs shake. Then his fingers go tight under your thighs, the cold of him like frostbite, and he dives in. No long drags, no fanfare.

You squeak, but it devolves into a litany of feral sounds. No, Taehyun is not Yeonjun. He reminds you of that in the way he pins you, his arms stronger, in the different way his mouth moves on your cunt. Not at all. It’s like you’re learning how your body reacts anew. 

He does not let you clamp your thighs around his head, does not let you buck your hips, and does not let you breathe.

“Oh—” you start, but your vision tunnels as he takes your clit into his lips. A graze of teeth here, his tall, strong nose against it there. Wholly overwhelming you so that he knows, beyond a doubt, that there’s nothing in this world that you could be thinking about but this. Him. Because he so desperately needs it that way. 

“Taehyun,” you plead with him. Your fingers tug at his scalp, and you’re positive that his jaw must ache, but there’s nothing but an endless hunger that meets your gaze when you find it in you to pry your eyes open and look. “Taehyun, please,” you say, voice cracking toward the end as your belly tightens.

His nose. It sends your body rigid each time he digs in deeper and bumps it up against you. It pushes you closer, closer, and then closer, until you burn all over, nails digging into his muscle-corded forearms to have something to hold as it licks down your spine. The last words you can manage are intelligible—your tongue betrays you.

Taehyun presses a rough hand right below your navel and holds you down through it. He’s the only thing that’s real beyond your hoarse cries and shaking body. Him. 

He doesn’t stop flicking your clit with his tongue until you’re jumpy and choking on your breaths, belly going taut.

The vision of him as he pulls back has stars speckling your vision. His mouth is covered in you, his pupils blown wide. On him, on his perfect, clean-cut face, it’s the lewdest thing you’ve ever seen. Though you’re still floating in a smoky haze, sedated, it sends glowing sparks through you.

His breaths fan over your face as he climbs back up, maneuvering you however he pleases. With his forehead pressed to yours, he half growls, half shudders, “Damn it.”

The words are scalding. You know exactly what he means, because you’re feeling it too. Something as powerful as the sea swallowing you clean, sucking you down to where you know you won’t ever reach the surface again.

You take a hand and run it up the plane of his stomach, feeling and savoring each scar, until you feel his heart. It thuds under his skin frantically. It echoes through your bones, so loud that you might hear it if you strained your ear enough. It tugs at the strings of your heart.

“You’re nervous?” you say, eyeing the mess of his hair, the flush on his cheeks. All so endearingly human. Sweet, even.

“No,” he says. His voice is vibrantly husky and thick. “I’m not scared. I’m just…” His eyes sweep over the sight of you, the spread of your soft thighs and the splay of your hair and the same glazing of the eyes in yours as there is in his no doubt, longingly. There’s a flicker of unsureness, and then he presses his forehead to your shoulder and rolls his hips into you. He lets that speak, the hardness of him. “Good?”

Running a finger over the curve of his ear, you feel the scar tissue left there. “Good,” you say, still partly lost for breath. More than that; you want him all over you. You want him like liquid silver in your bloodstream, heavy but utterly potent.

He fumbles with his pants for a moment, the sword calloused pads of his free hand brushing over your pulse. It stutters under his thumb as he holds it there—checking if you’re feeling it how he is.

“I have been tortured,” he says, wetting his lips and scoffing as if he can’t believe what he’s about to say. “I have been tortured, driven up the fucking walls, by the sound you make when you cum. Since you let him have it in my home, since you let me hear it.” His eyes flash, and then he’s bent you straight in half.

With your thighs flush to your front, your mind goes blank white all but for the very human, very fundamental kick that comes with being so utterly held down. All his brawn is suddenly more apparent now than ever. You press at his hard chest, nothing but his breaths to breathe. “Tyun,” you say, calves on his shoulders.

“Good?” he repeats, his jaw working. The tip of him presses to your entrance.

Taking your lip into your teeth, you cut through the haze and nod for him. “Yes,” you say. “I’m good.”

That’s everything he needed to hear. The thick tip of him presses in first, and then you’re hanging on to each new inch, taking to his shape and size slowly but surely. A sound catches in his chest as his body meets yours, a gravelly curse following.

For a moment, he hangs on and lets you wiggle your hips in circles to learn the feeling. He’s different from Yeonjun like this, too. And then he takes your waist into his hands and begins to fuck you, because hardly could the both of you wait a moment longer. You need, need, need. 

He drops his head and works his hips into you so eagerly that it’d be impossible for him not to brush up against that sweet, saccharine spot inside you. You press a palm over your mouth. Not to quiet yourself—when the world has gone to nothing else but him on top of you, you don’t care. But because you haven’t got a clue what else to do with your hands. You’re clawing, both grabbing him closer and pushing at him. 

“Taehyun,” you whimper. “There—right there.”

Angling his hips, he searches your face. “Yeah? You…” His voice chokes off before he can gather himself again. “Like it there?”

Cupping the back of his head, you pepper kisses and nip wherever you can reach. It’s all your overwhelmed mind can do to thank him.

That deep, trembling feeling starts at the base of your spine. It’s inescapable between him and the bed beneath you, your toes curling in the air and your back going rigid. Everywhere you go, he’s there. Every square inch of you. 

Taehyun’s no better off. “Fuck,” he whimpers. It’s like nothing you’ve ever heard come from his mouth. His head drops into your neck, a procession of something between whiny breaths and growls spilling into your skin.

“I’m…” you say, insides burning up far too much for you to finish that thought. You teeter on the edge just enough to drive you mad, mad enough that falling off feels both like punishment and prize.

He knows, though. “Me too,” he says, voice so tight you think it might snap. Hips faltering, he takes the hair at the back of your skull and tugs your head back just to press a smoldering kiss to your mouth. You know why he’s done it—the sound of his coming undone is muffled into your mouth as he eases up just enough to let your twitching legs down, slipping out. He takes himself into his fist, the slick sounds so obscene they break through your delirium. Belly going taught, the little bit of soft, healthy fat there, he throws his head back and spills over your stomach with a bone-deep sound. 

Both made lazy, you don’t have it in you to move for some long moments. You just listen to the sound of his ragged breaths coming and going off pattern with yours. It’s all you need to hear. All you need to know.

Dazed, you watch him stand to find something to clean you up with. The air is empty, but not bad. Not stifling. He dabs at your belly with a gentle hand, tossing it away. You half expect him to slip out or go lay in his own bed, but he doesn’t. You always did seem to get him wrong, anyway. 

You draw shapes into his skin, talking nonsense with a raspy voice until you’re droopy-eyed and don’t even realize you’re drifting.

❆

Poking through the fabric, you tug the string taut. Another one of Taehyun’s shirts dangles down from your hold.

Something’s happening. You’re not exactly sure what. But he’s hardly here, so something must be. You gnaw at your bitten lip. It doesn’t seem so much like there’s any buzz or mistrust around here anymore, so then what? 

You know that you came here for real war, but the notion of it finally becoming actualized makes your stomach go nauseous. Not to mention the fact that you don’t even know where they’ve gone. That leaves a door of possibilities cracked that you don’t even want to peek into. 

Taehyun can handle it. You know he can. Despite it, you hang on to every moment that he’s not here. What’s that? You decide not to name it, for your sake. 

You thread and you thread, circling the cuffs and then around the neck, letting your mind wander. But not too far. 

A rustle at the tent opening catches your attention, and then Kai’s stepping inside. Your belly doubles over itself. Never once has he come to you. “Is everything okay?” you say, throat tight like you already know. Because you do.

Wasting no time, Kai says, “The prince has been apprehended. But I’d tell you that he’s been given away.”

Silence washes over you as you pause. “What?” you say. Your voice is distant as it comes out. That was not what you were expecting, but it’s not any better. Taehyun’s shirt goes forgotten. 

“For leverage,” he elaborates, “the King has been told about his son's rebellion. He’s been betrayed by one of our own.” There’s a deep sadness in his eyes. Old friends, he had said. “Our general is a cruel, sharp man.”

“What do you mean by that?” you say. The walls spin around you. That’s not right. That’s not right.

Kai doesn’t answer you, but his long, telling look speaks truer than words. Producing a letter, he offers it to you. Yeonjun’s insignia is stamped into wax on the face of it. “I suggest that you read this one.”

Your hand trembles as you take it from him. Yeah. You’d better read it. The cruelty of burning letters hits you like a real blow to the chest. The King has his traitorous son, probably sitting somewhere you haven’t got a clue of, plotting on having his head. So many words—oh, you feel sick just thinking of them going up in smoke now. Yeonjun will die. 

The letter tears with a sickening sound. You don’t have the steadiness in you to open it delicately like you did once.

𝐾𝑎𝑖 𝑡𝑒𝑙𝑙𝑠 𝑚𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑠𝑒𝑒𝑚 ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒, 𝑚𝑦 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒. 𝐴 𝑏𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑚𝑎𝑛 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑏𝑒 𝑔𝑙𝑎𝑑 𝑜𝑓 𝑖𝑡, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝐼 𝑎𝑚 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑎 𝑏𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑚𝑎𝑛.  

𝐵𝑢𝑡 𝐼 𝑑𝑜 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑧𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝐼 ℎ𝑜𝑙𝑑 𝑜𝑛 𝑡𝑜 𝑦𝑜𝑢, 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑢𝑟𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑎𝑤𝑎𝑦 𝐼 𝑎𝑚 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑦𝑜𝑢. 𝐼 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑐𝑢𝑟𝑠𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑐𝑟𝑢𝑒𝑙𝑡𝑦, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝐼 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑖𝑡’𝑠 𝑏𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑛𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑚𝑦 𝑜𝑤𝑛 𝑓𝑎𝑢𝑙𝑡. 𝐼 𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑑𝑖𝑑 𝑚𝑒𝑎𝑛 𝑡𝑜 ℎ𝑢𝑟𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑖𝑓 𝑖𝑡’𝑠 𝑚𝑦 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑥𝑖𝑚𝑖𝑡𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑑𝑜𝑒𝑠, 𝐼 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑑𝑜 𝑖𝑡. 𝐼’𝑙𝑙 𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑦. 

𝐸𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑤𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝐼 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑢𝑛𝑐ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑝𝑎𝑝𝑒𝑟 𝑢𝑝 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑔𝑒𝑡 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑖𝑡. 𝐼 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑘 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑑𝑎𝑦, 𝑦𝑜𝑢’𝑙𝑙 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑧𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑜𝑛𝑙𝑦 𝑜𝑛𝑒 ℎ𝑢𝑟𝑡. 𝐼 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 ℎ𝑢𝑟𝑡 𝑚𝑒, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝐼 ℎ𝑢𝑟𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢. 

𝐼 𝑤𝑖𝑠ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝐼 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑠𝑎𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑖𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑦, 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝐼 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑏𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑦 𝑡𝑜𝑜. 𝐵𝑢𝑡 𝐼 𝑎𝑚 𝑛𝑜𝑡. 𝐼 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑏𝑒. 𝐸𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑖𝑓 𝑖𝑡’𝑠 𝑝𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑓𝑢𝑙, 𝐼 𝑎𝑠𝑘 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑡𝑜 𝑎𝑡 𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑘 𝑜𝑓 𝑚𝑒 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒𝑠. 𝑇ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑘 𝑜𝑓 𝑚𝑒 𝑖𝑛 𝑚𝑢𝑠𝑖𝑐, 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑘 𝑜𝑓 𝑚𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙 𝑔𝑙𝑎𝑑𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑡. 𝐼’𝑑 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑡𝑜 𝑟𝑒𝑚𝑒𝑚𝑏𝑒𝑟 𝑚𝑒 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡. 𝑀𝑎𝑦 𝐼 ℎ𝑎𝑢𝑛𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑎𝑠 𝑦𝑜𝑢 ℎ𝑎𝑢𝑛𝑡 𝑚𝑒.

  𝑌𝑒𝑜𝑛𝑗𝑢𝑛

It’s all so sickly sweet, so dramatically him. Hot tears burn down your cheeks, jaw trembling as you make attempts to keep it all in place. Even just to see his handwriting…

You want to close your eyes and pretend that Taehyun would not, but your gut doesn’t allow it. You know the truth. You know that it was Taehyun who deducted it was Yeonjun sabotaging you. You know that it’s Taehyun that so perfectly, so seamlessly hid behind an ice wall for months that you hadn’t a clue how deeply and voraciously he needed to have you. It was him, with his sharp mind—that part of him that is capable of shutting down emotion and acting on brutal, detached strategy. 

A strategist through and through. It was Taehyun who will have Yeonjun’s head.

🪶 ⦂ this is the happiest day of my life (＞＜) i missed them so much. i know how this development is probably making yall feel... so yes i will be needing to hear everything.

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[cyjlovebott]

from now on | choi yeonjun smut

—

warnings - fingering , car sex , big dick yeonjun!! , dom¡yeonjun , sub¡reader , praise and degrading , pussy deprived jjunie , idk i suck at warnings ofjdkdn

authors note - HELLO I HAVEN’T WRITTEN IN A WHILE omgkdnsnssn heres a short smut bc yeonjun has been in my head for the past few days and i srsly cannot take it anymore

—

you thought you only saw yeonjun as a friend, met at a bar, clearly nothing else but drink buddies. but you were wrong, your mind was filled with only yeonjun, nothing else but him. being infatuated with yeonjun for the past few days has got your mind messy and confused, you don’t know whether or not you want him, his attention, his company, or his cock.

however, it didn’t stop you from agreeing when he asked you out for a ‘friendly’ date. in fact, you were very with his plan. pretty blue dress with a bow tied onto the strap, holding onto the silk fabric thats wrapped around your body. (which is going to be torn off soon)

yeonjun honked twice outside your apartment, startling you as you rushed to grab your tote bag, your keys and your phone. you lock the door behind you as you approach his car, white bows tied around your braids to match your quite revealing dress, having yeonjun stare at you from head to toe.

“hey.” you exchange, smiling at him before reaching out to the car door to slam it, making sure your dress isn’t caught by the door.

“you look astonishing, y/n.” he complimented, his pretty lips curving upwards as he sees you blush at his words. his hands travel to the gearshift as his foot stomps onto the gas, accelerating the car.

the mood in the car was rather quiet, maybe it was because of his compliment a few minutes ago, but the atmosphere was hot, somewhat steamy and clearly drowning out the both of you.

you had a rather devilish idea to do something stupid to turn him on while hes driving, smirking as an idea enters your head.

the plan wasn’t well executed. you thought of pulling your tote bag onto your lap and begin fingering yourself in the car with him, but then accidentally the tote bag “drops” and he sees you working your way with your fingers. all of that and you just wish, that he helps you out.

you thought about it once, twice, three times before you did your mischievous mission.

you pull the tote bag onto your lap, already catching yeonjun’s attention. you quietly pull your panties down as yeonjuns eyes stay on the road. your fingers were cold and you wince at the feeling, yeonjun hearing it, but not paying attention. your fingers slowly begin to spread your folds, gathering your wetness as you think about yeonjun.

you insert a finger into your hole, gasping at your action and squirming in your seat, you begin to thrust your finger in and out. you insert another finger, your moans becoming more louder and noticeable.

“y-yeonjun.. ah fuck-” you moan, causing yeonjun to pull over at an empty parking lot and showering all of his attention to you.

you realise he isnt driving anymore when another set of fingers touch your clit, slightly grinning as your plan worked, and his attention and fingers are now on you.

“what a fucking slut. fingering herself while being in the car with me?,” your pretty blue dress is off in seconds. giving him a much wider view of your gorgeous body. his hands begin to roam your curves, making sure not an inch hasn’t been touched by him.

everything stops and you whine. “so impatient, hmm? just going to move to the back sweetie.” you climb to the back and he follows after you, staring at your arousal dripping down your thighs as you slowly crawl to the back of his car.

“shit. so pretty for me. just wait love okay? i’ll make you feel so good.” his lips lap at your pussy, tongue travelling from your hole to your clit. your head tips backwards and your back arches to the car door.

“ah- ngh- jjun-” he eventually increased his pace, your thighs closing around his heads but his strong arms preventing him from exploring your pussy. his tongue slips through your folds and a slight moan from him caused a vibrate to your spine.

“fuck me- ah- fuck me” yeonjun smirked at your words and followed your order. taking off his pants and lining himself to your cunt.

“such a pretty pretty pussy. cant wait to fill it up.” his dick entered your hole, both of you moaning as yeonjun quickly thrusted into you.

moans and whines filled the car as yeonjun fucked you like the world was ending, your hands gripping onto his hair and his lips sucking on your neck to make sure people knew he was yours.

his thrusts had no mercy. his big dick kept lining itself up and then thrusting deep into you like it was nothing. your tight pussy helped yeonjun pleasure himself aswell. your cute gummy walls tightening around his big cock. so cute in yeonjun’s eyes.

you both came to a stop when your climax came rushing down, yeonjun cumming in you and your cum dripping down his dick.

“fuck. from now on, you’re mine y/n. all, mine.”

i guess the plan worked?

[hyukalyptus]

cw. cunnilingus, no talking, reader has a vagina, fingering, i think that's it?

thinking about laying in bed next to yeonjun, scrolling through ur phone or simply struggling to fall asleep. he's been asleep for a while but keeps stirring, making little sleepy sounds. laying on ur side turned away from him.

but he just slowly drags his fingertips over ur hip, vvv quietly moving to kiss ur hip and down ur thigh, encouraging u to lay on ur back without ever saying a word.

trailing kisses over ur pelvis, pressing his lips to the outside of ur pussy until he spreads ur lips to flick his tongue over ur clit, earning a sweet gasp from you, but nothing more. you two don't need to say anything to each other to know he's making u feel so so good.

gripping strands of his hair between ur fingers, rolling ur hips over and over. and he pushes his 2nd and 3rd fingers inside you, curling them up and hitting the perfect spot.

its dead quiet in the room, the only sound being the cute gasps coming from u, his expert licks, and his fingers pumping in and out of ur wetness. its building in the pit of ur stomach, knots tying themselves tighter and tighter until ur stomach drops as you cum around his fingers.

he still doesn't say anything and you barely make a sound despite the insane amount of pleasure ur feeling—a lack for words. you don't even get a goodnight kiss, just an incredible orgasm, and he turns back over, drifting into a quiet sleep :p

[boigyu]

FAN WARS. WHEN THE TWO BIGGEST STAN ACCOUNTS FOR LADYBUG AND CHAT NOIR HAVE BEEF

or in which you are ladybug and yeonjun is chat noir, but you two secretly live a double life as heroes and college students; and maybe also run a stan acc for each other's hero persona as a hobby. though, you two don't get along and occasionally fight on the tl (as a joke), despite both owning the biggest stan accs for each respective hero. and one day a particular twitter interaction blows up— causing the two of you to forcefully work it out.

pairing! chat noir!yeonjun x ladybug!reader

genre! fluff, crack, superhero au, miraculous ladybug au, college setting, social media au

warning! cursing, yeonjun is a lil delulu... but it's ok

notes! JUST REWATCHED MLB AND SAW A YEONJUNXCHAT NOIR EDIT. jaw dropped so I made this out of boredom, for the ppl that r waiting on my next ig trend post with the rest of enha LOOK AWAY IM SORRY OK I WILL GET BACK TO THAT. I'll post the next part soon lol just needed to get this outta my system, also I miss mlbtwt OK THATS IT ENJOY

part i . part ii . part iii . part iv (tba)

© boigyu 2024. don't plagiarize, steal or translate my work