skultyun

[skultyun]

𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗌 | 𝖼𝗁𝗈𝗂 𝗌𝗈𝗈𝖻𝗂𝗇 : ̗̀➛

summary: when global idol Choi Soobin returns to his quiet hometown for an unexpected hiatus, the last thing you expect is to run into him—the boy you once shared everything with...until you cut him off without a word.

you swore you’d never let yourself want him again. he swore he’d stop waiting for you to look back. but this time, neither of you is quite ready to walk away.

cw: sub!soobin, dom!reader, idol!au, angsty!!, fluff, slow and i mean slowburn, friends to lovers, mentions of death, implied depression, mental health issues (pls take care of urselves), unprotected sex, smut, reader just can't process emotions well

wc: ~30k... forgive me...or love me idk....

make sure to read part one first:)

part one | part two

You glance at him.

He’s not smiling anymore. His eyes darken with something unsaid—an emotion too raw to voice but too heavy to hide.

In that moment, the space between you changes. It’s no longer just a shared past. It’s a crossing point.

A line drawn. Between what was… and what could be.

And somehow, without words, you both know it.

This is the turning point.

The moment everything begins to change. His eyes darken, intense and searching, as they lock onto yours. The world narrows until it’s just the two of you—breath mingling, hearts hammering in sync.

His hand slides around your waist, pulling you closer, his touch burning through the space between you.

You don’t hesitate. Instead, you reach up, threading your fingers through his hair, drawing him nearer. The moment his lips crash against yours, it’s electric—fierce and urgent, a storm that’s been building for years finally unleashed.

He tastes like everything you’ve missed, every stolen memory and secret longing wrapped into one.

Your body arches toward him, breath hitching as his hands roam with desperate tenderness—holding on, never wanting to let go. The kiss deepens, raw and hungry, like a confession and a promise all at once.

When you finally break apart, your foreheads rest together, breaths ragged, giggling like children. 

“I’ve wanted this—wanted you—for so long I thought I’d forget what it felt like,” he whispers, voice thick with emotion.

You laugh breathlessly, tears pricking your eyes—not from sadness, but from the overwhelming flood of everything you’ve been holding in. 

As he brushes his thumb over your bottom lip, you can't help but notice the way he stares at you shivering at the gesture. Your heart leaps at the reaction, while a small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. His other hand moves upwards, fingers tangling in your hair. He pulls you closer, your breaths mingling again and your voice is a whisper now

"You drive me crazy. You always drive me crazy."

“Binnie…” you moaned, the nickname slipping out before you could stop it—familiar, once innocent, now thick with something deeper.

It tumbled from your lips again, laced with want, each syllable drawn out by the ache curling low in your stomach. What used to be playful now felt intimate—like a secret only he was allowed to hear.

And from the way his breath hitched, the way his grip on your waist tightened, you knew he felt it too.The shift. The heat. The need.

It was no longer just a kiss. No longer just a moment.  It was everything you’d never dared to ask for—now finally, finally burning to the surface.

You can feel the heat pooling in my stomach, and the ache for him to hold you closer, to feel every last inch of him.

As you say his name again, the sound of it now thick with desire, he pulls you even closer, his grip on your waist becoming almost possessive.

“Binnie…” you whisper again, softer this time.

His breath stutters against your skin. His hands flex at your waist like he’s fighting himself, like he doesn’t know what to do with the way your voice—your voice—saying his name like that, is undoing him from the inside out.

And then he exhales, shaky and low.

“I’m never going to hear that the same again,” he murmurs, voice wrecked. “You’ve ruined it.”

You smile, slow and dangerous, and he swallows hard. It’s the kind of look that would’ve made him stammer back in high school—the kind that would’ve gone over his head completely. But now? He sees it. Feels it.

His forehead drops to your shoulder, his fingers digging gently into your sides like he’s grounding himself.

“Say it again,” he mumbles, barely audible.

“What, Binnie?” you breathe against his ear.

He shudders.

You feel him melt a little into you—like all the tension he holds on stage, the posture, the polish—it’s gone. Right now, it’s just him. Just Soobin. Yours. Finally, yours. 

“God,” he mutters. “I think I’d do anything you told me to right now.” The words slip out like a confession, quiet and stunned, as if he’s only just realizing it himself.

And when you pull back just enough to look at him, really look at him—his flushed cheeks, his parted lips, the wide, dazed look in his eyes—you realize he means it.

Every word.

So you give it to him.

You cradle his face in both hands, your thumbs brushing over the flushed apples of his cheeks. He leans into your touch like it’s instinct. Like his body already knows—this is where it belongs.

“I don’t want you to do anything,” you murmur, voice lower now, threading through the tension in the room. “Unless it’s because you want it. Not because I said so.”

His breath catches again.

“I do,” he says, so quietly it’s barely audible. His fingers dig a little tighter into your waist. “I do want it. Want you.”

And that’s it. That’s the moment everything drops.

You kiss him again, slower this time, deeper—like a promise. He melts into it, like he’s sinking, like his body belongs in your hands and knows it. He can’t stop panting like a dog in heat, the sounds shooting straight to your core. Something inside you snaps.

You guide him back with a firm hand at his chest, and he follows without hesitation, breath catching as the back of his knees hit the couch. He sinks onto it slowly, still watching you like he can’t believe this is real—like he’s afraid to blink.

“Wait—” he starts, his voice hoarse, “you don’t have to—”

“I want to,” you say simply. And that’s the end of it.

Something in his shoulders loosens—just a little. But his fingers are still fisted into the comforter like he’s grounding himself. Like he doesn’t trust his body to stay still otherwise.

You lean in, hands on his thighs, and kiss him again—deeper this time, more demanding. And he responds beautifully, mouth parting, letting you take exactly what you want.

You slide your hand under the hem of his hoodie and he shudders, hips twitching up involuntarily at the feel of your fingers on his skin. He breaks the kiss with a soft gasp.

“Please…” he murmurs. You don’t know if he’s asking you to keep going or to slow down. Maybe even he doesn’t know.

“Desperate bunny” You coo. Tugging the hoodie off over his head, and he helps without thinking, eyes never leaving yours. He looks wrecked already—hair mussed, lips swollen, flushed all the way down his throat.

You climb into his lap, straddling him, and he lets out a low, desperate sound that you feel echo in your stomach. His hands hover like he doesn’t know where he’s allowed to touch.

You guide them—one to your waist, one to your back.

“There,” you whisper against his jaw. “You can hold me.”

He nods, eyes fluttering shut as he grips you like you’re the only real thing in the room. You start trailing kisses down his neck, and he whimpers. The kind of soft, breathy sound that tells you he’s gone—completely at your mercy.

You suck gently at a spot just below his ear, and he grips your hips tighter, head falling back with a soft groan.

“God,” he breathes. “I’m not gonna survive this.”

You smile against his skin. “You’ll be fine, Binnie.” You nip lightly at his throat. “You’re doing so well for me. Such a good bunny…” You purr. 

That breaks him. You feel it—his whole body tightening, breath faltering, hands flexing against your back like he’s barely holding himself together.

And the way he looks at you when you pull back, lips parted, eyes dark and glassy—like you’ve completely unraveled him with just your touch—makes your heart slam against your ribs.

Not because you’ve won. But because he’s giving it to you, willingly.

Your fingers trail down his bare chest, slow and deliberate, watching the way his breath stutters, the way his abs flex beneath your touch. He’s trembling now—trembling—and it makes something deep inside you coil tighter, hungrier.

“Binnie,” you whisper, and the way he looks at you—ruined, reverent, like he’d follow you anywhere—makes you ache.

“I don’t think I can be quiet,” he confesses, breathless, almost dazed. “You’re… I can’t think straight when you’re touching me like this. ”

You lean in, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “Then don’t be quiet.” You kiss just beneath it, your voice low, velvet-smooth. “I want to hear you.”

He lets out a broken sound—a half-whimper, half-gasp—as you grind down slightly against his lap, and his hands instinctively tighten at your hips. But he doesn’t move you. He waits. Lets you move. Lets you guide.

He lets out a strangled sound—half-whimper, half-moan—as you grind against him again, slow and deep. His fingers dig helplessly into your hips, but he still doesn’t try to take control. He’s letting you have it. Letting you lead.

“God, you’re so pretty,” he chokes out, almost like he doesn’t realize he’s saying it. “You’re so—fuck,—you’re so pretty.”

You feel the words hit you everywhere at once—low in your stomach, high in your chest, curling around the edges of your thoughts.

You look down at him—completely undone, lips parted, eyes glassy with need—and he’s still murmuring it like a prayer.

“Pretty… you’re so pretty,” he breathes again, hands sliding up your waist like he needs to memorize you. “I can’t—I don’t know what to do when you look at me like that.”

You press your forehead to his, your hands framing his flushed face. “You don’t have to do anything,” you murmur. “Just let me have you.”

And when you roll your hips again, he gasps—head falling back, throat exposed, another desperate “pretty,” slipping past his lips like he’s completely forgotten he was ever capable of holding back.

And you swear, in that moment, you could break him just by existing.

You kiss him again, deeper, hungrier, your mouths meeting like gravity’s pulling you together. And he gives you everything—his sighs, his hands, the soft little noises he tries and fails to hold back. His body was so responsive to every touch, every word, every inch of pressure you apply. You let your hand slide down, cupping him through the fabric, feeling the heat and hardness pressing against your palm.

It’s dizzying—the way he lets go for you. The way he doesn’t want to take control.

And you feel it in his every movement, every stuttered breath:

He trusts you with all of it. And when you slow just long enough to look down at him, hair falling between you, lips swollen, skin flushed, he whispers like he’s confessing a secret he’s never said aloud:

“I’ve never wanted someone like this before.”

You kiss the corner of his mouth, gentle now. “I know.”

And the way his hands curl around your back like he’s never letting go?

That says everything else.

You press your hips forward again, slow and deliberate, and Soobin lets out a strangled moan, his jaw slackening as his eyes flutter closed, overwhelmed. Your hand grips his hardened length firmly, poised to finally release him from his confinement.

“Oh my god—” he gasps, back arching slightly beneath you. “Please…”

“Please what?” you murmur, fingers raking down his chest, nails catching lightly on every muscle that jumps beneath your touch. “Use your words, Binnie.”

He shudders. Actually shudders. His grip on your hips goes tighter, but he still doesn’t push. Doesn’t guide. He just gives—waiting, aching, obedient.

“I— I don’t know,” he breathes out, completely overwhelmed. “I just—need you. Need more.”

The raw, unfiltered honesty of the moment tightens your chest, but you don’t hesitate. With steady hands, you pull down his sweatpants and boxers in one smooth motion, finally freeing him from the minutes of teasing.  The tip was red and leaky, ready to be pumped over and over again. 

You lean in, noses brushing, your voice a whisper against his lips. “Fuck, why the hell are you so big?” It throbs in your hand. 

And then you roll your hips harder, dragging delicious friction between you, and the sound that rips out of him is filthy. Desperate. Like he’s coming undone under your hands alone. 

His fingers flex at your thighs, his breath hot and ragged. “Fuck—” he swears for the first time tonight, and it sends heat flooding through you.

You kiss down his neck again—slow, lingering, open-mouthed. You nip at the spot just above his collarbone and feel him tremble. He tilts his head instinctively, baring his throat for you.

“You like that?” you whisper against his skin.

He nods—helpless. “Y-Yeah. I— I want to be good for you.”

You sit up slowly, hands sliding down his arms to where he’s gripping the sheets now, knuckles white.

“You are good for me,” you say, voice low, teasing. “So good. So pretty. Look at you…”

You grind down again and watch him react—how he bites his lip, eyes squeezing shut, head falling back. A mess of breathless curses and whimpers spill from his mouth like he doesn’t even realize he’s making them.

“Binnie,” you breathe, leaning in close again, lips brushing his ear, ���do you want to be mine?”

His whole body tenses, like the words hit something deep. He nods quickly, eyes flying open. “Yes. Yes—please.”

And fuck, the way he says it—like it’s a prayer, like it’s something sacred—it makes you feel powerful and soft and achingly in love all at once.

You kiss him again, deeper, more desperate, your bodies moving together now with friction and rhythm and want. You were pumping him so hard, the slick sheen of his precum coating your palm, some of it tracing a slick path down to his taut stomach.

He tried to stifle his moans, pressing his lips together thinly, but it was no use—those soft dimples deepened with every sound escaping him. An angelic face, but beneath it all, he was just a dirty whore. 

The room is hot. Breathless. His name is a broken thing on your lips. Yours is a mantra on his.

And through it all, he lets you lead. Lets you have him.

Every gasp. Every shiver. Every soft, ruined plea that falls from his mouth.

There was something dizzying about the way you fit into him—how he was all height and warmth, and yet somehow, he made space for you. Let you lead. Like he didn’t mind giving up control. Like he wanted to.

And maybe that was what unraveled you the most—not his size, not the weight of him beside you—but the way he gave in so easily. Willingly. Like he trusted you to guide him wherever this was going.

You move your hips again—deeper this time, slower—grinding down on his cock now with delicious purpose. His head jerks back against the pillows, neck exposed, jaw slack as he lets out a ragged, wrecked moan that vibrates through your spine. 

His hands are on your hips now, but not guiding. Just gripping. Holding on. Like if he lets go, he’ll fall apart completely.

“Fuck,” he groans, voice hoarse, shaking. “Please… I can’t—”

“You can,” you whisper, dragging your nails lightly down his chest, feeling him twitch beneath you. “And you will. For me.”

He whimpers—actually whimpers—his fingers trembling as he digs them into the curve of your waist like he’s trying not to lose himself. Every roll of your hips has him gasping now, like he doesn’t know what to do with all the sensation, all the need clawing up his spine.

“Too much,” he whispers, but he’s not asking you to stop. No, if anything, he’s begging you to keep going. “You’re too much.” His hands flew up to cover his flushed cheeks, hiding the mess of emotions behind them. But you gently brushed them aside, wanting to see every inch of his face as he teetered on the edge, closer and closer to coming undone.

You lean in, kiss him like you’re claiming him. And he melts. His hands, his body, his breath—all of it surrendering to you.

“Then fall apart for me,” you murmur against his lips. “Let me have it. Let me have you.”

And he does. Oh, he does.

His hips jerk up into yours, involuntary now, his moans spilling freely—loud and unfiltered and so damn pretty. You ride the rhythm you’ve built between you, pulling him deeper into the pleasure until he’s completely lost to it.

Your hands never stop moving—his chest, his shoulders, his hair, his face. You want to memorize all of it. The way his mouth falls open. The way his eyes roll back. The way he gasps your name like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered to this world.

“I’m—” he chokes, voice wrecked. “I— I’m—”

You hush him with a kiss, your pace unrelenting. “I know, baby. I’ve got you.”

And when he finally breaks, it’s breathtaking. He moans—loud, drawn-out, beautiful—his whole body going taut beneath you as the pleasure overtakes him, rolls through him like a wave crashing into shore.

You didn’t slow down. Your hand moved faster and harder, desperate to draw out every drop, to claim all of him at this moment. You ride it with him, your name echoing off the walls, his grip bruising, grounding.

And when it’s done—when his body finally collapses back into the mattress, boneless and shaking, chest heaving—you don’t move.

You stay there. Straddling him. Watching the way his lips part and close, trying to catch his breath. Watching the way his lashes flutter. The way his fingers loosen, like he’s still clinging to you in his sleep.

“Still alive?” you whisper.

His eyes crack open, dazed and glassy, and he gives you the softest, most wrecked smile you’ve ever seen.

“Barely,” he croaks. “You… destroyed me.”

You lean down, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth.You barely let him catch his breath, grinning wickedly down at his flushed face.

“Thought you were done?” you tease, voice low and dangerous.

Soobin blinks up at you, chest still rising and falling, lips swollen and parted like he’s trying to figure out if you’re serious.

“Oh, I’m serious,” you say, peeling off your top, your breasts bouncing the moment the fabric slipped away. Your eyes met Soobin’s, and you saw the way his mouth parted, practically drooling at the sight. 

One hand tangled was in his hair as you pressed your body down against his. You pressed your bare skin against his chest, feeling the goosebumps rise where your tits met his warm skin. “You’re not getting off that easy.”

His breath hitches, a shiver running through him. “You’re evil.” He whimpered. 

You laugh—a soft, sultry sound that makes his knees weaken.

“Maybe I am,” you whisper, leaning down to nip at his neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin.

He groans, tilting his head, eyes dark and pleading.

You don’t even give him a second to breathe before your hands are everywhere—gripping, exploring, claiming. Your nails dig in just enough to make him shiver, your touch teasing every nerve awake. 

His breath hitches, his eyes fluttering open and wide, wild and desperate, like he’s on the edge of losing control—and honestly, so are you.

“Please—” he gasps, voice cracking, like he’s barely holding himself together. “I can’t—”

But you don’t stop. A thin string of slick clung to the fabric as you slipped off your panties, your arousal undeniable. Without hesitation, you stuck it in his mouth, and he responded with a low, approving groan.

You grind down on him, slow at first, then faster, harder. The sound of him breaking apart under your touch is music—ragged gasps, sharp intake of breath, desperate whimpers that make your pulse slam. 

You smile, lips brushing his ear. “Wanna speak, bunny? Huh?—You wanna speak?”

You grip his big, throbbing cock, as if about to finally free him from his misery—but not before teasing him first. You drag it slowly back and forth along your entrance, slipping just the tip in for a moment before pulling away again.

His hands clutch your hips like you’re his last lifeline, pulling you impossibly closer.

His eyes squeezed shut, his groans growing louder as if he was struggling to hold back words he couldn’t say. You were still caught in a haze—partly cruel, wanting to push him to the edge—but deep down, you knew he was savoring every moment.

You were getting eager now—the sight of him trembling beneath you made your stomach tighten with need. You both were desperate, but it was him who was truly unraveling, barely holding on. You finally gave in, slowly easing him inside. But then he got greedy—his hips snapped up, filling you all at once, forcing a low, breathless yelp from your lips.

“Little fucker,” you breathed, gripping his stomach for support as you tried to adjust to the sudden stretch.

His whole body trembles, every muscle taut, every nerve on fire. You feel the tension coil tighter and tighter until it snaps, and he loses it—shaking, gasping, clutching you like he’s never felt anything like this before.

You slam your hips down, relentless now, and he cries out. No control left—just instinct, just sound. Raw, hoarse, helpless. His nails dig into your thighs, head tossed back against the sheets, chest heaving like he’s drowning in it.

“F-fuck, Ah—!” he gasps, voice cracking completely.

He’s shaking under you. Physically trembling. Muscles flexing as he tries—and fails—to hold it together. His eyes roll back when you grind down slow, cruel, and deep. He’s not even speaking anymore—just noise. Beautiful, wrecked noise.

“Look at you,” you growl, fisting your hand in his hair, yanking his head up until he’s forced to meet your eyes. “You’re so easy for me.”

He whimpers, his mouth falling open, pupils blown, lips kiss-swollen and slick.

“You like this,” you murmur, tone low, dominating. “You like it when I use you like this.”

He moans—loud—and tries to nod, but he’s dizzy, broken, his whole body twitching under yours.

“Say it,” you demand, grinding down harder, rolling your hips with punishing rhythm. “Say you want to be used.”

“I—I wanna be used,” he cries out, panting, frantic, voice ragged and so fucking gone. “I want—I want everything. Take it. Take all of me—fuck, please—please don’t stop—”

You don’t.

You speed up.

Faster. Harder. Slapping skin and heavy breathing and Soobin’s voice falling apart, barely more than whines now. He’s close again—you can feel it, the way he tightens beneath you, the way his nails bite into your skin like he’s bracing for impact.

“I can’t—I can’t—” he sobs, wrecked and gasping.

“You can,” you snap, grabbing his jaw so he’s looking at you, staring straight into his ruined, desperate eyes. “You’ll take it like a good fucking boy.”

And then he loses it.

A full-body tremor wrecks him as he comes undone—loud, raw, shattering. He’s babbling through it—your name, broken pleas, helpless sounds torn from his throat as he rides the edge into oblivion.

You don’t let up.

You ride him through it, holding his face, kissing him through every last quake of his climax, until he’s gasping into your mouth like he’ll fall apart without it.

And when it’s over, when he collapses into the mattress like his bones no longer work, eyes glazed, chest heaving, completely destroyed—you lean down, lips brushing the shell of his ear.

His voice breaks into a muffled moan, eyes wild and glassy, mouth parting as he spills over the edge. Only then do you remove his gag. 

You ride the wave with him, holding him close as he collapses against you—utterly undone, completely yours.

He’s panting, dazed, utterly wrecked—his fingers still gripping your skin like he can’t believe you’re real.

“You’ve–” He breathes, voice ragged, “You’ve ruined me forever.”

And you grin, knowing exactly what you’ve done—and loving every second of it. But you’re not done. 

Pinned. Open. Helpless.

You roll your hips again, slow and deep, and his whole body jerks.

“Ah—!” he gasps, head tossing back against the pillow, arms trembling. “Too much— I just came, I—!”

You lean in, lips at his ear. “Last one baby, I promise. Give me one more, kay?”

His breath hitches. His hands fist the sheets.

“N-no,” he whispers. “I just— I— I don’t know if I can take it—”

“Oh, you will,” you murmur darkly, fingers gripping his chin to turn his dazed, tear-glossed eyes back to yours. “You will. You give me everything, remember?”

He nods, breathless, lips trembling. “I’m yours. I’m— I’ll do anything! I can come again! Again!”

“I’m gonna make sure you never forget this.” You whisper, biting down on his jaw, making him moan. You roll your hips harder, pace punishing now, and Soobin breaks.

Every sound he makes is louder, messier—panting and begging, a litany of your name mixed with curses and gasps and half-sobbed moans. He’s twitching with overstimulation, body jerking uncontrollably beneath you.

“I— I’m gonna—fuck, please let me—”

You grab his wrists and pin them above his head, riding him harder.

“Not yet,” you hiss. “You’re gonna take every fucking second I give you, Soobin.”

“Please—pleasepleaseplease—”

And when you finally let him, it’s catastrophic.

He screams your name, whole body arched off the bed, muscles locking as he comes undone—again—louder, harder, longer than before. He’s so overstimulated. He doesn’t even know where he is anymore, just gasping and crying and thanking you through it, like it’s the only thing keeping him from falling apart. You came with him, letting your moans spill out, chanting his nickname over and over again. 

And the second he collapses again, twitching, boneless, ruined—your lips find his temple.

You ease off him, moving with the gentlest touch now, like you’re trying not to break the fragile thing he’s become. Your hands slide over his sweat-slick skin, tracing lazy, soothing circles on his chest and down his arms.

His breath is still shaky, shallow, the rapid pounding of his heart settling into something softer — something more intimate. His eyes flutter open, bleary and glazed, and when they find yours, they’re full of quiet awe.

“You did so good,” you whisper, voice thick with warmth and something deeper. “So strong, so perfect.”

He tries to smile, but it falters, so you lean down and press a tender kiss to the corner of his mouth.

He catches your wrist, holding your hand against his cheek like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

“Y/N,” he breathes, voice husky, “I— I never knew…”

You tilt his head up gently, fingers threading through the damp strands of his hair.

“That I could top you?” you finish for him.

He laughs softly, the sound like a release. “That you’d be into it.”

His eyes squeeze shut again, and when they open, there’s a softness there you haven’t seen before — a quiet surrender, a trust, and maybe, just maybe, something like love.

The silence between you isn’t empty anymore — it’s full. Full of everything you couldn’t say, everything you’re both feeling.

And as his head rests against your collarbone, his breath steadying, you know this isn’t what you thought it was anymore. 

Suddenly, the weight of everything crashed down on you—too sharp, too real. You’d just crossed a line with Soobin, shared something so raw and fragile, and yet all you could feel was the bitter sting of what it meant. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. You were friends. Nothing more. Have you really forgotten that? Forgotten that this—whatever this was—was doomed to end before it even began? 

He had to leave at some point. Maybe for good. How could you dare to want him, to claim him, when all of it felt so temporary? Like chasing a ghost that would slip through your fingers the moment you reached out. The fear squeezed your chest so tight it was almost painful. You wanted him—needed him—but the cruelest truth was that you might never have him at all. And maybe that was the hardest thing to admit.

He’s quiet for too long—long enough that the skin at the back of your neck prickles. When he finally speaks, it’s soft. Careful. Almost like he doesn’t want to say it.

“…I’m going back.”

Your heart thuds. “Back?”

He turns his head slightly, meets your eyes.

“My hiatus,” he says. “It’s over. I’m flying out next week.”

The words land hard. Too fast. Like someone slammed a door without warning. For a second, you forget how to breathe.

“Oh,” you manage. Your throat tightens. “That soon?”

He nods. Doesn’t elaborate.

And just like that, something cracks again. You don’t mean to react, your stomach twisting in ways you don’t understand—or maybe understand too well.

He notices. Of course he notices. His eyes flick down, watching the small movements of your hands.

“I wasn’t trying to keep it from you,” he says quietly. “I just… I didn’t know how to bring it up.”

You nod, still not trusting your voice. You try to find something light to say, something stupid like ‘big stage, bright lights, back to being famous,’ but nothing comes out.

He watches you carefully now, expression unreadable.

“I wanted to see you,” he added after a moment. “Before I left.”

Your chest pulls painfully tight. You blink hard, trying not to let that mean too much. But it already does. It does.

“Oh,” you say again, like it’s all you’re capable of. “Cool.”

And god, the way he flinches—so subtly, like he’s trying to hide it—it guts you. “This is stupid,” you mutter, mostly to yourself. “I should be happy for you.”

“You can be both,” he says, voice gentler now. “Happy for me… and still sad.” 

You look at him then, and you hate that he’s saying all the right. “Are you… ready?”

He exhales, long and uneven. “I don’t know.”

A beat.

“Are you okay with it?” he asks, finally meeting your gaze. Your eyes lock, and it’s like standing at the edge of something. Not a cliff. Not a beginning. But something in between.

“I mean…” you start, heart in your throat. “It’s not really my decision.”

He frowns a little. “That’s not what I asked.” You hate that he’s looking at you like that. Like he wants you to say something he’s not brave enough to say himself.

“I don’t know,” you admit. “I just got used to having you around again.”

You don’t mean for it to sound like a confession. But it is. And something flickers in his eyes—uncertainty, maybe. Or guilt. Or something else you can’t name. Your fingers clench tighter, and your voice—when you find it—comes out softer than before. Too even. Too measured.

He doesn’t respond at first.

Just watches you. Noticing, probably, the way your expression stiffens even as you try to keep it neutral. The way you shrink a little inward, shoulders curling in like you’re bracing for something.

The silence stretches again. Then he says it—soft, almost like a thought he wasn’t meant to speak out loud. You get up from his lap, dressing yourself. He does the same. 

“I could stay.”

You blink.

“What?”

His jaw shifts. Not tense. Just… trying.

“I’m saying…” He exhales hard, rubs the back of his neck. “If you wanted me to. I could… put things on hold. A little longer.”

Your heart trips over itself.

“No,” you say quickly, instinctively. Too fast. 

His brow furrows. “Why not?”

“Because,” you snap—sharper than you mean to. “That’s not fair. You just said you’re going back. That’s your job, Soobin. It’s your dream.”

He flinches, just barely. But he recovers, voice is lower now. Steadier.

“I know what I said. I know what I used to want.” He looks at you like he’s searching for the right words—something raw swimming behind his eyes. “But things are different now.”

You shake your head. “Don’t say that.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not true.”

“Yes, it is,” he says, firmer this time. “You think I haven’t thought about it? That I haven’t looked at everything here—your mom, this house, you—and wondered if maybe this is where I should be instead?”

The words hit like thunder. Your breath catches. He keeps going.

“I could help,” he says, softer now. “With your mom. With everything. If you asked me to stay, I would.”

You take a step back.

It’s too much. Too fast. Too dangerous.

“No, Soobin,” you say again, voice tight. “You don’t get to throw your whole life away just because you feel—”

“I’m not throwing anything away!”

“You are! You have the life that you’ve worked so hard for. Trained, sacrificed for—you love it. ”

“I love you more!”

The words ring out into the silence, sharp and clear.

And it’s too much. You laugh—but there’s no humor in it. It breaks, hollow. “Don’t do that.”

He stares. “Don’t do what?”

“Don’t say things like that,” you whisper. “Not when you know I can’t ask you to stay.”

“You could,” he says, quietly. “You could ask.”

“But I won’t,” you say, voice rising now. “Because that would make me selfish. And I’m not selfish, Soobin. I won’t be the reason you wake up one day and wonder what you missed out on.”

“I don’t care about missing out!” he bursts out, frustrated now. “Don’t you get it? It’s not about the stage anymore. Not when I’m here. Not when I’m with you.”

You don’t answer.

You can’t. Your throat is too tight. Your chest is full of something that hurts too much to name.

And he sees that. He sees it—and something in him changes. Soobin stands slowly. Not like he’s ready to storm off. Not even like he’s angry. Just… like something inside him has given up trying to stay soft.

“I’ve never asked you for anything,” he says, voice low and rough around the edges now.

You lift your head, startled.

“Back then,” he goes on, and there’s a tremble in it now. “When we were younger, and you stopped talking to me—I didn’t push. I didn’t chase you. I didn’t ask why.”

He’s not looking at you. He’s looking somewhere past you, like if he meets your eyes now, he’ll shatter.

“I thought maybe you needed space. Or maybe I just didn’t matter enough. So I told myself it was fine. That I could handle it.”

His voice is starting to crack.

“But I never stopped thinking about you.”

You open your mouth. You don’t even know what you’re about to say—maybe sorry, maybe something too big to say in one breath—but he shakes his head, cuts you off.

“I didn’t come back expecting anything,” he says. “Not an apology. Not an explanation. Not even a second chance.”

He finally looks at you then. Really looks.

“I could’ve gone anywhere else, but…I just wanted to be around you again…”

Your heart twists.

“I would’ve been happy just sitting next to you for the rest of my life if that’s all you wanted,” he says, quieter now. “Because when I’m around you, it feels like I can breathe again. Like I remember who I am.”

Your lips part. A sound escapes you—small, helpless.

“So please,” he says. “I’m asking now. For once, I’m asking.”

He takes a step forward.

“Don’t push me away.”

You feel the words like they’re hands around your ribs. Like they’re shaking you loose.

Because he means it. All of it. This is Soobin, who never asks for more than people give, who always takes what he’s offered and never complains. Soobin, who stayed soft even when the world tried to harden him.

And now he’s here—bare, wide open—and he’s telling you he would stay.

If you said the word, he would stay.

And that’s what ruins you.

Because you are the one who would break him by letting him.

You shake your head, voice breaking as it comes out. “You’d hate me for it eventually.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“You say that now.”

“I’d never hate you,” he says fiercely, like it hurts to even hear it. “I’d give up everything if you just told me you wanted me to.”

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s true.”

Your breath catches. The room is tilting.

“And that’s why I can’t ask,” you whisper. “Because you would. And then every time you looked at me, I’d wonder if you resented it. If you missed it. If you hated the life I gave you instead of the one you built yourself.”

You turn away. You can’t bear the look on his face. “I can’t be the reason you walk away from something you love.”

He’s silent for a moment. Then he says, low and hollow:

“So I’m just supposed to walk away from you instead?”

That breaks something in you. Completely.

Tears spring up before you can stop them, hot and stinging. “You don’t get it—”

“No, you don’t get it,” he snaps, and it startles you—because Soobin doesn’t raise his voice, not like this. “I’ve had the dream. I’ve been living it. And yeah, it’s everything I thought I wanted, but—” He chokes on a breath, eyes glassy now. “But it’s not enough anymore. I feel so alone! I’m surrounded by all these people, but I still feel so alone”

He steps back like he can’t stand being this close.

“You’re what I want now. You’ve always been who I’ve wanted ”

You close your eyes briefly, fighting the lump in your throat.

“I can forget about this—” you whisper, your voice trembling, fragile like a thread about to snap. “We can forget all of it. Maybe we can just… go back to being friends.” You take a shaky breath, eyes dropping to the floor. “Start over. Take it slow. Like nothing ever happened.”

He doesn’t say anything right away. Instead, you hear the quiet rise and fall of his chest as he draws closer, the space between you shrinking, charged with everything left unsaid. The air feels thick, heavy—like it’s holding its breath, waiting.

“Friends?” His voice cracks, barely more than a whisper but filled with pain. “After everything—after all this time… for God’s sake, I was inside of you!”

He swallows hard, the words hanging heavy between you. “How can you even say that? Pretend like it never meant anything?”

He swallows hard, eyes glistening with something raw and real.  “That wasn’t just friendship. And I can’t pretend it was!”

One hand on the handle. The other hangs loose at his side, like he doesn't know what to do with it. Like he’s still waiting, hoping. One more beat. One more breath. One more—

He takes your silence as an answer. 

“I never asked you for anything,” Soobin says quietly. His voice is hoarse now, ragged around the edges. “Not back then. Not when you stopped talking to me. Not even when you came back and looked at me like you forgot how.”

You freeze.

He doesn't turn around. His voice is all you get now—low, tired, but laced with something sharp and real.

“I didn’t ask for closure. I didn’t ask for an explanation. I didn’t ask for you to make it make sense. I waited.”

Your throat tightens.

“I waited for you to understand your own feelings on your own. I told myself I’d be okay with whatever you gave me, even if it was just friendship, even if it hurt.”

His hand curls tighter around the doorknob.

“But don’t you dare pretend like this is only about me wanting to give something up,” he says, and now his voice shakes. “You’re scared of asking for anything—and you’ve convinced yourself that pushing me away is some kind of mercy.”

You blink, and your vision goes blurry.

“You’re not protecting me,” he says. “You’re punishing yourself.”

The words hit so hard it feels like they echo.

“I would’ve stayed,” he murmurs, almost to himself now. “I would’ve stayed in a second if you asked.”

And then—finally—he turns.

Eyes red. Mouth trembling, even in silence.

“But you never do.”

The door opens. Cold air rushes in. And this time, when it shuts, there’s no pause. No hesitation. Just finality.

And you—

You stand there.

Alone.

And the silence that follows isn't just quiet. It's empty. It's the sound of everything you've swallowed down crashing all at once—grief, guilt, want, love.

You slide down the wall, hands pressed to your mouth like you can hold it all in. Like you can stop it from flooding out.

But you can’t.

Because for the first time, you realize—

You didn’t just lose him. You let him go. 

Again. 

And that might be worse.

—-

The house felt emptier than usual. But maybe that was because everything inside had been packed away.

Three months had passed. 

The walls were bare now—no pictures, no post-it reminders in your mother’s handwriting. Just the echo of the sounds of slow mornings and kettle whistles, the rustle of laundry. Now it was all cardboard boxes and silence.

You stood in what used to be the living room, a single envelope in your hand—the keys. Final, cold, weightless in your palm.

The funeral had been quiet. She would’ve wanted it that way.

You still weren’t sure if the tears you cried were from the loss or the months that led up to it. That slow unraveling. The way her hands started shaking. The way she stopped recognizing your face in the last few days. The way everything else—the memories, Soobin, that night—blurred at the edges under the weight of grief.

There hadn’t been time to mourn just one thing.

You pressed your fingers against your eyes. Breathe in deep.

You had signed the lease to your new apartment in the city a week ago. A tiny studio. Just enough for one person and whatever version of herself she was becoming. You hadn’t told anyone. Not even the people who had drifted in and out of your life over the past few months like waves—well-meaning, but never staying long enough to hold onto.

Especially not Soobin.

You hadn't spoken since that night.

He’d left without saying goodbye. Just like he said he would if you didn’t ask.

And you hadn’t.

You told yourself it was for the best. That he had his career, his world, his spotlight. That you were too tired, too broken, too much to ask anyone to stay.

But in the quiet moments—when the hospital corridors emptied, when the rooms of this house grew quieter and quieter—you thought about him.

About the way his voice cracked when he said “You’re not protecting me. You’re punishing yourself.” About the way he looked at you like you were the only thing that felt like home.

And now, with the only home you’d ever known gone, you wondered what it would feel like to see him again. If it was too late. If it had always been too late. Your phone buzzed. A moving company reminder. You pocketed the keys, looked around one last time, and walked out the front door, locking it behind you.

Not looking back.

—

You’d been unpacking all day.

The new apartment was still hollow around the edges—boxes half-unpacked, shelves empty, curtains barely hanging by borrowed command hooks. It didn’t feel like home yet. Not really. But you were trying. One drawer at a time.

You tugged open a beat-up shoebox from the closet, not remembering what was in it. The lid gave a soft creak, and inside: mostly junk. Old receipts. A cracked phone case. A bracelet you’d thought you’d lost.

And underneath it all—

A photograph.

Your breath caught.

It was a picture of you and Soobin. One of the few that had ever been printed. You were younger. Smiling. He had his arm slung around your shoulder, laughing at something off-camera. Your cheeks were flushed, his head tilted toward you like he couldn’t help it.

You remembered the moment. Not the joke, not the photographer—but the feeling. Warm and thoughtless and easy.

You stared for a second too long before something slipped free from the folded edge of the photo.

A ticket.

Crisp. Untouched. Front row. 

Your heart dropped. How did this get mixed up with these?

You recognized the date immediately—it was for the show he never told you about. The one he’d planned to surprise you with. The one that would’ve happened just days after the fight.

Your throat closed. The paper felt like fire in your hands.

On the back of the ticket, in his handwriting—neat but a little rushed:

“Hope you’ll come. I saved this for you. —Binnie”

You sat down hard on the floor, the cardboard edge of the box pressing into your ankle. You couldn’t breathe. Not properly. Because this wasn’t just a ticket.

It was a maybe. A what if.

A version of the story that didn’t end in slammed doors and silence. You thought you’d buried all this with the move. That packing up the house, the grief, the memories, would be enough. But here it was—alive again. Right in your lap.

And suddenly the space around you didn’t feel so empty. It felt haunted.

By his voice.

By his last words. 

“You’re what I want now.”

And god, wasn’t that the problem?

Because maybe you’d wanted him, too. Maybe you still did. And maybe—just maybe—you weren’t ready to let that be the end. 

You stare at the concert ticket in your hand like it might dissolve. The paper is a little worn, soft around the edges—tucked inside the photo frame behind that picture of him grinning with your hand squishing his cheek. You don’t even remember putting it there.

But he did.

The date on the ticket hits you like a slow punch to the chest—it’s for the week after your fight. Which means months have passed since then. Months since you last saw him. Since either of you said anything that wasn’t left hanging in silence.

You reach for your phone before you can talk yourself out of it, fingers moving on autopilot as you pull up the group’s official website. The tour page loads slowly, and you skim over the dates with your heart in your throat.

And then, there it is. As if fate—or something crueler—had a hand in it, the band is launching their world tour.

Starting in Seoul.

You sit back on your heels, chest tightening. Maybe you weren’t the only one hoping you’d change your mind. Maybe you weren’t the only one who left something unsaid.

You thumb over the edges of the ticket, heart racing.

And before you can talk yourself out of it, you tap the call button. 

It rings once. Twice. Then:

“Hello?”

The voice on the other end is warm. Familiar.

“Hey,” you say softly. “I know this is kind of random but… are you still into concerts?”

Your old friend laughs. “Uh, yeah? Why?”

“…Wanna come to one with me?”

There’s a pause. “Is this—wait. Is this your first K-pop concert?” She squealed. “Just who exactly made you suddenly wanna lose your K-card?!”

You don’t say yes. You don’t say who.

But the silence speaks loud enough.

—

The venue was bigger than you thought. Vast and buzzing, like it had a pulse of its own. Lights blurred overhead in dizzy halos—neon pinks, electric blues—casting everything in a dreamlike glow. Bodies pressed close in the dark, shoulder to shoulder, the air thick with anticipation and perfume and sugar and something sharper—something that smelled like adrenaline and nerves.

You stood off to the side, tucked into a spot with a decent view of the stage but far enough from the center that you wouldn't be swallowed by the chaos. You weren’t trying to be seen. Not by the crowd, anyway.

You’d change outfits three times before settling on something simple but quietly flattering—nothing loud, but something that felt like you on a good day. Not because you wanted attention.

Because you wanted to feel like you were enough.  Enough to be here. Enough to see him again.

Your friend bounced beside you, wide-eyed and electric, already filming short clips on her phone and pointing at the light rig with a gasp every time it shifted. She had no idea what this meant to you. None of them did. You weren’t even sure you knew anymore.

The ticket—creased, worn soft along the folds—sat in your jacket pocket, right over your heart. The one he’d left for you. The one you’d found months later, tucked between the pages of a book you hadn’t touched since he left. You hadn’t told anyone. Not even her.

You told yourself this was for closure. That you were here to prove something—to yourself, maybe. That you could see him again. That you could stand in this place, surrounded by everything he’d become, and not fall apart.

Just once, to say you did it. Just to know it was real.

The lights dimmed.

And the crowd screamed.

The sound hit you in the chest like a wave, a thousand voices crashing all at once. The stage lit up in pieces—spotlights cutting through the dark like stars waking up one by one.

You held your breath. And waited.

Because he was coming.

And you didn’t know what would hurt more—if he looked for you. 

Or if he didn’t.

The lights pulsed with the beat, the music building like a wave ready to break. Then the band stepped onto the stage, moving in perfect sync—their energy electric, alive.

And there, among them, was Soobin. His hair caught a flash of light—not the deep shade you remembered, but blonde now, the kind that shimmered under the spotlights. It suited the version of him the world knew. The idol. The leader. The one who’d just returned from hiatus to thunderous applause.

But it wasn’t the new look that got to you.

It was the look in his eyes.

Not the way they sparkled on screen. Not the fanservice smile he threw into the crowd like confetti.

No—under all of that, there was something else. A heaviness in the way he moved. A subtle delay in how he turned, how he held his mic like it was heavier than it should be. The others were all fire and ease, but Soobin—he looked like he was carrying something under his skin that didn’t belong there. Something only you could see.

No one else noticed. The crowd screamed, and phones lit the darkness like stars, all of them watching the stage with hearts in their throats. But your eyes were fixed on the quietest thing about him—the shadow behind the shine.

He looked… tired. Not just physically. Not just jet lag or the weight of performance.

Tired, despite returning from a break a few months ago. It was the kind of tiredness that lingers in the corner of your smile and settles in your shoulders. The kind you don’t talk about unless someone asks in exactly the right way.

And no one would ask. Not here.

But you saw it. You felt it. And that did something to you.

Your breath hitched. He turned slightly—just a tilt of his head, the way he always did when he was scanning the crowd, like part of him was still looking for something. Someone. His eyes moved across the sea of faces and—somehow—they landed on yours.

It didn’t last more than a second. But it was enough.

The roar dulled to a hum in your ears. The bass, the screaming, the chaos—all of it faded. Because the way he looked at you wasn’t rehearsed. It wasn’t a fanservice glance, or a moment meant for the cameras.

It was… recognition.

For a moment, everything else blurred into silence and shadow. The crowd’s roar faded to a distant hum. The lights softened, the noise dulled, and all you could see was him.

His gaze steady, searching. Vulnerable, almost.

Your pulse thundered in your ears, your throat went dry, and your hands clenched into fists at your sides. The moment your eyes met—brief, electric—something inside you shifted, unraveling the neat story you’d been telling yourself for years.

You realized, with a sudden, sinking clarity, that you never really saw him as just a friend. Not truly.

Not when you were kids running through backyards and secret forts, laughing under the sun like nothing else mattered. Not when you were teenagers stealing glances and exchanging words half-spoken, tangled in moments you’d long since buried under excuses and distractions.

You were too busy—too caught up in everything else—to notice how your heart had quietly rewritten the rules all along. The late-night talks that lingered longer than they should. The way his laugh caught your attention more than anyone else’s. The way his presence filled spaces you didn’t realize were empty.

You’d called it friendship because it was simpler. Because admitting anything else felt too fragile, too dangerous. But here, now, watching him move beneath the stage lights—hair catching the glow, eyes sharp and searching—you knew.

This was never just friendship.

And maybe it never would be. The music swelled around you, but inside, everything had gone quiet.

You folded the truth carefully, like a secret you weren’t sure you were ready to share—even with yourself. Because sometimes the hardest thing isn’t letting go. It’s finally seeing what you never allowed yourself to see.

And realizing that what you want most might be something you’ve been waiting for all along. 

—

The show ended in a blur of lights and noise, the final chord ringing through the venue like a heartbeat. The band stood center stage, bowing, waving, smiling like they hadn’t just poured every ounce of themselves into the last two hours. 

Except Soobin. He smiled too, bowed, waved like he was supposed to—but you saw it. The flicker. The disconnect. Like he was running on autopilot. Like part of him never left the wings.

The lights came up. Your friend grabbed your arm, practically bouncing in place. “That was insane, oh my god—did you see when Soobin winked? I swear he looked right at me!”

You gave a tight-lipped smile. Nodded. You couldn’t speak. Not without unraveling.

She was already unlocking her phone, filming the last bursts of confetti raining down like snow. “We have to beat the merch line,” she said, tugging at your wrist. “Come on—before they run out of the good stuff!” 

“I’ll catch up,” you said, too fast. “I… forgot something.”

She blinked, barely glancing up. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Just—go.” She hesitated, but the lure of limited edition hoodies was stronger than concern. “Okay, but don’t disappear, alright?”

You nodded. Watched her fade into the crowd. And then you were alone.

Not really. Thousands of people still filed out around you. Security guards waved glow sticks, vendors shouted, screens still flashed promo clips above the stage.

But somehow, in the space where your friend had stood, a strange calm settled. Like everything had been waiting for this moment. Like the noise was fading into something you could finally hear underneath it all. 

You slipped down a different corridor—toward the side exit. Not planned. Not even really thought out. Just felt.

Maybe it was foolish. Maybe he hadn’t even seen you. Maybe this was you spiraling over a look that meant nothing.

But maybe not. Because there’d been something in the way his gaze had paused. The same way it used to—when you were younger. When you were his person.

And maybe, just maybe, part of him still looked for you in every crowd. So you waited.

Outside, the air was sharp with cold and leftover adrenaline. You leaned against a railing near the staff exit, tucked just out of sight, the city buzz pressing in at the edges.

You didn’t know what you were waiting for.

Closure? Confirmation? Or maybe… maybe for the one person who might actually see you back.

And if he didn’t come? You’d pretend it was never about him in the first place.

But if he did—

You didn’t let yourself finish that thought.

Not yet.

You didn’t know how long you stood there—alone in the cold, your heart punching behind your ribs like it had unfinished business. The crowd had thinned. Fans scattered, laughing and buzzing, holding bags of merchandise like victory trophies. But the staff exit remained guarded. Closed. Untouchable.

Still, you stayed. Maybe you were being stupid.

You turned the concert wristband over and over on your arm, your thumb brushing the faded ink. Soobin had seen you. He had. You weren’t making that up. That look hadn’t been a coincidence.

And if it was…

You couldn’t leave without knowing.

Driven by something you couldn’t name, you stepped forward. Toward the nearest staff member—a young guy in a black hoodie and earpiece, standing by the side gate. He looked bored. Tired. Probably on hour ten of being yelled at by teenage girls.

You swallowed your pride.

“Hi,” you said, voice calm. Too calm. “I just—I need to talk to someone from the band. Please.”

He blinked. Raised a brow. “You and about a hundred other people tonight.”

“I’m not—” you faltered, but powered through. “I’m not trying to sneak backstage or anything. I just need—just one minute. With Soobin.”

That did it. His expression shifted from neutral to mildly annoyed. “Look, I get it. You’re a fan. You’re not the first one to try this.”

You stepped closer, desperate now. “I know him.”

His look turned skeptical. “Everyone thinks they know him.”

“I do!” The word cracked out of you before you could stop it, rawer than you meant. You tried to reel it back in, but your throat was already tightening. “Please. Just tell him I’m here. He’ll—he’ll know.”

The guy sighed, already turning away. “Sorry, we can’t—”

“…Wait.”

The voice cut through the shuffle of feet and security orders like a pin to a balloon.

You looked up.

And there—just past the blur of guards and equipment cases—stood a man, hoodie up, mask dangling from one ear, brow furrowed as he squinted in your direction.

You hadn’t seen him in person before. Just a few clips and the occasional fan edits. 

But right now?

He just looked… confused. And then—

His eyes widened.

“No fucking way,” he muttered, coming to a full stop. “Is that—?”

A nearby staff tried to usher him forward. “Yeonjun, please—”

Yeonjun held up a hand without even looking. “Hang on.” He pointed—right at you. “You. Come here.”

Your feet didn’t move. He blinked at you again, as if to make sure you were real. “Holy shit. It’s actually you.”

The staff member at the gate hesitated, torn between obeying orders and the man currently breaking protocol like it was breathing.

Yeonjun sighed and waved his hand again. “She’s fine. She’s not some sasaeng or whatever—she’s, like, a fossil from Soobin’s past or something.”

You winced. “Fossil?”

He grinned a little, stepping closer as the gate creaked open just enough to let you pass. “Hey, I’m shocked too. What are you doing here? Did Soobin finally DM you after months of brooding in silence?”

You stepped through, still dazed. “You know me?”

Yeonjun gave you a look. “Are you kidding? You were, like, the main character of his pre-debut sob story. You think we don’t all know who you are?”

Your stomach flipped.

“Come on,” he said, turning and motioning for you to follow. “He’s still inside changing. I’ll bring you.”

You blinked. “Now?”

Yeonjun smirked. “You flew under the radar this long. I say let’s freak him out a little.”

You followed him down the corridor, nerves crawling up your spine. The noise of the stadium had faded behind you, replaced with the hum of overhead lights and the low buzz of post-show energy in the halls. And your heart wouldn’t stop racing.

Because if Yeonjun recognized you instantly—

What was Soobin going to do when he saw you?

And more terrifying—what were you going to say?

—

Yeonjun walked ahead of you, casual like this was just another Tuesday. But your heart pounded like it knew the truth—that this wasn’t ordinary. This was a moment years in the making. A moment that had lived in silence and distance and every what-if you’d buried.

He paused outside a door.

“Wait here,” he said, turning to you with a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Gotta give the guy a fair warning before he passes out.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he was already through the door.

Muffled voices. A brief shuffle. A half-laugh. Then—silence.

Then the door creaked open again.

“Go ahead,” Yeonjun said, voice low now, more serious. “He’s in there.”

You stepped in slowly.

The dressing room was brighter than you expected—clean, quiet, still humming faintly from the adrenaline of the show. A couple of bags were strewn near a couch. Makeup wipes and water bottles littered the counter.

And then—there.

Soobin stood in front of the mirror, half in his jacket, half out of it. His blonde hair was slightly damp near the nape, his cheeks still flushed from performing, eyes rimmed with a leftover haze of makeup.

He turned slowly. As if he felt you before he saw you.

And then he froze.

Completely.

You couldn’t breathe.

Neither could he.

His jacket slipped off one shoulder, forgotten.

“…You’re here,” he said, barely above a whisper.

You nodded. Your voice caught in your throat. “I am.”

He didn’t move. His eyes searched yours like he was still trying to convince himself you were real—like you might vanish again if he blinked too long.

“I thought—” His voice cracked slightly. He swallowed. “I didn’t think you’d actually come to one of these.”

“I didn’t either,” you said honestly.

That made his lips twitch, just barely. A bitter, quiet kind of smile. “So why did you?”

You didn’t answer at first. You just looked at him.

The Soobin who tried too hard to make you laugh when you were sad. The one who waited for a sign from you that never came.

And the one who stood in front of you now—taller, broader, his voice deeper, his presence heavier. Someone adored by millions.

But still yours. Still him.

“I don’t know,” you whispered. “I guess I stopped pretending it didn’t matter.”

Something in him cracked then—visibly. His shoulders softened, his jaw loosened, and for a moment he looked like the version of himself you thought you’d lost.

“I waited,” he said, voice barely steady. “I waited so long for you to just… say something.”

“I know.”

“I thought that would be the last time I’d see you again.”

“It wasn’t.”

He nodded slowly, looking down at the floor like it held the answer to everything. And then you stepped forward. Quiet. Careful.

Soobin looked up just in time to see you reach for him. You weren’t sure who moved first—your arms or his—but suddenly you were holding him, or maybe he was holding you, and it didn’t matter because it was real.

His arms wrapped around you tight, his head dropping to your shoulder like he’d been holding something in for years.

“You’re really here,” he whispered again, voice shaky. You nodded into the space between you, your hand curling into the back of his jacket. “I should’ve been sooner.”

“I don’t care.” His grip tightened. “Just—don’t go yet.”

You didn’t answer. You just stayed there. Two hearts pressed close after too long apart.

The room around you faded. The years between you fell silent.

And when he finally pulled back—just enough to see your face—his eyes were glassy, lips parted like he had a thousand things to say and no idea where to start.

But all he said was, “I missed you.”

And you—aching, breathless, wide open now—said, “I missed you more than I ever let myself admit.”

You leaned back enough to see him fully, your heart still caught somewhere between your throat and your ribs. And when your eyes met again, you saw it—bare, unguarded.

Soobin swallowed hard. His voice came out low.

“I used to picture this, you know.”

Your brows pulled together, confused. “Picture what?”

“You. At one of our shows.” His lips twitched, like he almost laughed but couldn’t find the humor. “For a long time, I told myself it didn’t matter. That you were busy. Or not into the music. Or just… not thinking about me.”

Your chest clenched.

He shook his head slightly, his voice thick now. “But every time we went to a new city, every time I walked on stage, part of me looked for you anyway. Stupid, right?”

You opened your mouth to say something—but he beat you to it.

“I think… it’s what kept me going,” he admitted, barely above a whisper. “The hope that maybe one day, you’d be there. Just once. That I’d look out into the crowd and—see you.”

Your throat went dry.

“I wasn’t expecting tonight,” he continued. “And when I saw you—I thought maybe I was hallucinating.”

“You weren’t,” you whispered.

He gave a soft, sad laugh. “I figured. You’ve never haunted my imagination that vividly.”

You reached for his hand without thinking, squeezing gently. He looked down at where your fingers curled into his like he didn’t believe it. Like he thought he’d dreamed this whole thing up in the back of a van somewhere on tour.

But when he looked up again, the vulnerability in his eyes had shifted into something heavier. Sharper.

“I heard about your mom,” he said quietly.

The words land like a slow drop into a deep well. Echoing. Heavy.

You blink. The fluorescent light overhead suddenly feels too bright. Too loud.

“She…” His voice wavers. “My mom called me. After the funeral.”

You don’t know what to say. You just look at him.

“I wanted to go back,” he says. “So badly.”

You still don’t speak, and he rushes to fill the silence—like it’s unbearable.

“I asked,” he says. “I begged, actually. Just a couple days. I didn’t care if it meant missing rehearsals or interviews. I just—I thought maybe if I showed up, you wouldn’t have to stand there alone.”

Your heart aches at the image. You, at the edge of a grave. Him, halfway across the world, fighting against something he couldn’t control.

He swallows hard.

“But it was right in the middle of comeback prep. We were shooting back-to-back. And I was already behind from the hiatus and—”

His words break off. His jaw tightens like he’s holding back something he can’t afford to spill.

“They said no,” he finally says. “Flat out. No travel. No delay. No exceptions.”

You stare at the floor. “It’s not your fault.”

“I know,” he says. Then, softer: “But it felt like it was.”

Something in you splinters. Because you remember the hours spent staring at your front door after the funeral. Hoping. Wishing. Wondering if he even knew.

“I thought about texting,” he says after a pause, his voice gentle, almost hesitant. “So many times.”

You breathe out slowly, the tightness in your chest aching.

“I had your number memorized,” he continues, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Kept opening your contact… then closing it before I could.”

Your voice falters as you ask, “Why didn’t you?”

He looks at you with quiet, steady eyes—no blame, no bitterness—just honest sadness.

“Because you pushed me away,” he says softly.

The words land heavier than you expected—not harsh, just true. And the way he says them… it’s like he’s still trying to understand it himself.

“You stopped talking to me,” he says, his voice dropping lower. “After that night… you never reached out.”

You swallow hard, the memory tightening painfully in your throat.  “I thought you regretted it,” he continues softly, almost like he’s afraid to say it aloud. “Maybe I showed you a side of me that scared you.”

There’s a deep exhaustion in his voice—not anger, just the weariness of someone who’s waited a long time for answers.

“And when I heard about your mom,” he says quietly, “I thought maybe none of that mattered anymore. That I should’ve reached out.”

He breathes out, uneven and soft.

“But then I start to remember everything again, I start overthinking the parts where everything might’ve went wrong.”

You close your eyes, a wave of shame and regret beginning to overwhelm you.

“I wanted you there,” you whisper, voice breaking.

“I wanted to be there,” he says, barely audible.

“But I didn’t think I deserved it,” you confess, voice trembling. “Not after everything I did. Or didn’t do.”

He takes a slow, careful step forward—just enough to close the distance between you. His voice is low, tender, filled with something that makes your chest pull tight.

“I would’ve come in a heartbeat,” he says quietly. “Even if you’d slammed the door in my face. I just needed to know… that you wanted me.”

Your breath catches. But even as the warmth of his words wraps around you, something sharp twists inside.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “For pushing you away. For not saying anything. For disappearing when you were the last person who deserved that.”

He opens his mouth, but you shake your head gently, not done.

“When I saw you tonight. Up there,” you say, voice cracking just a little. “And I kept thinking… you looked tired. Even after all this time off. And I know it’s stupid, I know I’m probably just imagining it, but—”

You swallow hard.

“I couldn’t stop thinking… what if it’s my fault? What if I’m the reason you still look like that?”

His eyes soften in a way that makes it harder to breathe. He doesn’t argue. Doesn’t rush to tell you you’re wrong. He just closes the last bit of space between you and reaches up—slowly, deliberately—like he’s giving you a chance to pull away.

But you don’t.

His fingers brush your cheek. Warm. Solid. Real.

“You’re not the reason,” he murmurs, eyes searching yours. “But you’ve always mattered. That’s the difference.”

Your chest caves in a little at that, like something heavy inside you just gave out. But it’s not pain this time—it’s relief. The ache of being seen. The beginning of forgiveness.

“Do you?” he asks softly. “Want me?”

You nod, your voice barely more than a whisper. “Yes. I do.”

And this time, there’s nothing in the way. No excuses. No silence.

Just the truth, finally spoken.

And him—still standing right in front of you, waiting. Still choosing you.

You take a shaky breath, finally letting the words tumble out, raw and trembling.

“I’ve always wanted you,” you admit, voice small but steady. “More than just a friend. But I pushed you away—so many times—that I can’t blame you if you wanted to move on.”

Your eyes flicker down, too ashamed to meet his.

“I was scared… scared that if I let myself want you, I’d lose you like everything else I cared about. Like my mom. Like everything I tried to hold onto.”

You take a shaky breath, words spilling faster now, like something long dammed-up finally cracking.

“I thought if I stayed quiet, if I kept you at arm’s length, I could keep you safe from… whatever it is that keeps breaking the things I love. I know it’s not rational. I know it’s not fair. But I didn’t want to risk it. I didn’t want to risk you.”

Your voice breaks, and still, you go on.

“And I know that’s selfish, and cowardly, and I wouldn’t blame you if you hated me for it. If you stopped waiting. If you found someone who wasn’t—”

“Stop,” he says suddenly, softly—but firm enough that it halts the spiral cold.

Your eyes snap up to him, breath caught in your chest.

He steps in, closing the space between you, his hands warm where they hold your face now, steadying you.

“It’s always going to be you,” he says quietly. No hesitation. No uncertainty.

“Whether you say it back or not. Whether you need time or space or silence. Whether it hurts sometimes,” he adds, his voice a little rough now, eyes shining with something raw and unwavering, “it’s still you.”

You shake your head, backing away half a step as the panic starts to claw up your throat.

“You don’t get it,” you whisper. “You don’t understand what you’re saying.”

Soobin watches you carefully, but you keep going—voice rising, cracking, tripping over itself.

“You’re surrounded by people who shine, Soobin. People who fit in your world. People who are beautiful and talented and full of ambition, and I’m just—” You bite your lip, blinking hard. “I’m not like them. I’ve never been like them.”

Your hands twist at your sides, fists clenched with everything unsaid.

“I get tired. I shut down. I ruin things before they can matter. And I don’t say the right things, and I mess up when it counts. I push people away, and I don’t know how to fix it when they’re gone.”

You pause, breath shaking. His silence doesn’t feel like judgment—but it still terrifies you.

“You deserve someone who wants the spotlight with you,” you say, softer now. “Someone who doesn’t flinch when things get hard. Someone who doesn’t freeze or fall apart. I’m not that. I never was.”

You look down, unable to meet his eyes anymore. “No matter how much we want each other, in my heart I know I could never be that perfect one for you. ”

For a moment, there’s only your breathing—and then, his.

Slow. Steady.

Then Soobin takes a step forward, closing the space again, and lifts your chin with careful fingers until your eyes meet his.

His gaze is calm, but resolute. No doubt. No hesitation.

“I didn’t wait for perfect,” he says gently. “I waited for you.”

Your breath catches.

“I don’t care if you’re messy. Or scared. Or still figuring things out,” he continues, voice low and sure. “I’m not asking you to be anyone else. I never was.”

You try to look away again, but his hands frame your face now, soft but certain.

“I know who you are,” he whispers. “And I’ve always wanted you anyway.”

And somehow, that breaks you more than anything else.

Because he sees the worst of you—and still stays.

And maybe that’s what love really is.

Your lips part, but no sound comes out. Your throat tightens too hard to speak, and suddenly the tears you’ve been holding back break free—hot and heavy, spilling down your cheeks before you can stop them.

“I love you,” you choke out, barely able to breathe through it. “God, Soobin, I really love you.”

It shatters the air between you.

He goes still for half a heartbeat, like the words hit him square in the chest.

Then something in his face cracks open. The emotion that floods his expression is raw—soft, overwhelmed, and fiercely tender all at once. His eyes shine like he’s holding back his own tears now, lips parted like he’s trying to remember how to speak.

And then he does.

“I love you too,” he breathes, like it’s the only thing that’s ever been true.

“I’ve always loved you.”

He says it like a promise, not a confession. Like it’s something he’s been carrying quietly, carefully, waiting for the day you’d believe it.

His hands come up to cradle your face, thumbs brushing your tear-streaked cheeks as if trying to wipe away years of pain, of silence, of almosts.

“I would’ve said it back then,” he murmurs, forehead resting gently against yours. “A thousand times. If I thought you were ready to hear it.”

This was the kind of love that waits in the dark. That doesn’t vanish, even when it's pushed away. That sees your mess and stays anyway.

And now, finally, you're not running.

You’re letting yourself be held.

His hand lingers on your face, warm and steady, as if he’s anchoring you to this moment—right here, right now. Slowly, he leans in, just enough for his breath to brush your skin. Your pulse quickens, the space between you charged with something unspoken and electric.

You don’t pull away. Instead, you close the distance the rest of the way, resting your forehead against his. It’s a gentle connection, fragile but full of meaning.

His fingers slide from your cheek down to cradle the back of your neck, his touch careful and reverent—as if you’re the most precious thing he’s ever held.

You breathe him in, the subtle warmth of his skin, the faint scent of soap and something uniquely him. Then, soft and slow, his lips find yours—tentative at first, asking permission. When you respond, his kiss deepens slightly, not rushed, just savoring the closeness.

You let your hands find his waist, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt, grounding yourself in the reality of him. The world outside fades away. It’s just you and him, two hearts quietly beating in sync, finally allowing everything that’s been held back to start unfolding.

Just as the two of you start to relax into the quiet happiness between you, the soft click of the door opening breaks the spell.

A staff member peeks in, clearing their throat softly. “Soobin, it’s time to get dressed for the send-off.”

He sighs, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips as he glances at you.

“Duty calls. This heartthrob’s got to get back to work.” he says, voice low but warm.

You nod, a little breathless, reluctant to let go of the moment.

For a long moment, you just stare at each other, breaths mingling, hearts pounding — and then, suddenly, the tension breaks.

Soobin lets out a soft laugh, shaking his head like he can’t quite believe this is real.

“You’re such a dork,” you say, grinning, cheeks flushed.

“Hey, I could say the same about you,” he shoots back, eyes twinkling.

You both start giggling — quiet at first, then louder, the sound bubbling up and filling the space between you.

Your hands still rest on his waist, but now they fidget, nervous and excited.

“So,” he says, still smiling, “does this mean we’re officially done with the silent treatment?”

You nod, laughing again. “Yeah. I think I owe you a million apologies. And maybe a hot pot to make up for it.”

“I’m holding you to that,” he grins, reaching for your hand and giving it a playful squeeze.

You squeeze back, heart fluttering—and then narrow your eyes. “Also, just so we’re clear… if I ever see you letting anyone out there touch your hair or your dimples, I will start swinging.”

He raises a brow, amused. “Noted.”

You poke at his chest. “You’re mine now.”

That grin spreads again—wide, soft, and smug all at once. “I’ve always been yours.”

You blink, thrown for a second.

He shrugs, eyes twinkling. “If you actually listened to my interviews instead of just staring at my face, you’d know that.”

Your jaw drops. “Excuse you—”

“You were definitely just watching for the jawline.”

“Oh my God—”

“Or maybe the hands?”

You swat at him, giggling. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you,” he says, catching your wrist gently and pulling you close again, “are exactly who I was hoping to make out with tonight.”

You’re smiling so wide it hurts. Laughing and warm and completely undone by him.

A soft knock interrupts the moment—this time more urgent.

Soobin glances toward the door, then back at you with a crooked smile and a sigh. “Okay, okay, I’m really going this time.”

You nod, not trusting your voice.

But just as he reaches the door, he turns back one last time.

“I’ll be back soon,” he says gently. “Promise.”

There’s something soft and serious in the way he says it. Like he needs you to believe it—like he’s saying more than just a goodbye.

“I’ll hold you to that,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady.

He grins again, slower this time, then leans halfway out the door before popping back in, eyes glinting with mischief.

“Oh—and if you get bored,” he adds, “you’re allowed to wander. But only a little.”

“Wander?” you echo.

He shrugs, stepping into the hallway. “Just don’t go too far. I wanna find you right where I left you.”

And with that, he disappears behind the door, swept away by the hum of voices and the sound of his name being called.

You stay where you are, the smile still playing on your lips, hand still faintly warm from where he held it.

For the first time in forever, everything feels light.

And you let it.

thank you for reading, ill see you guys in july for txt cb! <3

[skultyun]

⋆˚࿔ perfect match 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ 5

୨♡୧ part one / part two / part three / part four / part five ୨♡୧

pairing: rentalbf!soobin x fem!reader genre: fluff, comedy? (debatable), fake dating au summary: desperate to escape your friends matchmaking, a small lie spirals out of control. soobin—your charming, professional, rental boyfriend—the perfect answer. but what if the hardest part won't be fooling your friends? what if it’s reminding your own heart it's all fake? w/c: ~3k warning: not entirely proofread, fluff (might be cringe), an attempt at humor. a/n: last chap guys! i'm sososo happy. i literally have every single comment and every reblog tag screenshotted on my phone. i literally can't thank you enough for all the kind responses (ง ื▿ ื)ว see you next time!<3 taglist: @saccharinezennie | @soobinz-wife | @mental-hollows | @bunniwords | @lonendly | @soobinieswife | @slipawaylrh | @taysfairies

the neon lights of the restaurant blurred as you stumbled back to the table, the taste of soobin still lingered on your lips—mint and something faintly sweet, like the caramel syrup he'd stolen from your dessert earlier. your fingers twitched at your sides, still aching from where they'd fisted in his shirt, still trembling from the way his hands had cradled your face.

soobin walked beside you, his usual effortless grace replaced by something tenser, his shoulders rigid under his stupidly perfect white button-down. his hand settled at the lower part of your back, fingers pressed just a little too hard into your spine—steadying you, or maybe steadying himself. the warmth of his touch burned through the fabric of your shirt, branding you with the memory of his lips onto yours.

that wasn't part of the act—it couldn't be.

the thought clawed at you, sharp and insistent. his fingers hadn't been clinical when they tangled in your hair. his breath hadn't been measured when it hitched against your lips. and the way he looked at you afterward—like he'd just woken up from a dream he never wanted to end—

no.

you swallowed hard, your throat suddenly too tight.

were you being delusional?

across the table, your ex's jaw was clenched so tight you could see the muscle twitch under the golden glow of the overhead lights. his girlfriend—poor, oblivious thing—was still chattering away, but his eyes were locked onto soobin with a venom that made your stomach twist.

and soobin—

soobin was perfect.

he laughed at the right moments, low and easy, his thumb tracing circles over your knuckles where your hands were laced together on the table. he refilled your water before you could ask.

was he that good at his job?

mina, meanwhile, looked like she was about to combust from excitement.

"okay, what was that?" she hissed softly the moment you sat down, her nails digging into your forearm, physically restraining herself from screaming.

you forced a laugh, reaching for your glass with a hand that almost didn't shake. "what was what?"

"don't play dumb!" she whisper-yelled, smacking your shoulder. "you two were making out in the hallway like—"

"we got carried away," soobin interjected smoothly, his fingers lacing through yours on the table. his thumb traced slow circles over your knuckles.

play along.

but when you dared to glance at him, his eyes weren't on your friends, or your ex, or the table.

they were on you.

and for the first time all night, he looked just as wrecked as you felt.

the bill came.

mina lunged before anyone could react, snatching the bill with a victorious grin. "our treat!" she declared, waving her card like a victory flag. "consider it a celebration of love." she wiggled her eyebrows at you and soobin, completely unaware of the storm raging inside your chest.

you forced a smile. "thanks."

soobin's hand squeezed yours once before letting go—slowly, reluctantly—as he reached for his wallet out of habit. but mina was already handing her card to the waiter, and the moment passed.

across the table, your ex stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. "we're heading out." his girlfriend blinked up at him, her spoon hovering midair over her half-finished sundae. "already?"

"yeah." his smile was tight, his eyes locked onto soobin. "wouldn't want to overstay our welcome."

soobin didn't react. not outwardly. his posture remained relaxed, one arm draped over the back of your chair, but you saw the way his fingers curled into a loose fist on the table, the way his shoulders tensed just slightly.

the second the door swung shut behind them, the air in the room shifted. mina sighed dramatically, slumping back in her chair. "finally. i thought he'd never leave."

jia snorted into her drink, rolling her eyes. "god, he was insufferable tonight." the ice cubes clinked as she set her glass down, her smirk sharp. "watching him getting mad over you two was the best part."

you swallowed hard, your fingers gripping the edge of the table.

what now?

the dinner was over. job was done.

soobin had played his part perfectly—better than perfectly, smirking at the right moments, his touches calculated but tender, his words weaving a story so convincing even you had almost believed it. he'd made your ex seethe, made your friends believe, made you—

no.

you swallowed hard, the taste of caramel and something bitter clinging to your tongue. you couldn't think about that.

because the contract ended tonight.

the walk to the car was silent.

soobin's hand found the lower part of your back again, guiding you through the crowded sidewalk, his touch warm and steady. it was the same touch he'd used all night—protective, possessive, perfectly boyfriend-coded. but now, with no audience left to convice, it didn't feel like part of the act.

it felt like a habit.

your mind raced.

what happens now?

the contract ended tonight. the performance was over. would he just—

—disappear? would he text you tomorrow like nothing happened? would he send an invoice and a polite thank you for your business and never speak to you again?

the thought made your chest ache.

you stole a glance at him.

his profile was sharp under the flickering streetlights, his lips pressed into a thin line, his brows slightly furrowed. he looked... troubled.

not like the soobin who had smirked his way through every rehearsal.

just... soobin.

so this is what the reviews meant—felt like a real relationship, yet bittersweet.

the moment you stepped away from the noise, from the prying eyes of your friends, the act faltered. the silence between the two of you was thick, suffocating.

soobin's fingers flexed at his sides, his usual confidence replaced by something tense, uncertain. he could still hear beomgyu's voice echoing in his head, that infuriatingly knowing tone.

"you use this job to avoid getting hurt, but what if the real thing is worth the risk?"

his jaw clenched.

"what's the point of protecting your heart if you never let anyone in?"

a muscle feathered in his temple.

"just don't regret letting her go because you were too scared to try."

damn beomgyu and his stupid, inconvenient wisdom.

he exhaled sharply, his breath curling in the cold air between them. the streetlight above flickered, casting shadows across your face—your lips slightly swollen from the kiss, your fingers twisting the hem of your sleeve.

"hey." his voice was quiet, rough around the edges.

you looked up at him—eyes wide.

he hesitated, then exhaled, his breath curling in the cool air between you. "you okay?"

no.

"yeah," you lied. "just... tired."

he nodded, but his eyes searched yours, like he was trying to find something—anything—to hold onto.

then he opened the car door for you, his fingers brushing yours as you slid into the seat.

a spark.

a question.

a goodbye?

the drive home was suffocating.

the silence between you was thick, heavy with everything unsaid. the only sound was the low hum of the engine, the occasional blare of a horn from the streets outside. the city passed by in a blur of light and shadow, the reflections dancing across soobin's face in fleeting patterns.

your phone buzzed in your pocket—once, twice. mina, probably. or jia, gushing about how perfect soobin was, how happy they were for you, how they couldn't wait to see the two of you again.

you didn't check it.

because what were you supposed to say? oh, actually, we broke up. right after that hallway kiss that looked like something out of a drama. right after he held me like that. right after i—

your stomach churned.

soobin's grip on the steering wheel tightened, his knuckles whitening for just a second before he forced them to relax.

"you're quiet," he murmured. his voice above the hum of the car.

you laughed, but it came out hollow. "just thinking."

"about?"

you. the kiss. the way your hands felt in my hair. everything.

"about how to explain this to my friends when you're gone," you admitted softly, staring out the window so you wouldn't have to see his face.

the words hung in the air between you, sharp and final.

soobin's jaw clenched. the car rolled to a stop, the engine idling outside your apartment. his fingers drummed once—a nervous, restless gesture—against the steering wheel before stilling.

then quietly, "we'll figure it out.

we.

the word hit you like a punch to the chest.

what did that even mean?

your breath hitched. you swallowed, your throat tight. the contract was clear. the job was over. there was no we after tonight.

your fingers curled into the fabric of your jeans, nails biting into your palms. the silence stretched, suffocating.

"so," you forced out, voice too light, "invoice me whenever. i'll settle the rest of the payment."

soobin's grip on the wheel tightened. a muscle in his jaw feathered.

"right," he said, clipped. "the payment."

the words hung between you like an accusation.

you hated this. hated the way your chest ached like someone had reached in and carved out a piece of you. hated that you couldn't tell if the kiss had been part of the act—if he'd done it to sell the lie to twist the knife in your ex's ribs, to win.

or if, for one reckless moment, he'd forgotten it was pretend too.

"i should go," you muttered, reaching for the door handle.

soobin moved faster.

his hand caught your wrist, warm and firm. "wait."

your pulse stuttered beaneath his touch.

he didn't let go. his thumb brushed over your racing pulse point, slow deliberate. his gaze dropped to your mouth—just for a second—before flicking back up.

"the contract," he started, voice rough.

your stomach dropped. here it comes. the professional distance. the polite thank you for your business.

but then—

"it says no falling in love with the client."

your breath caught.

soobin exhaled, his grip tightening. "i think i broke that rule."

the world tilted.

the hum of the car's engine faded into white noise, the dim glow of the dashboard lights casting shadows across soobin's face—sharp angles softened by the quiet confession hanging between you. your pulse roared in your ears, a frantic drumbeat against your ribs.

what?

you stared at him, lips parted, breath caught somewhere between your lungs and your throat. his eyes were dark, earnest—no smirk, no practiced charm. just raw, unfiltered soobin, the one who'd kissed you like he was starving for it.

his fingers, still loosely wrapped around your wrist, tightened just slightly—an anchor, a plea.

"you—what?" your voice cracked.

this time he didn't hesitate. leaning in, his free hand cupping your cheek, fingers trembling—just faintly. his palm was warm against your skin, his thumb brushing the curve of your cheekbone in a slow, deliberate stroke.

"i'm saying i don't want this to end."

your mind froze. this wasn't part of the script. this wasn't supposed to happen. the contract had rules—no blurred lines, no real feelings, no messy complications.

"but the contract—"

"i don't care." his voice was rough, edged with something desperate. his thumb traced your cheekbone again, lingering this time, as if memorizing the shape of you.

you searched his face for any hint of a lie, any trace of the polished professional facade he wore so well. but all you found was the same person who held your hand under the table when your ex tried to cut you down.

the one who'd kissed you like he meant it.

"soobin," you whispered.

he swallowed hard, his adam's apple bobbing. his grip on your wrist tightened.

"tell me i'm not the only one."

you didn't answer with words.

you kissed him.

not like before—not for an audience. this was slow, aching, real. his breath hitched, a quiet, broken sound, before his hands slid fully into your hair, pulling you closer like he couldn't bear an inch between you. his lips moved against yours, warm and insistent.

when you finally pulled back—just enough to breathe— his forehead rested against yours, his breathing ragged.

then, a soft chuckle escaped him, breathless and dazed

"okay," he murmured, lips brushing yours with the ghost of a smile. "that's a good answer."

and just like that—the contract was broken.

the cafeteria buzzed around you—clattering trays, the sharp scent of burnt coffee. sunlight streamed through the windows, but you barely noticed.

yeonjun sat across from you, his usual air of effortless chaos. his dyed red hair was mussed from where he'd run his hands through it one too many times, his leather jacket slung over the back of his chair.

yeonjun's coffee cup hovered halfway to his lips, frozen mid-sip. the condensation dripping onto his fingers, but he didn't seem to notice. his eyes wide, disbelieving—locked onto yours like he'd just witnessed a crime.

"wait. wait."

he slammed the cup down, liquid sloshing dangerously close to the rim. a few heads turned at the noise, but yeonjun didn't even glance their way.

"you're telling me," he said slowly, voice dripping with disbelief and enthusiasm. "you actually fell for your fake boyfriend?"

you groaned, slumping into the cafeteria's chair. the plastic squeked under your weight, and you dragged your hands down your face, your cheeks burning.

"it's not that simple—"

"it's exactly that simple!"

yeonjun jabbed a finger at you, his grin stretching ear to ear. "i set you up with a rental, and you somehow turned it into a rom-com." he leaned in, lowering his voice to a theatrical whisper. "did you at least get a discount."

you kicked him under the table.

he yelped, jerking back but his laughter burst out anyway, loud and uncontained. he threw his head back, his shoulders shaking. "oh this is gold. i'm framing this story on my desk."

"you're insufferable."

The living room of soobin's apartment was bathed in the golden glow of the afternoon sun. the faint scent of vanilla from a half-burned candle mixed with the lingering aroma of takeout containers still scattered across the coffee table. you sat curled into soobin's side, his arm draped lazily over your shoulders.

and then—

chaos.

beomgyu, who had been sprawled across the armchair, suddenly launched himself upright, his socked feet hitting the floor with a soft thud. his eyes—wide and gleaming with unholy delight—darted between you and soobin, his mouth already curling into a grin.

"i knew it!"

the declaration was loud enough to startle you, your shoulders jerking slightly as soobin's fingers tightened instinctively around yours. beomgyu slammed his hands onto the coffee table, rattling the empty soda cans, before pointing an accusatory finger at soobin.

"i told you! i called it!" his voice cracked halfway through, but he didn't care, already bouncing on the ball of his feet like a kid who'd just been handed free candy. "you owe me so much food—"

soobin groaned, his head tipping back against the couch. "you didn't call anything," he muttered, but his cheeks were already turning pink.

beomgyu gasped, clutching his chest like he'd been personally wounded. "i literally said, 'you like her', and you said—" he dropped his voice into a terrible imitation of soobin's voice, "'i like getting paid.'"

he gestured wildly at the two of you—at the way you were tucked so comfortably against his side. "and now look at you!"

soobin rolled his eyes, but his thumb brushed your knuckles. "shut up."

"nope. never." beomgyu plopped back down, grinning. "this is the best thing that's ever happened to me."

you raised an eyebrow, fighting back your own smile. "you're not the one dating him."

"no," beomgyu agreed. "but i am the one who gets to tease him about it forever." beomgyu's grin turned wicked. "so. who made the first move? was it the kiss in the hallway? because damn—"

soobin lunged.

one second, he was beside you, warm and solid. the next, he was launching himself at beomgyu, sending the coffee table screeching across the floor as they collapsed.

you burst out laughing, watching them wrestle like kids fighting for candy, and realized—this was the real soobin. the one who bickered with his best friend, who got shy whenever you complimented him, soobin who got excited after convincing you to play video games together.

the cafe smelled like roasted beans and burnt sugar, the hum of chatter and clinking cups filling the air. you'd been here a dozen times before, but today was different.

because today, soobin quit his job—he wasn't your fake boyfriend, or anyone's fake boyfriend.

he was just... soobin.

—and just soobin, as it turned out, was a mess.

you spotted him behind the counter—soobin, his dark hair slightly tousled under the cafe's ridiculous little paper hat, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing the lean muscles of his forearms as he wrestled with the espresso machine. his brows were furrowed in concentration, tongue poking out slightly between his teeth—the same expression he'd made when trying to remember the fake backstory you'd rehearsed for your disastrous dinner.

except this time, there was no script. no act.

just him.

and he was losing.

"hey," he hissed, leaning over the counter toward his coworker—a bored looking guy with a nose ring. "how do i—wait, no, that's steam—oh god, that's steam—"

a sharp hiss erupted from the machine, and soobin yanked his hand back like he'd been burned. his coworker didn't even blink, he just reached over to flip a switch with the ease of someone who'd given up on a life years ago.

"you're hopeless," he muttered.

soobin pouted. "i'm learning."

you bit back a laugh, sliding into a seat at the counter.

soobin's head snapped up, his eyes widening when he saw you. a slow, charming grin spread across his face—the kind that made his dimples pop. the kind he never used during rental dates.

"hey," he said, voice warm, wiping his hands on his apron. "you're early."

you propped your chin in your hand, grinning. "wanted to see the professional at work"

he groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "i've been here three days and i've already set a towel on fire."

"what?"

"it's fine," he insisted, waving a hand dismissively, though the flush on his cheeks said otherwise. "it was a small fire. very contained."

you burst out laughing., the sound bright and unfiltered, and soobin's expression softened.

this wasn't soobin from perfect match rentals—the polished, effortless boyfriend who knew exactly how to charm parents, impress friends, and make exes jealous.

this soobin—spilled oat milk on his shoes and cursed under his breath in a way that was definitely not cutomer-service appropriate.

this soobin forgot which syrup was vanilla and which was chocolate, squinting at the bottles like they'd personally offended him.

this soobin knocked over a stack of cups and then tried to play it off by saying, "i meant to do that."

and yet—

when he finally slid your latte across the counter, he drew a lopsided heart in the foam.

your chest did something stupid.

then—

he sneezed halfway through the heart

the heart smeared.

"no—" he stared at the cup in horror. his entire face draining of color. "this is a disaster."

you took a sip—it was too sweet, the foam was uneven, and the caramel had sunk to the bottom in the sad little clumps.

you grinned.

"it's perfect."

୨♡୧ part one / part two / part three / part four / part five ୨♡୧

© bangtanbeom 2025

[skultyun]

assigned to you

summary: in a dystopian future where the government enforces arranged marriages to combat plummeting birth rates, you’re assigned a husband—choi yeonjun, a stranger you’ve never met.

pairing: yeonjun x fem!reader

genre: dystopia, slow burn, romance, angst, smut, fluff.

warnings: explicit sexual content, soft breeding kink, language, forced marriage system, emotional vulnerability, pregnancy, domestic intimacy, power imbalance due to forced pairing, first time sex, creampie, dirty talk, oral sex,

wc: 19,1k

notes: hi everyone! ✨ so recently this idea popped into my head—i’ve been wanting to write something with an arranged marriage trope but the whole cold ceo x neglected wife thing was starting to feel a bit repetitive, especially since i’ve already written something in that genre (which i still LOVE btw, but i just wanted to try something new) 🥲 then i remembered this anime called koi to uso — it’s about this dystopian world where the government assigns you a partner and yeah… i never finished it because it turned super harem-y and that’s not really my vibe AJSJHSKJJH but the concept really caught my attention, so i thought hmm maybe i should give it a try 🫣

hope you guys enjoy it!! 🫶

everything begins the day you turn twenty.

you wake up to the faint noise of birds outside your window, sunlight filtering through the pale curtains, painting quiet shadows across your bedroom floor. your mother is already in the kitchen, humming lowly, but there’s something off in her tone. a tremble, maybe. or maybe it’s just you. maybe you’re imagining it because today’s the day you have to register.

the day you officially surrender your right to choose who you’ll love.

in this country, love is not a decision. it is a number, an equation, a state-mandated obligation for survival. for years now, the country’s birth rate has been plummeting. desperate to avoid demographic collapse, the government instituted the pairing system: when you turn twenty, your data—genetic markers, temperament, emotional intelligence, compatibility rates—is run through the database. the algorithm does the rest. your match is chosen, your future locked in, and within the year, you are expected to marry and attend compulsory family planning. you have one job: produce offspring.

love is banned unless sanctioned by the state.

you walk into the government building with your hands shaking, your mother squeezing your fingers too tightly, her eyes red-rimmed but dry. she’s been crying in secret, you know. she didn’t want this for you. no one does.

and yet—there is no other choice.

the registration is swift. a photo, a signature, your blood drawn for one final compatibility cross-check. they tell you the letter will arrive in three to five business days. the envelope will be yellow. unmistakable.

“please return home and prepare for assignment.”

you try to keep your days normal after that. university lectures. cafeteria lunches. walking home with your head down, ignoring the couples holding hands across campus, each one with an official barcode tattooed on their ring fingers—a symbol of government approval. your own hand feels heavy just looking at them. branded love. manufactured desire. they never really chose each other.

sometimes you wonder if any of them are happy.

three days later, the yellow envelope is in your mailbox.

you freeze when you see it. fingers trembling, breath caught, skin going cold. the paper almost burns in your hands. you don’t open it right away. you walk straight to your room, lock the door, sit on your bed with your heart racing so violently you think you might throw up. and then, slowly, carefully, you tear the seal.

your eyes skim the top. the official logo of the bureau of demographic affairs. your name, your assigned number. and then:

assigned partner: choi yeonjun. age: 20.

a small, passport-sized photo is attached to the right side of the letter.

you stare.

he’s... beautiful.

cat-like eyes, tilted just enough to make him look a little wild. dark lashes, long and thick. a soft, upturned nose with a gentle slope that suits the elegant structure of his face. lips—full, plush, the kind that look perpetually kiss-bruised even in monochrome. his jaw is sharp but not too much, softened by a slight pout in his mouth. he’s unnervingly symmetrical. there’s a balance to his features, a harmony, like he was designed—crafted—to be attractive.

your throat feels dry.

beneath the photo, there’s a line of text confirming the date of your preliminary meeting—next friday at 2 p.m., government center, family conference room 2B. both sets of parents are expected to attend. your wedding will be planned based on that meeting’s outcome.

you lie back on the bed, letter pressed to your chest, and stare at the ceiling.

it feels... wrong to think this—but he’s attractive. unfairly so. and that terrifies you even more. because you were always taught not to feel. not to dream of fairytales or meet-cutes or falling for someone in the rain. love at first sight is a myth now. it's forbidden. it would disrupt the system. too much emotion, too much unpredictability. and yet—

yet here you are, cheeks warm, heart skipping, staring at the grayscale face of a boy you’re about to marry.

a boy you’ve never met.

friday. 2:00 p.m.government center, family conference room 2B.

you’re early.

your dress is navy, modest, but it hugs your figure in a way you wish it wouldn’t. you didn’t pick it to be pretty—you picked it because it was formal, appropriate. your mother insisted on curling your hair, and your father didn’t speak the entire ride over. only your little brother tried to smile at you, but even his usual mischief was subdued. he kept playing with the sleeves of his hoodie in the backseat, pretending not to be upset.

the building is tall and silent, cold in a way that doesn't come from the air conditioning. it's the sterility of a place that sees life as a series of documents and laws. a place that doesn’t care about dreams.

you sit on one side of the long glass table, your family beside you. your mother keeps wringing a tissue in her lap. your father’s jaw is clenched, his hands crossed tightly. this is the last time they will sit with you like this—before you are someone else's.

and then the door opens.

you hear his voice before you see him. low, warm, laughing quietly at something one of his parents said. and when he walks in, it’s—

it’s hard to breathe.

he’s wearing a black suit that fits too well. slim, tailored, crisp like a page never touched. his hair is pushed back, soft and styled, a few strands falling delicately onto his forehead. and his face—his photo didn’t do him justice. his features move with his expressions, eyes gleaming like obsidian, mouth curved just slightly at the corners as if he’s always on the edge of a smile.

choi yeonjun.

his mother is elegant, her hair in a low twist, expression unreadable. his father looks composed, dignified, already halfway through a handshake with the government official present. this isn’t their first pairing. you remember reading his file—third son. they’ve done this before.

you feel like you’re being auctioned off.

“this is my assigned partner?” yeonjun asks, voice lilting, curious—not judgmental. he’s looking straight at you. and then he bows.

you stand and bow too, polite. your voice stays caught in your throat.

“you’re pretty,” he says softly, once he straightens. “i’m glad.”

it shouldn’t affect you. it shouldn’t. and yet your stomach flutters, just for a second, before you kill the feeling dead.

you don’t say anything. not because you’re rude—but because this isn’t real. this is a performance. this is a sentence.

the government mediator begins to speak, outlining the stages of the arrangement: the preliminary meeting. the planning process. the mandatory cohabitation. the one-year marriage trial before reproduction is expected.

you zone out after a while. your mother is crying again. your father’s voice is hoarse when he answers the legal questions. your little brother won’t look at you. and across from you, yeonjun looks like he’s done this in another life. calm. collected. but not cruel.

then, the mediator clears her throat.

“now, if the parents could please give the pair some time to speak privately. it is customary.”

your mother hesitates. she squeezes your hand until her knuckles turn white. she whispers something—"don’t let them take your heart too, okay?"—and then lets go.

and just like that, you are alone with him.

just the two of you, in a silent room that smells like paper and polished wood.

yeonjun exhales once your families are gone. his shoulders relax a little.

“wow,” he says. “that was intense.”

you nod. your hands are in your lap, clutching the fabric of your dress.

“you don’t talk much, huh?”

you glance up at him. he’s watching you with a soft kind of curiosity. not the kind that pries. more like he’s observing the weather—trying to guess if rain is coming.

“i do,” you say finally, voice quiet. “just... not today.”

he smiles. “that’s fair.”

a pause. he sits across from you again, legs crossed, posture easy, like he’s not under the weight of state surveillance. like this is his decision.

“i know this is strange,” he says. “i’m not gonna pretend it’s not. they pick someone for you, give you a name and a photo, and you’re supposed to start building a future. it's... a lot.”

you say nothing. you’re watching the way his fingers tap on the edge of the table. rhythmical. patient.

“i’m not here to make this harder for you,” he says, gentler now. “i know some people get assigned to assholes. i promise i won’t be one.”

your brows knit together, surprised.

he leans forward, elbows on the table, chin resting in one palm.

“if we have to go through this, we might as well not suffer through it.”

and you look at him then, really look.

his gaze is steady. not forceful. not manipulative. he’s not trying to make you like him. he’s just... honest.

"you’re used to this,” you murmur.

his smile falters. “not really. i’ve just watched my brothers go through it. and i learned what not to do.”

there’s something about the way he says it. like he’s seen what happens when the system doesn’t pair people right. like he knows how love can die before it’s even born.

you swallow, throat tight.

“i didn’t want this,” you admit.

he nods. “me neither.”

silence settles between you again. it’s not awkward. just full. like both of you are trying to breathe in a place with no air.

“but...” he says softly, after a while. “i think you’re interesting. and you’re easy to talk to. even if you don’t say much.”

your cheeks flush, and you hate that you can feel it. he notices, of course. but he doesn’t tease you. he just smiles to himself, quiet and pleased.

“so,” he says, tilting his head. “can i know something real about you? not government data. just... you.”

you blink.

he waits.

slow burn. that’s what this is. he’s not rushing. he’s not playing pretend. he’s offering you a chance to make something human out of something cold.

and even though everything in you is screaming don’t trust it— you speak.

you tell him a little. not much. just enough.

and he listens. attentively. sincerely.

maybe that’s how it starts. not with a kiss. not with a confession. but with someone sitting across from you, asking who you are when no one’s watching.

two weeks later.

the wedding is on a thursday.

you don’t get a white dress. there’s no music, no flowers. no ceremony beyond a document and a pen and the sterile voices of government officials making sure everything is binding and accounted for.

you wear beige.

yeonjun wears black again. no tie this time. his hair is messier, like he didn’t bother too much. he looks good anyway, like he always does. like someone who never had to try.

the room is almost identical to the one where you met: glass, steel, a flag in the corner.

your mother sobs quietly during the signing. your father doesn’t let go of her hand. your brother tries not to look, but when you lean down to hug him goodbye, he hides his face in your shoulder and mutters a broken, “please don’t forget us.”

and that’s when you finally cry.

not loud. not messy. just silent tears running down your cheeks as you sign the paper that says you no longer belong to them. your name next to yeonjun’s. your status: married. active participant in national repopulation initiative.

they even stamp it. a red seal. final. absolute.

you don't remember the ride to your new shared apartment. only the sound of the car, the blur of the buildings, your hands gripping the hem of your coat in your lap like it’s the only thing tethering you to reality.

yeonjun doesn’t speak for a while. and when he does, it’s soft. careful.

“you don’t have to pretend around me,” he says, eyes on the road. “i know this hurts.”

you don’t answer.

he pulls into a residential complex. government-provided. modern, quiet. two bedrooms, a shared kitchen, everything fully equipped. it smells like fresh paint and new plastic. not like home.

your boxes are already inside. so are his.

the apartment is... neutral. beige walls. grey couch. chrome kitchen. there’s a small balcony, but it faces another building.

you walk into your assigned bedroom and close the door without saying a word.

and to his credit, he doesn’t follow you. not right away.

but now, days pass like fog.

there’s a schedule pinned to the fridge now. a printed routine from the bureau: acclimation period, cohabitation adjustment, health preparation. underlined: mandatory hospital check-up before family planning begins.

you go to the hospital together a week later.

the nurse greets you by your couple ID number.

yeonjun jokes to break the tension—something dumb about feeling like a robot in a factory—and you don’t laugh, but you glance at him sideways. just a little. he notices.

you both go through blood work, fertility testing, infectious disease screening. the nurse asks personal questions. too personal. about cycles and hormone levels and sexual history— you flinch.

yeonjun speaks for you when you freeze.

“she’s not comfortable,” he says simply. “ask me first.”

his voice is calm, but there's steel beneath it. the nurse adjusts her tone after that.

on the ride home, you stare out the window. he drives with one hand on the wheel, the other tapping his thigh, nervous energy he never shows in his posture. it’s the little things you’re starting to notice.

“you didn’t have to speak for me,” you say, finally.

“i know,” he answers. “but i wanted to.”

and again—there it is.

that kindness you didn’t ask for. that warmth he keeps offering, even though you haven’t given him much back.

nights are the hardest.

you pretend to sleep early, even when your eyes stay open in the dark for hours. the room feels too still, too foreign. the bed smells like the laundry detergent they gave you in the relocation kit. the ceiling fan turns slowly, quietly. your chest feels tight, like grief has found a home inside your ribs and refuses to move out.

sometimes, you press your ear against the bedroom wall. you can’t hear much. just the occasional soft shuffle, the hum of yeonjun’s voice when he speaks on the phone in hushed tones. he never speaks long. never laughs out loud. not anymore.

you miss your mother’s voice echoing from the kitchen, your brother’s heavy footsteps running down the hallway. the scent of warm rice and grilled mackerel. the sound of your father clearing his throat before calling everyone to eat.

now, there’s only silence.

until one night, a knock.

not loud. not urgent. just... present.

“hey,” comes his voice through the door. “you don’t have to open. i just wanted to say... i know this feels like the end of everything, but it isn’t.”

you sit up slowly. your hand hovers near the handle but doesn’t reach it.

“i know we didn’t choose each other,” he continues, voice low and careful, “but maybe that doesn’t mean we can’t choose to be good to each other.”

you swallow. your throat feels raw.

after a pause, your voice comes out in a whisper, hoarse but steady. “okay.”

you don’t open the door. but you walk to it, lean your back against the cool wood. and then—almost imperceptibly—you hear the sound of him lowering himself on the other side. sitting with you. just like that. no pressure. just presence.

you stay like that for a while. breathing the same air, separated by a few centimeters and a thin barrier. but somehow... it feels closer than anything else has in weeks.

you don’t talk more that night. but when you finally slide back into bed, you sleep without crying.

that’s a first.

the next morning, there’s tea waiting on the counter.

he doesn’t say it’s from him. but he’s the only other person here, so you thank him anyway.

a nod. a tiny smile. you sip it, and it’s sweet.

from that night on, something shifts. neither of you says it aloud, but the air is different now.

you start having breakfast together. simple stuff—toast, boiled eggs, fruit. you sit across from each other at the tiny kitchen table and talk about nothing. weather. uni schedules. news updates.

one afternoon, you both arrive home soaked from the sudden rain.

you were out grocery shopping. he met you on the walk back by chance. no umbrella. you ran together. you laughed—really laughed—for the first time since being assigned. your clothes clung to your skin, your breath short from the sprint.

in the elevator, he looks at you and says, a little breathless, “you’re kind of cute when you’re mad at the rain.”

you blink at him. cheeks warm. you don't know what to say.

that night, he passes you a hairdryer through your door.

“so you don’t catch a cold.”

you murmur thanks. he lingers in the hallway a moment, like he wants to say something else. but then he leaves.

the next few nights, he knocks more often. never asks to come in. just talks through the door. sometimes you join him on the floor again, your backs pressed to opposite sides of wood. you start to open up. a little at a time.

one night, just past midnight, you both end up in the kitchen again.

you couldn’t sleep. neither could he. you make tea, he brings a packet of cookies.

the city outside is asleep. your apartment is bathed in soft fridge light.

you find yourselves sitting on the floor, backs to the counter.

he asks, voice low, “did you ever fall in love before all this?”

the question feels heavy. you stare into your cup.

“no,” you answer honestly. “i didn’t let myself. what was the point, if it was forbidden? if we were all going to be assigned anyway?”

he nods slowly. you notice the way his eyes flick toward the window, as if remembering something far away.

“i did,” he says finally.

your heart stirs.

“in high school,” he goes on, “i fell for this girl in my class. she had this ridiculous laugh and used to bring snacks for everyone. i liked her for three years. never told her. i thought... i don’t know. part of me really believed she’d be assigned to me.”

you watch the way his lips twist into something halfway between a smile and a wince.

“i used to daydream about it,” he admits, almost embarrassed. “our names printed together on the envelope. hers next to mine. like it was meant to be.”

you don’t say anything. you let him speak.

“and then she got married last year. to someone else. she posted a photo with her husband and... i laughed. like, really laughed. because it was so stupid. how much hope i’d put into something that was never mine to decide.”

you imagine it. the version of him in a classroom, heart racing every time she turned around. young, hopeful. painfully innocent.

you don’t know her name. you’ll probably never meet her.

but you hate her a little.

you hate that she had his love, his dreams, his belief. something you were too scared to even touch.

and you hate that your chest aches when he says her name without saying it.

“i’m sorry,” you whisper. “that it didn’t work out.”

he looks at you, and there’s something tender in the way his eyes soften. “i’m not,” he says after a beat. “i wouldn’t have met you if it had.”

the silence after that is heavy, electric.

you don’t answer.

but you stay there with him. knees almost touching. the scent of tea between you. eyes a little too full. hearts slightly ajar.

the email arrives quietly, with the mechanical ding of a notification breaking the silence of your morning. it’s nothing dramatic—just a government seal, a cold subject line: YOUTH EMPLOYMENT PROGRAM FOR NEWLYWEDS.

you’re still in your oversized sleep shirt, hair loosely tied up, your fingers wrapped around a warm mug of barley tea as you sit at the small kitchen table. the place smells like toasted bread and laundry detergent. yeonjun walks in a few minutes later, yawning, dressed in sweatpants and a faded university hoodie, a slice of toast clenched between his teeth. he glances over your shoulder to see what you're looking at.

you click the email open. it’s from the ministry of social and familial affairs—another mandatory policy. another thing the government arranges for you, like you’re pieces on a board.

“because both parties are currently enrolled in higher education,” you read aloud softly, “the government will provide access to part-time employment opportunities and offer a financial subsidy for essential living expenses during the first year of marriage.”

you don’t say anything for a long while after that. the words hover in the air, bureaucratic and impersonal. but somehow, they make this life feel more real. more permanent. like you’re not just living in a temporary dream—you’re expected to stay here. build something.

“well,” yeonjun finally says, mouth half-full, “that’s... something. we should check it out later.”

you nod, even though your stomach feels hollow.

you still think about that night. the night he told you about his first love. about how he spent three years loving her in silence, convinced she'd be the one fate would give him. the girl with snacks and a bright laugh. the one who got married last year. not to him.

and no matter how much you tell yourself it’s ridiculous, it still gnaws at you sometimes. there’s this faint, irrational heat in your chest whenever she crosses your mind. you don’t even know what she looks like. you don’t know her name. but something about the way he talked about her—with such tender resignation—makes something sour rise in your throat.

you hate that it lingers.

you hate that it hurts.

that night, the rain starts late.

it begins with a steady tapping against the glass, the kind that would normally soothe you—white noise for your thoughts. but then the wind picks up, howling through the narrow alley between your apartment and the building next door, and you know what’s coming.

the first clap of thunder makes you freeze.

your fingers curl around the blanket. your chest tightens. you try to breathe slowly, like your therapist taught you when you were younger. but then comes another one—louder, deeper. it shakes the walls. it shakes you.

you’ve always hated storms. they made you cry as a child, and when you were too old to crawl into your mother’s bed, you forced your little brother to sleep beside you just so you wouldn’t feel alone.

now you’re in a place that doesn’t smell like your mother’s laundry, that doesn’t hold your brother’s sleepy warmth.

you’re alone again. except you’re not. not really.

you don’t think. you just move.

barefoot, your steps light across the cold floor, you open your bedroom door and cross the hall. you knock on yeonjun’s door twice, already feeling embarrassed, but unable to stop.

he opens almost immediately, wearing a gray t-shirt and sleep-tousled hair. his eyes are soft when they meet yours.

“are you okay?” he asks gently, already understanding.

you hesitate. “can i… stay here tonight?”

there’s a beat of silence. he nods, stepping aside without a word, and gestures for you to come in.

his room is dim, smelling faintly of his cologne and clean linen. it’s warmer than yours. there’s a stack of books by his bed, an open laptop with half-written notes still on the screen, a navy blue hoodie slung over the chair.

he grabs an extra blanket and starts to lay it out on the floor, but you shake your head, already trembling from another rumble of thunder.

“i… don’t want to be alone,” you whisper.

yeonjun pauses. and then, slowly, he walks back toward the bed and lifts the corner of the blanket for you.

you crawl in on one side. he lies down on the other. space between you, but not coldness. not indifference.

“i’ve always been scared of storms,” you murmur into the dark. “when i was little, i’d run to my parents’ room. then i made my little brother stay with me. i thought that when i grew up, i wouldn’t be scared anymore. but i guess… i still am.”

you feel the bed shift as he turns onto his side, facing you. his voice is low, almost a hush.

“nothing’s going to break tonight.”

those five words feel like something heavier than comfort. they feel like a promise. and they make something fragile inside you twist.

you’re quiet for a long time after that. the silence is heavy but not uncomfortable. it’s the kind of silence that lets your heartbeat slow. the kind that feels full of something new—something you don’t have a name for yet.

you fall asleep to the sound of rain and his breathing, even and steady beside you.

and when you wake up in the early morning light, his hand is resting over yours.

you slept like a baby.

it's the first thought you have when you blink your eyes open, bathed in the pale light of morning seeping through the curtains. the room smells like faint detergent and something unmistakably yeonjun—warm cotton and the slightest trace of his cologne. the air is quiet now, no more thunder shaking the walls, no rain tapping restlessly against the windows. and your chest feels… calm.

it surprises you, how rested you feel. how deep your sleep was. how safe.

you remember all those nights with your younger brother, clinging to him as the storm rattled outside, whispering stories or counting sheep until your mind shut down from exhaustion. sleep was never easy back then. it was something you wrestled for, clawed your way toward, until it finally overtook you like mercy. but last night... last night, it came softly. it held you.

and now you realize why.

yeonjun’s arms are around you.

not tightly, not possessively—just gently draped, like he forgot to move in the night, like his body instinctively curved around yours in sleep. one of his hands rests over your wrist, the other loosely against your waist, warm even through the thin fabric of your sleep shirt. and his face is so close, calm and boyish, lips slightly parted, his breath even and soft against your skin.

your heart pounds immediately, panic fluttering low in your stomach—not because you’re scared, but because this is unfamiliar. because you don’t know what to do with this kind of tenderness.

you want to pull away. you should. you really, really should.

but instead you stay.

you stay because there’s something about this moment that feels too fragile to break. something inside you, some cracked place, is being filled just by existing in this quiet closeness. and you realize—though you’ve never wanted to admit it—that you’ve been touch-starved for a long time. that there’s a part of you that’s been aching for connection, for warmth, for someone.

his fingers twitch slightly in his sleep, adjusting against your hip, and your breath catches. the movement is innocent, unconscious—but your skin reacts like it’s been branded. you swallow hard, trying to still the storm inside you, even though the one outside is already gone.

you stay like that for several more minutes, listening to the soft hum of the apartment, watching the way the sunlight plays over his features. you trace the line of his brow with your eyes, the soft curve of his lashes, the shape of his lips. he looks so peaceful like this—unguarded, almost boyish. and for a second, you wonder what he’s dreaming about. if he ever dreamed of something like this.

he stirs eventually, a sleepy sound escaping his throat as he blinks slowly awake. his gaze is unfocused at first, but then it lands on you, and something warm flickers in it.

“…morning,” he mumbles, voice still gravelly from sleep.

“morning,” you whisper back, suddenly aware of how close you are, of how your bodies are still tucked together like pieces of the same story.

neither of you moves.

there’s a pause where his eyes search your face, slow and unreadable. and then, with a sleepy smile tugging at his lips, he lets out a soft breath.

“you didn’t run away in the middle of the night. that’s a good sign.”

you laugh quietly, your cheeks burning. “i slept too well to even think about moving.”

he hums, pleased. “me too. i usually toss around like crazy, but i guess… you were a good influence.”

you want to joke. to deflect. but instead you find yourself whispering something real.

“i felt safe.”

his eyes soften.

you don’t say anything else. you just lie there a while longer, not moving, not rushing. there’s a peace in the way your bodies still fit together, in how neither of you seems quite ready to let go.

but the world, eventually, pulls you back. responsibilities, the clock ticking louder in your head. breakfast. classes. life.

yeonjun stretches lazily and finally pulls back, giving you space without question, his smile sleepy but kind. “i’ll make us coffee.”

you nod, watching him slip out of bed, hair tousled, shirt riding up slightly at the back. you press your hand to where his body had been, still warm, and you sit there a little longer, your thoughts spiraling in slow, confused circles.

because even though last night was about fear and storms… this morning feels like the beginning of something else entirely.

the waiting room smells like antiseptic and soft lavender, a strange combination that doesn’t manage to calm your nerves. you sit side by side with yeonjun on a sleek government-issued bench, your fingers clasped tightly on your lap, trying not to let your knee bounce with the anxiety pressing into your chest.

he seems more composed than you are—back straight, hands relaxed, legs slightly spread in his usual confident posture—but when you glance sideways, you notice how he keeps licking his lips, how his jaw clenches just a little every few seconds.

the appointment with the planning officer had been scheduled right after your wedding—clinical, efficient, emotionless, like everything else in this system. you hadn’t talked about it. hadn’t even wanted to think about it. but now it’s here, and there’s nowhere to hide.

“choi yeonjun. choi y/n,” a nurse calls softly from the doorway, clipboard in hand. “follow me.”

you walk side by side into a white, spotless office where a woman in a pale beige suit greets you from behind a desk. she looks to be in her forties, composed, direct, her nametag reading ms. kang – reproductive health officer.

you sit across from her. the air feels heavier now.

“so,” she begins, smiling in that polite, unyielding way government workers do, “you’re about a month into your union. how’s the adjustment been?”

you blink, unsure how to answer. yeonjun speaks first.

“we’re getting used to it. slowly.”

“good,” she nods, tapping something on her tablet. “you’ve both passed the health screenings, no genetic flags or fertility concerns. so the next step is to begin trials of compatibility-based conception.”

you shift in your seat. trials.

“have you already begun your sexual relationship?” she asks, her tone calm, like she’s asking about the weather.

your breath catches. your eyes widen slightly, and your face goes hot. “uh—no. not yet,” you manage, your voice too soft, almost guilty.

yeonjun straightens a little, eyebrows twitching, his tone sharper. “we’ve only been married a few weeks. there hasn’t been time.”

ms. kang doesn’t flinch. she only nods and types something on her screen. “i see. while it’s natural for some couples to take time, we recommend initiating intimacy soon. it will help establish the rhythm of your connection and allow us to track progress for planning interventions if necessary.”

your ears are burning now. her words play back in your head like static: initiate intimacy, track progress.

you glance at yeonjun without meaning to, and he’s already looking at you—but his expression is unreadable. his jaw is tight again.

“we’ll… take that into consideration,” he says curtly.

the rest of the appointment passes in a blur. you nod and agree to things you barely hear, accept pamphlets on fertility monitoring and hormonal optimization. by the time you walk out of the clinic, your skin feels too tight for your body.

you don’t speak on the way home.

you sit beside him on the train, trying to focus on the passing buildings outside the window, but your thoughts keep circling the same place. the way she said it. the expectation of it. and worse—the idea of it.

because the thing is… you’ve thought about it. even before this meeting, in the quiet moments, in the space between shared breakfasts and brushing past each other in the kitchen, in that night you slept in his arms like you belonged there.

you’ve wondered what his mouth would feel like pressed to your neck.

you’ve wondered how his hands would move if he weren’t just offering comfort.

you’ve wondered how his voice would sound if it wasn’t so composed—if it cracked with want.

but that was all private. safe in your imagination. not something stamped into paperwork. not something tracked by government programs and fertility logs.

and now you can’t not think about it.

when you finally get home, it’s too quiet. you move around each other like magnets unsure if they should attract or repel. you both pretend you’re just tired. that it was just a long day.

but the silence drips between you, thick and unspoken.

you head to your room without a word, tossing the clinic folder on your desk like it burns. you try to sleep. but the image of yeonjun, tense and handsome in the cold clinic light, won’t leave your mind. his voice, defensive. his fingers, twitching on his knee. and most of all, the memory of his arm around your waist from that night—the heat of his skin under your palm.

an hour passes. maybe two.

you shift in bed, restless. you toss the blanket off. put it back on. stare at the ceiling. you hear footsteps in the hall.

a soft knock at your door.

you sit up, heart hammering. “come in.”

yeonjun stands there, messy hair and hoodie half-zipped, eyes unreadable in the dim light. he doesn’t come in right away. just leans against the doorframe and runs a hand through his hair.

“sorry,” he says after a moment. “about earlier. the clinic.”

you nod. “it’s okay.”

he looks at you then, longer, and something flickers in his expression—something caught between curiosity and hesitation.

“they make it sound like it’s supposed to be… mechanical,” he murmurs, crossing the room slowly. “but it’s not, right? it’s not supposed to be.”

your breath catches.

he stops by your bed. close enough for you to see the flutter of his lashes, the nervous line between his brows. close enough that you feel the heat radiating off his body.

you don’t know who moves first. maybe it’s you. maybe it’s both of you at the same time. but suddenly, the space between you disappears.

his hand brushes your cheek, soft and hesitant, and you lean into it without thinking.

“i don’t want it to be just… a task,” he says quietly, voice barely a breath now. “not with you.”

you don’t answer. you just let your forehead rest against his chest, your heart beating too loudly, your breath catching in your throat. and when he wraps his arms around you again—warm and strong and familiar—you feel the storm rising again.

but this time, it’s not outside.

it’s you. it’s him.

and it’s not fear anymore.

it’s something else entirely.

you don’t kiss that night.

you could’ve. maybe you almost do. there’s a moment where his thumb brushes the corner of your mouth and your eyes lift to meet his, and you feel it—that shift, like the world holds its breath. but then he steps back, gives you a small smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and says goodnight in a voice that’s too soft, too careful.

he leaves your door cracked open behind him. and somehow, that’s worse than closing it.

after that, the tension lingers—thick and quiet like smoke.

in the mornings, you find yourselves together more often than not. your coffee mugs sit side by side now. sometimes you forget whose is whose. he steals sips from yours and you pretend to scowl, but your heart trips every time your fingers brush when you both reach for the sugar at the same time.

you fall into a rhythm. not romantic. not domestic. but something else. something intimate in a quiet way.

when the job placement emails come through, you sit together on the couch, scrolling through them on your shared government-issued tablet. yeonjun lands a spot as an assistant at a community cultural center downtown—flexible hours, reasonable pay. you get placed in a local library, part-time shelving and cataloguing.

it’s not exciting. it’s not your dream. but it’s… stable.

“at least we won’t starve,” yeonjun says one evening, his arm slung lazily over the back of the couch behind you. “thanks, government.”

you snort. “maybe next year they’ll assign us a kid and a dog, too.”

he laughs—really laughs, loud and full—and something about the sound makes your chest ache. it makes you want to say something dumb just to hear it again.

but what sticks with you, what haunts you, is that night after the storm. not because of what happened—because of what didn’t.

and what happened at the clinic. what the officer said. what yeonjun said after.

you think about it too much. think about him too much.

and you think about her.

the girl he loved once. the one he talked about in that quiet, midnight voice, when the rain had softened and you were wrapped in his hoodie like armor.

you remember how his gaze turned distant as he spoke of her, how he confessed that he truly believed she’d be the one assigned to him. that he waited. that he hoped.

how the disappointment burned when he found out she wasn’t.

and you shouldn’t feel anything about it. it’s in the past. he told you that.

but sometimes, when you catch him staring into space or fiddling with that little leather bracelet he always wears, your chest twists a little. and you don’t know why.

you’re not in love.

you’re not supposed to fall in love.

yet it keeps slipping in—quiet and slow. like water through cracks.

one evening, it rains again. not a storm, just a steady drizzle that makes the air smell clean. you’re both tired from work and university, but neither of you wants to be alone in your room.

you sit on the windowsill together, knees touching, sharing a bowl of strawberries yeonjun bought on the way home. the fruit is sweet and cold against your tongue.

“i used to love the rain,” he murmurs, watching it trail down the glass. “when i was a kid, i’d sit on the porch for hours just listening. it felt like… everything else stopped for a while.”

you glance at him. his profile is soft in the dim light, his hair falling slightly over his eyes.

“it used to scare me,” you admit quietly. “storms, i mean. as you may know...”

he smiles without turning to you. “you were scared.”

“yeah.”

there’s a pause.

“you weren’t scared the other night,” he says. “not with me.”

you shrug. “you made it easy not to be.”

the silence that follows is gentle. not awkward. just… full.

“do you think it’s still possible?” he asks suddenly. “to fall for someone? even with all of this?” he gestures vaguely, and you know he means the system, the laws, the matching algorithms and fertility checkups and pre-written life paths.

you don’t answer right away. you don’t know how to.

“i think we’re not supposed to,” you say after a long pause. “but maybe… that doesn’t stop it from happening.”

his eyes find yours then, and they don’t look away.

your heart stumbles.

neither of you speaks. the air feels like it’s crackling again—not with lightning, but with something just as dangerous.

the next night, you fall asleep on the couch together. not planned. not anything.

you were watching something. you don’t even remember what. but you woke up with your head on his chest, his arm wrapped around you, heartbeat steady against your ear.

you don’t move. you can’t move.

it feels too good. too right.

his shirt smells like laundry soap and skin. his fingers shift in his sleep, brushing lightly along your back. it makes you shiver. it makes you think about things you shouldn’t.

you stay there until the sun begins to rise.

you pretend to be asleep when he finally stirs and lifts his head slightly, blinking at your face. you feel the weight of his gaze.

but he doesn’t move either.

and neither do you.

because something’s changing. you both feel it.

you just don’t say it. not yet.

not until it’s too loud to ignore.

and maybe that moment is coming faster than either of you is ready for.

you try not to overthink the moments.

you try.

the accidental sleep on the couch becomes less accidental. the next week, it happens again—this time during a shared late-night study session. you're both exhausted, papers and notebooks strewn across the coffee table, half-finished cups of coffee gone cold.

you wake up tucked under the same blanket, the light off, the tablet blinking low battery on the floor. yeonjun is beside you, his legs tangled with yours, his breathing soft against the crown of your head.

he doesn’t say anything when you open your eyes. he’s already awake, watching you, and when he sees you stir, he whispers a faint “morning” like it’s a secret.

you nod, throat dry. “morning.”

neither of you moves.

and maybe it’s the silence. maybe it’s the way his hand is resting lightly on your hip, not possessive, not bold—just there.or maybe it’s because of the way your name sounds in his voice lately—gentler, more familiar, too intimate for two people who were supposed to be strangers made spouses.

whatever it is, it roots itself deep in your chest, wraps vines around your ribs, and refuses to let go.

but things are still complicated.

you remember the appointment at the family planning center far too clearly. how the sterile walls and uncomfortable chairs felt like a sentence being handed down. the woman at the desk, clipboard in hand, speaking in clinical terms while smiling too much. the questions.

“have you two begun sexual relations yet?”

your body stiffened so fast it hurt. you’d shaken your head, cheeks burning.

“no,” you said, barely above a whisper.

and then yeonjun.

his voice didn’t waver. didn’t shrink. but there was a hint of something—offense, maybe, or just discomfort buried beneath practiced calm.

“not yet.”

not yet.

those words echoed for hours after.

the woman nodded, unbothered, flipping her pen in one hand.

“you should consider beginning soon,” she said, checking off a box. “intimacy will help strengthen the emotional bond and allow us to begin identifying which fertility path will suit your needs. the government recommends couples begin within the first ninety days of union.”

you had never wanted to disappear more.

the walk home was silent.

yeonjun didn’t mention it. you didn’t either.

but it sat between you like a stormcloud, buzzing with electricity, waiting to crack open.

you catch him watching you more after that. not in a bad way. not in a way that makes you feel unsafe. no—it makes you feel too safe, and that’s somehow worse.

he’s careful. always. but he’s still a boy. and you’re still you. and your bodies know things your minds are afraid to say.

the small space you share only makes things more dangerous.

his cologne clings to your pillows. your lotion starts appearing on his arms. he hums the songs you listen to in the shower. he buys your favorite snack without asking.

you start wearing his shirts to sleep without realizing. you only notice the third time it happens—when he stops in the hallway and his eyes dip, linger, then flick back up with a quiet clearing of his throat.

“is that mine?”

you glance down at yourself. it’s an old oversized gray tee. soft. worn. familiar. his scent baked into the fabric like sunlight.

“uh… yeah. sorry. it was just on the chair and—”

“keep it,�� he says, not letting you finish. “looks better on you.”

you go to bed that night with your skin buzzing.

and things only build from there.

he starts cooking more, pulling you into the kitchen with an easy “help me” that really means just stand here while i talk to you. you lean on the counter while he cuts vegetables, while he stirs sauces, while he tells you about his classes and how boring statistics is, how he almost fell asleep mid-lecture. you laugh and call him dramatic. he grins and tells you it’s your fault for not waking him up when he left.

“you’re supposed to be my wife now. you have responsibilities.”

he says it like a joke. you laugh like it is one.

but your heart stutters anyway.

one night, it rains again. not a storm, just heavy and constant, soft thunder echoing in the distance. you find yourself awake at midnight again, restless, curled on the couch in the living room with your knees tucked to your chest.

yeonjun finds you there.

he doesn’t say anything—just sits beside you, close but not touching, and watches the rain drip down the windows.

“can’t sleep?” he asks.

you shake your head. “not really.”

“you okay?”

you nod, even though you’re not sure.

the air between you hums. it’s familiar now. this closeness. this heavy, unsaid thing growing slowly between shared silences and sidelong glances.

you lean your head on his shoulder, unsure why. maybe it’s because the rain feels lonelier tonight. maybe it’s because it feels like something is shifting again.

his breath hitches almost imperceptibly, but he doesn’t move away.

“do you think they’re watching us?” you ask softly. “the government, i mean. checking how fast we fall in love. how fast we sleep together.”

he’s quiet for a moment.

“maybe,” he says finally. “but they can’t measure the parts that matter.”

“like what?”

he tilts his head toward yours. “like this.”

you feel the words like fingertips down your spine.

you close your eyes, and his shoulder under your cheek feels like solid ground.

this is the moment where maybe everything could change.

but you don’t kiss. not yet.

you breathe in together.

and for now, that’s enough.

the power cuts out a little after ten. it happens suddenly—an abrupt flicker, followed by darkness swallowing the apartment whole.

you blink, heart skipping, your body already tightening with reflex from the sound, from the silence that follows too quickly.

then the soft sound of rain begins again.

but unlike the last time, this one is gentle. no thunder, no flashes of light through the windows. just rain, steady and calm like fingers tapping against glass. it’s the kind of rain that makes the night feel softer than usual. quieter.

yeonjun lights a candle he keeps in the drawer near the kitchen, its flame swaying in the center of the living room table, casting shadows on the walls. he brings it over to the couch where you sit curled up under a blanket, your knees pressed to your chest, already waiting.

he joins you without asking.

“guess we’ll have to pretend we’re in the 1800s,” he murmurs, glancing at the candle.

you laugh softly. “at least you’re not reading me poetry.”

“don’t tempt me,” he grins.

the silence that follows isn’t uncomfortable. it rarely is now. something about the rain, the flicker of light, the way you’re seated side by side with your shoulders barely touching, it all feels… close.

your gaze drifts to the window, where the raindrops race each other down the glass. and before you can stop yourself, your thoughts start circling again. you’ve been doing that more and more—ever since that night. ever since yeonjun told you about her. the girl he loved in high school. the one he thought would be assigned to him.

you swallow. your chest tightens, not with pain exactly—more like an unfamiliar ache. something raw you haven’t named yet.

“can i ask you something?” you say, voice quiet.

yeonjun hums, eyes still on the candlelight. “of course.”

“i haven’t stopped thinking about her.”

he turns to you, brows faintly furrowed. “who?”

“the girl you were in love with.”

his expression doesn’t change much. he just blinks slowly, watching you. “why?”

you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “i don’t know. maybe because… i’m jealous of her.”

that makes him laugh—soft, surprised. “jealous?”

you nod, heart pounding. “yeah. i guess it’s stupid. but… she got to be your first love. she got all of you when it meant something. and now, i’m just—”

“my wife?” he cuts in, still smiling, trying to lighten the air. “you’re my wife now. kind of a win, don’t you think?”

but you don’t smile back.

you turn to face him, the dim light catching on your lashes, your jaw tight. “it’s not the same,” you say softly. “i know this is supposed to be a marriage, but it doesn’t feel right… hearing about your past like that. it’s not fair. it’s not fair that i have to be the one who came after.”

yeonjun’s smile fades. the playfulness drains from his face, replaced by something heavier. something slower. he looks at you like he’s really seeing you now—like maybe he’s been seeing you all along but didn’t know how close you were to unraveling.

“hey,” he says quietly, voice low and careful. “you’re not after anyone.”

you try to look away, but he catches your chin between two fingers, guiding your eyes back to his.

“she’s the past,” he murmurs. “but you—you’re the present. you’re the one who’s here. who sleeps beside me. who leaves hair ties on the bathroom sink and wears my shirts and steals my side of the bed.”

your lips part, but no sound comes out.

“don’t do that to yourself,” he whispers. “don’t compare. it’s not the same because this is real. and growing. and you—”

he leans closer.

“you make me forget her name.”

you blink, breath catching. the air feels different now. the candlelight flickers between you, but you can barely see it. all you can see is him—his face inches from yours, his voice warm and deep and trembling just enough to make your pulse race.

“yeonjun…”

“can i kiss you?” he breathes.

you nod.

slowly, his hand slides to your jaw, his thumb brushing the soft skin beneath your cheekbone. he closes the space between you inch by inch, giving you time to pull away, but you don’t. you lean in.

when his lips finally meet yours, it’s not fireworks. it’s gravity.

you sink into it, into him, into the warmth and tenderness of it. it’s careful, at first—testing, soft, a question asked in the silence. but then you tilt your head, fingers finding the collar of his shirt, and he answers with a deeper kiss, one that pulls a sound from the back of your throat you didn’t expect.

it’s too much. it’s not enough. it’s everything all at once.

when you finally part, you’re breathless.

he presses his forehead to yours. the candle crackles gently nearby. the rain keeps falling.

“i’m sorry,” you whisper.

“don’t be,” he says, brushing his nose against yours. “i should’ve known. i should’ve said something sooner.”

you shake your head. “no. i needed to feel it. to say it. i think i’ve been holding everything back since this marriage started.”

“me too.”

you both fall quiet again, but this time, it’s different.

you’re not two strangers trying to survive a system anymore.

you’re two people finally reaching across the space that was never meant to last.

and outside, the rain sings soft lullabies to the city, and the candle flickers like a heartbeat, and in his arms, you no longer feel like a second choice.

you feel chosen.

the next morning, something has changed.

it’s subtle. nothing overt. not at first.

you wake up earlier than him and find yourself just… watching him for a moment. the soft rise and fall of his chest. the curve of his lashes against his cheek. how he frowns slightly in his sleep, like he’s still half in a dream. you should look away—you’ve always looked away before—but now your eyes linger.

when he stirs, blinking against the light, he sees you watching. he doesn’t flinch. he just smiles, sleep-warm and real, and your heart does something uncomfortable and sweet in your chest.

“morning,” he murmurs, voice rough.

“morning,” you whisper back, your voice catching a little.

he reaches out lazily, his fingers brushing your arm beneath the blanket, and even though it’s nothing, just that, your breath hitches. you tell yourself it’s the closeness. the aftermath of the kiss. but the warmth in your chest says something else.

and then the day goes on—but not quite the same.

at breakfast, he sits closer than usual. your elbows touch when you both reach for the sugar. he doesn’t apologize like before. doesn’t pull away. just grins and bumps your shoulder on purpose this time.

you roll your eyes. “you’re annoying.”

“you kissed me last night,” he says, way too casually. “you don’t get to call me annoying anymore.”

“you asked first.”

“still counts.”

the banter is light, teasing, familiar. but under it, there’s a new current. an awareness. every glance feels heavier. every touch lingers a second longer than it should. when he hands you a dish, his fingers brush yours, and neither of you lets go right away.

the silence between you becomes something else entirely. no longer filled with obligation or awkwardness. now it feels like a question that neither of you is brave enough to answer out loud.

until it happens again. in the kitchen, late at night, as you’re washing dishes and he comes up behind you. at first it’s innocent—he says something dumb, you laugh—but then his hand finds the small of your back, and you freeze, not because it’s wrong but because it’s not. it feels too good. too natural.

you turn, slowly, water dripping from your hands, and he’s already looking at you like he wants to kiss you again.

he doesn’t. not yet. he just leans in and gently tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. his fingers graze your cheek, his eyes drop to your lips, and then—he walks away.

you stand there for a moment, heart pounding, wondering how the hell he keeps doing this to you.

a few days later, you’re invited to visit your family.

it’s your first time back since the marriage. your parents had called to check in, of course, had even video called once or twice, but nothing replaces being home. your mother’s cooking. your father’s quiet warmth. your brother’s chaotic energy.

the moment you walk through the door, your mom pulls you into a hug so tight you almost cry again. your dad claps yeonjun’s shoulder, awkward but trying. your brother, now twelve, looks like he’s grown taller.

he eyes yeonjun up and down, squints a little, then smirks at you.

“so, are you pregnant yet?”

you freeze.

your dad chokes on his tea. your mother lets out a gasp so sharp it could cut metal. yeonjun’s eyes go wide—like someone just yanked the floor out from under him.

“yoonho!” your mom yells, already reaching for the nearest dish towel like it’s a weapon. “you can’t ask that!”

“what?” your brother yells as he runs from her, laughing like a maniac. “i just wanted to know if the government system’s working!”

your dad is still coughing. you’re standing there redder than a tomato. burning with mortification.

yeonjun, after a stunned beat, laughs. really laughs. full chest, head-tilted-back laughter that’s so contagious you can’t help but giggle through your hands.

“don’t encourage him,” you say, smacking his arm lightly.

he grins down at you, eyes sparkling. “i’m sorry, that was—really something.”

“he’s an idiot,” you mutter, still mortified.

“he’s your idiot,” he says, voice softer now.

you glance up at him and smile, something warm spreading in your chest. it surprises you, just how much that smile feels like home.

and even after the chaos settles, even after your mom manages to drag your brother back by the collar to apologize properly, even when you sit around the table laughing and eating and telling stories—there’s a small, secret current running beneath it all.

the way yeonjun’s hand grazes your lower back when he leans past you to grab a dish. the way you lean into him just slightly when your mom starts talking about your childhood, and he listens like he wants to know everything.

and when the night ends, and you both return to your apartment, it’s quieter—but it’s a good quiet. that kind of peace you only feel when someone’s truly, finally getting under your skin.

the drive back home is quiet, but not in a bad way. it’s the kind of silence that lingers after too much laughter, after too much emotion crammed into too little time. the windows are fogged slightly from your breaths, and the hum of the road is the only sound between you. outside, the city lights blur in soft halos, the streets wet from the rain earlier in the day, reflecting neon and moonlight.

you’re leaning against the car door, eyes heavy, body full from dinner, from memories, from everything. your family had insisted you stay the night, but you knew it would’ve made leaving harder. too emotional. too permanent. so you thanked them, smiled through the tightness in your throat, and left.

and now, here you are, beside him. yeonjun’s one hand is on the wheel, the other resting between the seats, fingers tapping idly against the console. you glance at it once. then again. his profile is calm, a faint curve to his lips like he’s still smiling at your brother’s chaos.

you break the silence first.

“sorry about today… my family can be a lot.”

he lets out a soft chuckle. “i liked it.”

you turn to him, a little surprised.

“really?”

he nods. “they’re… warm. chaotic, yeah, but it felt real. like they love you so much they don’t even try to hide it.”

you press your lips together, looking down at your lap, suddenly blinking back something stinging in your eyes. you weren’t expecting that answer. or maybe you were, but not the way it made your chest ache so gently.

“thanks,” you whisper.

you don’t realize you’re still staring at him until he speaks again, this time softer.

“and your brother…” he smirks a little. “i can’t believe he said that.”

you groan, hiding your face in your hands. “please don’t remind me.”

“i’m serious,” he laughs, and then looks over at you, his gaze lingering longer this time, “you were so red.”

“because it was embarrassing,” you shoot back, but your voice is lighter, warm with the trace of a smile.

his eyes flick down to your lips.

“you’re cute when you blush,” he murmurs, and it’s so quiet you’re not even sure he meant to say it out loud.

your breath catches. your heart stutters. suddenly the space between you feels smaller. the console is no longer an arm’s length—it’s a breath. the air is thicker. hotter.

you look at him, really look at him—his jaw sharp in the glow of passing streetlamps, the tendons in his neck tense, his grip on the wheel a little tighter now. he looks back, just briefly, but it’s enough. something electric pulses between you.

and then he pulls over.

not far from your building, not quite home yet—but enough to be alone. enough to pause. the engine hums low, a steady heartbeat in the silence. he doesn’t look at you right away, just stares forward, fingers tightening, loosening, tightening again on the wheel.

you feel your pulse in your throat.

“i…” he starts, then stops. he turns to you, eyes darker than before. clearer. “can i ask you something?”

you nod, heart racing.

“why did it bother you?” he asks quietly. “about the girl i told you about.”

you stare at him. that familiar heat returns to your chest, crawling up your neck. you bite the inside of your cheek before answering.

“i don’t know,” you lie at first. but then, you sigh. “maybe because it was real for you. maybe because… you had someone you wanted, once. and i never did. and now i’m supposed to just… live with that. pretend like i’m not wondering if she would’ve made you happier.”

he watches you for a long moment, expression unreadable. then, finally, he leans a little closer, voice low.

“do you think i’m not happy?”

your throat dries.

“are you?” you whisper.

he exhales slowly, shaking his head like he can’t believe he’s about to do this. and then he shifts, fully turning toward you. his fingers reach up, brushing lightly against your chin, lifting your face to his.

“you’re not her,” he says. “you’re you.”

and then, without waiting, without asking again—he kisses you.

it’s not urgent. not rough. it’s slow, deliberate, tender with something sharp hidden beneath. like he’s been holding it back for too long and now that it’s happening, he’s pouring everything into it. his hand cups your jaw, thumb stroking your cheek. your lips part before you even realize, and his tongue grazes yours, soft, testing, like he’s still asking if this is okay even now.

you melt into it.

your hand slides up his arm, gripping his bicep, grounding yourself as heat spreads through your veins. your bodies don’t move much, still confined by seatbelts and space, but it’s intimate. intense. and when he finally pulls back, breathing harder than before, he rests his forehead against yours.

“you’re not her,” he whispers again. “and thank god for that.”

you sit there, breaths mingling, skin flushed, hearts racing in tandem. your hand is still on his arm. his thumb is still tracing your cheek.

and this time, neither of you says a word. because you both know—something just changed again.

you’re not lovers. not yet.

but your hands brush again on the way to bed. he holds your gaze a little longer. and when you lie down, back to back, you find yourself pressing closer, just enough that your spine feels the heat of his chest.

you fall asleep like that.

and neither of you says a word.

you both had an appointment early in the morning. the ministry of civil labor had sent a formal notice last week, listing the available part-time positions for couples still enrolled in university, and now you were seated across from an administrative worker who barely looked up from her screen as she explained the contracts. yeonjun was placed in a logistics department for a government-run supply chain—something with inventory and system inputs. you were assigned to a small local archival center where they'd digitize old birth and marriage records, which felt ironic in a way that made your stomach twist.

“you’ll receive your first schedule by the end of the week,” the woman said without emotion, and you both nodded, signing at the bottom of the page, pens scratching the paper in tandem.

walking out of the building, yeonjun nudged your shoulder with his and whispered, “look at us. signing contracts like a real married couple.” and you rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help the smile pulling at your lips.

“you mean we weren’t real before?” you asked, raising a brow.

he smirked, unlocking the car and opening your door. “we were married on paper. now we’re married... and employed.”

you both laughed, climbing into the vehicle, and the warmth lingered even after the engine hummed to life. it was a quiet kind of happiness, soft and simple, like the feeling of your bare thighs against the leather seat, like the sun warming the dashboard. you wore a dress that day—casual, nothing too fancy, but it clung lightly to your frame in the breeze when you walked out earlier, and you caught the way yeonjun had looked at you from the corner of your eye. not blatant. just... noticing.

the road was mostly empty. the hum of tires on pavement filled the silence as the laughter faded, replaced by something thicker. something weightier.

at a red light, he stopped the car smoothly, one hand still on the steering wheel. the other lifted, slowly, casually, and without looking at you, he placed it on your thigh.

he didn’t squeeze. he didn’t slide his fingers higher. just let his palm rest there, warm and firm, like it belonged.

your breath hitched.

you tried not to move, tried not to tense up, but the sensation crawled up your spine like wildfire. it was such a simple touch, so ordinary, but it landed somewhere deep in your belly—hot, twisting, coiling. your skin tingled where his fingers barely pressed into the flesh, and your thighs felt suddenly, achingly aware of how little separated them from him.

he said nothing.

neither did you.

but your body betrayed you—the way your chest rose a little faster, the way your knees shifted slightly, as if trying to find an answer to the question that touch had asked.

the light turned green.

he drove on.

his hand didn’t move.

the silence stretched, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. it was charged. heavy with something that neither of you dared name yet.

you exhaled, slow and shaky, and he glanced at you briefly, lips curving—not into a smirk, but something softer. something fond. he rubbed his thumb in a slow arc, barely there, and your fingers curled around the hem of your dress to keep from shaking.

by the time you got home, the tension had woven itself into your skin like a second layer. you both stepped out of the car and walked toward the apartment quietly, but the air buzzed with every step.

inside, the routine resumed—shoes off, bags down, water poured into glasses—but your thoughts were nowhere near the surface. every time he passed behind you, you felt his presence more than you saw him. every brush of his hand, every graze of his arm felt like a firestarter.

you stood near the sink, rinsing the cups, when he came up behind you. didn’t touch you. just stood close enough that you felt the heat of his chest on your back, close enough that your breathing stuttered.

“need help?” he murmured, voice low, mouth near your ear.

you shook your head, but your body leaned slightly into him anyway. traitorously.

his hands didn’t move—not yet—but his presence surrounded you, a quiet pressure that built with every second. you turned your head slightly to glance at him, and the proximity was enough to make you both pause. your lips weren’t touching, but they could’ve. your noses almost brushed.

and then he reached for the cup beside you, taking it slowly, deliberately, his fingers brushing yours. your breath caught again.

“thanks,” he said, voice still low.

you watched him walk away, your hands trembling under the water, and you knew—tonight, you wouldn’t be able to pretend this tension didn’t exist. it was burning its way into your bones.

that night, everything felt like it was humming. the silence between you wasn’t really silence—it was full of what hadn’t been said, of what hadn’t been done but nearly was. the ghost of yeonjun’s hand on your thigh still lingered, burned into your skin. your legs still tingled from the pressure, the weight, the heat. and when he brushed past you in the kitchen again after dinner, it felt deliberate. or maybe you just wanted it to be.

your heart hadn’t settled since the drive home.

later, after you’d both changed into your sleep clothes, you met again in the hallway, the light above you casting a golden hue that made his skin look warm and soft. you paused at the same time, eyes locking. your breath caught in your throat, because he wasn’t just looking at you—he was seeing you. seeing the hem of your shirt, the way it clung slightly to your waist. seeing the bare stretch of your legs, your collarbone, the fine line of your neck.

you thought he’d say something.

he didn’t.

he just stepped past you, heading to the shared living room like usual. the storm from earlier had passed, leaving a cool breeze in its wake. you followed, drawn to him like always. you both sat on the couch, feet tucked beneath you, shoulders close but not quite touching. it was dark. the power had gone out temporarily again, only the soft blue emergency lights casting faint shadows across his face.

“you’re quiet,” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

“just thinking,” he replied, his tone low, almost distant.

you turned your head toward him. “about what?”

he hesitated. “about earlier... the car. and how it felt.”

you sucked in a soft breath. “me too.”

silence again.

and then, slowly, as if guided by instinct, he reached over and touched your hand. fingers brushing the back of yours. the contact was small. barely anything. but it was enough to pull the air from your lungs. you turned your palm and laced your fingers with his.

it felt dangerous.

he looked at your joined hands like he didn’t recognize his own, and then back at you—his eyes darker than usual, hooded, like he was holding back a tide. you weren’t sure who moved first. maybe it was him. maybe it was you. but one second you were sitting apart, and the next your bodies were angled toward each other, your knees brushing, your breaths tangled. his hand cupped your jaw gently, fingers trembling against your skin, and he leaned in, close enough that his lips nearly grazed yours.

your pulse roared in your ears.

his mouth touched yours like a whisper—featherlight, testing.

you responded before you could think, lips parting for him, heat blooming low in your stomach like wildfire. the kiss deepened slowly, wet and slow and dizzying. his tongue brushed yours, cautious at first, then more certain, like he needed to taste you, like he was starved. your hand curled into his shirt, tugging him closer, and he groaned softly into your mouth, deep and breathless.

his hand slid down your side, fingers skating over the thin fabric of your sleep shirt, and you gasped when they reached your hip. he pulled you into his lap, your thighs straddling him, bodies pressed together too close to ignore. the heat between you crackled—your hips shifted without thinking, and you felt the hardness of him, solid and hot beneath you.

his lips broke from yours for a second, his breathing rough. “fuck... y/n...”

his hands gripped your thighs, sliding up, thumbs brushing the edge of your underwear. you whimpered, pressing closer, grinding down gently. it was heady. dizzying. perfect.

and then—

his phone rang.

the sound shattered the moment like glass.

you both froze.

you were on his lap, panting, trembling, your lips swollen from the kiss, your heart pounding like a war drum. he didn’t move for a second. then he cursed under his breath and gently lifted you off him, muttering a strained apology as he reached for the phone. his voice cracked when he answered, trying to sound normal.

you stood there, stunned, breathing hard, still tasting him on your tongue.

after the call, which only lasted a few seconds, he didn’t look at you.

“i think... i’ll sleep in my room tonight,” he said quietly.

you blinked. “oh.”

he didn’t explain.

he just walked away.

and something cold settled in your chest.

you crawled into your bed alone, wrapping the blanket around yourself tightly, but you couldn’t sleep. not when you still felt the ghost of his hands on your body. not when your lips were still tingling from the kiss. not when he had looked at you like he needed you, and then walked away without a word.

you turned over. again. again. and again. your heart ached with confusion. was it too much? did he regret it? had you done something wrong?

you couldn’t take it anymore.

you got up, padded down the hall to his room, and raised your fist to knock.

but then you froze.

because you heard it.

soft, muffled sounds, irregular breathing. your eyes widened.

a low groan, deep and drawn out.

then a quiet, wet sound—rhythmic, unmistakable.

your breath caught.

you didn’t mean to listen. but you couldn’t move.

then, you heard it.

“y/n...”

your name, moaned out—quiet but desperate. raw. like a confession.

your knees weakened.

another moan, louder this time, almost a whimper.

and then—your name again, breathless, almost broken, followed by the sound of skin slapping softly against skin, faster now.

he was close.

he was touching himself.

thinking of you.

you pressed your palm to your mouth, trying not to make a sound, cheeks burning, body trembling. you shouldn’t be here. you shouldn’t hear this. but your legs wouldn’t move. your breath came in shaky gasps, your heart thundering as heat rushed between your thighs, pooling heavy and hot.

you didn’t know what this meant.

but you knew one thing.

he wanted you.

and now, you didn’t think you could ever look at him the same again.

you didn’t mean to lean closer.

you didn’t mean to press your ear too tightly against the door.

but your balance faltered—just a second too long standing on your toes, your weight shifting, your breath too shallow—and suddenly your foot slipped on the edge of the smooth hallway floor. a soft, startled sound escaped your throat as your body tilted sideways, your hand fumbling for the wall, failing.

and then—thud.

a soft crash, your hip hitting the floor, your palms slapping down just in time to soften the fall. you gasped and quickly clamped your hand over your mouth, praying he hadn’t heard, that you hadn’t been loud enough—but inside, panic bloomed like fire. your chest heaved as you tried to stay perfectly still, your cheeks on fire, the oversized t-shirt—his t-shirt—riding high around your waist from the fall.

then you heard the shuffle. footsteps. hurried. a sudden rush from the other side.

“y/n?” his voice was sharp. worried. confused.

before you could react, the door swung open.

and there he was.

yeonjun.

bare-chested, sweat clinging to his collarbones, his hair disheveled, lips swollen and flushed, his hand still adjusting the waistband of his boxers as if he hadn’t had time to fix himself. and then he saw you.

on the floor.

his shirt up around your waist.

your bare thighs. your panties exposed.

your hand covering your mouth, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights.

time froze.

he stared at you, blinking once, then again. his mouth parted, but no words came out. his gaze dropped—just for a heartbeat—but you saw it. the flicker. the hunger. the tension that snapped into existence like a spark to gasoline.

you scrambled to tug the shirt down, cheeks burning, breath caught.

“i—i slipped, i wasn’t—i mean—”

“were you listening?” his voice came out low. rough.

you opened your mouth, then shut it. your throat tightened. your heart was pounding so violently you felt it behind your eyes.

“y/n…” he whispered, stepping closer.

your breath hitched.

“i heard you,” he said, his voice strained now. “outside the door. you… you heard me too, didn’t you?”

you nodded slowly, like it was all you could manage.

he knelt beside you without thinking, his hands hovering for a moment before one slid to the small of your back, the other cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing your skin gently, eyes searching yours. “you heard me… say your name.”

you couldn’t speak.

“fuck,” he whispered. “i didn’t mean for you to know. i tried to walk away because i couldn’t control it. i thought... if i gave us space—”

“why?” your voice cracked. “why did you walk away after kissing me like that?”

his jaw clenched. “because i wanted more. i wanted too much.”

your lips trembled. “me too.”

something inside him snapped.

he surged forward, his lips crashing into yours with a hunger that was no longer restrained. this wasn’t careful. this wasn’t gentle. this was weeks of stolen glances and soft touches and building need exploding all at once. his mouth was hot, possessive, his hand slipping to your thigh, then gripping, pulling you into him as you moaned against his lips.

you tasted everything—desperation, desire, the salt on his skin from sweat, the sound of his breath ragged and wild. you clung to him, your fingers digging into his bare shoulders as he leaned you back slowly onto the hallway floor, his body covering yours, fitting against you perfectly. your thighs opened for him without thought, welcoming the pressure of his hips between them, the hardness of him pressing directly against the wet heat soaking your panties.

“fuck, y/n,” he groaned against your mouth, “you have no idea what you do to me.”

his hand slid beneath the hem of the shirt—his shirt—the one you wore to sleep every night, the one that smelled like him. his palm caressed your waist, your ribs, then cupped your breast softly over the fabric of your bra, his thumb teasing the sensitive peak until you whimpered, arching up into him.

“you shouldn’t be here,” he rasped, but didn’t stop. “i’m trying so hard to do this right. to be careful.”

“then don’t,” you whispered back, your voice broken, needful. “don’t be careful.”

his eyes burned into yours.

his lips kissed down your jaw, your neck, biting softly at the tender skin just below your ear. “you’re gonna make me lose it,” he growled.

“maybe i want you to.”

his hand slipped lower, over your stomach, fingers grazing the band of your panties—when suddenly—

a sharp knock on the front door shattered the moment.

you both froze.

his chest rose and fell against yours, his forehead dropping to your shoulder.

another knock. then a voice from outside.

“government delivery. lights restored. system check.”

“fuck,” he hissed.

he helped you sit up, both of you breathing like you’d just run miles.

you looked at each other.

your lips swollen. your skin flushed. your bodies aching.

you wanted to scream.

but instead you swallowed it down, tugged the shirt over your thighs, stood on shaky legs. he followed you in silence, running a hand through his messy hair, still visibly hard, still clearly affected.

“i’m sorry,” he whispered.

you didn’t respond.

because you weren’t sure you wanted him to be.

you weren’t sure what you expected when you whispered, maybe i want you to. maybe you thought he would pull away, maybe he’d laugh and tell you to go to bed, that you were just talking nonsense, caught up in the tension of it all. but he didn’t. instead, the room stayed still, save for the thrum of the rain against the windows and the sound of his breathing, which was slow, deep, heavier now, as he looked down at you with something dark and burning in his eyes.

his voice was low, but not soft. "do you know what you're saying?" he asked, barely above a whisper. you nodded, your throat too tight to speak. you could feel his body, warm and solid, pressed against yours as he leaned in again, and this time the kiss wasn’t tentative. it was hungry, deeper, drawn out, and you could taste the restraint in him, the way he held himself back even as his hand gripped your waist tighter.

you barely noticed how he guided you back onto the mattress until your head hit the pillow. your fingers curled around the fabric of his shirt, the same one you'd stolen from him to sleep in, and now it was twisted between your hands as he kissed you again and again, lips trailing down the line of your jaw, the hollow of your throat, your pulse fluttering under his mouth.

every touch was slow, deliberate. when his hands slid under the hem of the shirt you wore, it wasn’t rushed—it was reverent. he looked at you like you were something sacred, something he’d been aching for, something forbidden and now finally his. his fingers traced the line of your hip, the soft skin just beneath your navel, pausing just above the waistband of your panties. you shivered beneath him, your body responding before your mind could catch up.

"tell me if you want me to stop," he murmured, his forehead pressed against yours. you shook your head immediately, a breathy no escaping your lips before you could second guess it. and something in him broke. or maybe it snapped into place. he kissed you like it was the only thing keeping him alive, his hands roaming, learning the shape of you, the softness of your thighs, the arch of your back as you gasped under his touch.

he took his time. he whispered how beautiful you were, how long he had wanted you like this, how the thought of you in his bed had driven him insane since that first night the storm pushed you into his arms. every kiss lower was met with a pause, a glance, asking, confirming, cherishing. his hands didn’t fumble; they explored, gentle and firm, his mouth hot against your skin.

you had never felt like this before. it was more than arousal—it was a kind of unraveling, a melting of all the fear and restraint you had carried for so long. the rules, the systems, the cold logic of the world outside—none of it existed here. here, in his arms, you were just a girl wanting a boy. no laws. no assignments. no duties.

just him. just you.

and when he finally touched you, really touched you, the moan that escaped you was soft, stunned, your fingers digging into his shoulder as he kissed the side of your neck. you were wet, aching, needy in a way you hadn’t even known your body could feel, and yeonjun seemed to know exactly how to handle you—teasing, stroking, whispering your name like it was a prayer.

his own self-control was fraying at the edges. you could feel it in the way his breath hitched, the way his voice broke when he groaned your name against your collarbone, the way his hips rocked against your thigh without even realizing it.

"you make me crazy," he whispered, biting gently at your shoulder. "since that kiss. since that first night. fuck—i think about you all the time. you wearing my shirt, you laughing in the kitchen, you sleeping next to me—"

"yeonjun," you gasped, your back arching as his fingers slid beneath your panties, finally, finally touching you where you needed him most. he cursed under his breath, kissing you again as your legs parted naturally for him.

he kept you on the edge, slow, patient, as if he was memorizing every sound you made, every breath you took. he didn’t rush to have you—not yet. this was still the prelude, the first taste, the careful unraveling. but you were close. too close.

and then.

he leaned over you again, lips brushing your ear, his voice hoarse. "can i make love to you?"

you nodded, heart pounding. "yes. please."

every movement after that was reverent, every sigh swallowed into a kiss, every tremble in your limbs steadied by his hands. he helped you out of your panties, gently, and shed his own clothes with a kind of urgency that was quiet, controlled, but full of need. when he settled between your legs, he paused, eyes meeting yours with a question so full of tenderness it made your chest ache.

his hand wrapped around himself, and your breath caught in your throat. he was thick, long—too much. your eyes widened without meaning to, and he noticed, chuckling softly as he kissed the corner of your mouth.

“it’s okay,” he whispered, but your voice came out shaky when you murmured. “it won’t fit…” he hushed you gently, his palm stroking down your thigh.

“we’ll go slow,” he promised, though the way his jaw clenched told you even he was struggling to hold back.

the stretch was new, unfamiliar, but he moved slowly, letting you adjust, kissing you through the discomfort, murmuring praises against your lips. he held you like you were fragile, like the world would stop spinning if he hurt you, and when you finally relaxed around him, he moved with a rhythm that spoke of restraint and reverence, yet underneath it burned a fire he could barely contain.

it was gentle, yes, but not shy. it was soft, but not without heat. the way he groaned when your nails scraped down his back, the way he whispered your name like it anchored him—it was everything. his hands never stopped touching you, his mouth never far from yours, and the way he looked at you made you feel like you were the center of the universe.

the pace picked up only slightly, but the angle shifted when he gently maneuvered your body, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder before whispering, “turn around for me, baby.” your heart skipped as you obeyed, rolling onto your stomach, your cheek resting against his pillow, flushed and dazed, breath hot against the fabric. he settled behind you, large hands caressing the curve of your hips, his voice low and rough against your ear. “you look so good like this… fuck, i could lose my mind.”

you felt him guide himself back in, slower this time, deeper, and the gasp that left you was nothing short of a whimper, your back arching instinctively. the new position had him hitting that spot—the spot—with a precision that made your eyes roll back, your mouth dropping open against the pillow. “yeonjun—oh my god—” you choked, voice muffled, and he groaned above you, one hand gripping your waist as the other gently turned your face just enough so he could kiss your parted lips. “look at you,” he breathed, panting, watching your blissed-out expression with dark, desperate eyes. “you feel so fucking good—so tight around me… you were made for me, weren’t you?”

your voice came out broken, shaking. “it feels s-so good… i can’t—yeonjun, i—” but you didn’t need to finish. he could feel it. your body clenching around him with every slow, deep thrust. he bent over you, chest pressed to your back, skin to skin, and whispered filth in your ear in between kisses down your spine. “such a good girl,” he rasped, “taking me so well… fuck, i’m close. i can’t—i need to pull out…”

you nodded weakly, barely able to breathe, trembling as he gave one more thrust, then another—and with a strangled moan of your name, he pulled out and spilled his release onto the dip of your lower back, hot and heavy against your skin, dripping down to your ass. he groaned, his forehead against your shoulder, panting hard as he tried to come down from the high. “fuck, you’re perfect,” he murmured, voice ragged. “so fucking perfect.”

when he collapsed beside you, he didn’t pull away. his arms wrapped around you, pulling you into his chest, both of you still catching your breath. the rain still tapped gently against the windows, the room now full of the scent of sweat and skin, of something new, something sacred.

"i’ve wanted you for so long," he murmured against your hair.

"i know," you whispered back, curling into him.

and for once, you didn’t feel cold. you didn’t feel alone. you didn’t feel like someone forced into something by a cruel system. you felt wanted. chosen.

his.

yours.

the morning came too quickly, the sun bleeding gently through the curtains, casting a golden warmth across the tangled sheets. your body still ached in the most delicious ways, and your skin was marked with soft reminders of his mouth, his hands, the way he held you like you were breakable and wanted all at once. you hadn’t said much when you woke. yeonjun had only kissed your forehead, helped you get dressed, and now you were sitting in the waiting room of the ministry’s planning clinic, the air sterile and overly bright.

the doctor, a warm-looking woman with gentle eyes and an enthusiastic tone, greeted you both like old friends. “ah! newlyweds,” she smiled, scanning her clipboard. “i see you’ve finally started your sexual life together. that’s wonderful news!”

your cheeks flamed immediately, and beside you, yeonjun coughed, suddenly fascinated by a poster about prenatal vitamins on the wall. “uh, yeah,” you mumbled, barely able to meet her gaze.

“good, good,” she said brightly, motioning for you to follow her behind a curtain for a quick checkup. “we need to make sure everything’s healthy and progressing normally. it’s still early, but we want to optimize for fertility, yes?”

you nodded, letting her guide you onto the examination table. her hands were professional, but the whole thing still made your stomach twist. you were sore—still a little tender—and she noticed, humming under her breath.

“you’re fine,” she reassured you, adjusting her gloves. “some sensitivity is natural after a first experience. but you’re healthy, everything looks good.” she smiled. “do you track your cycle, darling?”

you nodded slowly, fingers tightening on the edge of the table. “yes… i keep a calendar.”

“perfect. when was your last period?”

you told her, and she did some quick math on her tablet before her smile brightened. “then your most fertile window should be starting in about four days. if you’re trying to conceive—and you should be, of course—it’s best to be active every other day during that period. that increases the chances significantly.”

you wanted to sink into the floor. “o-oh.”

“don’t be shy. this is natural.” she patted your knee, then stood. “you’re young and healthy. your compatibility score is ideal. You just need to be consistent now. and relaxed. it should be something enjoyable.”

you weren’t sure what your face looked like when you stepped out, but yeonjun blinked and stood instantly. the doctor gave him a little wink and whispered something about keeping the environment fun, and you could practically feel the tension coil between your ribs as you exited the building together.

the ride home was quiet for a while. the hum of the engine, the soft buzz of traffic, the way your thighs were pressed together beneath your dress. he tapped the wheel with his fingers, sneaking glances at you out of the corner of his eye.

finally, you exhaled. “she said i’m entering my fertile window soon.”

his hands stilled on the steering wheel.

“in four days,” you added, your voice too high, too soft.

“oh.”

another silence.

“and she said we should—uh—every other day. during that window. for higher chances.”

“right.” he adjusted his grip again. “makes sense.”

but neither of you looked at each other. because the thing was, last night hadn’t felt like a scheduled duty. it hadn’t felt like a requirement, or a step in a plan designed by the state. it had felt messy, desperate, slow, sweet, and hungry. it had felt human.

and now the idea of doing it again, like you were just checking off boxes on a clinical list, felt… weird.

“does it feel weird?” you blurted, staring out the window.

yeonjun looked at you, startled. “what?”

“this. talking about it. like it’s a chore or something. when last night—” you trailed off, cheeks heating.

he nodded slowly. “it feels weird because it wasn’t just about the system. it was… about us.” his voice was quiet, unsure, but honest.

you twisted your fingers in your lap, the weight of his words settling between your thighs like the lingering ache from last night. you didn’t know how to act now—how to go from that kind of vulnerability to pretending you were just following instructions.

“i want to do it again,” you admitted, so softly it could’ve been mistaken for a breath. “but not because of the calendar. because… i liked how it felt. with you.”

his knuckles tightened on the wheel, his jaw clenching as he looked at you again. something in his eyes flickered—warm, molten, restrained. “good,” he said roughly. “because i haven’t stopped thinking about it since i woke up.”

your breath caught.

the red light ahead turned green, but neither of you were breathing normally anymore.

this wasn’t just about reproduction.

not anymore.

and neither of you knew how to navigate that yet—but the thought of exploring it again?

set your blood on fire.

you didn’t even make it past the front door.

as soon as it clicked shut behind you, he turned to you like something had snapped loose inside him—like the silence in the car, the weight of what had been said at the clinic, the image of you squirming in your seat all flushed and embarrassed, had pushed him past the edge. his hand cupped the back of your neck, pulling you in with a force that made your breath stutter, his lips crashing into yours with none of the hesitation from the night before. it was need—pure, undiluted need—and you melted into it like you’d been waiting all day.

your back hit the wall, your fingers clawing at the hem of his shirt, dragging it up over his abs while he kissed you like it was the only thing keeping him alive. his hands found your thighs, lifted you slightly, pressing your hips together in a rhythm already too hungry for the softness of conversation.

you moaned into his mouth, and that was it—he growled low in his throat, carrying you the few messy steps to the living room, collapsing with you onto the couch in a tangle of limbs and breathless gasps. you straddled him instinctively, the dress you wore bunching at your hips, and the way you ground down against him made him curse under his breath, hands tightening on your waist.

"fuck, baby, you're driving me insane," he muttered, kissing down your jaw, your neck, your collarbone, dragging the straps of your dress off your shoulders as his thumbs traced soft, dizzying circles into your skin.

"then do something about it," you whispered, breathless, rocking your hips again just to feel him buck up into you, so hard already it made your mouth go dry.

he didn't need more encouragement.

he kissed down your chest, taking his time, pulling down the top of your dress to reveal more skin, his mouth hot and greedy as he licked and sucked at your breasts, tongue flicking over your nipple until you were gasping his name. his fingers pushed the fabric higher, baring your panties and the damp patch growing darker by the second, and he groaned, burying his face between your thighs like he needed to taste you just to stay sane.

you cried out, your hands tangled in his hair, legs shaking as his tongue worked slow, devastating circles against your clit, sucking gently, teasing you with the edge of release only to pull away. “so wet for me already,” he whispered, voice thick, lips glistening. “you’ve been thinking about this since the car, haven’t you?”

you nodded, eyes fluttering shut, and he rewarded you by sucking harder, his fingers slipping inside to stretch you just right, his other hand holding your hips down while you rode the edge again and again until you whimpered, begging, thighs trembling.

“please, yeonjun… i need you, now.”

he didn’t make you ask twice.

he pulled you onto his lap again, kissing you deep, letting you taste yourself on his lips. and then he stood, shifting you onto the couch, turning your body gently, hands guiding your knees onto the cushions, your chest pressed to the armrest, your ass up for him—offered, exposed, throbbing.

"you’re so fucking perfect like this," he whispered, one hand sliding up your spine, the other gripping your hip as he positioned himself behind you, dragging the tip of his cock along your slit, teasing, wet and hot.

you whimpered, pushing back slightly, and when he slid in, inch by inch, you gasped—eyes rolling back, the stretch sharp and addictive all over again.

“fuck, you feel even tighter like this,” he groaned, sinking in all the way until your ass met his hips. “you’re gonna ruin me.”

he started to move slowly, the position letting him hit deeper, every thrust punching little moans from your lips. the slap of skin against skin echoed through the room, his hands gripping your waist, your thighs, your hair. and still, he kissed your spine, leaned over you, whispered filth against your neck.

“you like this, baby? you like being fucked like this?”

“yes—yes, fuck, yeonjun—it feels so good—”

he reached around, rubbed slow circles against your clit as he fucked into you deeper, faster, making you cry out into the pillow, your body arching under him, thighs shaking again.

"let me see your face," he panted, one hand turning your head slightly so he could kiss you, so he could see your expression—your flushed cheeks, your lips parted, eyes unfocused.

“you’re so fucking beautiful like this,” he growled. “you’re gonna make me come just looking at you.”

you felt it building again, heat coiling low in your belly, your body tightening, trembling, your moans turning desperate as he kept you right on the edge, hitting that perfect spot inside you over and over.

“yeonjun—i’m gonna—”

“me too—fuck—i need to pull out—”

but you reached back, grabbing his hand, voice shaking. “don’t. please. come inside.”

he choked on a moan, hips stuttering, and then he was spilling into you with a groan so deep it made your toes curl, holding you tight as he filled you completely, shaking from the force of it. your own climax hit just seconds later, white-hot and blinding, and you collapsed onto the couch, boneless, his body draped over yours, both of you gasping for air.

his come dripped slowly down your thighs, warmth spreading between them, and he didn’t move—just pressed gentle kisses to your shoulder, your back, your spine, whispering your name like it was the only word he knew.

neither of you said anything for a long time.

but you both knew.

there was no going back.

the following days slipped into a blur of aching need and restless nights. you both tried to keep the doctor’s advice in mind, to space out your moments, to give your bodies time to recover, but desire doesn’t listen to calendars or rules. every morning, before you left for university, you found yourselves tangled together, breathless and desperate, fingers tracing familiar curves as if memorizing every inch again and again. afternoons after classes weren’t any different; the moment you closed the door behind you, yeonjun’s hands were already on your waist, pulling you close, his lips claiming yours with the same fierce hunger that never dulled.

the days were a patchwork of stolen touches and whispered promises, of quick, heated moments before rushing to your part-time jobs—him with the university’s cultural center, tutoring students in language and literature, and you at a small café nearby, pouring coffee and smiling through the haze of exhaustion and longing. you came home exhausted but your body still hummed with anticipation, the ache of missing him settling low and deep, urging you back into his arms. your skin grew sensitive, your senses sharper; even the smallest brush of fingers sparked a fire beneath your skin.

and every time he pulled you close, you let him come inside you—every time—forgetting the cautious rhythm the doctor had suggested, letting your bodies rewrite the rules in the heat of the moment. the cool logic of planning was swallowed whole by your hunger, your need to be closer, to feel him deeper, to lose yourselves entirely in the mess and sweetness of this forbidden, stolen intimacy.

sometimes you’d catch yourself wondering if the doctor would be surprised—or scandalized—to know how little control you really had, how much your hearts raced and how your bodies begged for more. but in those moments, all that mattered was yeonjun’s warm breath against your neck, the way his hands shaped you like a secret only he was meant to know, and the way your own voice trembled when you whispered his name.

it was messy, it was frantic, but it was yours. and for the first time since everything began, it felt like freedom.

you were wiping down the counter when one of your coworkers, a woman named hana, leaned over with a gentle smile. she was older than you, maybe 35, and had a quiet confidence about her that made people listen. she lowered her voice just a little, as if sharing a secret.

“you know, i was assigned a husband too. i thought it would be awful, honestly. i was scared. but it turned out to be the best thing that ever happened to me. at first, i wasn’t sure if i could love him, or if he even cared. but slowly, i saw who he really was. and now, i’m so happy. we have two kids, and we’re thinking about a third. it’s scary, getting older, but i go to family planning a lot, trying to make sure it’s possible. the government even recognized me for wanting to keep repopulating. it’s strange, isn’t it? how these arrangements can lead to something real.”

you nodded, the thought settling deep inside your chest. could yeonjun and you be like that someday? sure, you cared for him. he was your husband, your partner in this harsh world. you pictured mornings waking up next to him, the soft light catching his face, the two of you building a life, maybe even raising children together. but love — real love? you had never felt it before, not like this. the feeling was foreign, like a story you’d read but never lived. still, yeonjun was everything to you, and that was enough for now.

later that day, when your shift ended, yeonjun was waiting by the door like always, leaning casually against his car. you slipped inside and immediately started talking about your day, the small victories, the tiring moments. he listened, eyes bright, then shared his own stories, laughter in his voice. the rhythm of your lives syncing quietly, comfortably.

and then, on a quiet street, just as the light ahead turned red, you suddenly blurted out, “do you love me?”

the car jerked slightly as yeonjun slammed on the brakes, both of you moving forward with the momentum. the question hung between you, heavy and unexpected.

he was silent for a moment, gaze fixed on the road ahead, and you could almost see the weight of the thought pressing on him. love was a strange word, loaded with promises and fears. but then his eyes met yours in the rearview mirror, steady and sure.

“i do,” he said slowly, voice low but certain. “maybe not like the stories you hear — wild and all-consuming — but i love you. from the moment i saw you, from that first kiss in the storm, from every day since. every laugh, every touch, every quiet moment. it’s real. and it will only grow.”

your heart fluttered in a way that was both new and familiar, and when the light turned green, he eased forward, hands gripping the wheel a little tighter.

back at the apartment, the world outside disappeared as yeonjun pulled you close. the night was gentle but full of fire, his hands exploring with a tenderness that spoke of trust and deep desire. lips brushed your skin with reverence, soft whispers mingling with quiet moans. you traced the curve of his neck, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips. every touch was a promise, every kiss a new discovery.

he took his time, patient and caring, making sure you felt cherished, safe. the moments stretched between you, slow and delicious, as if the world had paused just for this — for the two of you, tangled in sheets and warmth, sharing something sacred.

and as you finally melted into him, the love he had spoken of filled the space between your bodies, unspoken but undeniable.

“congratulations,” the doctor said, her voice warm, glowing even, as if she had just handed you the entire sky. “you’re pregnant.”

the world stilled.

you blinked, lips parting, heartbeat stuttering in your chest. yeonjun, who had just stepped inside the room after waiting anxiously outside, froze beside you. his eyes darted from your stunned face to the doctor and back again, like he was trying to make sure he’d heard correctly.

“what?” you breathed, voice barely there.

the doctor smiled, gentle and knowing, like this was her favorite kind of moment to deliver. “you’re about six weeks along. everything looks good so far. the symptoms you’ve been experiencing — the nausea, the cravings, the mood swings — they all point to a healthy early pregnancy. we’ll begin prenatal care from today.”

you felt yeonjun’s fingers slip into yours, holding tight, like he needed to anchor himself. like you were both floating. he didn’t say anything right away — his throat worked around words he couldn’t seem to find — but his hand trembled slightly in yours.

the tears came slowly, not from fear or sadness, but from something else entirely. wonder. disbelief. awe.

a baby.

your baby.

with him.

“i…” you started, then shook your head with a small, breathless laugh. “i thought it was just stress. i didn’t want to hope.”

“and yet, here we are,” the doctor said kindly. “your next steps will be regular checkups, nutrition monitoring, and continued intimacy when you feel comfortable. you’re doing great already.”

you could hardly focus after that — her voice faded to a background hum as your eyes lifted to meet yeonjun’s. he was already looking at you, completely undone. his gaze was soft, watery, reverent. like you were something holy.

he squeezed your hand. “we’re going to be parents,” he whispered, like saying it out loud would make it real.

and it did.

you nodded, blinking away fresh tears. “we’re going to be a family.”

the drive home was quiet, but not empty. yeonjun kept stealing glances at you at every stoplight, like he couldn’t quite believe you were real — like he couldn’t believe the little life beginning inside you was real. his hand never left yours on the console between you, thumb tracing absent-minded circles over your knuckles.

when you stepped into the apartment, he didn’t let go. he guided you gently to the couch, like you might break if he wasn’t careful. and then he was kneeling in front of you, both hands now on your stomach, even though there was nothing visible yet — just warmth. just possibility.

“thank you,” he whispered. “for this. for you. for everything.”

you touched his hair, carding your fingers through the soft strands, heart swelling. “i didn’t do this alone, junnie.”

he leaned forward, lips brushing your still-flat belly, and then rested his forehead there, breathing slow and deep. “i’m gonna do everything i can to be good to you. to them. we didn’t choose this world, but i’ll choose you every day in it.”

you’d never felt more seen. more loved.

later that night, he held you closer than ever in bed, your back to his chest, one hand cradling your stomach, the other tangled with yours. the rain tapped gently against the window again, just like it had the night everything between you shifted.

and now it had shifted again.

you weren’t just husband and wife anymore.

you were parents.

you were a beginning.

and wrapped in his arms, with his heartbeat pressed against your spine, you let yourself dream — not of what the government wanted, not of duty or numbers, but of soft mornings and tiny fingers, of lullabies and laughter echoing through the walls.

of a future you hadn’t dared imagine.

but now, it was here.

growing inside you.

growing between you.

and it was love.

the apartment smelled of cake and laughter. pink balloons were tied to every chair, streamers hung slightly lopsided from the ceiling, and tiny frosting handprints decorated the corners of the tablecloth. your baby girl — chaeyeon — had turned one.

she was currently asleep in your arms, a little drool soaking into your blouse, her tiny chest rising and falling in perfect rhythm. you'd never seen her smile so much in one day, or so determined to wobble around on her chubby legs while everyone clapped for her.

your parents had cried. yeonjun’s mother had brought enough food to feed an entire village. your brother had looked absolutely horrified when asked to hold chaeyeon and had instead stood frozen like she was made of glass. yeonjun’s older brothers had been more relaxed — juggling their own kids, swapping parenting tips with you and yeonjun, their wives giggling over how much yeonjun had softened in just a year.

it was a blur of love. of family. of a happiness you never expected from a life that had once felt forced upon you.

now it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

when the door closed behind the last guest, you let out a long breath and leaned against it. yeonjun was on his knees collecting bits of wrapping paper and cupcake crumbs, his sleeves rolled up and his hair a bit messy from carrying hana all afternoon.

“i think i have frosting in places i didn’t know were possible,” he muttered.

you giggled and padded over, gently placing a hand on his head. “she’s finally asleep. like… deep asleep. miracle of miracles.”

he looked up at you and smiled, slow and soft. “we survived our first birthday party.”

“barely.”

you both laughed, exhausted but giddy, and after tidying up the last of the chaos, you shuffled into your shared bedroom — the one that now held a rocking chair, a baby monitor, and the scent of lavender oil and baby lotion.

you sat on the bed, back against the headboard, and looked at yeonjun as he pulled off his shirt and tossed it aside. his skin glowed faintly from the sweat of the day, and his eyes were crinkled with something tender when he looked at you.

“hard to believe we’ve made it here,” you murmured.

“i know.” he crawled onto the bed beside you, resting his head against your shoulder. “long time ago we were just trying to figure out how to be in the same room without losing our minds.”

“or jumping each other.”

he snorted, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “that too.”

you fell quiet for a moment, fingers brushing through his hair. “when they told me we were being assigned… i hated it. the system felt so cruel. mechanical. like love didn’t matter.”

“me too,” he admitted, voice low. “i kept wondering who you’d be. if you’d hate me. if i’d hate you.”

“and now… i can’t imagine waking up without you next to me.” you turned your face into his hair, breathing him in. “you’ve become everything.”

he lifted his head, eyes dark with something more than just love. “you gave me a family. you gave me her.”

“we gave her to each other,” you whispered, lips brushing his.

he kissed you then — slow, deep, familiar in a way that made your toes curl. and when he pulled back, eyes half-lidded, he murmured, “i need you.”

“then take me,” you breathed.

you barely finished speaking before he was on you, lips claiming yours again, more urgent this time, tongue teasing, his hands slipping beneath your shirt to cup your breasts. you gasped, arching into his touch as he rolled a thumb over your nipple.

“fuck, i love how sensitive you still are,” he muttered against your neck, biting softly before soothing the skin with kisses. “you get wet the second i touch you, don’t you?”

you nodded, already trembling as he dragged your panties down your thighs, fingers grazing your slick folds. “you make me like this… only you.”

he groaned, dipping two fingers inside you, curling them just right, his thumb circling your clit until your hips were grinding against his hand.

“look at you,” he said, voice rough, “needy little wife. always so eager for me. i could fuck you for hours and it still wouldn’t be enough, would it?”

“never enough,” you panted, nails digging into his shoulders. “please, junnie—”

he flipped you onto your stomach, lifting your hips until you were on all fours, head turned into the pillow. “you know what this does to me, seeing you like this,” he growled, running the head of his cock through your folds before slowly pushing in. “fuck, still so tight for me.”

you moaned, face burying into the pillow as he filled you to the hilt, rocking his hips with slow, brutal precision. his hands gripped your waist, pulling you back to meet each thrust, hitting that perfect spot that made your vision blur.

“tell me how good i make you feel,” he said through gritted teeth, fucking you deeper.

“so good—oh god, junnie—right there,” you whimpered. “you fuck me like you own me.”

“because i do,” he hissed. “you’re mine. every inch. every breath. and this pussy? fuck—this was made for me.”

your cries were muffled into the pillow, tears prickling at your eyes from the pleasure building impossibly fast. he bent over you, pressing kisses to your back, your shoulder, your neck, never stopping his rhythm.

“gonna come, baby?” he whispered in your ear. “cream on my cock like you always do?”

you nodded desperately, clenching around him, your orgasm ripping through you with a strangled moan.

he followed right after, cursing low and dark, emptying himself inside you with a final thrust. “fuck—gonna fill you up again. maybe give chaeyeon a little sibling.”

you both collapsed onto the bed, boneless and breathless, his arms wrapping tight around you from behind.

and in that moment, as the warmth of him settled over your back and your heartbeat steadied with his, you smiled.

because this was the life you never asked for — and yet, it was everything.

and now, there was no one else you’d rather be loved by.

[skultyun]

WISHES COME TRUE

SUMMARY: you’ve always been the quiet, bookish type — hidden behind oversized sweaters and your secret smut blog. yeonjun, the golden boy of the dance department, was supposed to be just a harmless crush... until a steamy story accidentally lands in his hands. now, your fantasies are no longer just fiction.

PAIRING: soft dom!yeonjun x fem!reader

GENRE: slow burn, smutty tension, university!au, angst, fluff, eventual nsfw (suggestive)

WARNINGS: suggestive themes, language, emotional tension, power dynamics, accidental exposure of private writing, crying, emotional vulnerability, soft dominance, yeonjun being too hot to handle, loss of virginity, unprotected sex.

WC: 4,8k

NOTES: i wish yeonjun would make my fantasies come true too...😞

you were a literature major at university—one of those girls who always seemed quiet, thoughtful, always with a book tucked under her arm or a notebook filled with scribbled ideas. you had chosen literature because, for as long as you could remember, stories had been your whole world. fairy tales, classic novels, poetry, fanfiction—especially fanfiction.

it had started innocently enough in your early teens: writing about your favorite movie characters falling in love. but as you got older, so did your stories. they evolved—bolder, darker, more explicit. the kind of scenes that made your cheeks flush even though you were the one writing them. you never said it out loud, of course. no one would ever imagine it of you.

you were the quiet girl in class, after all. the one with oversized sweaters, round glasses slipping down your nose, a soft voice, and a shy smile that made people underestimate you. but at night, in the glow of your laptop screen, you were someone else. your blog had grown into something much bigger than you'd anticipated. a loyal following of readers eagerly awaited your weekly updates, devouring every steamy, forbidden chapter you posted—always right on schedule, even with your hectic academic life.

and then there was choi yeonjun.

he was in the contemporary dance program—effortlessly popular, magnetic in every sense. tall, with dark hair that curled slightly when he sweat after practice, his ears lined with silver piercings, his eyes sharp but kind. he had a way of walking into a room and drawing attention without even trying.

you’d met him in a way that was both perfectly ordinary and somehow surreal. he’d started showing up at your department’s literature fairs. it surprised you the first time—someone like him, flipping through romance novels with genuine interest, not just killing time. but there he was, every time, stopping by the table you were in charge of, smiling that easy, sunlit smile that made your stomach twist in quiet panic.

“any recommendations today?” he’d ask casually, leaning over the table just close enough to make you forget how to breathe.

you tried to keep your voice steady. “uh—if you like slow burn… this one’s pretty good.”

he grinned. “you always know the good ones. you read a lot, huh?”

you’d just nod, cheeks warm, heart sprinting. he didn’t know. god, he couldn’t know.

your conversations never lasted long, but they left you dizzy every time. he’d wave at you in the halls with that same bright energy, calling your name like you were already friends. you weren’t, not really. but you liked pretending.

and when you were alone, writing late into the night, your mind would wander. you’d think about him—his hands, his voice, that little smirk when he caught you staring too long.

you knew exactly what kind of character he’d be in one of your stories. and you had plenty of ideas.

it all started when yeonjun announced that he was planning a showcase for the contemporary dance department—an open performance where students could display their personal choreographies. he needed help designing the pamphlets that would be handed out to the audience, and for some reason, you were the first person he thought of.

“you made those posters for the lit fair, right?” he asked one afternoon, catching you off guard in the hallway. his voice was casual, but his smile was bright, genuine. “i really liked the way you put them together. they had this… soft, poetic vibe. it matched the theme perfectly.”

you blinked up at him, heart stuttering. he remembered that? “i– yeah! i did,” you mumbled, trying to keep the surprise out of your voice. “i’d love to help.”

he grinned, like it was no big deal. “awesome. can i get your number? i’ll text you the details.”

you handed him your phone before you could overthink it. and when he tapped in his contact info, you felt a strange flutter in your chest. he told you he’d need it by next wednesday. today was friday—plenty of time.

saturday came, and as usual, it was supposed to be your sacred writing day. the day you sat down with your laptop and your coffee and let your imagination spill into a new chapter for your loyal readers. but today... you couldn’t focus. yeonjun’s face kept flashing behind your eyes. his voice, the way he smiled, the soft dip of his collarbone when he leaned in closer than he needed to.

so, instead of working on your usual story, you opened a new document. just a little spin-off, you told yourself. a character named yejun, inspired by him, paired with your unnamed female lead. it didn’t mean anything. it was just for fun.

your fingers moved quickly over the keys, each word making your face burn a little hotter. you described him in detail—his body, his voice, the way he would whisper dirty things between soft kisses. it escalated fast. soon, the bed sheets were tangled, the clothes gone, and “yejun” was doing things to the protagonist that made your thighs clench under the desk.

you bit your lip, trying to suppress the heat pooling low in your stomach. your skin was flushed, breath a little too fast. god, it was just a story. just fiction.

but every line felt real.

too real.

when you finally finished, you closed the file with shaky fingers and stared at the screen, guilt washing over you like cold water. you’d just written a full-blown smut piece about your classmate. someone you knew. someone who’d smiled at you in the hallway just days ago.

he’s never going to know, you told yourself, shutting the thought down. your blog was anonymous. your secret was safe.

you shifted gears, finally starting your actual chapter for the week. when it was done and posted, the familiar flood of comments poured in. the joy from your readers was like a warm blanket, grounding you again. they loved it, as always. you loved them. they were the reason you kept writing.

by the time sunday night rolled around, the guilt had faded into the background, replaced by the sudden panic of realization—you still hadn’t started yeonjun’s pamphlet. you checked your phone. a new story on his profile. something about drinks with friends. he was still out, probably.

you rushed to open your design program, pulling up the notes you’d made. soft color palettes, modern typography, minimalistic but expressive—something that reflected the rhythm and movement of contemporary dance. you made one version. then another. kept tweaking the alignment, changing fonts, shifting images.

finally, at 2:34 a.m., you saved both files. sleepy, but satisfied. you dragged the two pdfs into your chat with him, barely thinking. you typed out the message:

“hi yeonjun! i made two versions, choose whichever you like best :)”

and hit send.

except… you hadn’t just selected the two designs.

your stomach dropped as you saw the third file still hanging in the message bubble. the one labeled: “yejun_x_fmc_draft01.docx”

it sent.

you stared at the message for a second, read it over just to make sure it sounded polite enough, and then closed the chat. satisfied, you shut your laptop, stretched your sore arms above your head, and let out a sleepy sigh. it was late. too late. your body ached from sitting in one spot too long, your eyes heavy. slipping under your blanket, you let your head hit the pillow, completely unaware of the very wrong file you’d just sent to yeonjun.

you fell asleep thinking about fonts and color palettes—clueless to the chaos waiting in your inbox.

yeonjun had been scrolling through his phone lazily that night, the apartment quiet except for the occasional hum of cars outside. it was past two in the morning, and most of his friends were either out partying or already passed out drunk. he, on the other hand, was comfortably sprawled out on his bed, hoodie thrown somewhere on the floor, phone in hand and thumbs working through unread messages. when your name popped up with a new chat, he blinked sleepily, expecting a simple "here are the flyers" type of thing.

maybe a couple of PDFs, a casual "let me know which one you like better." he smiled a little to himself. you were cute, in that quiet, bookish way. sweet. unassuming. kind of awkward, but endearing.

he tapped on the files without thinking.

the first opened fine—bright colors, clean design, silhouettes of dancers mid-pose, your signature soft aesthetic all over it. he liked it. clean, expressive. you were talented.

he clicked the second, expecting more of the same.

but then he saw… text. not a flyer. a story. his brow furrowed as he scrolled further. the format was familiar. narrative, dialogue. descriptive paragraphs. curiosity sparked, and his eyes began to scan the words.

“yejun’s fingers traced slow, burning lines down the curve of her waist, his voice low and thick in her ear. ‘you’re so quiet during the day,’ he murmured. ‘but in my bed? you’re a fucking mess.’”

his heart stopped.

his mouth went dry.

at first, he thought it was just a coincidence. a character named "yejun"—close, but not quite. but as he kept reading, the illusion crumbled. the description was too specific. too detailed. tall, black hair, piercings decorating both ears, cocky smile, flirty attitude, reads romance novels like a secret guilty pleasure—fuck, it was him. it was him on those pages. and you? the girl in the story? that was clearly you. no question.

his stomach twisted into knots.

his brain screamed that this was wrong, that he should stop reading, that this was invasive and inappropriate and god, disgusting. this was a violation of boundaries, wasn’t it? some kind of parasocial delusion—was this how you saw him?

but his eyes wouldn’t stop.

line after line, paragraph after paragraph, you painted a vivid, searing image of the two of you tangled in sheets, dripping with heat and tension. “yejun” had you beneath him, fingers curled into your thighs, lips murmuring filth against your throat while you begged for more. he could hear your voice in the words—he could see the way you might look, squirming beneath him, wide eyes glassy and pleading.

his hand gripped the phone tighter. he didn’t notice how his breath had gotten shallow. he didn’t notice how hard he’d gotten, straining against the loose fabric of his pants.

“she moaned when he spread her open, kissed the inside of her thighs like she was something sacred. ‘i wanna ruin you,’ he growled. ‘wanna fuck you so deep you forget your own damn name.’”

he hissed through his teeth, biting down on the inside of his cheek. fuck. fuck. fuck.

he shouldn’t be aroused by this. this was someone else’s fantasy. someone he barely knew. someone who wore glasses too big for her face and oversized cardigans and always tucked her hair behind her ears when she got nervous. someone shy and innocent and sweet.

except—no. apparently not. not so innocent.

his cock throbbed against the inside of his waistband. his face was flushed deep red, part shock, part guilt, part something far more primal. and still, he couldn’t look away.

you thought about him like that.

you imagined him taking you apart, fucking you senseless, making you cry with pleasure.

and now… he couldn’t stop picturing it either.

you didn’t realize a thing.

monday came and went, and you went about your routine like always—classes, notes, reading during lunch, replying to your blog comments in quiet corners of the library. the only thing different was that yeonjun hadn’t replied to your message. not even a “thanks.” he’d left you on read. that was unusual for him.

you saw him in the cafeteria once—just once. he was walking with some friends, laughing at something, tray in hand. you smiled instinctively, raising your hand in a little wave like you always did.

but he didn’t wave back.

he didn’t even look at you.

he walked right past, as if you weren’t even there.

you froze, hand mid-air, cheeks heating up with embarrassment. something was wrong. you could feel it in your gut.

and yet… you said nothing. you told yourself maybe he was just busy. maybe you were reading too much into it. but your heart ached anyway.

by wednesday, you couldn’t take it anymore.

you saw him sitting alone inside the dance studio, stretching, sweat-dampened hair clinging to his forehead. the doors were unlocked. you hesitated only a moment before stepping inside, chest tight, hands balled into anxious fists.

"yeonjun," you called softly, walking toward him.

he looked up, his face unreadable.

your heart dropped.

no warmth. no smile. no teasing glint in his eyes.

"why have you been ignoring me?" your voice cracked, but you kept going. "if you only needed the pamphlet, you could’ve just said so. you didn’t have to pretend like you liked talking to me."

he didn’t answer at first.

he stood up slowly, towering over you, and for the first time you felt… small.

not just in height. in everything.

he pulled his phone from his pocket.

"what's wrong with me?" he echoed, voice low. "shouldn’t i be asking you that?"

you blinked in confusion, taking a step back. “w-what are you talking about?”

he held the phone up to you.

and there it was.

your story.

the wrong file.

your face went completely cold.

your mouth opened, but no words came out. panic flooded you, head spinning, knees weak.

"this character,” he said calmly, almost cruelly. “it's me, isn’t it? same build. same personality. even the name.”

his voice wasn't angry—no, it was too calm. too quiet. too dangerous. your eyes flicked to the screen he held in his hand, your own words staring back at you with damning clarity. you couldn’t lie, couldn’t explain this away as coincidence. it was him. everything from the raven hair to the pierced ears, to the soft but commanding energy—the character had always been him.

"i... i can explain," you stammered, your voice barely a whisper, raw from emotion. "i didn’t mean for you to read it. it was a mistake, i—"

"it was meant to be private?" he cut in, taking another step toward you. "so private that you decided to send it directly to me?"

you flinched, your body screaming for you to run but your legs rooted to the floor. tears prickled your eyes, shame wrapping around your throat like a chokehold. your fingers curled into fists at your sides, not in anger, but in a desperate attempt to hold yourself together.

"i didn’t know i sent it. please, yeonjun, i didn’t want you to see that. i never would've wanted you to think—"

he stared down at you, his gaze dark. dangerous.

“you pretend to be so sweet. so quiet. like some shy little bookworm,” he murmured. “but you write about me like i’m your personal sex toy. like you wanna use me. ride me. make me beg.”

you whimpered, barely able to breathe, your eyes wide with horror.

you wanted to die.

you wanted to disappear.

his fingers tilted your chin up, forcing you to look at him. his thumb grazed your bottom lip.

but then his eyes darkened, jaw tightening, and he leaned in slightly. "the problem is," he said, voice low, "i can’t stop thinking about what you wrote. how detailed it was. how vividly you described it—me."

your breath caught. "yeonjun..."

"you wrote that you wanted me to hold you down," he whispered, his gaze dropping to your lips. "that you wanted to ride me until you couldn’t walk straight. that you dreamed of me moaning your name while you begged for more. and all that... from the quiet girl who blushes when someone says 'kiss' in class?"

your knees nearly gave out. your skin burned with humiliation and something else—something terrifyingly warm spreading low in your belly. you shook your head again, but there were no words left to give him. no excuses. you were caught. exposed. and he was standing there, looking at you like he was reading every single fantasy straight from your soul.

“you’re disgusting,” he said, voice low and rough.

your eyes welled with tears.

but then he leaned closer, and his breath ghosted over your cheek. his voice dropped even lower, thick with something dangerous.

“but the worst part?” he smirked. “the more i think about it, the more i want to make it real." he murmured. 

you gasped, a whimper escaping your lips before you could stop it. it was wrong. it was insane. and yet... the tension between you crackled like a live wire.

"yeonjun, i..." your voice trembled.

"you don’t have to say anything," he said quietly, his thumb brushing away a tear on your cheek. "but if you really meant what you wrote... i will make your first time unforgettable, better than your story, better than many stories, i will fuck you as hard as you ask."

your heartbeat stuttered. your mind screamed for you to step away—but your body leaned into him, trembling from something far deeper than fear.

“so this is what you think about when you see me?” his voice is low, controlled, almost amused. but there’s something dark swimming beneath it. something hungry.

you’re frozen in front of him, face hot and eyes watery with humiliation. your vision blurs as the tears start spilling over your cheeks.

“fuck,” he mutters, stepping closer, eyes flicking over your trembling frame. “you’re crying.”

you nod, too ashamed to meet his gaze.

“you’re embarrassed?”

another nod.

and then he laughs. it’s not cruel—no, it’s worse. it’s knowing. it's the sound of someone who's seen through every layer you tried to hide.

you whimper, thighs squeezing together at his words. that ache between your legs intensifies, shame curling up with desire in your belly like a knot pulling tighter and tighter.

he’s in front of you now, towering over you, his hand reaching up to cup your cheek—thumb brushing away a tear, so gently it makes your breath catch.

“and this part—” he whispers, pulling his phone from his pocket. “this part right here... where you wrote that he ‘pinned her against the mirror and kissed her until she forgot her own name, one hand gripping her thigh, the other buried in her hair, making her moan before he even touched her pussy.’”

you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to block it all out.

“open your eyes.”

you do.

he leans in, lips ghosting over your ear.

“do you want me to do that to you?”

you pause. swallow hard. your silence is answer enough.

he chuckles again. “fuck, you’re cute when you pretend to be innocent. but now i know what’s under that little act. now i know what kind of slut you really are.”

your knees weaken. your panties are soaked.

“take it off,” he murmured.

your throat went dry. “w-what?”

he stepped closer, towering over you. the scent of his cologne and sweat from practice clung to him, heavy and dizzying.

“don’t make me repeat myself.” his voice dropped, gravelly. “hoodie. now.”

you hesitated, fingers curling at the hem.

your body moved before your brain could catch up. trembling fingers pulled your hoodie over your head, revealing your bare chest underneath—no bra, just skin, soft and warm and exposed to him.

“fuck, no bra? you were walking around like this, waiting for me to notice?”

he growled. actually growled.

“you walked in here looking like this…” his eyes roamed again, hungry. “thinking i wouldn’t notice the way your nipples get hard through your hoodie?

your stomach twisted, heat rushing between your legs.

“you act so innocent, baby, but that little mind of yours?” he leaned in, lips brushing your ear. “filthy.”

your cheeks burned. your thighs squeezed together.

“take off the pants too, those fucking pants hiding the slut you really are” he added, voice darker now.

you obeyed slowly, pushing down the waistband of your sweatpants, revealing your thin white panties already soaked through. the air hit your thighs and you shivered—whether from the cold or the anticipation, you weren’t sure.

yeonjun sat down on the bench behind him, legs spread wide, cock hard and pressing visibly against his sweats.

“come here.”

you stepped between his legs, every nerve in your body lit on fire.

his hands gripped your waist, pulling you closer until your soaked panties brushed against the bulge in his pants. he hissed at the contact.

“you’re wet already?” he whispered, almost mocking. “just from me talking to you like this?”

you nodded, lips parted in a silent gasp as he rubbed his nose along the curve of your breast, not kissing—just inhaling you. savoring.

“you know what’s crazy?” he murmured. “i remember every single thing you wrote. every moan, every word you gave that version of me… and now i wanna hear them come out of your mouth.”

his hand slid under the band of your panties, fingers slipping between your folds.

“fuck—so wet for me. untouched, huh? this little cunt’s never been filled?”

you whimpered, nodding, nails digging into his shoulders.

“good,” he groaned, pulling your panties down your legs. “i wanna be the only one who gets to ruin this pussy.”

he hooked your thighs over his, adjusting your body until you were hovering over his clothed cock, dripping against the fabric.

“say it,” he ordered.

“say what?”

his eyes locked with yours, deadly calm.

“tell me you want to sit on it.”

your chest rose and fell fast, lips trembling. “i… i want to ride you.”

“that’s not what i said, baby.”

you swallowed. heat flooded your cheeks, but your hips instinctively rolled against him.

“i want to sit on your cock,” you breathed, voice shaky. “please, let me ride you”

his head tilted slightly, lips curling into a smirk as he pulled his sweats down, cock springing free. thick. veined. already leaking.

“then prove it,” he rasped.

you didn’t even hesitate. you gripped his shoulders and lined yourself up, your slick dripping down the tip. his hands gripped your hips, steadying you.

“this might hurt, baby,” he whispers, brushing his lips against yours, “but i’ll be gentle. i’ll make it feel so fucking good you’ll beg me never to stop.”

he pushes in slowly, his cock splitting you open inch by inch. you gasp, fingers digging into his shoulders. he’s big—so much bigger than you imagined—and your body clenches tight around him.

“that’s it, princess. take it. let me feel that pretty little virgin pussy.”

you whimper, burying your face in his neck as he bottoms out, letting you adjust. he doesn’t move right away—just holds you, one hand cradling your back, the other gripping your thigh.

“you’re doing so good for me. so fucking tight.”

he let you sink down inch by inch, until you were fully seated on him, legs shaking. your head fell onto his shoulder, eyes squeezed shut.

he starts to move, slow at first, dragging you up and down on his cock with gentle rolls of his hips. you gasp again, tears springing to your eyes from the overwhelming stretch and pleasure.

“slow, baby,” he murmured, voice suddenly softer—but his eyes still burned with control. “i’ll go slow. i’ll stretch you out nice and easy, okay?”

you nodded, barely breathing.

“fuck, you’re tight,” he groaned. “so fucking perfect. this little pussy was made for me.”

you moaned totally lost in desire, little by little the pain disappeared and turned into pleasure.

“you’re doing so good for me,” he whispered against your neck, kissing you there. “being such a good girl while i ruin your first time.”

you whimpered, rocking your hips slowly, gasping at the overwhelming fullness. he filled every part of you—stretching, claiming, owning.

“don’t stop,” you breathed. “please, don’t stop.”

“fuck, you’re even better than i imagined. so warm. so wet. so fucking mine.”

his hands slid up your back, gripping your hair, pulling your head back just enough for your eyes to meet.

“then ride me, baby. ride me like you fucking mean it.”

his grip on your hips tightens as you start to move—slow, uncertain rolls of your body at first, each one drawing a sharp inhale from you and a low, rumbling groan from him.

his cock feels impossibly thick inside you, the stretch dragging along every nerve ending. your thighs shake from the pressure, the burn, the pleasure that's building fast and overwhelming.

“that’s it, baby,” he breathes, eyes locked on your face as you try to ride him, “you’re doing so fucking good. taking me so well… fuck, this tight little pussy was starving for cock, huh?”

you cry out when he shifts his hips up, thrusting deeper. your walls clench around him, and the reaction makes his head fall back against the mirror, a hiss leaving his lips.

“fuck—don’t do that unless you wanna make me cum already.”

his hands slide from your waist to your ass, grabbing handfuls of soft skin as he starts to guide you himself—lifting you, lowering you, bouncing you gently on his cock. your hands fly to his shoulders for balance, mouth open in a silent moan as he hits a new spot inside you.

“right there, huh?” he growls, pulling your hips down harder. “you like that, baby? you like being stuffed full of your senior’s cock in the fucking practice room?”

you nod frantically, tears stinging the corners of your eyes, not from pain anymore—but from the pressure building deep in your core, the knot tightening fast.

“say it.”

“i love it,” you gasp, rolling your hips now with purpose. “i love your cock—fuck—it’s so deep, i can’t—”

“yes you can,” he grunts, meeting your movements with rougher thrusts now, fucking up into you while holding you down. “you will. be a good girl and take it.”

you sob, pleasure tearing through you, sharp and desperate. your nipples brush his chest, slick skin against skin, sweat dripping down your spine.

“you’re such a filthy little thing, aren’t you?” he pants, dragging his tongue along your collarbone, biting down just enough to leave a mark. “acting shy in front of the others, but here you are—riding me like a fucking whore.”

you moan loudly, the sound echoing in the studio, your voice bouncing off the mirrors, filling the space. his hand slips between your bodies, thumb pressing hard against your clit.

“don’t hold back, baby. cum on my cock. i wanna feel this pussy squeeze me while you fall apart.”

your eyes flutter shut, and your whole body tenses as his thumb moves in tight circles, the thick drag of his cock hitting all the right places.

then everything snaps.

your orgasm crashes into you like a wave, stealing the breath from your lungs. your moan breaks into a cry as your walls pulse around him, milking his cock, your thighs trembling uncontrollably.

“that’s it, baby—fuck, that’s it, just like that,” he growls, holding you tight as your cunt grips him, hot and wet and spasming. “so fucking good for me.”

his rhythm falters, his breaths sharp.

“you’re gonna make me cum—fuck—where do you want it?”

you barely manage to speak, drunk on the high.

“inside,” you whisper. “please, fill me up.”

his hips snap up one last time, deep and hard. he buries himself to the hilt, a strangled groan ripping from his throat as he spills inside you, hot and thick and endless.

you both go still—bodies pressed together, hearts racing. his arms wrap around your waist, holding you to him like he never wants to let go. your walls flutter around his softening cock, the mix of your release leaking down your thighs.

he kisses your shoulder, slow and soft now, grounding you.

“you okay, baby?” he murmurs against your skin.

you nod, voice weak. “yeah… i’ve never felt anything like that.”

he chuckles gently, kissing your jaw.

“can i—can i ride you at your place next time?” you pant, nails raking down his arms.

he grabs your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“you wanna sit on daddy’s cock at home, baby? ride me like a good little slut while i fuck your brains out?”

you nod frantically, eyes hazy with lust.

“please… dominate me. make me yours.”

his grin is wicked. his thrusts grow rougher. deeper. the sound of skin slapping fills the mirrored room.

“you are mine, baby. every fucking inch of you.”

you sat there, still straddling him, your thighs shaking against his hips, skin flushed and slick with sweat. your fingers dug into his chest, trying to steady your breath, but the heat between your legs pulsed with every heartbeat — a reminder of what had just happened. he looked up at you with that same wicked smile, the one you once only imagined while typing your dirtiest fantasies late at night. except now, it wasn’t fiction. it was real. your filthy little story had come to life, every word, every whimper, every shameless desire — all of it played out on the floor of the dance studio, with yeonjun underneath you, hard and breathless. he had read your mind… and fucked it into reality.

[skultyun]

a bouquet of flower - choi yeonjun

summary -> yeonjun always keeps one flower to himself from your bouquet and you can't figure out why.

one flower.

you for the life of you couldn’t wrap your head around it. whenever yeonjun gave you a bouquet, you noticed how there was one singular flower of the same kind sitting promptly on yeonjun’s countertop. first gone unnoticed until around the third or fourth set of flowers.

yeonjun always did little things that left you perplexed. always taking the long way home, watching movies on live television when he already owned them. he was a puzzle you were dying to solve.

you sat there, propped up on your elbows, staring at the singular rose that faced you.

“baby?“ yeonjun calls.

"yeah?” immediately refocusing your stares onto him in front of you.

“can you pass the salt?” he asks with a small smile.

you do nothing but smile in return as you push the salt yeonjun’s way.

“now, I know your rule, but just for once let the cook clean up.” yeonjun speaks, breaking the small silence.

“but-”

“i know today wasn’t the easiest so let me, please.” he pleads.

“i never said today was hard.” you replied, not necessarily denying it.

“you said your friend called out, I know things tend to be rough without her on saturdays.” yeonjun retorts.

“i don’t deserve you, yeonjun.” reaching over the counter to lightly press a small kiss to yeonjun’s lips.

yeonjun kept his promise, cleaning up while telling you about the next song he was working on.

your arms find their way wrapped around yeonjun’s waist as he hums in response.

your eyes meet the rose once again.

“why do you always keep one?” you blurt out.

yeonjun wipes his hands on the wash cloth, turning around. he blinks for a moment before tilting his head, “what?”

“the flowers. whenever you get me flowers you keep one. not that I mind I mean obviously keep one if you like the flowers, but-”

“oh! I keep one to see when it dies.” yeonjun interrupts.

“you what..?” you said being even more lost than before.

“you know, so I know when to get you more.” he states as if this was common knowledge.

all of your thoughts are consumed by yeonjun. like a wave swallowing you whole and you wanted to be pulled under.

everything yeonjun did made your heart pound. the way yeonjun leaves little notes around the house for you. the way yeonjun’s smile leaves you breathless. the way yeonjun scrunches his face when you tell a terrible joke. the way yeonjun didn’t understand how absolutely perfect he was.

“i love you.” you confess, barely above a whisper. quite obviously terrified to say it out loud.

“that’s good because i love you too.” yeonjun says, calming you down instantly, not that your heart wasn’t still racing.

“i’m gonna kiss you now.” is all you say before cupping yeonjun’s cheek and smashing your lips together.

[skultyun]

How do people even write something so impactful that holds so much meaning while I'm struggling over here to put a bunch of words together.. writing is so hard

[skultyun]

hands-on lesson

“Intern Hueningkai is doing his best to follow in his mentor’s footsteps— Taehyun thinks the younger is a little lacking, but there’s nothing a good training session can’t fix.”

Taehyun x fem!reader x Hueningkai

genre: office au, smut, fluff

word count: 8.6K (me when i say js smth short and LIE)

warnings: barely proof read :3 hard dom!Taehyun, sub(ish)!Hueningkai, sub!reader, no mxm but… there’s definitely something odd happening there, shy!heuning, slight jealousy, possessiveness, alcohol, dry humping, spanking, manhandling, nipple play, oral (f. rec.) pet names (honey, baby, sweet girl, angel, pup, good boy [m. rec] etc.) degrading, hair pulling (m. rec), fingering, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, degrading, praise, biting, voyeurism/exhibitionism?, masturbating, strength kink, hueningkai carries the reader once, size kink, scratching, begging, orgasm denial, unprotected sex, creampies, dacryphilia, bulge kink, big dick tyunning, phew!!! (lmk if i should add anything!)

notes: no thoughts. saw txt bank and tyunnings looks…. *__* #NEEDthat (only like 2k of plot and the rest smut… god… used to pray for times like these)

Hueningkai has always been a bit of an awkward person. It’s his biggest fault, he realizes, blessed with characteristics and looks that give him a demanding presence, aware of the lingering glances and strong impressions he leaves— and while such attention could be seen as a blessing to others, it only has him sweating and shifting uncomfortably, just as he is now as he makes his way into his new office job. 

It was all supposed to be simple; a private, indoor nine-to-five, where he sat at his desk and stared at spreadsheets all day. A job with minimal communication, something straight from his wildest, introverted dreams. Sure, his coworkers were much more sociable than expected— it was a small, tight-knit community, one that included drinks after work and invites to eat lunch together— but what hadn’t been expected whatsoever, was the loop that you would throw him in.

He’d like to think that he’s always been a composed person; knowing when to keep to himself, scurrying away from interactions he knows will leave a sour taste in his mouth later, but with you, all logic seems to be thrown out the window— and he finds himself blabbering like an idiot in front of you, stuttering through the simplest of sentences after you’ve only asked him if he’d like to join you and your fellow colleagues for drinks after work. Despite his gut screaming at him to politely decline, to make up a reason to not go and excuse himself, he finds himself giving in with one hopeful, shining look of yours. 

Never mix business and pleasure; it was a universal rule, right? So why Hueningkai found himself dawdling in front of the bathroom mirror, combing his fingers through his bangs and wiping his glasses nervously, he couldn’t quite fathom. Did his suit look okay? If he’d have known that his day would end with him going to a bar, he would’ve chosen something more breathable. He’s taken much longer than anticipated in the bathroom, and he knows that the others are still waiting for him, but he just can’t bring himself to move— his feet remained glued to the tiles, and his eyes continue to search his reflection for any imperfections, shaky fingers re-tucking his shirt in for the umpteenth time.

“Are you gonna come out? Or do you need me to hold your hand and walk you out,” the soft yelp of surprise that jumps from Hueningkai is nothing short of pitiful, whirling around and clutching onto the sink as he makes eye contact with a stone-faced Taehyun— the two regard each other in silence for a moment, and Taehyun can only watch with amusement as the tips of Hueningkai’s ears grow from a warm, honey color to a vibrant red. 

“I-I’m sorry, I was just,” he clears his throat, fixing his posture to stand at his full height, under the deceptive hopes of exuding confidence, “just touching up. Looks like I got distracted.”

He tries to crack a small smile, the action faltering after Taehyun simply gives him a once-over and nods solemnly. A dreadful silence fills the air once again, suffocating Hueningkai as he shifts his weight and clears his throat nervously. 

“You look fine,” Taehyun says, holding the bathroom door open and nodding out to where the others wait, “let’s go.”

“Ah. Of course,” Hueningkai can only keep his head bowed and his steps quick as he passes the man, only a few months older than him yet oddly intimidating, always carrying a knowing glint in his eyes that keeps him on edge. 

Taehyun follows close behind, swift steps allowing him to catch up immediately as he passes Hueningkai with a soft, coy comment that renders him speechless. 

“I’m sure ___ will appreciate you dolling yourself up for her.”

Truly, Hueningkai ponders to himself, if there’s anyone in this office that should be made fun of for pining hopelessly after you, it should be Taehyun— at least, that’s the conclusion he arrives to as he watches the older man follow you around the whole night, desperate to make you laugh and constantly glancing over at you with those big, sparkling eyes of his, lips curling up to a fond smile Hueningkai isn’t sure Taehyun is aware of himself. 

The interaction at the office is chalked up to nothing but a jealous streak. Does it bother Taehyun, watching as you continue turning your attention back to Hueningkai all night, eager to include him in the team? He may be a bit socially inept, but Hueningkai isn’t oblivious of the watchful eye Taehyun places on him, hyper aware of his stare whenever he tries to talk and joke with you, no matter how successful the interaction— with every sweet smile and endearing laugh you let out, Hueningkai can’t help but glance over at Taehyun, only to find him already staring back. 

“How come this is the first time you’re here with us?” you ask at some point, a joyful flush lighting your face up as you sip idly on the glass of wine you ordered— you lean in curiously, a smile pulling at your lips as you observe the way Hueningkai tenses, eyes following his adam’s apple that bobs nervously. “I’ve been wanting to see you out here with the rest of the team, but you’d always refuse.” 

Your words are a bold jab that sends Huenginkai’s mind into a jumbling malfunction— it’s clear your choice was deliberate, and his mouth dries at the fact that you wanted him here. No matter how hard he fights it, a soft blush rises to his cheeks. 

“W-well, I suppose I was just… nervous.” he says, eyes darting away from you, trying to avoid that amused curl of your lips, the way your eyes sparkle and observe him carefully, clearly enjoying his reactions, “I’m still a bit new here, after all. I just wanted to get to know everyone better before I accepted.”

“Well, what better way to get to know each other than outside of work?” you ask, glancing around the bar, at your scattered coworkers that chat away in their own little bubbles. Hueningkai watches as your eyes light up mischievously, scooting closer so you can pull your final test to his resilience; your hand is hot as it lands just above his knee, placing your weight on it as you lean in to murmur in his ear.

“I’d love to get more familiar with you— and if the bar isn’t your favorite, I know of a better place we can talk.”

Before you can gauge Hueningkai’s reaction or give him a chance to respond, a call of your name takes you two apart— Hueningkai can only stare off into the distance, lost in a trance as you send Taehyun a bright smile, hopping off the barstool as he beckons you over to where he stands. It takes Hueningkai a few minutes before he can finally bring himself to move. 

“You’re quite curious about the new kid, aren’t you?” Taehyun asks, tilting his head curiously as he observes your reaction closely— you merely wave him off with a sheepish laugh, taking another sip of your drink before you answer. 

“It’s the first time I’ve seen him agree to come out with us— I wanted to make him feel included.”

“You’re so sweet,” he coos, leaning in and lowering his voice, eyes flickering off to a point over your shoulder, “I’m sure he feels real included with the way you smother him with your attention.”

“Awh, don’t get jealous,” you grin, biting back a grin at the way he closes in on you, not caring whether your coworkers see or not, “I’ve got plenty of my attention to go around.”

“Do you really?” he asks, his eyes intense as he holds your stare, “is that why you keep running back and forth between the two of us tonight?”

“Well, it’d be much easier for all of us to get along, no?” you say, doe eyes innocently sparkling with your question, “but I’m afraid you might just bite his head off every time you interact with him.”

“Actually, that’s not really true,” Taehyun corrects quietly, leaning in to murmur into your ear after you’ve sent him a confused look.

“I can be quite good at sharing, you know.”

The thrill of his sentence is like a spark of electricity sent down your spine. You allow his words to hang in the air, the proposal something that will either hold true or crumble like sand in your grip, and when you take a step back to look Taehyun in the eye, you’re met with just the thing you needed; a firm, bold stare, burning with an intensity that begs to be provoked.

When you reach out to take his hand, a haste gesture that’s returned by interlocked fingers and a tight grip, a satisfied smile snakes onto your lips; the two of you are swift as you weave through the crowd and back to the lonesome figure at the bar. 

The cocktail that Hueningkai has been nursing since the beginning of the night is watered down and has left a ring of condensation on the table. People watching can only be entertaining for so long before he’s itching to leave, having socialized enough to leave his battery drained for the rest of the week— the only thought on his mind now is to find you and say goodbye, but it seems as though the crowd has swallowed you whole. Just when he thinks it might be best to slip out wordlessly while he still can, a gentle hand lands on his shoulder. 

“Hope you weren’t thinking about running away,” you giggle softly, as though the mere idea of it were ridiculous— Hueningkai is spinning in his seat to face you, the relieved smile on his face tensing as he takes in the guest that you’ve brought along; but when Taehyun’s eyes lock with his, he can only find mischief swimming within, as though laughing at a joke Hueningkai had yet to be let in on. 

“It’s so crowded here, don’t you think?” you ask, refusing to address the bystander to your conversation, “It’s impossible to talk in here— let's step outside, I’m sure it’s better out there.”

Before he can realize the weight of his decision, Hueningkai nods and stands to his feet— anything to get out of this stifling environment, he thinks; maybe this way he can finally bid you goodbye and go rest.

It’s getting late— I think it’s best I head home now. Thank you for inviting me, I had a wonderful time with you. 

Simple, concise. Rehearsed. 

It was all thrown out the window the moment you batted those pretty eyes at him, grabbed his hand so gently— as though afraid you’d lose him if you didn’t handle him carefully. 

No— the moment you opened that perfect mouth of yours, used that gentle voice to lure him back to your place, had that been the moment Hueningkai was supposed to enforce self-restraint and turn you down? When you were already so close, your scent muddling his senses and your lips shining with that sticky gloss that shone obscenely under the street lights?

If it was, then Hueningkai was doomed from the start. 

“F-fuck, please, I can’t—” that skirt is truly a blessing in disguise, Hueningkai thinks to himself; tight in just the right ways, riding up your thighs and allowing your panties to peek through the pantyhose you wear, both equally soaked through as you grind pitifully into Taehyun’s lap.

“Hmm? Can’t take anymore?” Taehyun coos sweetly, bringing a heavy hand down to your ass and smiling at the way you yelp from the impact; his fingertips dig through the fabric and into your flesh, only hiking your skirt up more as he guides you over his covered cock— setting the pace, guiding you to press harder onto him, to feel his length rutting against your aching cunt. 

“Don’t you wanna give our intern a little show, honey?” he asks, looking over your shoulder and at the aforementioned man— the epitome of a mess, really, his face flushed and his eyes wide as he watches you rut hopelessly into Taehyun, a wet spot only growing on his gray slacks where you hump him mindlessly. 

“Wanna show him how it’s done?” he continues, leaving slow kisses along the column of your neck, listening to the way you gasp and plead for more, “teach him how to make a cute thing like you feel good?”

“Yes, yes yes yes,” you breathe, grabbing onto his neatly pressed button up with desperation, clutching it in your fists to tug him closer to you; glancing over your shoulder, you can only let out a weak whimper as your low-lidded eyes meet Hueningkai’s, a new wave of desperation washing over you as you press your leaking cunt further against Taehyun’s length. “Please, make me feel good.”

Such good manners, Hueningkai noted to himself, begging the way you do— that sweet, vulnerable tone, the break in your voice— how could they ever turn a request like that down?

You’re so soft— the feeling of your skin against his is an addicting sensation, running his palms up and down your torso like a fool as he hovers over you, lips glued to yours desperately; it’s a sloppy, sad excuse of a kiss, your swollen lips parted as Hueningkai drinks in your moans, feels the way spit pools at the corners of your lips, cooing soft praise as his hands reach up to grab your breasts— fingers pulling and tweaking your nipples teasingly to get you to squirm and squeal, just as he’d been shown— the gasp of Hueningkai’s name against his lips is enough to have him smiling in satisfaction.

“Pretty thing’s been toying with us all night,��� Taehyun says sweetly, watching the two of you part and gasp for air— his eyes travel from the string of saliva that connects you two to the fucked out expression you don, dazed eyes barely holding eye contact with him as he smiles— his gaze then trails off to the nervous intern before him, head cocking to the side at the way he awkwardly continues to grip onto your waist, thumbs rubbing soothing circles into your skin as a way to mask his restlessness. 

“And you’ve been teasing this poor boy so badly too, can’t you see how wound up you have him?” his teeth dig into his bottom lip, biting back a smile at the sight of you diligently turning back to the man in question, listening to the quiet whine he lets out, “Why don’t you give him a reward for being so patient with you?”

The two of you can only squirm and obey as Taehyun directs you two— his mere presence is domineering, his voice a firm command that finds you shifting nervously as Hueningkai stares down at your dripping pussy, mouth agape and thin glasses slipping low on his nose as he takes you in, as though it’s the last time he’ll ever get you like this. 

Your sheer stockings have been slipped off, tight pencil skirt bunched at your hips to reveal just how needy you’ve become— Hueningkai could only watch with awe as Taehyun slipped off your lacy panties, a string of your arousal clinging on and leaving a wet spot on the fabric; a tinge of jealousy hit him as Taehyun pocketed the item swiftly, desperate to keep such an intimate part of you with him as well. 

“What, are you just gonna stare like an idiot?” Taehyun asks, startling the youngest out of his daze— his lips press together, adam’s apple bobbing nervously as his eyes flit from your swollen clit, your slit that glistens and leaks slick that dribbles down your hole and onto your sheets— and his eyes flicker back to Taehyun before he can stop and think, watching as the older merely scoffs in disbelief. 

“Oh baby, is this what you were chasing around the whole night?” Taehyun says to you, hovering his lips over yours, pouting mockingly at the way you whine and plead incoherently, “just a dumb pup that doesn’t know the first thing about making a girl feel good?” 

Hueningkai’s face feels like it’s on fire, and it definitely reflects on his skin that glows a brilliant red, eyes widening at the things Taehyun spews about him to you— a determination to prove him wrong fires up within, and before he can second guess himself, he wraps his hands around your thighs and pulls you closer. 

“Mhh, look at that,” Taehyun says, cupping your cheek sweetly, watching as your eyebrows furrow and your mouth falls open to let out a soft moan, “that’s a start.”

Hueningkai’s movements are soft and shaky, so gentle you’d almost miss it if you weren’t so needy— his tongue is warm as it presses against your clit, hesitant before it flicks up and feels the way you twitch; it slowly becomes a steady motion, soft kitten licks that have your cunt clenching around nothing, hips grinding down in search of more. 

“Not enough, huh?” Taehyun practically reads your mind, not having to wait for a response as he reaches down and tangles his fingers roughly into Hueningkai’s hair— he watches as the man jolts, peeking up through his lashes to look at the other in panic; when Taehyun’s grip tightens and pulls on the long locks, his eyes flutter shut and a small groan rumbles in his chest. 

“C’mon,” Taehyun chides, using his grip to guide Hueningkai’s mouth down, watching as his tongue lolls against your hole before pushing him forward, smushing his face firmly into your pussy, “give our angel some more.” 

Hueningkai doesn’t need to be told twice— feeling your entrance clench against his tongue is enough, tasting your cunt that leaks onto him and leaves him intoxicated; he allows his tongue to slip inside, opening your walls and feeling the way you flutter around him, sucking him in and whining for more— Taehyun can only watch with a coy smile, hand continuing to guide Hueningkai’s actions as his nose is pressed against your aching clit, the hitched moan you let out enough to encourage the man between your legs.

“Shit— hah…” you’re a panting, dizzy mess, hands gripping onto the sheets as Hueningkai slowly becomes more eager; nuzzling into your cunt to dig his tongue in further, pretty nose pressed into your clit and hot muscle curling into your walls, feeling the way your thighs shake and tense with his movements— not allowed to pull away either, Taehyun’s firm grip on his hair keeping him pressed against you and moaning into your cunt. 

“Kai…” you slur out, hips jumping at the way he hums against your pussy, attempting to look up though his fogged lenses and failing— the sound of your broken voice enough to have him imagining the flustered expression on your face, cock twitching at the mere thought. 

“Need more…” you plead softly, eyes fluttering shut as his fingertips dig into the plush of your thighs, pushing up and throwing your legs over his broad shoulders, “please, wanna feel your fingers…”

You hear Taehyun let out a chuckle at your request— but you pay it no mind, whining desperately and grinding your hips down in hopes that Hueningkai will listen— and though the loss of his mouth on you has you ready to whine and complain, the feeling of his long fingers pushing in shortly after has all thoughts dying in an instant. 

“Oh my god…” it isn’t just you that’s gasping and moaning in surprise— Hueningkai’s mouth continues to spill curses as he feels your warm walls envelope him, lithe fingers slipping further inside and curling curiously against the spongy spot against his fingertips— feeling you jolt with a sharp cry, he knows he’s discovered something good. 

“Such pretty sounds,” Taehyun mumbles, drinking in your expressions before he’s glancing back down at Hueningkai, “but I know you can be louder for us, baby.”

Hueningkai’s fingers that have begun a steady pace are joined by his plump lips that circle your clit and begin to suck on it harshly— if it hadn’t been for Taehyun, Hueningkai would’ve been content watching your hole soak his digits, a thick ring of cum pooling at his knuckles as he continues to thrust against spots you never thought existed; overwhelmed by the stimulation, you can’t control the way your hips buck and twitch, hands searching for something to ground you— they find themselves intertwined with Taehyun’s soon after, feeling him give your hand a reassuring squeeze and a kiss to the back of it; you think you hear him mumbling soft praise to you, but it’s all lost as Hueningkai’s tongue continues to lap and suck at your clit.

“Tyun, Kai, I’m—” the words die on your tongue, nails digging into Taehyun’s hand as you squeeze your thighs around Hueningkai’s head, “‘m so close!” 

“Just a little more baby,” Taehyun purrs, listening to the way Hueningkai’s pace quickens, fingers pumping into your greedy cunt that squeezes him tighter, “c’mon, you can take it.”

Your eyes are squeezed shut from the pleasure, your orgasm building up to an intensity that leaves you unaware of the way Taehyun observes you carefully, drinking in every furrow of your brows, your trembling lips, the broken sob that leaves you once it all crashes down— your cunt pulses and sucks Hueningkai’s fingers in as you finally cum, a weak cry the only thing you can muster as he continues to help you ride it out, tongue lapping up the release that leaks around his fingers.

“I’ve got you, there you go sweet girl,” Taehyun coos, smiling sweetly at the way you pull him in to bury your face into his chest, clinging onto him for support— his words bringing a broken whimper out of you lips, gasping against the sturdy muscles of his chest as you calm down. 

“Kai, please…” you sob, your cunt well abused by the man’s tongue that continues to lap at you leisurely, already having cleaned his fingers and gone back for more— he’s drunk off you, humming absentmindedly against your cunt before he’s licking a long stripe along your entrance, relishing in the long whine you give him as he flicks his tongue on your clit, “please, no more— ‘m sensitive…”

He’s reluctant, only giving in after Taehyun forcibly grabs his hair and tugs him off— through bleary eyes, you take in his fogged, crooked glasses and low-lidded gaze that continues to stare at your glistening pussy in wonder, slathered in a mixture of his spit and your release— he places a gentle kiss on your cunt, listening to the gasp you let out with a crooked, shy smile. 

“Sorry…” he sighs out, massaging the bruised spots of your thighs, licking his lips absentmindedly before he looks up at you, eyes wide and sparkling with doubt. “D-did… did I do okay…?”

You blink in disbelief; when you’ve gazed into his eyes and confirmed that he’s serious, you throw your head back with soft laughter, shaking your head in disbelief before looking back down at the man between your legs— you take in his flustered expression, unable to hold back the fond smile that creeps on your lips. 

“God, you really…” your leg hooks into his back, heel digging into the firm expanse as you reach down to cup his face, his eyes fluttering shut upon contact; your thumb caresses his cheekbones, reaching to adjust his frames as you sigh. “Drive me crazy. You’re perfect.”

“C’mon angel,” Taehyun coos, cupping your cheek and turning you to look at him— he’s pouting, thumb tracing your bottom lip as he speaks, pulling it down with dark eyes, “don’t forget about me, I’m here too.”

The whimper that leaves your throat is downright pathetic— your cunt clenches, tongue darting out to lick his finger, mouth obediently opening as he pushes it in; your eyes are glazed with desire as you suck on it gently, your free hand reaching up to Taehyun’s shoulder, bringing him down towards you. 

“Tyun, I need you,” you sigh out, pulling him into a soft kiss, lingering against his lips as you speak, “want you to fuck me so bad.”

Your desperate pleas leave the two stunned— Hueningkai can feel his cock twitching desperately against the sheets, watching with wide eyes as you squirm shyly, flustering at the filth that Taehyun whispers in your ear.

“Such a greedy thing,” Taehyun purrs, grinning at the way you melt immediately at his words, “was Hueningkai’s mouth not enough for you? Not satisfied?”

“N-no, that’s not true,” you interject quickly, glancing down at the man between your legs that continues to stare up at you with wide, shining eyes— then you look back at Taehyun, heating up under his condescending gaze, “just want more— wanna feel your cock, please…” 

“Yeah? Want me to show you what you’ve been missing?” he murmurs, leaning down to plant kisses against your jaw, chuckling softly at your eager nods, “want me to fuck you good in front of our intern? Show him how it’s done?” 

“Yes— please, yes—” you breathe out, mewling at the soft sucks and bites he gives you, “fuck me, I need it, want it s’bad— ah!” 

Taehyun’s teeth are sharp as they sink into the juncture of your neck, a loud keen escaping you as your back arches from the stinging sensation— his tongue is quick to soothe against it, his hand that was previously tightened against the youngest’s hair falling possessively against your waist, his glare lethal as his eyes lock with Hueningkai’s.

“You heard her,” he grumbles, coy smile tugging at his lips as he nods over to the chair that’s placed by the window, “now be a good boy and go watch over there.”

Taehyun’s jealous streak is alive and well; Hueningkai is happily resigned to sit back and watch as Taehyun kneels between your legs, heavy cock leaking against your pussy as he ruts his cockhead against your clit, the two of you too lost in each other’s lips to do anything about it— he watches with furrowed brows as you whine and mewl at the stimulation, hips jumping with need every time his tip teases your entrance; catching on it, just enough to slip in for a moment before it slips out again. 

The noise that leaves your mouth when Taehyun finally enters you has Hueningkai closing his eyes and trying his best to not cum on the spot— his hand that had previously been wrapped around his weeping cock is still, squeezing his base as he watches Taehyun stretch you out slowly— your teary eyes jump from Taehyun’s face to Hueningkai’s, mouth falling open to let out another pretty moan as Taehyun bottoms out inside you, hips glued to yours. 

“Shit… you’re so tight,” Taehyun groans, throwing his head back at your wet walls that continue to flutter around him, trying to suck him in deeper; looking back down at you, he smiles, taking in your wandering eyes as he glances over at your point of interest. 

“You enjoying this?” he teases, thrusting his hips shallowly to pull another whine out of you, feeling the way you clench even tighter around him, “like having him watch you like this?”

“Yes, nngh, fuck—!” you gasp, words stuck in your throat as Taehyun slowly pulls out of you, until his leaking tip is the only thing your cunt can ache around— you jump as he bottoms out in you with one harsh, swift thrust; when your glistening eyes meet Taehyun’s, you’re met with that familiar, dangerous glint in his shining pupils. 

“Then be a good girl and show him how good you feel.” 

Your mind is nothing but a melted puddle in your head; your eyes have rolled to the back of your skull, mouth fallen open as you lay there and let Taehyun use you just how he wants— thick cock battering into your walls harshly, calloused hands holding onto your waist to keep you close, hips angled up so he can fuck into you better— it’s so good, you’ve never been fucked like this before, nothing but a pretty doll for Taehyun to use in order to reach his peak, brows knitted and eyes zoned in on every expression you make, cock twitching at every moan and cry of his name. 

God, all this time working together in the office, yet you never took note of Taehyun’s physique; his suit always tailored to perfection, just enough to fit but not enough to show what was hiding underneath— you’re stuck in a trance as you watch the way his stomach clenches with every thrust, abs glistening from the sweat that runs down his body, your legs wrapping around his small waist to pull you closer; his body feels so firm under your hands, grabbing onto his biceps and crying at the way he fucks you into the mattress, his quiet, deep voice murmuring filth into your ears as he angles his cock just right, finding your sweet spot with ease— listening to the way you squeal and press your hands against his chest, gasping that it’s too much; when you feel him smile against your lips, you know you’ve fucked up. 

“Too much?” he mocks, slowing his pace, listening to the way you whine— only to shudder and tuck your face into his neck, pussy clenching at the way he’s bottomed out inside you, rolling his hips so slowly and deeply— pressing you further into the bed, chest pressing against yours and trapping you under him as he huffs, “we can’t stop now, baby— Hueningie’s enjoying the show too much.”

Like clockwork, you glance over Taehyun’s shoulder and at the man who remains seated, watching— and Taehyun can feel the way you gush around him, pussy so slick and stuffed that you have no other choice but to let it leak out and soil your sheets— because really, the sight is to die for. 

His tie has been loosened, his blazer shrugged off— his shirt is unbuttoned halfway, heaving chest peeking out and glistening with sweat— his hair is ruffled, glasses hanging low on his nose, and when your eyes meet his, you feel trapped; he’s entirely fucked out, his neediness conveyed with a single glance— when your eyes begin to wander back down, you can’t help the whine that leaves your swollen lips. 

“Hyuka,” you cry, fingers digging into Taehyun’s shoulders as he continues to fuck you deep, holding onto your thigh to keep you close; you can’t keep your eyes off the way Hueningkai continues to fuck into his fist, matching the rhythm as slick sounds emit from the cum that leaks out of his needy tip, droplets falling onto his hands that continue to grip tightly around his length— you watch as he swipes a thumb over the slit of his cockhead, a whimper falling from your lips at the way his hips buck and his cock twitches; you think your mouth started watering.

“Greedy girl,” Taehyun chides, propping himself up on his elbows, taking your chin in his hands and forcing you to turn back to look at him— your eyes glisten as they meet his harsh gaze, stomach flipping at the intensity as he tuts disappointedly at you. 

“Drooling over him while I’m here,” he punctuates his words with a calculated thrust to your sweet spot, listening to the choked moan you let out with a satisfied smile, “fucking you this good.”

“‘m sorry,” you mumble breathlessly, fingers digging into his back, feeling another orgasm beginning to build up, “‘m sorry Tyunnie, please don’t stop— please, I’m so close…”

Listening to your mindless rambles, he lets out a breathy chuckle— only to grab your thighs, bringing them up and throwing them over his shoulders, watching the way you melt at the new angle— and he lets out a soft groan, feeling his own high approaching with the way you continue to clench around him so tightly. 

“Yeah, that’s right,” he breathes out, hands that were holding onto your thighs now bringing them down toward your chest, practically folding you as your eyes roll back, mouth falling open as he presses his weight against you, thick cock bottoming out and reaching in deep, hitting the spots that make you gasp and yelp— he’s leaning down to press his weight against you, pushing you into the mattress as he rolls his hips and angles himself to hit your sweet spot; his hand leaves your thigh, reaching down to circle your clit, and you shudder with a broken cry, “got you falling apart on my cock— fuck, and you’re still looking over at him.” 

“I’m close,” you gasp, hands reaching for his shoulders, nails digging into his skin and leaving marks, “oh my god, I’m so close, please, just like that—”

“Gonna cum?” he whispers, the mischief in his tone lost on you as you nod, “tell me how sorry you are. Maybe then I’ll let you cum.”

You’re snapped out of your daze the moment you feel everything stop— his cock pressed deep into you, his fingers that lay still on your clit, the weight of his body heavy as you look into his eyes, only to be met with his heated, expectant stare.

“‘m sorry…” you mutter meekly, cunt clenching and gushing around his thick length desperately, only to be met with his low grumble that asks you for what?  “‘m sorry for ignoring you— sorry for making you wait—” 

“Should be sorry,” Taehyun interrupts with a breathy laugh, throwing your head back at the way he begins to thrust into you again, deep and agonizingly slow, “took forever to finally get you like this— and now I have to fight for your attention?”

Hueningkai watches you shake your head fervently, in awe as you roll your hips against Taehyun’s, desperate for more— his cock pulses in his hand, slick with cum that continues to leak, eyes wide behind his glasses in fear of missing anything— he watches you react instantly to Taehyun’s motions, his hand circling your clit roughly as he begins to pound into you again, your body bouncing from the weight of each thrust, punching out moans from you.

“You really wanna cum that bad?” Taehyun mocks, feeling the way your cunt clenches around him— he looks down at where his cock disappears inside you, shining from your arousal, the wet squelching that comes with every thrust enough to have you heating up from embarrassment; but Taehyun thinks otherwise, etching the sight into his mind as his cock twitches and aches for more— your breathy voice that slurs out pleas is the only thing that breaks him from his trance. 

“Tell me who’s making you feel so good,” he growls, feeling his climax creeping up on him, mean thrusts turning sloppy, “c’mon baby, lemme hear you.”

“It’s you— fuck, ngh— fucking me so good, ah!” your stomach tightens, feeling Taehyun’s large hands splay over it, pressing down and making you feel his length that continues to fuck into you— his thumb is persistent on your clit, your body growing restless from the stimulation, “god, love your cock— you’re so good, wanna cum, need you to cum—!”

Your pleas have Taehyun closing his eyes with a hissed out curse, concentrating on making you cum before him— Hueningkai can only watch from his spot, gulping thickly as he takes everything in; your nails that dig into Taehyun’s shoulders, trembling hands slipping and running down his muscled back, leaving bright red marks in their wake— Taehyun’s cock that continues to ram into you, picking up his pace and pressing you further into the bed as you cry and whine that you’re close, face screwed up in pleasure— Hueningkai has to stop his own motions all together, biting down on his lip at the ebbing pain of his denied orgasm; his eyes flicker between your face and your pussy, both sights equally entrancing as he listens to your peak approach. 

“I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna—!” you whine, words lost on your tongue as you bury your face into Taehyun’s chest— your words are muffled, but they still reach Taehyun’s ears, “please cum inside me, want you to fill me up, please please please—”

“Fuck,” Taehyun hisses sharply, feeling you crash down with a loud moan, cunt creaming around him, “fuck, such a good girl— gonna fill you up, make you mine, pump you full of my cum—”

Taehyun’s hips have a mind of his own as he rides out his high, hand on your stomach continuing to press down even after you’ve begun to cry from the sensitivity, thick cum pumping inside you until it can no longer stay inside— you can only lay there and take everything Taehyun gives you as he calms down, hips coming to a stop as they press flush against yours; right when he thinks his arms might give out on him, he sits back, looking at your spent, sweating body with a triumphant smile. 

“So pretty,” he coos, caressing your face lovingly, watching you nuzzle into his palm with a tired sigh, “tired?”

“Mh-hmm,” you say softly, looking as though you might doze off any second now— you flinch at the sensation of Taehyun pulling out, the said man watching with hungry eyes as his cum slowly begins to pool out of your fluttering hole; he looks back up at you, tutting softly as he gives your cheek a playful pat. 

“That’s too bad,” he hums, your eyes fluttering open just enough to see him get off the bed, nodding over to where Hueningkai remains, “cause you’re not done yet.”

You whine, legs closing and thighs rubbing together nervously, but Taehyun is having none of it as he scoffs mockingly. 

“What happened to our greedy girl?” he asks, your stomach flipping at his words, “our little intern here hasn’t had his turn with you yet— I’m sure he can’t wait to show you what he learned.”

“Right, Kai?”

The exhaustion from your previous orgasm seems to have gotten to you— because with a mere blink of your eyes, you find Hueningkai hovering above you, gazing through bleary eyes as he begins to unbutton his shirt, staring at you with a desperation more intense than before; his hands are deft as they unbutton his pants, pulling them off with a swift motion and feeling your eyes immediately fall onto his weeping, blushing cock—  you’re quiet, allowing him to loom over you and pry your thighs apart, situating himself between them until his cock is resting over your mound, leaking and twitching against your stomach; you think you see him gulp, eyes running over your spent body as he clears his throat softly. 

“Do you think you can take more?” he quietly asks, hesitant to do anything yet unable to stop the way his cocks ruts softly against the softness of your stomach, “we can stop if you want us to.”

Immediately, you shake your head no— your hand reaches down to where his cock rests, feeling his breath hitch as your fingers trace around his cockhead, pressing into his slit— his eyes are wide as they meet yours, melting at the pout you give him. 

“No, wanna feel you,” you say, taking a hold of his length, slapping it against your stomach to watch the way it sticks, “want you to fill me up with your cum.”

His lips press together in shock, a broken whimper creeping out his throat— he’s trying his hardest not to cum, your mere touch enough to have him close. Pulling away— somewhat reluctantly— from your hold, he grabs his cock and lines it up with your sopping entrance; the sight of it leaking with Teahyun’s cum has his cock twitching in his hand, pressing it carefully against your fluttering hole. 

“Shit, you’re so warm…” he groans, watching his thick tip push slowly into you, the mixture of release coating his length as he eases himself inside— soft walls pulse around him, cum seeping out your entrance and coating his pelvis that remains pressed flush to yours; he watches your eyes widen and turn blank, a sharp gasp falling from you the moment he bottoms out. 

“Oh— you’re so…” words fall short, feeling his cock twitch inside you, his tip nudging against the deepest spots you never knew were there— you think you might feel him against your cervix, the stretch and length of him leaving your mind empty— “fuck… Kai… you’re so big…” 

The words have him shivering— his chest is flushing from all the attention, only able to stare down at you in awe as he feels your cunt adjust to his size; sensing his unsurety, you roll your hips against his and send him your signature, pleading look. 

“Kai, please,” you moan, reaching up to grab his hands and placing them on your hips, “just use me— just wanna make you feel good.”

The phrase just use me has Hueningkai’s brain short-circuiting; with one last look at you— your sweaty, spent body, thighs shining with slick and eyes fluttering with the last bit of coherency you have— he groans, fingers digging into your waist and pulling you right into him; the yelp you let out at feeling him nudge into you cervix falls on deaf ears, and Hueningkai allows himself to get lost in your dripping cunt. 

His hips snap into you, thick cock slamming into your sensitive, used walls— you can merely cry and wail as you allow him to chase his pleasure, teary eyes taking in his dark eyes that remain glued to your cunt, watching himself disappear inside you; thick, creamy ring forming around his length, the wet sounds that come from your cunt and the weak clenches you give him with every  thrust— it’s intoxicating, so much that he hasn’t realized how loud his moans and grunts have become. 

“Y-you’re… so beautiful…” he whines, grabbing your hips and raising them into the air, just so he can have easier access to you— snapping his hips harsher into you, deep and cruel as he finds your sweet spot with an accidental, sloppy spot; listening to you keen and scramble to grab the sheets, his eyes narrow in concentration to find it again— and when he finally does, he doesn’t let up. 

“Kai, kai kai—” you whine out, tears pricking your eyes from the overwhelming pleasure; your brain is fogged and your cunt can only let itself be abused, squelching and leaking even more cum that dribbles down your ass and onto the sheets; it's a filthy, pathetic mess, and you feel Taehyun’s amused gaze on the two of you all the while, “Kai, please— agh, it’s too much!”

But even if the overstimulation has your body on fire, the last thing you want is for him to stop— Hueningkai seems to be on the same page as you, merely groaning at the tears that slip from your eyes, leaning down to hover over you and press you into the mattress, just as Taehyun had done before— carefully, he reaches out to cup your face, thumb wiping the tears from your eyes away. He leans down to give you a brief, sloppy kiss, pulling away to pant against your mouth. 

“‘m sorry, sorry baby,” he weakly says, out of breath as he continues to rut his cock into you wildly, “please, just a bit more— just give me a little more, ‘m so close, c’mon.”

With every wail and mewl you give him, a soft apology is whispered against your skin— plump lips kissing your tears away, burrowing his head into your neck as he murmurs that he can’t stop, sorry— his hands gripping onto your hips to ensure that you don’t squirm away from him, even if he continues to abuse your most sensitive spots. 

The line between pleasure and pain has blurred long ago, leaving you a sobbing, babbling mess as you continue to let Hueningkai use you, the man pressing his body against yours and successfully trapping you beneath him; your nipples rub against his firm chest, hands clawing at his broad shoulders, leaving marks with every harsh thrust that sends you reeling. He’s big in every sense of the word— overpowering you, covering your sight with his body and keeping you in whatever position he’d like with his mere hands— his grip is steady on your waist, making sure to keep you as close to his hips as possible, whether it be by angling your body differently or using his strength as leverage to fuck you against him— a little toy for him to use, your body nothing but a means to get him to cum. 

“Ah, your pussy’s so good,” he groans, looking down between your legs, curiosity getting the best of him as he reaches down to feel against your stomach, brows furrowing at the bulge he feels— then he presses down, the pressure making your breath hitch. “you’re sucking me in so good— you’re so tight, ‘m sorry, I just can’t get enough of you—”

“Kai” is all you can cry out, thighs beginning to twitch and your hips jumping with shocks of overstimulation, “Kai, hurts, can’t take it…” 

“Yes you can,” Taehyun speaks up, seeing through your lies with an amused smile, “c’mon angel, just a little more— don’t you wanna feel good? Hmm? Wanna feel him fill you up?” 

You whimper, unable to respond— his hand that was previously feeling the way his cock slipped in and out of you through your stomach wandered down, finding your clit and beginning to massage it gently; feeling you clamp down on him, Hueningkai moans, his high beginning to approach dangerously. 

“Just be a good girl and let him use you a little longer,” Taehyun says, watching fondly as your face twists with concentration, trying your best to keep up with the man that continues to abuse your cunt, “that’s it— just a little more…”

“‘m so close,” Hueningkai breathes out, thrusts becoming sloppy and his fingers on your clit becoming frantic, “can you give me one more? Wanna feel you cum on my cock, please baby.”

“Mhh, ‘s too much—” you gasp, a sudden pleasure beginning to seize your body, back arching and hips rolling in search of it— Hueningkai sees it immediately, putting in his last efforts to ram into your sweet spot, sweat running down his neck as he concentrates to not cum before you, “wait— wait, think ‘m gonna—!” 

Your peak crashes onto you unexpectedly, a rush of strength making you pull Hueningkai down as you bury your face into his neck, legs wrapping around his waist, cunt throbbing and tightening around his cock; Hueningkai is following immediately after, a long, broken whine leaving his lips as he lets his hips lose rhythm, rutting and pressing as deep as they can; hot, thick ropes of cum fill your already stuffed pussy, but the man above you is stubborn as he continues to fuck it back into you, fingers collecting anything that slips out and pushing it back in alongside his cock— the sensation has you gasping and clawing at his back. 

“Alright you two, that’s enough,” Taehyun’s firm voice is startling as Hueningkai jumps away from you, cock still buried inside as he finally takes in your broken state with wide, bewildered eyes— when he looks over at Taehyun, the elder merely chuckles. 

“She’s fine,” he says, cupping your cheek and leaning down to give you a chaste kiss, smiling at the way you blindly chase his lips, “she’ll be sore tomorrow, but she’ll be okay.”

Gesturing for Hueningkai to pick you up, he nods over to your bathroom down the hall. 

“C’mon, let's go clean up,” two of you— or rather, Hueningkai, with you limp in his hold— follow diligently, and a part of you wonders if the moment will come where the three of you address this strange dynamic. 

But with the way these two act so unphased, you think you might know what the answer might be. 

 ◦◦◦ 

“You barely touched your lunch today,” Taehyun frowns, slipping your jacket on for you as you prepare to leave the empty office, the said lunchbox in your hand and your bag in the other, “was Hueningkai’s cooking that bad?” 

“Hey, of course it wasn’t,” you scold, smacking his chest, ignoring the way his eyes darken at the action— you glance behind you and at the said man that’s just finished shutting down his computer, slipping his blazer back on and looking up at where the two of you wait— the smile he sends you is innocent, making your stomach twinge with guilt at Taehyun’s comment, “I was just so worried about the presentation this Friday, I guess I just lost my appetite.”

“My poor baby,” Taehyun pouts, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you in for a gentle kiss, “you’ve been working so hard this past month, I’m sure it’s gonna turn out great.”

“What happened?” Hueningkai is last to arrive at the scene, taking in the furrow of your brows with a worried frown. “Everything okay?”

“No, you’re starving our baby here because of your terrible cooking,” Taehyun chides, breaking into a grin as you gasp and hit his chest once more, “she barely touched the lunch you gave her.”

“That’s not true!” you gape, escaping Taehyun’s hold to run over to him, “oh my god, don’t listen to him!” 

“Was it really that bad?” he pouts down at you, puppy eyes glistening as he listens to you stutter through your explanation, placing gentle hands on your hips, “I woke up extra early this morning to make it for you.”

“Kai, of course not,” you stress, cupping his face and peppering kisses all over it— the tip of his nose, his cheekbones, his cupid’s bow— completely unaware of the way the two fight back mischievous smiles, “I love your cooking— I love you, love that you’re so sweet and make me lunch.”

“Then, how come you didn’t finish it?” Taehyun asks, sneaking up behind you to wrap his arms around your middle, placing his head on your shoulder, “so ungrateful… maybe we need to teach you a lesson, hmm?”

He places a soft kiss on your jaw, feeling you tense the moment you catch on to their scheme— you glance up at Hueningkai for help, only to find him staring back at you with unforgiving, sulky puppy eyes. 

“I think we should,” Hueningkai agrees, bottom lip jutting out cutely as Taehyun continues to kiss and nip at your neck, “you’re so mean, honey.”

Your mouth falls open in shock, unable to do anything but let the two men grab your hands and lead you out— their discussion on who’s place to go to doesn't process in your mind, and all you can think is that you fell into their trap, good. 

“Oh, you guys are so…” you mumble, still speechless as they turn to look at you— you turn from Taehyun’s dark, teasing gaze to Hueningkai’s playful one, shaking your head in disbelief, “terrible.”

You can’t help but think back to a few months ago— Huenignkai’s shy, flustered personality, Taehyun’s hopelessness and his silent jealousy— and you can’t help but wonder what monsters you’ve turned your boys into.

Hueningkai reaches to give your hip a loving squeeze— Taehyun chuckles, bringing your hand up so he can give it a kiss. “Save it for the bedroom, love.”

Oh, you’re in for a long night. 

[skultyun]

Has anyone written a manipulative!reader fic? Cause tell me why is it always them doing the traumatizing, like let me have a turn lil' bro 😭🙏🗣️

(is this how I announce new fics coming out, yes sorry I'm too lazy to make a proper announcement)

[skultyun]

(I really like a soft sub!soobin.. I'm rlly weak for him, but I think he could be a dom too, maybe I'll write another s.t sbn fic that includes foodplay in the future.. WHO KNOWS.)

ೀ⋆｡"Sweet taste" ۶ৎ˚⋆

Overview » Soobin is your friendly neighbour, wants to start a pastry business! You're there to support him in his dream but feelings get involved once he catches you doing something not quite appropriate.

↳ warnings: NSFW, masturbation, titfucking, dirty talk, dacryphilia, porn, fluff but mostly smut.

↳ pairings: femdom!reader x sub!soobin, meandom!reader, perv!Soobin, you two are both MASTER BAKERS!! (๑>؂•̀๑)

Author's note: posting this for sbn's bday! Omg I barely even got it done in time anyways hope you eat this up cuz I probably won't be posting in a while UAHA

It had been three whole months since your cute neighbor, Soobin, moved in! He always came knocking at your door on a weekday— Tuesday 4:30 to be exact, and held a box full of home baked sweets! At first you were suspicious, a guy? giving out sweets? For free? It's too good to be true. Then again you were a broke unemployed college student, so you were in no position to decline.

They were desserts you'd usually see at the bakery, tarts, cake slices, pies— and they look appetizing! The smell was kind of throwing you off though. So you tried them! And god, they tasted awful. "Did he replace the sugar with salt??" You almost choked, spitting it out, I mean atleast there was effort..

The next time you were given sweets, you try to politely decline, learning from last times experience. But the light in his glossy eyes, it's the look of feigning innocence, and it makes you give in. "Can't believe I'm afraid of hurting a boys feelings.." You were about to head back to your apartment, most likely gonna throw the box of sweets when you get into your room, but soobin stopped you. "Wait!- I needed to ask you- no! I need you to do something actually.." you turn around and face him, awaiting his request. "Can you try them right now? I want some feedback.." "oh.. shit." "What was that?" You play dumb. "Uhh nothing, sorry." You start opening the box, staring at the desserts, you pick out the cookie. Macadamia, and white chocolate, a classic!

Nothing could go wrong..

You pick up the piece and place it in your mouth, chewing it to bits, it's sweet! Your face lights up and that gives soobin the impression that you liked it!— Then you chew down on something hard, it breaks down in your mouth and the intense sweetness gets you coughing. Soobins enthusiastic smile immediately fades, turning into concern. "Are you okay?" You try to digest the cookie properly, that was a bit too sweet. "-EHEM! w-was that a whole block of sugar in there?"

So by your guidance, and the internet. Soobin began to develop his baking skills in the kitchen! It nearly cost you your lives this one time he set the wrong temperature, but mistakes are just a step to success! Now, soobins pastries have gotten much better than they were in the past, and you promise to work as his assistant if he does open a physical store one day.

"Ahhh.." The slick sound of his hand stroking his cock up and down was echoing in the entire room, staring at the video where these two lovers were doing obscene things to eachother, his eyes half-lidded. "..m' so closee.." He's whining under his breath, pushing himself to the brink of tears. Even though he kept convincing himself "never again." after every climax, he ends up doing it again. As he's busyung himself with jerking off, a thought slips into his mind. "Soobin.." He's hovering over you, just like the video, and burying himself deep inside you, the idea of it sparks something inside him and that thrilling sensation takes over the moment he goes over the edge, shaking and moaning loudly as he split his load all over himself. It was a lewd sight. He heaves, all sweating and panting, feeling so ashamed to the fact he came to his dirty imagination of you. But it felt so good..

Soobin sighs, taking out more tissues and replaying the video. "One more can't be just bad.."

Okay, maybe one more was that bad. He spent his entire night blowing his load all over the place to the thought of you, and worse, he had to face you the next day! This was a punishment from the heavens for his indecency and he knows it. The doorbell rings, he already has an idea who it may be, he peeps through the hole and to no surprise you're standing outside with the ingredients he requested you to buy for him. Hesitant, he reaches out for the handle but pulls away, but then a key unlocks the door. Shit, he forgot he gave you the spare. Standing there awkwardly as you open the door on your own. "Ohh.. hello there.." He waves, you eye him a suspicious look, "Already standing here but not opening the door? What a gentleman." You sarcastically comment, entering to his apartment. He fumbles his words trying to explain himself, but you've already walked past him. "No I— it wasn't- hey! wait for me!"

The two of you are busying yourselves around the kitchen, this time you were preparing a batch of cookies and cream filled donuts! Plain simple sugar cookies paired with the sweet delectable donuts filled with any flavour you could make with what you have. Despite there being an important task at hand, he couldn't stop staring at you, his mind wandering off to other things, just wanting to coat his frosting all over your face and stuff you with his cream— "Soobin, why don't you add decorations?" He almost dropped whatever he was holding as you called him. "Huh?? Deco.. rations..?" He repeats, "Yup, they taste good but the appeal is found in it's looks! That's the rage nowadays."

You take a pipe bag and cuts a small piece off it's tip, piping the black frost onto the freshly baked cookie, drawing a cute face into the cookie, taking closer inspection of it, Soobin is intrigued. "Oh, it's cute." "See? Told ya!" "But I can't really draw things like that.." Rolling your eyes, you forces him to take hold of the pipe bag and places another cookie Infront of him, "Try it!" Reluctant, but it wasnt like he had a choice. He attempts to copy the same thing you drew on your cookie, "O-Oh- whoops- ah! I-Its kinda going the other way— okay I'll continue!!" With your guidance and his clumsy hands, he created a messy monstrosity.

You both stare blankly at it. "Okay sorry, I believe you now. You really suck!" Soobin hums, a little hurt and discouraged. "Is there no room for improvement?" You shook your head, taking his hand in yours and slipping between his arms to aide him properly. "Well I don't how to teach someone the basic but just try to smoothly trace out the image you have in mind and.." He would've been listening well, taking note of every single piece of advice you had to give him, but after last night? No way.

Looking down at you like this gives him the clearest view of your cleavage from above, the small gap between your breasts is so alluring he just wants to bury his face in it and live there forever..

"Hahh.. Soobin..! Tone it down.." Having you on your knees before him, top pushed down your chest to have your tits bouncing out in the open, his cock slides between him with ease as he increases the speed, the soft skin rubs him off so good he's letting out estranged moans. "Oh- fuck.. please.. m' gonna cum.." he mutters so pathetically it sounds like he's crying, he's so close. The next thrust is getting ropes of cum to escape his poor pent up cock, coating your face and chest in sticky semen. "Soob.. I'm all dirty now.." you pout at him.

"Hmpfhh.." He whines at the thought, looking down at you again to stare at your chest, but something else catches his eye. A tent is bulging out of his pants, nearly grazing against your ass,"I'm hard?? Since when?- holy shit!-" Soobin pulls away nervously, you look at him confused with that same pout he imagined in his fantasy. "Sorry!- I just remember I had to do something I'm so sorry I'll be right back promise! O-Or you could even go back to your room- okay bye!" He had no time to further elaborate and rushed to his room, clearly flustered.

Well it had been over a week since that incident had took place, Soobin didn't even know if you realized it yourself or not, but either way he just couldn't look at you the same anymore. He's a total pervert, and he still hasn't come to terms with that fact. And what was even worse was that he couldn't stop, still his imagination ran wild for you, every single dirty thought crossed his mind and he could only think about doing those things to you.

He had been working alone in the kitchen due to your absence (just because he doesn't invite you over anymore) which makes him feel a bit lonely from the lack of company. But as he was preparing ingredients for the new batch of pastries, he remembers he ran out of milk and eggs. Last time he restocked was when you bought the ingredients for him. Could this be an opening for a conversation after days of silence? Maybe he didn't have the confidence to approach you , but of they were talking about something as simple as this then maybe— just maybe. It'll take your mind off things.

Soobin musters up the courage to knock at your door, "Hello? You home..?" But it's quite, he takes out the keys of your apartment (you also gave him a spare!) and contemplates if he should enter or not. He feels like an asshole for this but he's also desperate. And so he twists the key and unlocks the door slowly, the lights are dimmed, only the light from the hallway opened. "She must be resting.." he thought to himself, but the light emitting from your room didn't convince him otherwise. Rehearsing what he had to say to you until he got closer to your room. "Hey- Hi!- sorry it's been a while but I just wanted to ask you something- no no, that's pathetic.."

Soobin pats his cheeks as he's finally near your door, taking a deep breath before opening the door. His gaze focused on the ground before turning up to look at you. "Hey, do you think you could help me buy ingredients?—"

The next moment is spent in silence, his jaw dropped, eyes popping out of their sockets, he caught you in a very vulnerable state. And by vulnerable- it's the sight of two of your fingers inside you with a vibrator pressed to your clit kind of vulnerable. He stands there in disbelief, registering the sight Infront of him. His heart thumps dangerously fast, he could feel his pulse beating in all areas, his throat went dry.

"Soobin..?" You notice him standing there and purposely push your fingers deeper, moaning at the feeling of being stuffed, but it doesn't stop you, locking eyes with Soobin as you turn the setting of your toy a little higher to push you closer to your edge. Looking so fucked out and exhausted, your eyes laid on his dick, seeing it bulge through the thin fabric of his sweats.

And those dirty thoughts he had of you, none of them could beat this, after months of suppressing his desires for you he can't just contain them this time, he needed to see more, he needed to touch you more, finally doing things that he was so scared of. But instead he turns around, this wasn't good— you were just friends! Until he had been eyeing you.. but still, it's wrong to take advantage of a people just because of the state their in.

"I am so sorry! I didn't knock first! I entered without permission! I'll never do it again so I'll be seeing my way out! Thank you for having me.." Once he announces that he's leaving, you whine, using your strength to get up and pull your fingers out. "Just wait a moment!" But soobins already sprinting down your hall, not wanting to communicate any longer. "Soobin!" You call out his name and chase after him with weak legs. Just before he can make it out the door, you reach out to grab his wrist but fail, changing the target to the hem of his shirt and you catch him, pulling him back to you as the two of you stumble and fall into the couch.

"And where do you think you're going? Hm?" He's laying between your legs, if he was wearing clothes then he'd feel how wet you were, Soobin turns around in shame. "Well-" "Were you gonna go back to your room to masturbate? Jerk off to that image of me?- I've had enough! If you're gonna do something don't tease me and do it on your own.. I'm right here!" Soobin shook his head. "Wait slow down, what are you even talking about.."

You were guiding him on how to draw, giving basic tips and simple instructions, yet he wasn't listening to any of it, suddenly you got pinned closer to the counter, soobin starts to "subtly" ruts his erection against you, earning a soft whine that escaped your lips. "Just what are you doing??" You question, but he's deep too into his fantasy to even respond, and damn he's really stiff, and just by the outline of his bulge you could tell he's really big. Soobin had deceived you into thinking he was pure and innocent. He pulls away stuttering just when you decided you want more. A complaint tried to rise out of you but it's too late, he's off to his room, leaving you there unfulfilled and needing more.

"What?! So you felt it..?" Soobin's cheeks are on fire, staring at you wide-eyed like a giant puppy. "Was I not suppose to? Wow, you really are a genius, fantasizing about a girl then thinking you could get away with it." You scoff, it fuels his embarrassment further and that's the reaction you were hoping for. "S-Sorry.. something came over me, I'm so sorry for being indecent, I'll try and earn back your trust if you'd let me, I still wanna continue working as partners!"

He looked genuinely sorry, and apologetic. But that wasn't what you were searching for. Okay, maybe to others this might've been a dick move, but you couldn't care less, you've been fantasizing about your cute neighbor aswell since he came. "What's there to apologize for? I didn't ask for your sorry." You grab his shirt and pull him closer, eye to eye with him as your foreheads touched, wrapping your legs around his waist to lock the two of you together tight.

"Actually I take it back, you do need to say sorry.." your hand trails down to his sweats, palming the obvious tent straining his pants, soobin swore under his breath, watching intently as you touched him however you pleased. His dick is painfully hard, waiting to be freed from his pants already, but you weren't that easy. Your palm pushes down on the bulge and rubs in a circular motion with just enough pressure to drive him crazy.

"cockblocking me for weeks without making a move, then getting off to the thought of me whenever you want.. I do deserve an apology." Soobin bites down on his lip, it's hard to concentrate on your words when your teasing his stiff cock. "But.. there is something else you could do for me that's better." You lock eyes with him again, his adams apple bobs, gulping before he spoke. "And what may that be..?" Soobin questions, "Easy, sex."

"Fuck, I'm not sure of it will even fit—" you shush him, placing your finger over his lips, the tip of his cock is parting your soaked cunt, but as soon as you make the effort to push it in, it kept slipping. The size difference between you two was obvious, so to take Soobins length for the first time was a challenge. "Maybe we should change the position??-" he suggests, but you turn it down. "Oh could you shut up for once? If it wasn't for your massive cock, we wouldn't be in this situation." Your comment makes him flustered, but also sulky. He ran his hand through his hair, "Hmph, I wouldn't say "massive" was the word." Although this was frustrating, this predicament was such a turn on, the tip nudges against your clit everytime you fail, always daring to enter just for it0 to tease you and slip off.

You finally had enough and pinned Soobin down, he looks at you a little stunned since it was unexpected, but he steadies you, holding your hips as you straddled his lap to get into a good position, "This stupid fucking!—" After numerous failed attempts, you position the tip in your entrance and slam yourself down on him impatiently, although you weren't expecting it to go in this time, taking in half his length inside you. "Fuckk.." Your eyes roll to the back of your head, for a second you let yourself go, Soobin lets out the loudest whine, wow, he's a sucker for pussy. "Ahn.. be gentle.. I almost came.." he requests, his hand caresses your waist, it's hard to move when your pussy is sucking him in so tight, but you still make an effort to do so.

"Ugh, of course I'd have to be the one doing the work, poor binnie, got blessed with such a huge cock but doesn't know how to even use it." You taunt and sink yourself further into him, the more you take, the more he falls apart, he's completely helpless underneath you, but he wouldn't have it any other way. "Princess.. faster please.." and you heed to his request, bouncing on his dick a little faster, helping the slick spread around and making it easier to move. "Hm? Like that binnie?" He nods, his eyes shut tight as he lets himself and relaxes under your control. You tug at his hair and his eyes open again, looking back at yours glossy and helpless. "Words, love." He's quick to respond. "Y-Yes.. it.. feels good!"

Pathetic, was the best word to describe him at the moment, he looked like he wanted to make an effort to takes things another step but was too shy, that's how he always was. But you don't mind taking initiative, it's fun to control him. Without any warning beforehand, you lift yourself off his length entirely just as he was enjoying himself. His whines at the loss of warmth. "Hm, maybe you don't deserve my pussy after all. Right?" He shook his head vigorously while frowning. "No! Please no! I've been good.. haven't I?" Your small hand wraps around his shaft, not even fully covering it, you stroke him fast, nearing him to the edge, pre-cum oozing out his pretty slit. "Not really, my hand seems to be doing just fine for you.." he whines, bucking his hips up to meet your hand, so you slow it down. "W-Why??" "You deserve to be punished, it's only fair right? You're lucky I'm even touching you right now, show some gratitude." And too your surprise, he takes your joke as an order. "m' sorry.. thank you for touching me princess.. your pussy and hand feels so good! You're the best!" You start to stroke him a little more faster and he's murmuring under his breath. "Thank you.. aughh.. thankyouthankyouthankyou—" his climax is getting closer, you could tell by the way his face scrunches up, he's saving himself for your pussy. "Picky slut.."

You let go of his cock, but he has no time to mourn the loss of it as you dealt a large strike to his poor strained dick, making his body jolt in return and spurt out a little bit of his load. "Ahhn!" He cried out, you move back and bend down to his cock, adjusting the length to your mouth and circling your tongue on the underside of his tip, he's crying, tears streaming down his eyes as you bully his strained, hard, edged cock. Licking the slit and tasting it's saltiness, he wants to come so bad. "Gonna give in? Or are you still wanting for my pussy again?" "Ahnn.. I-I.. m' waiting for you.." he whines. "Good boy, then hold it in." You take only the tip in your mouth, stroking the rest of his length using your hand. He's trying so hard not to squirm but it felt so good, he was so close.. "ugh! I can't hold it anymore! please princess gon' come!!-" you pull his dick out of your mouth with a small pop and quickly slid it back inside you, returning him the warmth he desperately needed.

"Needy whore.. I barely even started and you're already gonna come? So pathetic, go ahead, fill me then." Soobin cries and nods, thrusting up inside you till, battering your pussy with his huge cock, your insides felt so good, warm and tight more than he imagined, his tip brushes against your g-spot but not exactly hitting it either, panting like a dog and using you like some fucktoy till he was falling over the edge, body sparking up in that familiar burning sensation as the knot in his stomach comes undone, snapping what's left of his sanity, you can feel him spurting ropes of cum inside you, painting your tight gummy walls white with his seed.

He's spent, lying against you as he pulled his cock out, semi-hard and covered in his own filth. Your pussy gushes out the rest of his cum, dripping down your soaked cunt that had yet to finish, he's staring at it so embarrassed yet proud he was able to have your cunt twitching around him. "Is that the most you can do?" You say, still exhausted but you knew it wasn't over yet. Soobin pouts and shakes his head. "No- more, I can take more..!" You caresses his cheek and smirk, "Of course you can love, you'll make sure to satisfy me too this time right?" He weakly nods and you press a kiss to his cheek. "Good boy.."

This was gonna be a long night.

A few months had passed by and you finally opened a small pastry shop with Soobin! Your estimated growth had been past your expectations and everyone loved the desserts you sold at your shop! Soobin was proud of was you've accomplished, now that he's achieved his dream and grown closer to you than ever before. There was nothing else he could've asked for!

Actually there was one thing, maybe you could stop getting him hard during work hours, makes it a hassle to jerk off on shift all the time.. but it doesn't sound all too bad either.

[skultyun]

ೀ⋆｡"Sweet taste" ۶ৎ˚⋆

Overview » Soobin is your friendly neighbour, wants to start a pastry business! You're there to support him in his dream but feelings get involved once he catches you doing something not quite appropriate.

↳ warnings: NSFW, masturbation, titfucking, dirty talk, dacryphilia, porn, fluff but mostly smut.

↳ pairings: femdom!reader x sub!soobin, meandom!reader, perv!Soobin, you two are both MASTER BAKERS!! (๑>؂•̀๑)

Author's note: posting this for sbn's bday! Omg I barely even got it done in time anyways hope you eat this up cuz I probably won't be posting in a while UAHA

It had been three whole months since your cute neighbor, Soobin, moved in! He always came knocking at your door on a weekday— Tuesday 4:30 to be exact, and held a box full of home baked sweets! At first you were suspicious, a guy? giving out sweets? For free? It's too good to be true. Then again you were a broke unemployed college student, so you were in no position to decline.

They were desserts you'd usually see at the bakery, tarts, cake slices, pies— and they look appetizing! The smell was kind of throwing you off though. So you tried them! And god, they tasted awful. "Did he replace the sugar with salt??" You almost choked, spitting it out, I mean atleast there was effort..

The next time you were given sweets, you try to politely decline, learning from last times experience. But the light in his glossy eyes, it's the look of feigning innocence, and it makes you give in. "Can't believe I'm afraid of hurting a boys feelings.." You were about to head back to your apartment, most likely gonna throw the box of sweets when you get into your room, but soobin stopped you. "Wait!- I needed to ask you- no! I need you to do something actually.." you turn around and face him, awaiting his request. "Can you try them right now? I want some feedback.." "oh.. shit." "What was that?" You play dumb. "Uhh nothing, sorry." You start opening the box, staring at the desserts, you pick out the cookie. Macadamia, and white chocolate, a classic!

Nothing could go wrong..

You pick up the piece and place it in your mouth, chewing it to bits, it's sweet! Your face lights up and that gives soobin the impression that you liked it!— Then you chew down on something hard, it breaks down in your mouth and the intense sweetness gets you coughing. Soobins enthusiastic smile immediately fades, turning into concern. "Are you okay?" You try to digest the cookie properly, that was a bit too sweet. "-EHEM! w-was that a whole block of sugar in there?"

So by your guidance, and the internet. Soobin began to develop his baking skills in the kitchen! It nearly cost you your lives this one time he set the wrong temperature, but mistakes are just a step to success! Now, soobins pastries have gotten much better than they were in the past, and you promise to work as his assistant if he does open a physical store one day.

"Ahhh.." The slick sound of his hand stroking his cock up and down was echoing in the entire room, staring at the video where these two lovers were doing obscene things to eachother, his eyes half-lidded. "..m' so closee.." He's whining under his breath, pushing himself to the brink of tears. Even though he kept convincing himself "never again." after every climax, he ends up doing it again. As he's busyung himself with jerking off, a thought slips into his mind. "Soobin.." He's hovering over you, just like the video, and burying himself deep inside you, the idea of it sparks something inside him and that thrilling sensation takes over the moment he goes over the edge, shaking and moaning loudly as he split his load all over himself. It was a lewd sight. He heaves, all sweating and panting, feeling so ashamed to the fact he came to his dirty imagination of you. But it felt so good..

Soobin sighs, taking out more tissues and replaying the video. "One more can't be just bad.."

Okay, maybe one more was that bad. He spent his entire night blowing his load all over the place to the thought of you, and worse, he had to face you the next day! This was a punishment from the heavens for his indecency and he knows it. The doorbell rings, he already has an idea who it may be, he peeps through the hole and to no surprise you're standing outside with the ingredients he requested you to buy for him. Hesitant, he reaches out for the handle but pulls away, but then a key unlocks the door. Shit, he forgot he gave you the spare. Standing there awkwardly as you open the door on your own. "Ohh.. hello there.." He waves, you eye him a suspicious look, "Already standing here but not opening the door? What a gentleman." You sarcastically comment, entering to his apartment. He fumbles his words trying to explain himself, but you've already walked past him. "No I— it wasn't- hey! wait for me!"

The two of you are busying yourselves around the kitchen, this time you were preparing a batch of cookies and cream filled donuts! Plain simple sugar cookies paired with the sweet delectable donuts filled with any flavour you could make with what you have. Despite there being an important task at hand, he couldn't stop staring at you, his mind wandering off to other things, just wanting to coat his frosting all over your face and stuff you with his cream— "Soobin, why don't you add decorations?" He almost dropped whatever he was holding as you called him. "Huh?? Deco.. rations..?" He repeats, "Yup, they taste good but the appeal is found in it's looks! That's the rage nowadays."

You take a pipe bag and cuts a small piece off it's tip, piping the black frost onto the freshly baked cookie, drawing a cute face into the cookie, taking closer inspection of it, Soobin is intrigued. "Oh, it's cute." "See? Told ya!" "But I can't really draw things like that.." Rolling your eyes, you forces him to take hold of the pipe bag and places another cookie Infront of him, "Try it!" Reluctant, but it wasnt like he had a choice. He attempts to copy the same thing you drew on your cookie, "O-Oh- whoops- ah! I-Its kinda going the other way— okay I'll continue!!" With your guidance and his clumsy hands, he created a messy monstrosity.

You both stare blankly at it. "Okay sorry, I believe you now. You really suck!" Soobin hums, a little hurt and discouraged. "Is there no room for improvement?" You shook your head, taking his hand in yours and slipping between his arms to aide him properly. "Well I don't how to teach someone the basic but just try to smoothly trace out the image you have in mind and.." He would've been listening well, taking note of every single piece of advice you had to give him, but after last night? No way.

Looking down at you like this gives him the clearest view of your cleavage from above, the small gap between your breasts is so alluring he just wants to bury his face in it and live there forever..

"Hahh.. Soobin..! Tone it down.." Having you on your knees before him, top pushed down your chest to have your tits bouncing out in the open, his cock slides between him with ease as he increases the speed, the soft skin rubs him off so good he's letting out estranged moans. "Oh- fuck.. please.. m' gonna cum.." he mutters so pathetically it sounds like he's crying, he's so close. The next thrust is getting ropes of cum to escape his poor pent up cock, coating your face and chest in sticky semen. "Soob.. I'm all dirty now.." you pout at him.

"Hmpfhh.." He whines at the thought, looking down at you again to stare at your chest, but something else catches his eye. A tent is bulging out of his pants, nearly grazing against your ass,"I'm hard?? Since when?- holy shit!-" Soobin pulls away nervously, you look at him confused with that same pout he imagined in his fantasy. "Sorry!- I just remember I had to do something I'm so sorry I'll be right back promise! O-Or you could even go back to your room- okay bye!" He had no time to further elaborate and rushed to his room, clearly flustered.

Well it had been over a week since that incident had took place, Soobin didn't even know if you realized it yourself or not, but either way he just couldn't look at you the same anymore. He's a total pervert, and he still hasn't come to terms with that fact. And what was even worse was that he couldn't stop, still his imagination ran wild for you, every single dirty thought crossed his mind and he could only think about doing those things to you.

He had been working alone in the kitchen due to your absence (just because he doesn't invite you over anymore) which makes him feel a bit lonely from the lack of company. But as he was preparing ingredients for the new batch of pastries, he remembers he ran out of milk and eggs. Last time he restocked was when you bought the ingredients for him. Could this be an opening for a conversation after days of silence? Maybe he didn't have the confidence to approach you , but of they were talking about something as simple as this then maybe— just maybe. It'll take your mind off things.

Soobin musters up the courage to knock at your door, "Hello? You home..?" But it's quite, he takes out the keys of your apartment (you also gave him a spare!) and contemplates if he should enter or not. He feels like an asshole for this but he's also desperate. And so he twists the key and unlocks the door slowly, the lights are dimmed, only the light from the hallway opened. "She must be resting.." he thought to himself, but the light emitting from your room didn't convince him otherwise. Rehearsing what he had to say to you until he got closer to your room. "Hey- Hi!- sorry it's been a while but I just wanted to ask you something- no no, that's pathetic.."

Soobin pats his cheeks as he's finally near your door, taking a deep breath before opening the door. His gaze focused on the ground before turning up to look at you. "Hey, do you think you could help me buy ingredients?—"

The next moment is spent in silence, his jaw dropped, eyes popping out of their sockets, he caught you in a very vulnerable state. And by vulnerable- it's the sight of two of your fingers inside you with a vibrator pressed to your clit kind of vulnerable. He stands there in disbelief, registering the sight Infront of him. His heart thumps dangerously fast, he could feel his pulse beating in all areas, his throat went dry.

"Soobin..?" You notice him standing there and purposely push your fingers deeper, moaning at the feeling of being stuffed, but it doesn't stop you, locking eyes with Soobin as you turn the setting of your toy a little higher to push you closer to your edge. Looking so fucked out and exhausted, your eyes laid on his dick, seeing it bulge through the thin fabric of his sweats.

And those dirty thoughts he had of you, none of them could beat this, after months of suppressing his desires for you he can't just contain them this time, he needed to see more, he needed to touch you more, finally doing things that he was so scared of. But instead he turns around, this wasn't good— you were just friends! Until he had been eyeing you.. but still, it's wrong to take advantage of a people just because of the state their in.

"I am so sorry! I didn't knock first! I entered without permission! I'll never do it again so I'll be seeing my way out! Thank you for having me.." Once he announces that he's leaving, you whine, using your strength to get up and pull your fingers out. "Just wait a moment!" But soobins already sprinting down your hall, not wanting to communicate any longer. "Soobin!" You call out his name and chase after him with weak legs. Just before he can make it out the door, you reach out to grab his wrist but fail, changing the target to the hem of his shirt and you catch him, pulling him back to you as the two of you stumble and fall into the couch.

"And where do you think you're going? Hm?" He's laying between your legs, if he was wearing clothes then he'd feel how wet you were, Soobin turns around in shame. "Well-" "Were you gonna go back to your room to masturbate? Jerk off to that image of me?- I've had enough! If you're gonna do something don't tease me and do it on your own.. I'm right here!" Soobin shook his head. "Wait slow down, what are you even talking about.."

You were guiding him on how to draw, giving basic tips and simple instructions, yet he wasn't listening to any of it, suddenly you got pinned closer to the counter, soobin starts to "subtly" ruts his erection against you, earning a soft whine that escaped your lips. "Just what are you doing??" You question, but he's deep too into his fantasy to even respond, and damn he's really stiff, and just by the outline of his bulge you could tell he's really big. Soobin had deceived you into thinking he was pure and innocent. He pulls away stuttering just when you decided you want more. A complaint tried to rise out of you but it's too late, he's off to his room, leaving you there unfulfilled and needing more.

"What?! So you felt it..?" Soobin's cheeks are on fire, staring at you wide-eyed like a giant puppy. "Was I not suppose to? Wow, you really are a genius, fantasizing about a girl then thinking you could get away with it." You scoff, it fuels his embarrassment further and that's the reaction you were hoping for. "S-Sorry.. something came over me, I'm so sorry for being indecent, I'll try and earn back your trust if you'd let me, I still wanna continue working as partners!"

He looked genuinely sorry, and apologetic. But that wasn't what you were searching for. Okay, maybe to others this might've been a dick move, but you couldn't care less, you've been fantasizing about your cute neighbor aswell since he came. "What's there to apologize for? I didn't ask for your sorry." You grab his shirt and pull him closer, eye to eye with him as your foreheads touched, wrapping your legs around his waist to lock the two of you together tight.

"Actually I take it back, you do need to say sorry.." your hand trails down to his sweats, palming the obvious tent straining his pants, soobin swore under his breath, watching intently as you touched him however you pleased. His dick is painfully hard, waiting to be freed from his pants already, but you weren't that easy. Your palm pushes down on the bulge and rubs in a circular motion with just enough pressure to drive him crazy.

"cockblocking me for weeks without making a move, then getting off to the thought of me whenever you want.. I do deserve an apology." Soobin bites down on his lip, it's hard to concentrate on your words when your teasing his stiff cock. "But.. there is something else you could do for me that's better." You lock eyes with him again, his adams apple bobs, gulping before he spoke. "And what may that be..?" Soobin questions, "Easy, sex."

"Fuck, I'm not sure of it will even fit—" you shush him, placing your finger over his lips, the tip of his cock is parting your soaked cunt, but as soon as you make the effort to push it in, it kept slipping. The size difference between you two was obvious, so to take Soobins length for the first time was a challenge. "Maybe we should change the position??-" he suggests, but you turn it down.

"Oh could you shut up for once? If it wasn't for your massive cock, we wouldn't be in this situation." Your comment makes him flustered, but also sulky. He ran his hand through his hair, "Hmph, I wouldn't say "massive" was the word." Although this was frustrating, this predicament was such a turn on, the tip nudges against your clit everytime you fail, always daring to enter just for it0 to tease you and slip off.

You finally had enough and pinned Soobin down, he looks at you a little stunned since it was unexpected, but he steadies you, holding your hips as you straddled his lap to get into a good position, "This stupid fucking!—" After numerous failed attempts, you position the tip in your entrance and slam yourself down on him impatiently, although you weren't expecting it to go in this time, taking in half his length inside you. "Fuckk.." Your eyes roll to the back of your head, for a second you let yourself go, Soobin lets out the loudest whine, wow, he's a sucker for pussy. "Ahn.. be gentle.. I almost came.." he requests, his hand caresses your waist, it's hard to move when your pussy is sucking him in so tight, but you still make an effort to do so.

"Ugh, of course I'd have to be the one doing the work, poor binnie, got blessed with such a huge cock but doesn't know how to even use it." You taunt and sink yourself further into him, the more you take, the more he falls apart, he's completely helpless underneath you, but he wouldn't have it any other way. "Princess.. faster please.." and you heed to his request, bouncing on his dick a little faster, helping the slick spread around and making it easier to move. "Hm? Like that binnie?" He nods, his eyes shut tight as he lets himself and relaxes under your control. You tug at his hair and his eyes open again, looking back at yours glossy and helpless. "Words, love." He's quick to respond. "Y-Yes.. it.. feels good!"

Pathetic, was the best word to describe him at the moment, he looked like he wanted to make an effort to takes things another step but was too shy, that's how he always was. But you don't mind taking initiative, it's fun to control him. Without any warning beforehand, you lift yourself off his length entirely just as he was enjoying himself. His whines at the loss of warmth. "Hm, maybe you don't deserve my pussy after all. Right?" He shook his head vigorously while frowning. "No! Please no! I've been good.. haven't I?" Your small hand wraps around his shaft, not even fully covering it, you stroke him fast, nearing him to the edge, pre-cum oozing out his pretty slit. "Not really, my hand seems to be doing just fine for you.." he whines, bucking his hips up to meet your hand, so you slow it down. "W-Why??" "You deserve to be punished, it's only fair right? You're lucky I'm even touching you right now, show some gratitude." And too your surprise, he takes your joke as an order. "m' sorry.. thank you for touching me princess.. your pussy and hand feels so good! You're the best!" You start to stroke him a little more faster and he's murmuring under his breath. "Thank you.. aughh.. thankyouthankyouthankyou—" his climax is getting closer, you could tell by the way his face scrunches up, he's saving himself for your pussy. "Picky slut.."

You let go of his cock, but he has no time to mourn the loss of it as you dealt a large strike to his poor strained dick, making his body jolt in return and spurt out a little bit of his load. "Ahhn!" He cried out, you move back and bend down to his cock, adjusting the length to your mouth and circling your tongue on the underside of his tip, he's crying, tears streaming down his eyes as you bully his strained, hard, edged cock. Licking the slit and tasting it's saltiness, he wants to come so bad. "Gonna give in? Or are you still wanting for my pussy again?" "Ahnn.. I-I.. m' waiting for you.." he whines. "Good boy, then hold it in." You take only the tip in your mouth, stroking the rest of his length using your hand. He's trying so hard not to squirm but it felt so good, he was so close.. "ugh! I can't hold it anymore! please princess gon' come!!-" you pull his dick out of your mouth with a small pop and quickly slid it back inside you, returning him the warmth he desperately needed.

"Needy whore.. I barely even started and you're already gonna come? So pathetic, go ahead, fill me then." Soobin cries and nods, thrusting up inside you till, battering your pussy with his huge cock, your insides felt so good, warm and tight more than he imagined, his tip brushes against your g-spot but not exactly hitting it either, panting like a dog and using you like some fucktoy till he was falling over the edge, body sparking up in that familiar burning sensation as the knot in his stomach comes undone, snapping what's left of his sanity, you can feel him spurting ropes of cum inside you, painting your tight gummy walls white with his seed.

He's spent, lying against you as he pulled his cock out, semi-hard and covered in his own filth. Your pussy gushes out the rest of his cum, dripping down your soaked cunt that had yet to finish, he's staring at it so embarrassed yet proud he was able to have your cunt twitching around him. "Is that the most you can do?" You say, still exhausted but you knew it wasn't over yet. Soobin pouts and shakes his head. "No- more, I can take more..!" You caresses his cheek and smirk, "Of course you can love, you'll make sure to satisfy me too this time right?" He weakly nods and you press a kiss to his cheek. "Good boy.."

This was gonna be a long night.

A few months had passed by and you finally opened a small pastry shop with Soobin! Your estimated growth had been past your expectations and everyone loved the desserts you sold at your shop! Soobin was proud of was you've accomplished, now that he's achieved his dream and grown closer to you than ever before. There was nothing else he could've asked for!

Actually there was one thing, maybe you could stop getting him hard during work hours, makes it a hassle to jerk off on shift all the time.. but it doesn't sound all too bad either.

[skultyun]

⠀:¨ ·.· ¨:⠀

⠀ `· . ୨୧⠀ᯓ Bf!Yeonjun headcanons .ᐟ.ᐟ

❀༉‧₊˚ A mix of sfw and nsfw cuz I've been so down bad for a soft boyfriend jjunie recently..

Bf!yeonjun who always tends to your every need, whether it's relevant or irrelevant. You don't even have to lift a finger around him since he's already doing it before you. (Most of the time you don't have to ask, he already guessed what you want just by observing your every move.)

Many assume he's not the open-type of person when it comes to love, that he'd just be casual about it but no. HE'LL SHOW IT OFF TO EVERYONE. To the point you're known as the annoying lovey dovey couple because he won't stop giving you PDA

Princess treatment to the MAX. He'll prioritize your wants before his, just wants to give you everything in the world <//3

His hands are basically glued to your body, he just can't get them off you, either in a sexual or non-sexual way. He just wants to be feeling and touching you just because you're so warm and comforting.

Clingy and openly affectionate no matter the place and time, he keeps his hands interlocked with yours wherever you go, you know he likes to show you off and you don't mind. He's proud to be yours and you love it

If you ever got into an argument he's the first one to break, showing up at your door with a bouquet and bag full of your favorite snacks and a handwritten apology of how he's the worst boyfriend ever and he doesn't deserve you.

(NSFW BELOW.ᐟ.ᐟ)

Gets so soft during sex, and ten times more affectionate than ever, showers you with praises to make you feel comfortable as possible to being exposed to him like this.

Lets you take your time to adjust and is so patient. Guiding you through every step as if it's your first time.

He would let you take the lead most of the time if you wanted too, but if he really needs to take over then he'd gladly do it aswell.

Yeonjun is a service top. End of sentence.

His eyes are intently observing your every expression, finding what makes you feel good and your weak spots. Listening closely to your every sound he doesn't realize how loud he's being aswell.

His moans are the SEXIEST. You keep it in you not to tease him too much but you end up doing anyways because your so intrigued by his noises.

Fav position is definitely missionary. Just likes seeing your expression fall apart as he's hitting your deepest parts. Eyes rolling back with your mouth agape yup yup he did that

After you're both spent from hours of sex, he'll be the first to move and clean the two of you up, prepare a bath and clothes for you to sleep in, takes good care of you after he's ruined you with his dick.

But there are times where the two of you are completely exhausted out of your mind, then he'll just slang his arms across your body and pull you close, sleeping with you comfortably as you both rest in each other's arms, not caring about the sticky mess you made.

౨ৎ Overall I think yeonjun is more of a sweetheart than a tease, he's playful for sure but he's the type to be more kind and gentle towards you but acts silly around others, you were unsure of he really liked you or not because he might've been hiding his true self from you but you're absolutely wrong! He just likes you so much he just wants to shower you with love and affection only.

[skultyun]

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

˙. ⋆✮ Who's the fool if one falls harder than the first? ˖⋆࿐໋

[Kio's page and rules .ᐟ.ᐟ]

ᯓ About me 𓂃⋆.˚

ʚɞ : '01 .ᐟ.ᐟ

ʚɞ : tyun biased, (solo stans DNI!)

ʚɞ : semi-active and beginner writer ᡣ𐭩

ʚɞ : I like txt (⁠.⁠ ⁠❛⁠ ⁠ᴗ⁠ ⁠❛⁠.⁠)

Content you may see :

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ txt works

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ NSFW works: unprotected!sex, size kinks, crossdressing, use of toys, public!sex, exhibitionism, voyeurism, hybrid!txt (etc.)

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ Some soft works! And some reflecting (irl?) struggles.. I don't have therapy

•｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅ Rules ˚⋅ ꪆৎ ｡•

: MDNI !!

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚

[skultyun]

Soo.. soobin admitted he likes praise more than degrading, he's crazy like actually. Can't stop thinking about overstimming him and easing him through it by showering him with praise.. am I crazy or is it just me?? 🤭🤭

cw: overstimulation, handjobs, blowjob? (Lasted for like 20 secs), tiny praise kink, sub!bfsoobin x dom!reader

"You can take one more right?" You coaxed, even though he's exhausted after the countless climaxes you've put him through this night (he just can't say no to you <3) He's shaking his head frantically, hips moving to meet your hand despite his protests. "n-no.. can't.. no more please.." he cries, but you pump his cum covered cock even faster, dragging a whine out of him. There are dried streaks of cum all over his belly, a new batch was gonna come soon if you didn't give him the break he needed. "Pleasee? Just a little more I know you can take it." You plead while your poor boyfriend struggles to even keep his sanity intact, you've been teasing him for a while even since you woke him up in the middle of the night desperate to stroke his cock (to which he complied without no clue of the things you had in mind.) "baby..!- ah- y-y'know I get really sensitive.." It's clear he's gonna break anytime sooner, and if you just kept distracted him a little longer he would have come have no other choice. You rub your thumb right over his slit, already leaking of pre-cum and his body jerks in response, you know that's his weak spot. "Ugh- love..!" He's so cute you can't even help yourself anymore, bringing your face level to his tip and the way his eyes widened in panic tells that he knows what's about to happen.

"Take it for me, please? You're a good boy I know you can do it." Wow, "good boy". That's most likely soobins magic word, cause in the blink of an eye he's immediately giving in to your request, not even caring about how drained he was anymore, your words swoon him and make him so weak he almost came. "Haahh.. oh I can't- you know what you're doing to me." Soobin huffs, he can see through your tricks but it's as if he walks into them blindly without a single care. But you don't hear a complaint, and that is considered an affirmative response. So you engulf all of him in a quick go and surround him with your warmth. That's enough to make him come undone, not even warning you before he's cumming for the sixth time that night, this time down your throat. You took him deeper inside as he came, making sure to get every drop and not let it go to waste. Soobins trembling and shaking, bathed in sweat, tears and his own cum, you pull away from him before resting on his side.

His mind is totally blank, you cup his face and kiss his the tip of his nose. "You did great love." He smiles lazily at you, basking in your praise. "I did..?" You nod in return with a satisfied smile, he's fucked out and drained but is so happy he pleased you. Burying his face his your neck as you play with his hair and shower the sweet boy with all the love he deserves <3

you may have just destroyed your boyfriend, but atleast it was fun!

(SORRY THIS WAS RUSHED..)

[skultyun]

—bullying him pt.2 | sub choi soobin

part 1 | part 3 | part 4

tags: bully reader x nerd soobin, gn reader, mean reader, sadistic reader, somewhat possessive reader, one-sided crush but not really (reader has feelings too but doesn’t admit it), public humiliation, public orgasms, dubcon, oral (soob.receiving), vibrator (soob.receiving), unhealthy relationship, heavy exhibitionism, kind of cute at the end?

its a few weeks or maybe months into this weird relationship you two established. or more accurately, you pulling him around and him being at your every beck and call. maybe your relationship with him was a secret, but how downbad he is for you wasn’t. it was real obvious how he looked at you in class, only to look down when you made eye contact with him. a pretty pink blush dusting his cheeks. look at him, getting his hope up and everything. when you call him to your desk during lunch break, he couldn’t help his eagerness, walking past your friends and glancing at you through his bangs. it’s pathetic, really, how excited he gets when you give him attention.

“what… what did you need?” he repeated, barely able to keep himself in check. probably used up all his courage just to choke out those words. your friends stare at the two of you, some holding back their laughter while others were glaring at him. he shrivel under their judging gazes, his tall figure and head slightly slumped as if he was trying to make himself appear smaller. which was impossible, considering how tall he was.

you smile at him, and he lights up a little. “yeah, can you get me a drink at the vending machine?”

he dissipates visibly, a small frown on his plump lips before he nods— you would almost feel bad for him if it weren’t for how cute he looked while sad. he quickly rushed out of the classroom, probably to get away from your friend’s snickering.

soobin’s attraction was no secret even to you. but could you really blame him? just a few days ago, you discovered something shocking (or maybe it was already obvious), not only was soobin a friendless loser (to his own admission), but he also had the biggest, fattest crush on you ever since the start of high school. when he told you, you couldn’t help but grin, this was a gold mine. from then on, it was just so much easier to play with him.

you were slapped out your daze by your friends, they were patting your back while laughing.

“holy shit, you made him your errand boy?” one joked, but you felt a slight rising irritation at their sudden attention towards soobin. it was irrational, seriously, because you really had no problem with it before.

“woah, why the glaring.” another just jested, and you rolled your eyes, packing up your lunch.

“i mean, i would kill for an errand boy. bet he’ll get down on his knees and—“

“shut up. with your face, he doesn’t need to be on his knees to gag” you snap, and perhaps you overreacted. but your friends shrugged it off as a joke, laughing and jabbing at the guy who got insulted

“damn they got you there.”

you put the final item into your bag before standing up and heading for the door.

“yo where you going?”

“rooftop.” you weren’t technically lying.

during school, outside of the classmate context, you pretend to not know him, it was more fun that way. you told him it was because you couldn’t associate with a loser like him, and he meekly nodded. (real reason? teasing him was fun).

it was easy to spot soobin at the vending machine, lamely contemplating which drink you would like the most. so concentrated that he didn’t even notice your figure approaching him until your strong grip was pulling him by the arm. he visibly flinches, wide eyes confused as he stumbles behind you.

“the— you— the drink”

“i wasn’t even thirsty.”

he seemed puzzled at this, but lets you manhandle his tall ass figure anyways (it never ceases to turn him on). you release his arm when you reach the rooftop. he takes a glance at his surroundings before looking back at you. suddenly awkward in his body again, he shifts from one foot to the other while fiddling with the hem of your shirt.

“so uhm… what are we do—“

you roughly kiss him and he shuts up with a small startled noise. you push him harshly into the fence and he yelps into the kiss before having his senses dominated by your eager tongue, forcing into his mouth. he was frozen like always, closing his eyes desperately, pilant under your touch because he had no damn idea what he was doing. after a few seconds, his jittery hands push you off, because he physically couldn’t breathe anymore. he inhales shakily, lips wet with saliva and cheeks tinted red.

you hand lowers and begin to unbutton his shirt, feeling from his chest to his stomach. his skin was always so soft and satisfying to feel. (you once asked if he had a skincare routine and he nodded nervously, asking if you wanted to know) you slid your hand up to his nipple, pinching at one. he trembles at this, hands sweaty and he didn’t know where to place them so he just grips at your shoulders. your hand suddenly palms at his bulge and he jolts, a desperate breathy moan escaping his mouth

“it’s! it’s public! we’re— we’re in public!”

he manages to squeak out, eyes squeezed shut. you stop, a snarky expression on your face. you pull away fully, leaving him with his back flush against the fence. he whimpers softly when he felt your weight lift from his body, eyelids fluttering open to look at you.

“m’kay. i’ll just go then.”

you roll your eyes as you turn your heel.

“wait! wait! i’m sorry. im so sorry. please don’t leave me.”

a grin quirks the edges of your lips as you turn back towards him. hands on hips.

“thought you said we’re in public?”

“yes but… i…” he says between bated breathes, blush deepening.

“you still want me to touch you, don’t you? desperate slut.” you step closer to him, grin on your lips.

he gulps, head lowering until his bangs covered his eyes, but you could see the red tips of his ears. he nods slowly.

“good, then we’re doing it my way.”

you stride confidently to him and he shivers. your hand goes to his pants without hesitation, pulling everything down at once. making his rock hard cock slap against his abdomen, angrily red and leaking. you take it in your hands, pumping it a few times and he cries.

“shush. don’t come.”

you just warn, grasping the head of his cock, hard. his thighs tremble but he nods. you found out, while still in the beginning stages of this weird relationship, that soobin orgasms embarrassingly fast. i guess that’s what you get with a perverted virgin nerd who’s only frame of reference for sex is manga porn. but it wasn’t a bad thing really, you just liked seeing him desperately try to hold it in.

“don’t come until i say so, okay?” you repeat, harshly gripping at his cock again and he whimpers a yes.

without hesitation you kneel down, taking his length into your mouth in one go. you can hear his gasp, but you didn’t need to look up to know he was nervous, you could tell with how his calves and thighs shook. you were only teasing when you called him small earlier, because he was big, big enough to hit the back of your throat. you slowly began to move and he moans softly, so sensitive. he tasted sweaty and salty, but it wasn’t a bad scent. (you made sure he was cleaned up after all.)

you pull your mouth off just up till his tip, your tongue swirling around and digging into his slit while your hands pumped the rest of his length. he cries and thrashes, jittery hands coming up to grasp your hair. but you immediately slap him off, glaring up at him. you were in control, not him. you slide your mouth off his cock and he immediately starts apologising.

“i’m sorry! please don’t be mad, i didn’t mean to! i won’t touch you without permission i—i’m sorry, please don’t stop!”

“instead of worrying about your pathetically small dick, how about you worry about your loud ass moans?”

he quickly clasps his hands over his mouth, ears a bright red, eyes teary. you suck his dick into your warm mouth again and he sobs quietly. his moans came out breathy and squeaky, he’s never been a loud moaner, but it was extra hard to keep it down when his bully was literally going to town on his cock. you were enjoying him like he was a lollipop. your hand creeps up to his ass, one finger slipping into his hole, already loose from the morning. (he stayed over and you took him to school) he doubles over, gasping and squirming, thighs trembling, and you knew he was close before he even whispered it. he shakes his head violently, nearly drooling at the double stimulation— and just before his stomach spasms and he feels his sweet orgasm, you pull off. one hand firmly squeezing the base of his cock, denying his orgasm.

he cries out, eyes wide as he processes the situation. you stand, legs a little shaky due to kneeling for so long, a smile on your lips. when he realises you weren’t going to let him cum, he sobs, tears quick to come down. his bunny eyes glancing at you meekly as if asking why you stopped.

“oh soobin.” you tease, dropping his cock from your grip. “class is about to start soon, you wouldn’t want to ruin your perfect track record, do you?”

he looks at you in a silent fear at what you’re insinuating, but don’t worry, you were far meaner than that. you pull his pants further down, digging into your pocket and showing him the vibrating bullet you bought especially for him. more tears fall down and you just chuckle.

it didn’t take much for you to squeeze the bullet in. but he was squirming and whimpering the whole way through, shaking his head and looking at you so pitifully.

“you’re… you’re so mean.” his voice cracks, bottom lip trembling.

you wipe his tears with a smirk, pulling up his pants and buttoning his shirt, his hard-on uncomfortably pressing against the fabric.

“yet look who’s turned on.”

☆★☆

in class it wasn’t any better, he was clearly ruffled, his hair tousled, collar undone and eyes red from previously crying. one of his legs was shaking unrelentlessly as he sits down. wincing when he feels the chair press up against the vibrator.

he was hyperaware how each movement causes the bullet to shift. soobin tries his best to reduce the friction and calm his erection down, but oh boy were you mean. just when he thinks he’s got it handled, you prove him wrong.

because the moment the teacher walked in, the torment began. you would periodically turn on the vibrator, making him jolt in his seat and hit his knee against his desk. alerting everyone to him as he lowers his head in embarrassment, whispering lightly that he was fine when the teacher asked. he came immediately with the stimulation. it was even worse when he was given a question to answer, you were unrelenting, turning it on to the highest setting and making his thighs shake uncontrollably. it took all his willpower and more to not burst out crying and moaning in the middle of class.

“choi soobin? soobin? soobin?”

he jolts from his daze, fists clenching painfully hard, nails digging into his palm. the teacher has been trying to get his attention for the past minute. a few students around him whisper and he quivers. glancing back at you for a second, catching your smug look, hands in your pockets; before he faces back at the teacher.

“mr choi, are you okay?”

no, he was not alright. he had busted into his pants for the 3rd time now and you weren’t even going to give him a break!

“yep, perfectly okay.”

the teacher looks doubtful and god soobin just wishes she would stop talking. he really shouldn’t be thinking like this about his favourite teacher. but please shut up and stop asking already!

“are you sure? you’ve looked uneasy this entire lesson.” and he wanted to dig a hole in the ground to die in shame. he bites his lips hard and you turn down the vibration. is this salvation? are you being nice for once?

“i’m sur —ck.” he bit down on his words, because if he didn’t he would’ve moaned in front of everyone in class. you turned it to the highest, and he really just came in his pants in front of the teacher. he was so overstimulated, it hurt to come, his whole body clenched hard so he could keep his trembling down.

thinking quick on his feet, he covered his stumble with coughing. “i — i may be sick.” he stammers, never has he been a good liar, and you snicker at his cover-up. the teacher however seemed to believe him, no reason to doubt the obedient straight A student after all.

“you should rest when you get home.”

☆★☆

class ends officially with the bell. the teacher dismisses the students with a quick reminder of the homework, not as if anyone was listening. soobin somehow managed to last through the whole class. and thank god was it the last class of the day, otherwise he might really have died. he slumps over his desk in a big sigh of relief. he would pack his things and rush out the door as soon as possible, but— he was afraid to even stand up and move. he didn’t want to look down at his crotch, he knew he had thoroughly soiled his pants and it probably leaked onto the seat.

you waited with him, putting every item extra slow into your bag. when the teacher had left the room, telling you two to lock the classroom behind you. that’s when you moved.

you stand in front of him, dangling the vibrator remote in his face. he fiddles with his fingers, unsure on what to say. at least you seemed happy?

“let’s see the mess you made.”

you slide him with his chair away from his desk, exposing his spread legs and like he thought, his crotch was wet with come. it was a terrible (and arousing) sight, there was a huge wet patch on his crotch and a small puddle on the wooden chair. he has never come this much before and you never overstimulated him this much either. all of this and you didn’t even touch or embrace him! you were so so so mean to him, and he felt tears fall again, his bunny eyes looking up at you in humiliation.

he was just so cute, you couldn’t help it. you wiped his tears with your sleeve, cooing at him.

“soobin, are you embarrassed?”

he nodded, beginning to whine as he sobbed more. embarrassed is an understatement, he felt so degraded. but it turned him on so much. he was starting to think he was masochistic, or maybe that’s just how downbad he was for you.

“you were so obedient, you want a reward? what reward do you want?”

you wipe each tear as it falls out, gently cradling his face. he pondered for a second, shaking his head.

“i don’t know…”

you chuckle, pulling him up and his legs shakes, you put his face in the crook of your neck and hugged his waist. he slumps over you and you rub his back. damn. this was comfortable, he never thought his bully would give a single shit about his feelings and you never thought you would ever comfort him.

why did you even bother to comfort him? it didn’t mean you tolerated him or anything. he was just cute that’s why you let him hug you, telling him he did a good job in his ear. there was no reason behind it, like how there was no reason behind you walking him back to your house, hand in his hand. (only because he was too jittery and wouldn’t stop shaking)

“lets go on a date tomorrow.” you deadpan. nothing behind those words, nope, nothing at all. just a reward for his good behaviour.

he looks at you with stupidly cute hopeful eyes, ignoring the uncomfortable squench in-between his thighs.

“you promise?”

“promise. you big baby.”

[skultyun]

>< Soobin..

# older bf!soobin

(nsfw + mdni) f!reader, age gap, non sexual dominance, dom!soobin, thigh riding, cunnilingus, reader referred to as a girl, unprotected sex, size kink. don’t ask i wrote this in 30 mins

it’s giving older!bf soobin. the kind of bf that just exudes nonsexual dominance through actions; a band on your waist guiding you to the inside of a sidewalk; a headpat that says let me handle it, before replying to a question directed to you; a large hand resting on your thigh that casually claims his. and older!bf soobin is always in command.

sitting his thigh, drippy cunt forming a wet spot on his slacks, your pretty lips wrapped around his fingers, sucking gently as your hands hold his up to your mouth, listening obediently when soobin tells you to ride his thigh,, wet pussy rubbing against the smooth fabric, friction against your clit making you whimper around his fingers, drool dripping from the corner of your lips, his thumb wiping away the saliva, a quiet hum of approval for the little mess you are for him, hmm?

whispery praises of pretty girl, older!bf soobin who makes sure you’ve cum three times before he’ll even consider letting you take his cock, ‘s too big for his darling girl. fingers dripping with your arousal and release, holding down your waist to keep you from moving too much when he eats out your gushy pussy, heart shaped lips glossy with your juices, lewd slurps and tongue rolling over your puffy clit, pretty cunt glistening with saliva and arousal. his big hands that easily unclasp the cute bra he bought you, the ease when he holds one of your hands as he guides your panties down your ankles and off, dropped somewhere on the floor and forgotten.

older!bf soobin whispers for you to relax, his lowered voice husky in your ear when his hands firmly hold your hips down, stretching you out excruciatingly slow, so you feel ever inch of him filling you up so full,, god, no matter how many times he fucks you tight cunt you’ll never be able to fit him easily, hmm? watching as you clumsily rub your clit, trying to be so good for him and take him all the way when he’s just too big, a mess of whimpers when he doesn’t even bottom out,,

look at me, darling, soobin reminds you when you’re too shy to make eye contact,, making you look at him so he can see every expression you make when he splits you open with each thrust, loves watching as you become an incoherent mess, dumbed out and just so soft and pleasing, the clench of your tight cunt wrapped around his cock, sucking him eagerly, swollen lips and pussy folds from relentless attention, fuck, you’re perfect like this for him. mhmm, losing all form of conscious thought except of him; older bf!soonin spoils you so much, ‘til you’re full of his creamy cum and on the verge of passing out. and he’ll spoil you with aftercare, the kind that takes control and complete care of you.

[skultyun]

I like how after the HORNIEST month (kinktober ahem) is NNN like what devious timing guys.

Now imagine a perv!bf Soobin joining the challenge while you literally don't give a shit about stupid challenges and try to get him to succumb to his urges.

[skultyun]

warnings. sub!tyun, noona!reader, desperate shit, degrading, use of whore/slut, handjob

flirt freshman!taehyun who, even if he looks polite and at times would even be described as cute, is definitely a heartbreaker. stringing along, fucking, then ghosting.

you see right through his nice guy act when he subtly hits on you, flashing you his white pearls, blinding smile that show off his dimpled cheeks and the way his eyes form into crescents, his simple charms almost, almost having an effect on you. but you know better, you’ve already passed this chapter of your life, getting yourself fucked over by cute assholes. so you reject any and all advances that he makes on you, even as so far as to completely ignore him whenever he addresses you in a group setting.

you wanted to protect yourself, because again, you knew better. but what you dont realize is how often your blatant rejections have been either straight up cruelly humiliating or just plain harsh to the younger boy. not until you’re stuck with taehyun as you awkwardly wait in the car for your friends.

“why dont you like me?” he starts, quiet as he looks out the window. you turn to look at him, a little astonished that he decided to confront you. then you quickly recollect yourself, clearing your throat.

“who told you that?”

he scoffs, a sneer retching his expression. “you’re kidding aren’t you? i don’t think i know anybody more repulsed with me than you. everyone can see it. you almost jumped out of the car when they told you i was going to sit in the back tonight.”

it’s like hes been keeping all of his thoughts behind a lock with how fast everything spilled out of his mouth and you take in a breath. “okay now that’s an exaggeration.”

“not really.”

then it falls silent again, hearing the distant horns of cars and you awkwardly shift. he’s right, its not.

then suddenly, his eyes shift from the window to you, and the eye contact catches you off guard, you can make out the slight furrow of his brows and the small pout that rests on his lips—you’ve never seen him look like that. you avert your gaze almost immediately.

but he’s still staring. and it has you nervously tapping your finger on your lap.

“i like you, noona.”

your eyes widen a little. not because of the confession, you knew it was coming eventually. something about this variation of gentleness with his voice that you don’t think you’ve quite heard…ever coming from a man has your heart beat just a little faster. noona? its nothing new coming from taehyun, but your hands still slight dig into the fabric of your skirt. “if that wasn’t already obvious enough.” he says bitterly with a non humored laugh.

you spend the entire night, staring at your blank empty google doc, wallowing in all thoughts related to taehyun. it kind of pisses you off that he’s managed to chip a little away from your wall, you usually disperse any thought that comes up in your head that has to do with him. but now you choose to give yourself a leeway, just a little to think over whether he was being genuine, and whatever happened in the car was taehyun serving his heart on the platter to be so…vulnerable, or if it was just the last trick up his sleeve to lure you in like a toy he can’t have.

but then you remember the little features—the way his brows slightly turned up, the way his bottom lip instinctively stuck out, just a tiny bit—the way his eyes twinkled, just somewhat, as cliché as it is to say, it felt genuine, real.

when taehyun sends you a text that night, with a string of other unread messages from weeks or days ago before it—you come to the conclusion that he likes you, really likes you.

sorry, ignore what i said today

i don’t want you feeling uncomfortable around me any more than you do

your heart swells a little, simultaneously feeling the guilt conscience slowly creeping up on you. maybe you really did misread him this entire time.

so imagine your surprise when the next time you see taehyun, a week later, it’s at a frat party, looking down at a girl clinging onto his arms with those same twinkling eyes, smile, dimples, gentle look—eventually laughing then biting down on his lips as he looks away, the red on tips of his ears making you fume more than you’d admit. you don’t know what it was, what exactly made you insane enough to stomp over to him in long strides, wobbly pushing through the drunks, seeing red as you grab taehyun by the arm when he’s of reach—the surprised look on his face only lasting for a second before you furiously turn around, dragging him away from the confused girl that he was getting way too flirty with.

he could’ve easily shaken off your grip, it was weak, but he followed, he let you take him, only when you push him in a non occupied room and lock the door does he finally say something.

“hey, what the fuck was that—”

then you go for it. throwing all logical justifications and reasoning, you pull him into you harshly by the collar of his shirt, crashing your lips onto his. you don’t know what you expected, up to now it felt like you’ve been on airplane mode, but you know it wasn’t what taehyun returns. even if youre the one who came onto him first, he kisses back even more passionately, leaning into you, so quick to be receptive, hands going up to your cheeks as he lets you walk him hard into the door, latching onto your lips as if its a taste of a drug that has him hooked right from the first dose.

he’s so…desperate, it scares you, and turns you on at the same time. every time you try to pull away a little he reels you back almost immediately following your lips, the kiss becoming open mouthed as he breathes in and gets more and more messy, sloppy—he’s so sloppy, it’s the last thing you expected from him.

you finally manage to pull away, both of you catching your breath, with his lips glistening and red, mouth agape, chest heaving, up and down as he stares stunned.

“wha—um, so—fuck, sorry, no wait—” hes stumbling over his words. again, something taehyun never does. whenever hes spoken to you, it always felt so calculated, like every word hes thought over, because it felt so perfect. hes always collected.

you clasp your hand over his mouth, weakly, but he stills shuts up his ramble and jumble of words, blinking at you, with those god damn adorable brown eyes.

“kindly, shut the fuck up.”

his brows twitch a little, but he’s still silent.

your eyes search for something in his, you don’t know what, but it feels like you’ve gotten a green light, sighing. “i wanna fuck you.”

“shit.” he marvels, feeling his breath against your palm, his eyes still just as wide. you don’t know what exactly he’s thinking but if the dick already poking against your thigh was any indication, it was that he wanted it. really bad.

you slip your hand off his lips, then you whisper, fixated on how plump they are, “open your mouth.”

he blinks confused, hesitant until you take it upon yourself to rub your thigh against the tent in his pants, having him almost immediately buckle as he lets out a sinful groan. you should know he’s probably not into what you’re into, so you ease into it, testing the waters as you press yourself flush against him, rubbing your leg up and down against his clothed dick. “feel good?”

“y-yeah, shit, noona, please touch me.”

“i am touching you,” you swipe your hand over his bottom lip, fuck, they really are pretty. and so kissable. you’re shocked you haven’t kissed them sooner.

“no, i want your hand.”

you scoff, he’s so confident with what he wants, and so demanding. bratty. he’s probably so used to dominating. “this isn’t enough? me getting off your crusty dick isn’t enough for you? you’re feeling good, aren’t you?”

you press harder and with no consent of his own, his breaths knocked out of him, a slight squeak by the end that has his ears running red again. your thumb slips into his mouth, easing into it, slowly, before you fully press on his tongue as the friction of your knees against his cock gets more and more frantic and torturous. “you tell me you like me then decide i’m not worth the headache, a week later you run off to another innocent girl you’ll try to break the heart of after getting your fill. someone needs to keep you in check for becoming such an asshole, no? do you have no shame?” you mock, feeding him another finger in his mouth so he can’t retort like you know the smartass in him would do.

he sucks on them, surprising you as you feel his tongue licking eagerly…fuck, how badly did you misread him?

but you can tell with the way his eyes involuntarily water, and the way he shakes his vehemently, he still has the audacity to deny everything.

you scoff, slipping them out of his mouth, string of his saliva coating your fingers and shoving that hand down his pants, promplty grabbing his dick, marveling at the soft, wet feel. he already spilled so much pre-cum—slut. he likes this.

“you don’t like me, you have no right to be jea—hahhh..fuck, you can’t be jealous, you c-can’t. shit, faster, faster please noona, noona…” he whines, delirious as he gets lost at the feeling of your hand, bucking his hips, clearly getting frustrated with how irritatingly slow you’re tugging at his dick.

“i don’t. i don’t like you. i don’t like slutty men who’re bad.”

he whimpers, and fuck does that noise have you pooling your underwear.

“how have i been bad? how? i’m always good to you, i always—”

you twist your hand a little and his head immedietely falls back against the door, mouth hung open as he lets out pathetic, needy pants, “fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“like it? is it how you imagined it’d feel to have my hands wrapped around your cock?” you press, kissing down his jawline, hand letting out wet sounds as you jerk him off with more speed

“yes, yes, so much better noona, so much—” he chokes on his own words when you suck on his neck, feeling him let out shuddering breaths. cute.

when you use your other hand to trail up under his shirt, feeling up his muscle, you can hear him gulp, and for whatever reason, it turns you on even more.

“fuck, you’ve been trying to dom me, haven’t you?” he breathes out.

you let out an airy laugh out of your nose, grazing your thumb over his nipple, the hitch of his breath being your undoing. “i have been domming you—this entire time. what, don’t like it when a womans in charge?”

he shakes his head immediately, “no, no, i like it. i really do, i like it a lot. i like it when its you, noona.”

even when you have his mind sent to overdrive, he still knows exactly what to say to have your heart racing, it’s dangerous.

“hm?” you hum, throat dry, trying to forget the comment thats repeating over and over in your head. he likes it when its you. you scoff a laugh, “you really know how to get a girl going huh?”

“would treat you right. give me a chance noona, i’ll treat you like a queen.”

“a queen?” you laugh, then pretend to ponder on it as you play with his bud more, his dick leaking through your hand—he’s enjoying it all too much. “think would like goddess more.”

he moans wantonly when you thumb his tip, then transitioning to jacking off his shaft in frantic speed, it gets him delirious. “goddess, goddess, fuck—i’ll treat you like a goddess baby, swear.”

“sure you wouldn’t ghost me?”

his breath hitches again, head dipping into your shoulder, jaw practically hung open, mix of moans and whines spilling out of his mouth dumbly—who would’ve thought, huh? “never. so pretty, you’re so pretty and smart, and and—”

“such a slut, just want your dick touched and you’ll say anything.”

you feel him shake his head, still panting heavily as he grabbles onto you for support. he’s clingier than you expected, he holds onto you so often.

“faster…faster please, ‘m sososo close.” he sobs, his shaky breath fanning on your shoulder.

you chuckle, giving him what he wants, the wet squelching sounds heightening until he breaks. “gonna—gonna-” he spills before he could even finish his sentence, with a high pitched noise he cums in his pants, no doubt creating a big stain in the area of his crotch.

well, shit.

but when he lifts his head, a dopey smile on his face, eyes glazed over still, you think he might not mind all too much.

############

note. long overdue sub taehyun and a noona smut from me 🙏 did they fuck. no. will there be a future continuation of this au. perhaps.