#yeonjun fluff | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cbeargyu · 1 month ago

Text

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.

2K notes · View notes

taegimood · 9 months ago

Text

— my girl (c.yj) ♡

pairing: choi yeonjun x fem!reader genre: friends to lovers, non-idol au, smut, fluff rating: nsfw, mdni wc: 6.1k warnings: unprotected sex, pwp (6k but most of it is smut tbh lol), softdom!yeonjun, inexperienced!reader, dry humping, oral + fingering (f receiving), squirting, petnames (baby, princess, doll, good girl, pretty girl), daddy kink (yeonjun refers to himself as daddy), spanking, creampie, multiple orgasms, light choking but not (he doesn’t squeeze), one instance of spitting, it’s established that jun is older than reader so OPPA IS USED AS AN HONORIFIC and idc if people hate it lol as a korean speaker i’m tired of westernizing shit

a/n - pls picture temptation era hair yeonjun 😵‍💫 this is inspired by a dream i had.. dreamt every part in his room up until the actual penetration 😮‍💨 cockblocked by my own brain

masterlist

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yeonjun’s sheets are soft as you sit observing his bedroom, taking note of all the little details that his strong personality shines through, the first time you’ve seen the other side of his door — though how you even got to this point in the first place is still something you’re going over and over in your head as you wait for him to come back.

his soft smile is met with your nervous one as he enters the room with two water bottles in hand, shutting the door quietly behind him — your eyes follow his lithe fingers as he turns the lock — and you watch as he places the drinks on his nightstand before turning to you.

the air suddenly feels much warmer when he sits down on the bed beside you, so close that you’re almost touching, and that fond look on his face only serves to heighten your nerves as you remember that he knows what he’s doing, and you don’t.

well… sort of.

everything happened only a few hours before.

your best friend kai had invited you to hang out with him and his roommates, a chaotic group of guys who you’ve grown to call your friends as well; even yeonjun, who you may or may not have developed the hugest crush on ever from the minute that you’d first met him.

it’d been a few months of back-and-forth, sometimes convinced that it must be mutual and other times doubting your judgement completely — has he always been this flirty, or is it your imagination when his eyes linger just a little too long? — and it was on this fateful day at their apartment when it all fell apart.

(or should you say, all came together).

everyone knows to watch out once beomgyu’s got a couple of drinks in him, so it was only a matter of time before your unlucky day came when he’d decide that you would be his glorious first victim of the afternoon; and that was exactly where you found yourself as he took it upon himself to announce to everyone in the room that you and yeonjun needed to admit you wanna fuck each other already, or else he’d “just have to do something about it himself” (whatever that meant).

to say you wanted to crawl into a ditch and die would be the biggest understatement of the century.

your wide eyes were pinned to the floor as the room erupted into multiple reactions; soobin groaning with a smack upside beomgyu’s head as he scolded the younger not to say stuff like that, taehyun’s “damn,” as he knocked back his beer to cover a laugh, kai burying his head into his hands with a shriek — he swore he didn’t mean to spill your secret to beomgyu a few weeks ago, it just slipped out — and of course, the culprit in the center laughing his ass off unphased.

the only one who had yet to say anything was…

you steeled yourself and glanced up, meeting yeonjun’s eyes that were already watching you from across the living room.

your own widened marginally.

he didn’t look disgusted. he didn’t look put off. in fact, he looked…..

your breath caught. there was a small upturn to his lips, a confirmation, the hint of a smile that solidified as he quirked a brow as if in question. as if he was asking you,

“well? what should we do about it then?”

and everything changed from there.

it hadn’t taken long for beomgyu’s quick-moving attention span to be directed elsewhere thanks to some faithful effort on hyuka’s part, the others following suit to spare you from the spotlight — and it was only about an hour later when you found yourself alone in the kitchen for a breather, the sounds of your friend’s quarreling and laughter slightly less eardrum-shattering now from where you stood leaning against the sink.

a few minutes passed before the sound of someone else slipping into the room grabbed your attention.

your peace quickly morphed into apprehension.

“hi,” yeonjun whispered, a small smile on his face that read somewhere between gentle and amused.

his hands were in his pockets as he came to lean casually against the counter opposite you, head tilted slightly to the side as his eyes trailed over your expression, and you cursed your mouth for going dry at the sight of him.

his simple black tank top and sweatpants combo had you fighting to keep your eyes on his face — his face, pretty and framed so nicely by silky black hair that was grown out quite a bit longer than usual these days, and you wanted nothing more than to run your fingers through it as your thighs rubbed together subconsciously.

“…hi,” you whispered back.

he breathed out a small laugh.

“i wanted to talk to you, but i didn’t want the others to hear.. figured this was a good opportunity when i saw you get up.”

“r-right..”

why am i so awkward? what the fuck? oh god wait why is he coming closer-

your hands gripped the counter behind you as yeonjun stepped forward. his voice was low, quiet, meant only for you as he stood in front of you with a look on his face that had you melting in more ways than one.

“listen... i know that we’ve never talked about this thing between us. i didn’t wanna scare you off by being too forward, but now that beomgyu ran his mouth about it…”

with a feather-light touch, yeonjun reached up and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear.

“well, i’m not gonna deny what he said, and i’m pretty sure that i’m right when i say.. i think you want me the same way that i want you.”

you felt heat running down your entire body like a zap of electricity.

your fried brain didn’t even have the chance to fully process before you heard beomgyu shout from the living room, “hey, what’s taking so long?!” and the scent of yeonjun’s cologne was like a drug as he leaned in and whispered in your ear,

“if you feel ready to see where this goes.. stay here with me when they go out.”

and just like that he was gone, random assortment of snacks in hand to avoid suspicion as he called back to beomgyu, “i’m coming, just couldn’t decide what to eat!”

and you slumped against the counter with legs like jelly.

you received a chorus of groans and boos when you told the guys you were gonna go home instead of joining them elsewhere for dinner and drinks, earning brief suspicion only from taehyun as he eyed you questioningly for a moment — their focus primarily resting on yeonjun’s uncharacteristic opt-out that he’d blamed on a sudden migraine.

you felt ridiculous as you even headed down the elevator with them to the street outside, going out of your way to be believable, rounding the corner towards the subway station until they were well out of sight in the opposite direction before heading back up towards the apartment.

you’d’ve been lying if you said that you didn’t consider leaving yourself; your jittery nerves and quick-beating heart nearly convincing you, until you remembered the look in yeonjun’s eyes and the wetness between your legs returned.

yeonjun, choi yeonjun, one of the most popular and charismatic guys that you know — wants you.

and now here you are on his bed.

when you think about it, in your eyes yeonjun is a lot of things that you’re not; the way he just naturally draws people in, the way he carries himself, always making friends so easily; the fact that he’s genuinely cool, somehow good at everything he does and always looks hot doing it; he’s older than you — not by much, but still — and the number one thing on your mind right now:

he’s experienced.

now you’re no virgin, but your measly 1 past boyfriend is nothing in comparison to the fact that yeonjun’s ability to please a woman is a very well-checked box on his long list of skills (if beomgyu is correct about anything he’s blabbed about, at least. which today so far he seems to be).

and now, as he sits here so close to you with that same look on his face as before, that gentle smile and amused little twinkle in his eyes — well, you know right then that you’re a goner.

“hi,” he whispers, just like he did in the kitchen earlier, and you whisper it back with a shy smile.

this is the first time you’ve ever truly been alone with him.

he looks at you for a few moments, and you wonder if this is what amoebas feel like under a microscope until he places his hand on the bed beside you and rests his weight on it, by default leaning in even closer than before.

“i like you.” he says simply.

in panic mode, you resort to sarcasm - “y-yeah-“ you clear your throat - “um, yeah, i think we established that.”

his laugh sends tingles through you as a real smile not stricken with awkwardness finally blooms on your face, the ice slowly melting for you as you start to remember that right, okay, he’s a friend and not some unreachable deity (for the most part, at least).

“i.. like you too,” you respond sheepishly, and you bite your lip at the underlying shift in his tone as he keeps his eyes locked on yours and says,

“i know.”

the mood has suddenly deepened into something else.

his hand comes up to your cheek, thumb ghosting over your bottom lip as he murmurs, “is this okay?” and you don’t know when his face got so close to yours but your eyes are already threatening to flutter shut as you hum in response, lidded gaze glued to his full, pretty lips that you want so desperately all over your body.

“words, baby.” his voice is a whisper, breath warm against your lips, his own so close now that you can almost feel them —

“y-yes.”

and just like that, choi yeonjun is kissing you.

whatever you thought a real kiss was supposed to feel like, whatever kisses you had felt with your ex —

none of it compared to this.

you feel his smile when you quietly moan, his lips even softer than you had imagined, moving against yours slowly, deliberately, expertly, the hand that had been on your cheek sliding gently to the back of your neck as he deepens the kiss.

his tongue is warm and soft as it traces along your bottom lip, and you don’t care how eager you probably seem as you let it in immediately, trying not to moan again as he slips it past your lips to caress yours; you melt as he sucks lightly on your tongue before giving a teasing, gentle bite to your bottom lip as he pulls away.

you can’t even imagine how dazed you must look — but his knowing smile tells you enough.

you can’t explain it, but in that moment you gain a hunger-fueled confidence. you want to give yeonjun everything.

fuck, you want him bad.

you’re pulling him back to you faster than you can chicken out otherwise, and the pleased noise he makes as you connect your lips again only spurs you on further to do what you’ve been so badly wanting to:

you touch him, hands sliding from his shoulders up to his soft hair, pulling at it gently as his lips travel down your jaw to suckle at the skin of your neck; you moan, freely this time, eyes sliding shut and head tilting back to give him all the access he wants as you wrap an arm around his shoulders and keep him close.

his hand slides around your waist to your lower back as he slowly guides you down to lay against his sheets, your legs instinctively widening for him as he slots his hips between them, and you groan at the bulge now resting comfortably against your clothed core.

it doesn’t take long before he gently rocks his hips forwards.

you whimper, clutching to his tank top as he continues to kiss and suckle along your neck; your legs tighten around his hips and his lips tilt into a smirk against your skin as your body responds to his like it’s what it was made for, and so he does it again, this time continuing into a steady rocking pace.

the hardness of his cock drags deliciously against your center as he rolls his hips into it again and again, slow enough so that you feel everything, but firm enough that it makes your head spin and your thighs twitch with need.

“oppa,” you whisper, pleadingly, and you don’t even know what you’re asking for but you know that you just need more.

“hm?” he hums back, lips still sucking pretty bruises into your neck,

and it’s like he can read your mind as he asks with another smirk against your skin - “want more, baby?”

you nod quickly with a weak, “mhm,” and your heart jumps as his lips move up to your ear.

“tell oppa what you want.”

the husk of his voice sends shivers straight downwards.

he pulls away just enough for you to meet his eyes and you feel like a rabbit hunted down by a fox, but in your case, you never want to escape from his grasp.

“i.. i-i want…”

you can feel the heat blooming in your cheeks, remembering once again how much you haven’t experienced, and you want to tell him exactly where you want him to put his mouth — but instead your eyes avert from his as you mumble in admission,

“i-i’ve never been… well i’ve never been eaten out before. s-so.. um..”

in your peripheral you can see yeonjun’s brows lift to his hairline in disbelief. “what?”

a finger beneath your chin gently draws your gaze back to his and the genuine bewilderment in his eyes is enough to deepen your blush as he asks, “how could that bastard have possibly survived never tasting you?”

your body buzzes with electricity as your eyes widen; there’s a hunger and determination dancing in yeonjun’s stare that you’ve never been looked at with before.

his intensity makes you shiver in anticipation and it’s like you can taste the honey dripping from his words when he says,

“let me make you feel good, baby. let me give you everything that he should’ve.”

your head spins.

you’ve never felt so desired.

the second that you say okay, yeonjun places one last dizzying kiss to your lips before he’s moving down your body, guiding you out of your shirt as he slowly maps out your skin with his lips — you breathe out a sigh at the way his large hands caress you, intentionality in every touch.

eventually he sits up on his knees, pulling back from a kiss to your navel to reach for the hem of your panties. you shiver when his fingers ghost over your hips.

“lift for me,” he instructs softly, and you do, biting your lip as he begins to slowly pull them down, eyes glued to your cunt, and you watch the way his breath hitches in his throat at the strings of wetness that cling to the fabric.

“fuck,” he whispers, practically groans,

“can’t believe no one’s ever tasted such a pretty pussy before… gonna eat you so good, baby..”

you’re going out of your mind with need, his words alone sending another gush of arousal to your heat, your hungry eyes traveling down to trace the imprint of his rock-hard cock in his sweatpants.

teasingly you ghost your foot over it as he slides your panties from your ankles, and his eyes flicker up to yours as you stare back innocently; his gaze narrows and lips quirk up into a lopsided smirk as his warm hands slide up your legs.

“getting brave, now, are we?” he taunts, stopping at your thighs as he wraps his hands around them and spreads your legs open.

slowly he lowers himself between them, all the while keeping his eyes on yours, and your hips jump at the whisper of his breath against your aching cunt when he says,

“better be careful, doll… any game you try to play, i can play it better.”

and when his fingers spread you open and his lips kiss your clit, you already know that he’s ruined you for any other man.

how could you even dream of anyone else when the tip of yeonjun’s velvety tongue slips out to trace teasingly up and down your slit, or when the pad of his finger circles so lightly around your leaking hole that you might even be imagining it?

no, there’s no way you could be imagining this, not as the warmth of his mouth caresses you as he closes his lips around your clit and gently begins to suck, your head tipping back with a shudder as you whine at the feeling.

“eyes on me, princess,” he murmurs against your cunt, and when you manage to bring your gaze back to his, the sight before you is sinful.

his foxlike eyes dark and dangerous and twinkling as he watches you through his lashes, pretty lips forming a smirk that you can only feel and not see as he whispers “good girl,” - before the next thing you know, his tongue is flattening against you as he licks a firm stripe up your pussy, big hands keeping your jerking hips in place as he begins to ravish you, sucking, licking, kissing, groaning shamelessly at the taste of you and sending vibrations straight through your quivering core as you unravel beneath his touch.

“so fucking good,” he moans, sliding a finger inside of you with ease as he begins to pump it steadily in and out, practically making out with your pussy as you whimper, hands instinctively flying to his hair — you almost pull them away when suddenly he adds another digit, the stretch causing your fingers to tighten in his dark strands as your hips instinctively grind forwards against his mouth.

you’re about to apologize when yeonjun moans even deeper than before.

“that’s it, baby,” he grunts, “use my face. want it so bad, don’t you? go ahead and chase it, cum all over daddy’s tongue.”

something unholy snaps inside of you at that.

“f-fuck-” you cry, doing exactly as he said; you can’t help it as you grind your clit down on his warm tongue over and over and over, hands tightening in his hair as his fingers work impossibly faster, and a new sensation takes over you as the dam breaks and you reach your peak;

you don’t realize what’s happening at first as you’re carried through the most mind-blowing orgasm, until you feel the unusual amount of wetness soaking his sheets and hear yeonjun groaning “fuck, fuck, that’s it, baby, that’s it -“ and he’s three fingers deep as you realize you’re squirting.

it’s as though he can read your body like a book the way he can tell when it’s suddenly too much, his pace slowing gradually until he gently slides his fingers from your sopping hole, placing a final feather-light kiss to your clit before his lips and hands move to soothe your quivering thighs.

“you did so good, baby, holy shit..” the bottom half of his face is soaked in your juices as he mouths along your skin, hands massaging and caressing whatever his lips aren’t kissing;

you’re still bewildered, and can feel the raging blush on your cheeks as you’re quick to blurt in embarrassment, “i-i’m so sorry, i didn’t mean to-“

“y/n.” yeonjun looks up. “seriously, that was so fucking hot, you have no idea.”

you can see in his eyes that he’s telling the truth.

“r-really?”

he laughs, finally sitting up; “baby, i- fuck, like, you actually have no fucking idea how sexy you are.” he pushes his hair out of his face and it’s only then that you realize how heavy he’s breathing, the bulge straining against his pants somehow a million times more prominent than it was earlier.

“y/n, i’m so turned on right now that i can hardly think straight. please-“

you meet his eyes again quickly,

“please, i need to be inside you.”

apparently today is the day that you learn just how crazy choi yeonjun makes you, because despite your still-twitching thighs and your pussy so sensitive that you’re sure a slight breeze would send it into overdrive, your body is quick to betray you at his toe-curling words when your walls clench from the emptiness and a fresh wave of arousal gushes from your soaked heat.

“if you don’t fuck me right now i’m gonna go clinically insane.”

his brows lift only for a moment before he’s laughing, swooping down to catch your lips in a kiss. “well we can’t have that, now, can we?”

he gets off the bed, your eyes hungrily tracking his every move as he peels the tank top from his torso and casts it to the ground; “fuck,” you whisper as your gaze trails down the defined ridges of his abs; “fuck,” you groan when he hooks his thumbs around the waistband of his sweatpants and pulls them down with his boxers in one go.

his cock is long and slender and flushed pink, the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen as you imagine the weight of it in your mouth.

if it were anyone else, you’d wanna slap the shit-eating grin right off of his face, but this is yeonjun, and the fact that he knows he’s all that only makes him 10x hotter.

you can’t tear your eyes away from his length as you sit up on your elbows to watch, and he enjoys it, pumping himself in his hand and smearing the pre-cum around his tip with a satisfied hum.

but as he reaches for the condoms in his desk drawer, you surprise both him and yourself when you stop him.

“no.”

he pauses, looking over his shoulder at you with quirked brows —

“want you to fuck me raw.”

his mouth goes dry. you can see the fire dancing in his eyes as he slowly straightens, keeping himself under control as he asks carefully,

“are you sure?”

you bite your lip and quickly nod. “wanna feel you,” you breathe, and that does it for yeonjun as he’s back on top of you in an instant, his lips pressing to yours in a searing kiss as you moan around his swirling tongue.

his hand is on your throat, not squeezing, just resting there as if to say you’re mine, and you whine deep in your chest when you feel the tip of his cock sliding through your slippery folds.

“gonna fuck this pretty pussy so full of my cum that it’ll be dripping out of it for days,” he rasps as he taps the head of his cock repeatedly over your clit, the lewd noise met with your whimpers as you grasp at his bicep.

“please,” you whine, “want it, please-!”

his hand slides from your neck down to squeeze your tit as he sits up and hooks one of your legs over his shoulder with his free hand.

“so good for me,” he murmurs, eyes half-lidded and lusting as he looks down at you, dragging his shaft back and forth along your slick pussy; “such a good girl, begging for daddy.”

and when he finally pushes the head of his cock past your entrance, stretching you open as he sinks inside, stars explode behind your eyes and you nearly cum again right there on the spot.

“fuuck..” he groans in a drawn-out moan, eyes sliding shut and head tipping back as your walls suck him in, mouth falling open before he catches his plush bottom lip between his teeth and looks back down at you through hazy eyes, giving another rough squeeze to your tit in his grasp.

he slides his hand down to press against your lower belly as he bottoms out, your hips twitching as you gasp, and with his other hand he grips your leg that’s slung over his shoulder as he begins to grind his hips against yours.

you can’t breathe, can’t speak, overwhelmed by how fucking good it all feels, the head of his cock massaging places inside of you that you didn’t even know existed as he rolls his hips over and over, whispering fucked-out nothings;

how tight you are, how good you feel, how he’s gonna make you forget your own name by tomorrow.

and when he starts really moving, hips separating from yours only to connect again with a lewd slap of skin on skin each time he delivers a slow, firm thrust to your cunt, holding you in place so you don’t jolt up the bed — well, you never knew that something so delicious existed, and now that you’ve had a taste, you’re already rendered insatiable.

you paw at any part of him that you can reach, hands finding purchase on his thighs as his pace picks up into a steady rhythm, your lips moaning and pleading and begging around words that you can hardly get out of your mouth.

“look at you,” yeonjun coos breathlessly, “so drunk on my cock already.. perfect pussy made just for me, hm? taking daddy so well? good baby.”

he looks as blissed out as you feel, face wracked in pleasure as he picks up the pace, his hand so large where it still presses over your lower belly that his thumb is able to reach your clit, and the added stimulation along with the pressure of his palm sends your head lolling as you twitch and tremble underneath him.

“j-jjunie..!” you whimper, and you can’t help the nickname from slipping between your lips; you’ve never called him so intimately before, never said his name so freely, but your accidental drop of honorifics seems to stir something inside of him as he groans and fucks you harder;

“say that again,” he grunts as you gasp out from the sudden increase in pace.

“jjunie,” you keen immediately, gripping the sheets, gripping his arms, gripping anything as a muttered curse leaves his lips and his thumb circles faster around your aching clit.

“love it when you say my name, fuck,” he groans, hips slamming into yours and jolting you like a ragdoll as you cry out for him, the knot in your stomach tightening so fast that you swear it’s about to snap, and when he leans forward with your leg still gripped over his shoulder and his cock pounding into you at a far deeper angle than before, fireworks fill your vision as you cum around him harder than you’ve ever came in your life.

“yes, yes, yes, fuck, that’s it, cream on my cock, baby, fuck you’re so- s-so tight, fuck- just like that, let go for me, baby, good girl-“

yeonjun’s voice sounds far away as you spasm around him, his thrusts growing sloppier as your cunt clenches him so tight that it nearly forces him out; he lowers your leg back down to the bed and slows down a little to let you catch your breath but he doesn’t stop, and your watery whimpers are like music to his ears as you clutch onto him desperately.

“t-too much, too much-!” you hiccup, tears spilling from your eyes at all the overwhelming sensations, but you don’t actually want him to stop and he knows it too — he coos at you, hand sliding up to rest on your throat again as he leans down and licks a stripe up your neck to your ear.

“you can give me one more, baby, can’t you?”

a shiver rolls down your spine at the devilish smile in his voice, sweet like honey as he catches your earlobe between his teeth.

“one more so daddy can stuff you nice and full.”

your pussy clenches. “w-want your cum,” you whimper dumbly in response, too fucked out to think of anything else, and yeonjun smiles as he leans back and runs his hands down your body until they reach your hips and squeeze.

“i know,” his thrusts are still steady as he watches you with twinkling eyes; “and i’m gonna give it to you.”

your eyes widen in protest as he suddenly slides out of you without a warning, but the words die in your throat and are replaced with a squeak of surprise when he flips you over onto your stomach instead.

“ass up for me, pretty girl.”

you obey immediately with what strength you have left in your shaky limbs, a quiet whine escaping your throat over not being able to see or touch him anymore.

his little laugh from behind you indicates that he caught it.

“don’t worry, baby,” he soothes as his hands massage over your ass, “we have all the time in the world.”

your heart doesn’t even have time to skip a beat at the promise of his words when suddenly his tongue is on your pussy, your knees nearly buckling at the heat of his mouth as he licks from your clit up to your fluttering hole, and you gasp as he spits on it before his cock enters you fully in one single thrust.

you cry out, knees buckling for real this time as he holds you up, sheets crumpled in your fists as his hips immediately pick up into a quick, dizzying pace.

“love the way you fall apart around me,” he murmurs from behind you, squeezing your ass, “love how you take me so well…”

you want to touch him so badly, want to see the pleasure pooling in his eyes; you don’t have time to respond before he lands a smack on your ass, your surprised squeak spurring him on as he does it again, drilling into your cute little hole like it was made just for him as he breathes out a moan.

from this angle he can see the way your pussy swallows him so hungrily, and his grip on your hips tightens as he drags you back and forth on his cock.

“love.. l-love your.. love this so much… w-wanna be yours…”

he almost misses your dazed mumbling over the loud sound of his hips slapping lewdly against your ass, but he makes out what you said, heart swelling in his chest and cock simultaneously twitching inside of you as he leans forward, his palm sliding up along your spine to brush the hair from your fucked-out face as he pushes your body down against the sheets, chest pressed to your back now and breath caressing your ear as he continues rocking his hips even deeper.

“you’re mine, baby, you’re mine..” he whispers between kisses along your jaw, a reassurance, your soft whimper of a response causing him to bite back a smile as he continues,

“i’ve wanted you for so long.. can’t believe i finally get to have you.” his hand slips beneath you to toy with your throbbing clit, and your ass grinds back against him as a result as you moan wantonly into his sheets.

“i’ve been yours since the.. fuck.. since the second i s-saw you..fuck, p-please don’t stop..!”

your hips are moving with his now as he works your clit faster, mustering your strength and pushing your weight back as you desperately try to fuck yourself on his cock, on his fingers, chasing the rising wave in your belly that’s threatening to break as he meets your quickening movements with his own.

“touch yourself for me, baby,” he murmurs in your ear before removing his hand and propping himself up on his forearms, allowing for a more concentrated angle as he ruts into you, your choked moan muffled by the sheets as you immediately slide one hand down to rub rapidly at your clit, your other one weakly moving to tangle your fingers with his the best that you can;

“gonna cum, gonna cum,” you whimper, drool pooling at your lips, the scent of yeonjun’s cologne and the weight of his body on yours like pure intoxication as he fucks you harder, breaths heavy and staggering in your ear as he grunts,

“cum for me, baby, need to feel it, cum all over my fucking cock-“

and when your third orgasm washes over you, you’re too weak to do anything but let it, body going limp as it wracks over you in pure bliss, the warm feeling of your clenching walls finally sending yeonjun over the edge this time as he shoots his cum into you with a loud and drawn-out moan, voice breaking as he spews filthy words and incoherent curses; he presses his hips impossibly deep against yours before stuttering into sloppy thrusts to fuck himself through the rest of his orgasm as your fluttering pussy milks his cock of every last drop.

the room grows silent save for your heavy breaths, both of your chests heaving as his forehead slumps down to rest against your back; you didn’t realize how tightly you were holding onto his hand until you carefully untangle your fingers from his.

he hisses from the sensitivity as he slides his twitching length out of you.

you look at yeonjun as he rolls off of your back and flops exhaustedly onto his side next to you, and when he meets your eyes, there’s only a passing moment of silence before you both giggle.

his smile is fond and blooming with affection as he rubs a hand up and down your back, moving to smoothe the hair from your face and gently brushing his knuckles across your cheek before resting his hand on top of yours.

“hi,” he whispers.

you giggle again.

“hi,” you whisper back.

“so.. would this be a good time to ask you to be my girlfriend?”

your heart skips a beat and you bite back a smile. “i was worried you’d just want to stick to the sex..” you admit.

yeonjun shakes his head, lips forming into an endearing pout as he laces his fingers with yours.

“nah, you’re stuck with me now, princess,” he grins. “i meant what i said… i’ve been wanting you for so long.”

an indescribable feeling flutters in your chest as you giddily turn your head to bury your face in the sheets, yeonjun laughing as he shuffles closer, rolling you over onto your back despite your giggle-ridden, poorly-executed attempts to fight him off.

you grin up at him and he grins down at you, hovering over you now with a hand on your cheek as his endeared eyes trail over each of your features as if to memorize them.

“my girl,” he whispers, tucking your hair behind your ear.

you tilt your head up to meet his lips when he leans in and kisses you softly, your hands playing with the long hair at the nape of his neck.

“i meant what i said too,” you murmur against him.

“mine since the second you saw me, huh?” yeonjun’s cocky grin is light and teasing as you scrunch your nose at him, flicking his forehead and sending him into another pout.

“yeah, yeah. whatever, pretty boy.”

instead of responding he buries his face in your neck in a flurry of kisses as you squeal in surprise, laughing as you wiggle around underneath him;“stop, that tickles!”

“gotta make up for all the lost time when i didn’t make a move,” he reasons as his kisses move to your cheeks, your nose, your lips — you’ve never seen this side of yeonjun before, so soft and gentle and sweet; the fact that it seems reserved only for you sends butterflies fluttering through your tummy.

you spend your evening like that, wrapped in each other’s arms as you talk about your relationship, talk about the feelings that led you here, talk about this and that and everything in-between;

“does this count as our first date?” you ask quizzically. he wrinkles his nose.

“no way, i’m gonna do the most romantic shit ever for that.”

you snort. “isn’t that what this is?”

but you don’t have the chance to tease him any further when the beeping sound of his apartment passcode being entered causes you both to freeze.

you were so caught up that neither of you considered the time; nor the fact that yeonjun does indeed have 4 other roommates who would in fact be coming home at some point or another.

that some point apparently being now as the rowdy chatter of your friends erupts into the foyer until you suddenly hear soobin’s tipsy mumble. “what the… what are y/n’s shoes doing here?”

you and yeonjun turn to look at each other as your friends’ voices fall silent.

the seconds pass and you almost wonder if you’re in the clear…

but of course, no peace lasts forever with beomgyu in the house.

“OH MY GOD,” he screams.

“THEY FUCKED!”

4K notes · View notes

pinkponytrash · 1 year ago

Text

⋅˚₊‧ secretly dating TXT ‧₊˚ ⋅

3.2k words. headcannon. boyfriend!txt x fem!reader, nondescriptive smut scenes. light jealousy. friends to lovers. mentions of phone sex, mutual masturbation, oral sex, riding

ᯓ★ YEONJUN

He’s real cheeky about it, always has a little smirk on his face when you step into the room and he’s so sure no one knows what’s going on but he’s also so obvious about it. Even if they don’t think you’re dating, they definitely think there’s feelings there.

Yeonjun is always the type to try and impress you too, has to show off how good he is at things and makes sure you’re watching when he does.

Anytime you go out with them, he’s going to make sure you’re by him or if you split off into groups he’s going to be with you. Every now and then he tries to hold your hand and has to remind himself to chill out until he sees Beomgyu or someone take your attention then suddenly he’s snatching you away with some excuse.

“We’re gonna go get drinks,” Yeonjun says as he practically drags you away from Kai who had been trying to take a selfie with you, “Who wants something?”

“I’ll come wi—“

“We don’t need everyone, the line’s already long,” he argues, making sure to pull you behind him, “We’ll be quick.”

“Could you make it any more obvious?” You ask him once the two of you are far enough from the others. He smirked, interlacing your fingers together, “I can if you want me too.”

If it isn’t obvious yet, Yeonjun is not good at keeping it a secret. He is confident in his ability to keep it on the low until he gets in too good of a mood, then all he wants to do is put his hands on you.

Especially when you go out for drinks and you’re wearing one of his favorite outfits dancing to some song you like and swaying your hips with just the right amount of rhythm that he feels hypnotized.

Usually, he’ll have to distract himself talking with the others but after one too many drinks, he’ll make his way toward you and push away whoever you’re dancing with so you can focus on him and him alone, hands playfully tracing the curve of your hips, sliding under the hem of your shirt and smirking when you push his hand away.

By the time you call it a night, it’s hard to keep your boyfriend off you and you end up barely making it past the door of your apartment when he’s already pushing you up against the wall with his mouth on yours.

He likes taking his time with you, he swears, but something he gets a little too eager. It’s difficult ‘keeping it a secret’ and sometimes all he wants to do is get down on his knees and show you how much he appreciates you.

He has one of your legs thrown over his shoulders, teasing your inner thighs with soft bites that make your breath hitch.

“Don’t be a tease,” you tried to sound playful but it was hard when you felt breathless from the way he pinched your thighs, getting closer and closer to where you needed him the most.

“Oh, like how you weren’t being a tease in front of everyone?” He asked, kissing your clit softly, earning a light moan to fall from your lips.

“Not on purpose,” you sighed, head back against the wall as you closed your eyes to soak in the feeling of his tongue between your wet folds. Yeonjun knew exactly what to do with your body. Maybe it’s because you started off as friends, learned everything it was about each other that when it came to getting intimate, it didn’t take long for him to know what to do to make you moan his name.

And he loved the sound of your voice when you moaned for him so lovingly. His tongue does wonders between your legs and when paired with his long fingers, you can’t help but let yourself fall for him harder every time.

ᯓ★ SOOBIN

Nervous boyf to the core. We know he likes to joke around with TXT and technically speaking you are their friend but when you start dating Soobin…

Oh it’s like a schoolboy crush he’s got to hide. He used to be just as playful with you as before but now he’s scared to get too close because what if he kisses you? Oh my goodness, how would he hold himself back if he gets too close?

Sometimes when you’re around everyone he’ll sit down next to you and spread his legs a little further so that nobody else can squeeze in between you and he’ll make sure that his leg touches yours. If he’s feeling extra bold he might put his hand on your thigh, squeeze it a little and try to cover up his teasing by doing the same to Taehyun or Kai under pretense of joking around.

But let’s not forget about jealous boyfriend Soobin.

“No, Y/n, this is a serious question,” Yeonjun reached for your hand and gave it a tight squeeze, “Who do you think is hotter? Me or Soobin.”

You made the mistake of jokingly saying, ‘You’ thinking Soobin would obviously know you’re only saying it to make Yeonjun feel better but boy were you wrong.

He was upset, visibly upset to the point that when you looked over at him, he would give you a side eye and look away. Everyone noticed it too and found it damn near comical that he was so bothered by it but of course they didn’t know why. He didn’t even talk to you about it till later that night.

“I was joking, Binnie,” you clung to him from behind, “Of course I think you’re so much better looking than anyone but if I said you, everyone would think somethings up. They already think I favorite yo—“

“As you should! I’m your boyfriend, you should favorite me,” He would argue with a cute pout.

He's never an angry type of jealous, usually he gets pouty and thinks about it for days which in turn leaves you wanting to prove to him how much you prefer him over anyone else.

“Jagi,” Soobin had to bite down on his bottom lip to keep his voice down but it was getting hard—well, he was, “Everyone is w-waiting for us.”

“So?” You asked, kissing down his chest as you pushed his shirt up and without being told to, he held it up with the hem between his teeth. He even lifted his hips to help you pull his jeans down, “I’ve missed you.”

Your hand teased his growing bulge, palming his erection over his briefs as you got more comfortable in the backseat of his car. The parking garage was dark and almost empty but he still looked out the windows nervously.

You were supposed to be meeting your friends for a game night and he had told them all he was going to pick you up since you were ‘on the way’ to the dorms, but in reality he needed a little more time with you alone. He just didn’t think that meant you’d ask him to meet you in the backseat so you could show him how much you missed him with your lips around his cock.

And what was he supposed to do when they texted him asking where you were? Was he supposed to tell them that he was moaning your name while hiding down in the parking garage? His hands in your hair, head thrown back with pleasure and abs tightening every time he took a deep breath.

“So good,” he sighed blissfully, eyes threatening to fall shut when your tongue traced the vein that traveled down his length, “Don’t wanna go see them anymore.”

“We have to,” you released him from your mouth, stroking him teasingly, “Or else they’ll get suspicious.”

And by the time you made it upstairs, Soobin couldn’t bother to care about the complaints from everyone about your tardiness. Not when it was taking everything in him not to just pull you into his lap and kiss you for everyone to see.

ᯓ★ BEOMGYU

He’s probably the only member who’s actually good at hiding the fact that he’s dating you.

He jokes with you the same way he jokes with everyone else so no one would ever know that when he touches you under the table, he likes to tease too.

They don’t know that when he says he’s going to play an arcade and sneaks away from the dorm, he’s actually going over to your place when no one’s around and hanging out with you.

In all honesty, he’s probably the best ‘friends to lovers’ of them all. You’re his best friend and have been for a while so when the two of you started dating, it just became like an added perk.

Not only does he get to game with you and crack jokes but now he gets to kiss you and make you feel good too.

It’s great, seriously, and the only downside to it is how serious he comes off to you. Sometimes you struggle to remember he's more than just a friend and sometimes he forgets to remember he doesn’t like it when the others get too close to you.

It’s only okay when he gets close to you, not Soobin, Beomgyu, Taehyun or even Kai. He’s made it clear he’s your ‘best friend’ so yes, he does feel like he has a right to get jealous sometimes.

“What does it matter, Gyu? You got up so I took your seat,” Kai laughed, making himself comfortable next to you on the couch, “The movies about to start just sit next to Jun.”

“But I was sitting there first,” Beomgyu practically stomped his foot in a tantrum, “I went to make Y/n and I popcorn, how are we supposed to share if you took my seat?”

Meaning: how am I supposed to cuddle with Y/n under the blanket if you’re in the way?

“Kai, don’t be mean, he was sitting there first,” you laughed, glancing over at Beomgyu who was pouting now, “Maybe you guys should ‘Paper, Rock, Scissors’ this and the winner gets to sit next to me.”

You gave them both a cheeky smile which made Kai roll his eyes and cringe, “Ew, I don’t want to sit next to you anymore.”

“Then move,” Beomgyu said, already forcing himself down next to you and pushing Kai out the way.

Even when the two of you are all alone and you get too touchy, it’s always playful. There’s always giggles here and there and jokes that make you both stop and laugh.

And after a while he gets lazy with his excuses. He stays out later and when he doesn’t make it home some nights, everyone knows by this time that he’s probably just hanging out with you.

“I’m going to the arcade.”

“With Y/n?”

“No, by myself.”

“Right, I thought you’d be with your best friend tonight.”

It’s only when neither of you answer the phone that the rumors start circulating.

“Oh my god, just ignore it,” Beomgyu groaned as your phone rang for the third time. Soobin and Kai were blowing up your phone after you promised to play them online tonight. Meanwhile you’re naked in bed with your boyfriend who just looks so pretty under you.

He even knew you were supposed to be gaming and that’s why he came over to keep your attention from drifting to anyone but him.

“So greedy, all the time,” you moaned softly, raising your hips against his member and sinking back down to feel the way he stretched your walls for you, “Always want my attention. I thought you wanted to keep it a secret.”

“I do,” he nearly whimpered, fingers digging into your thighs with pleasure, “But it’s hard.”

ᯓ★ TAEHYUN

He’s even worse at hiding it than Yeonjun. He’s just too clingy and he can’t really hide that even around the other members. He’s already touchy with the others but when it comes to his girlfriend? Boy, oh boy.

He likes to touch your thigh under the table or trace your spine whenever you stand in front of him and no one’s looking. When you run your fingers through his hair while watching a movie, he tends to get a little lost in the feeling and starts to doze off with his head practically on your lap.

The others ignore it for the most part but every now and then Kai will try to make a comment about his touchiness toward you and suddenly Taehyun has to act out.

One time the two of you almost got caught getting a little too close while at the bar and he literally pushed you off him before Yeonjun could see you try and kiss him. He ended up paying for that in the end.

“Jagi, just one kiss,” Taehyun begged later that night when you rejected his second attempt since you got back to your place. You weren’t actually mad at him but he liked messing with you so what was wrong with it’s you doing it back?

“Well I tried to give you a kiss earlier and you pushed me away, remember?” You asked, hiding your smirk and turning your back to him. Taehyun didn’t like that at all, and practically pounced on your bed to hold you.

“But I want it now.”

Hes a jealous guy too, a quiet, introverted jealous guy. He won’t say anything but there’ll be signs. He’ll keep his eyes on you and whoever you’re with and have no shame about it.

One time you asked Soobin to help you reach something instead of Taehyun and he couldn’t hide how annoyed he was by it. He even went as far as mocking you for it later that night.

Whenever you’re more distracted by your phone than him, he’s always gotta try and get your attention back on him.

Usually, if you’re alone, it’s with little touches here and there.

He likes playfully pulling at your shirt to bring you closer to him, smile on his face when you whine at being exposed.

You’ll try and escape his affection but you always end up giving in and you end up making out on your couch when you’re finally alone.

He’s handsy too, he loves the way you feel under his fingertips especially when your skirts rolled up and he’s gotten your panties off.

“So soft,” he always reminds you when he traces a finger along your clit, massaging into it with some of your slick. He’s always gentle when he touches you, always kisses down your sides and aims to please you first.

“Mhm,” you moan lightly, hand brushing his soft hair back so you could see his big boba eyes look up at you while he kisses your navel. They distract you from his hand until you feel his middle finger tease your entrance.

“It’s so hard to keep my hands off you,” he always makes sure to remind you when he’s making you feel good with those hands. He’s never shy when it comes to touching you either, always knows just when to curl his fingers or rub your clit while he does it. When he can tell you’re close, he likes to kiss you, swallow your moans and feel your tighten around his fingers.

ᯓ★ KAI

He thought it would be easy at first but he quickly realized how wrong he was.

In the beginning, he did his best to treat you like a friend and nothing else. He would talk to you like he talks to the other members and he wouldn’t make a scene whenever you talked too long to someone else.

He would only get nervous when you would look at him for too long, or wink at him, talk about how he’s your favorite or sit close to him.

And you loved to get him riled up when no one’s looking.

You’re the one to usually initiate something, like when you casually trace your fingers through his hair.

How is he supposed to act unbothered by it?

When you’re out with them all and someone tries hitting on you, and you have to quietly explain that you’re kind of seeing someone which leads the others to ask who, how is Kai not supposed to shout out that it’s him?

How’s he supposed to just join in with the interrogation and act like he doesn’t know anything either?

“Wait, have we met him?” Yeonjun asks you and none of them seem to notice how you look over at Kai and smile so innocently while he’s sweating billets.

“I don’t kiss and tell,” you always say, half laughing at how annoyed they all look and Kai has to pretend to be just as annoyed when in reality he wants to smile too.

“I don’t think we’ll ever know,” he’ll try and pipe in, trying not to smirk and when they’re not looking at him, he winks at you and enjoys the little secret you share.

To be honest, you’re the one who fell for him first.

For some reason his cringey jokes and over the top laugh really pulled you in and when you made the move on him, he hadn’t known what to think.

For the longest he thought of you as a friend so the night you were on video call playing a game together and you were laying on your bed, barely covered by the blanket… he kept getting distracted.

Then you would say something flirty while shifting around and showing the little shorts you wore to sleep and how they barely covered anything, along with your tank top. He would remind himself that you’re just a friend and he’s probably reading too into it

So everything was on the low to begin with. None of the others knew how the two of you would spend almost every night on the phone together and Kai could tell them but why would he? So that they could think they could call you too and take your attention away?

Plus, did he really want them to know about how you looked fresh out the shower on the phone with him? Or how you sounded when you whispered softly with your hand down your panties asking if he’s touching himself too?

And it was known Kai had such a nice voice that you couldn’t help but encourage him to let you hear it when he stroked his stiff member in his bedroom late at night.

“I can’t hear you,” you would remind him, hand touching down your body and showing the camera what he can’t see in person.

“They’re going to hear me,” he whispers, letting out a small moan when you pull down your top and tease him with a view of your bare chest.

“Everyone’s asleep,” you say, “Please? It’s not fair, I don’t ever get to see you alone.”

Your words always got to him, and he would stroke himself just a little faster and whisper, “I want to see you too.”

::.

I’ve been gone for months and I needed something kind of quick and easy to write so hope you guys liked it 😭should I do more of these?

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zznblr · 3 months ago

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exes and ohs 𐙚 c.yj

ʚ♡⃛ɞ his ex is getting married to his brother. he’s totally okay with it. he’s very happy for them. of course, he’s going to the wedding. and he definitely did not pay his next door neighbor five hundred dollars to be his plus one at their destination wedding.

written + smau • fluff + angst • fake dating • friends to lovers • neighbors to lovers starring choi yeonjun featuring soobin and beomgyu of tomorrow x together • yeji from itzy • chaewon from le sserafim • manon and daniela from katseye started on. april 5th 2025 status. completed

character profiles

one: you are cordially invited two: and that's a bad thing three: get a girlfriend four: alert the news and the media five: favors for friends six: bem-venido seven: fumbling eight: walk down memory lane nine: defeated ten: kiss and make up eleven: brothers twelve: dinner with friends thirteen: they got you too fourteen: you're drunk... fifteen: viola sixteen: bad kisser seventeen: eight flights of stairs eighteen: glad you’re here nineteen: something blue twenty: worth the wait

disclaimer: all representations of characters in this story are completely fictional. this is not a reflection of the real people that they are inspired by or even how i feel about them. it is simply for storytelling purposes.

reblogs n comments are appreciated :)

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luviestarz · 6 months ago

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choi yeonjun fic recs!

🍮 stay alive // c.yj - @fairybinie - (yeonjun and gn!reader are targets for their powers and they’re running out of solutions. all yeonjun wants is for y/n to stay alive, yet everything always comes with a price and secrets always come out. )

🍮 BUSTED! - @pr0dbeomgyu (bumping into her shitty ex out of nowhere while hanging out with her friends, y/n was determined to show that she was way better off without him. desperate enough, she paid choi yeonjun, a cheapskate stranger she met 5 seconds ago, to act as her rich, classy boyfriend. y/n thought it was fine to change some things about her life to yeonjun (read: everything), cause heck, they don’t even know each other! but why is it that after the incident, yeonjun kept on appearing in her life, finding out the truth about her one by one, in the worst possible way?)

🍮 [ ᴄ.ʏᴊ ] | 𝗶𝗻𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘀𝗽𝗶𝗰𝘂𝗼𝘂𝘀 - @gyuslvrr (yeonjun wants you, but all you can see is how tired he is)

🍮 [12:17AM] - @iknowyuu (drunk!reader tries to chase away the man following them, not realizing it’s their boyfriend.)

🍮 ❝ JACK FROST NIPPING AT YOUR NOSE ❞ boyfriend!choi yeonjun. - @theynchapter

🍮 cliché - @heart2beom (after yeonjun hears you referring to him as someone who's like a brother ...he tries his hardest to make you see him as a potential boyfriend.)

🍮 — GOODBYE KISSES - @wooyukh

🍮 — dinner plans 𖤐 choi yeonjun - @dearlyjun (you and yeonjun’s dinner plans quickly change into something else.)

🍮 storage room smooch - @soobszzn (you want to show your super sporty and athletic boyfriend yeonjun just how supportive you can be.)

🍮 a bouquet of flower - choi yeonjun - @p0ckykiss (yeonjun always keeps one flower to himself from your bouquet and you can't figure out why.)

🍮 — my girl (c.yj) ♡ - @taegimood

🍮 TAKE ME ON A DATE — CHOI YEONJUN - @yuoniz (you realise your best friend's feelings for you when you try to play matchmaker)

🍮 𝐧𝐨 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 ♡ choi yeonjun. - @yeonboy (If you had known that a fun night out eating junk food with your best friend that you have always harbored a crush on would turn this sour because he misunderstood your words, you would have kept your mouth shut. Now Yeonjun has gone radio silent on you and if you want to salvage your friendship, you will have to get over your feelings first because he will never forgive you if he finds out. Right?)

🍮 just the tip - @seoulzie (yeonjun cant hold himself back & begs reader for "just the tip")

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lovesickchoi · 25 days ago

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📁 FILE 02: CHOI YEONJUN

⋆·˚ ༘ * Casual hookups transcend into more when Yeonjun can’t keep his feelings at bay anymore. With praise on his tongue and dirty words a testament of his devotion to you, he’s determined to show you what he’s been holding back.

✦ Love Language: Words of Affirmation

pairing: yeonjun x reader ✮⋆˙✐ 2.4k

warnings: smut, f!reader, fwb to lovers, dirty talk, praise, reassurance, a lot of dialogue, dry humping, no protection

🗂️ click here to access all txt member’s files

˚₊ · »-♡→ main masterlist

Choi Yeonjun could coax an orgasm out of you like no other.

Powerful, blinding, earth-shattering climaxes that left your sensitive body trembling and your mind floating, all while the silver chain around his neck swung low and draped over your skin, marking you as his.

The bite of his bottom lip between his teeth and the scrunch of his forehead, taut with lust. The kiss of his lips to your cheek as your eyes flutter open, drawing light and reality back in. And finally, the slow drag of his hips as he exits your body.

Then he stands up from the bed and puts his clothes back on, already facing the door.

"So I'll text you tomorrow?" Always Yeonjun's last words, barely giving you time to come back to yourself before he's out of your bedroom.

This was the unfortunate nature of your friendship with Yeonjun. Or whatever a sane person might call the predicament you'd found yourselves in. A situationship. A fuckship. A please-don’t-let-me-be-the-only-one-feeling-like-this-ship.

The next day drags on like usual, but this time, you find yourself dreading it—dreading the moment you’ll have to feign a smile for Yeonjun again. He’s already waiting for you at the end of the street like always, ready to walk into your friend’s apartment by your side with another late night ahead.

His arm is naturally slung over your shoulder, keeping you to him, as you greet everyone inside. The proximity never fails to mess with your head. He was always like this around everyone. Touching you, teasing you, making flirtatious remarks that would leave your cheeks rosy. And somehow, more nights than not, it ends with you folded in half beneath him.

You know all too well how it goes. He’d say and do all the right things, painting a picture so perfect it almost felt real. For a moment, it would make sense. Like he wanted you the way you wanted him. Then he’d zip up his pants and leave.

But everyone saw it tonight.

The way Yeonjun stands just a little extra close to you. How your drinks were always shared. His fingers sometimes finding your leg under the table like the flesh of your thigh was calling to him, inviting him to stake his claim.

You hear someone—probably Beomgyu—joke in your direction. “Just fuck already.”

While you choke on your drink, Yeonjun doesn't even blink. “Who says we haven’t?”

The group howled. You laughed too. But you didn’t look at him, not really anyway, afraid he'd catch the frown evident on your face.

There was always a line neither of you dared cross. In public, you let the world think it was just a little playful recklessness.

Behind closed doors, it was different.

He touched you like worship. Fucked you like he was starved—afraid you’d vanish the moment he stopped. He’d murmur things against your skin you weren’t supposed to remember, call you his, tell you how good you were, how only you made him feel like this. You’d cling to his shoulders like you believed it, too.

Lately, after those doors closed, Yeonjun had been acting off. Sex was still intense. Mind-numbing, even.

Yet something would shift the moment he came. How he'd untangled himself from your limbs like it hurt. The way he whispered a soft “Later,” like he was trying not to say something else.

He never used to leave so fast. You never used to care. Not until the cold, empty space next to you began begging to be filled with his warmth again. You wish you'd known what changed.

So when Yeonjun asks if you want to go upstairs, just the two of you, you don’t even question it. The apartment is too crowded, too warm, the buzz in your chest a little too strong to ignore. You nod, letting him lead the way, even though you already know how it’s going to end.

It only takes mere minutes before you're both stripped down to your undergarments, with you face down in the bed as he traces your skin like a canvas.

Yeonjun is straddling your thighs, admiring every inch of your body lying on your stomach before him. His fingers begin just behind your ear, tucking some hair away. Slowly they drag further down your skin—neck, shoulder, spine cascading with goosebumps, waist, hips, the plump skin of your ass and the lacey material that hugged it.

He finally grips you with both his hands, squeezing tightly before bending over your body and biting ever so softly on your earlobe. Your thighs press together, desire pooling in your thin panties already.

Then his voice is whispy and needy against your cheek. “You feel like home to me. I could look at you like this forever.”

It’s unclear what about this that makes you snap. But you’ve had enough being misled, enough of the unkept promises.

“You always say things like that when we're like this. It doesn’t mean anything.” You call him out, only half joking, mostly defensive.

Yeonjun stills—his gaze heavy on only your face. His response pulls the air straight from your lungs.

“It means everything. You just don’t listen.”

It’s then that you realize your eyes have begun filling with tears, which you refuse to let spill. The weight of the situation comes to a head

"Hey," Yeonjun coos. His hands are on your shoulders, forcing you to turn onto your back so he can see you properly. His eyes widen at your red eyes looking back at him, noticing the way you suddenly closed off. He slides next to you on his side.

"Yeonjun, what is this?" You huff, tears gone and replaced with anger. "Because I do listen. That's the problem. I listen to you and I believe what you say. And then you're gone."

He thinly smiles, but there's a layer of shame behind it. “There’s a reason I had to stop hanging around after. If I stayed any longer I might’ve scared you away.”

"Why would you scare me away?" You're nose to nose with him now. You don't know if it was you or he who scooted closer.

"Because I’d stop pretending. I'd ask you to stop seeing anyone else. I'd want to be enough for you. And if I wasn’t, I don’t think I could take it."

You freeze, finally seeing Yeonjun for all that he is now.

He speaks again when you can't find the words. “You think I tell just anyone they’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me while they’re falling apart under me?”

Your voice is quiet, but sure. "Then stop pretending. Yeonjun… I want more. I just didn’t think you did." Your hand drifts up his chest, resting over his heart. "You're more than enough.”

Yeonjun’s breath stutters. “Then let me show you what I’ve been holding back.”

He surges forward, capturing your mouth with his. He finally lets himself feel everything he’s been holding back.

Your legs tangle instinctively as you both remain on your sides, facing each other, bodies pressed close. His hand is on your hip, pulling you flush against him. You can feel the hard line of him, twitching through both your underwear, pressing right where you need him.

His forehead rests against yours as he begins to move—subtle rolls of his hips that grind his cock against your center, dragging friction with each pass.

“Feel that?” he breathes dreamily. “That’s what you do to me. Every damn time.”

You gasp, your own hips moving now, chasing the pressure, the closeness, the heat. Your fingers clutch at his flexed bicep, needing something to hold onto.

A broken moan catches in your throat. “You think I don’t feel the same?” You whisper, your tone shaky. Your hips roll to meet his, earning a low groan from his lips. “You leave and I lie in that bed wishing you’d just… stay. I don’t want anyone else, Yeonjun. Just you.”

He lets out an uneven breath like he’s been waiting to hear that for months. His hand slides down to your ass, splaying wide across the flesh to drag you even closer, like he could mold your bodies together.

“Say it again,” he begs, grinding harder now, lips brushing your jaw, your cheek, your temple. “Say it while I make you cum like this.”

You’re already gasping, forehead pressed to his, needing more and loving that this finally means something.

Every slow grind of his clothed cock against your soaked panties sends shocks through your core. You cling to him, overwhelmed by how good it feels.

“O-only you, Yeonjun.”

The second the words leave your mouth, he lights up like a match to gasoline. He groans and grips your ass even tighter, rutting against you now with less restraint. This sends pleasure coiling through your gut.

“Fuck,” he breathes against you, panting now, almost angry with need. “You’re always so perfect for me.”

His hand slips between your bodies, cupping your pussy over your panties and pressing down just enough to make the pressure unbearable. Your head falls back, body shaking as he rocks against you harder, dragging your panties across your swollen clit.

“You sound so fucking pretty,” he murmurs, lips brushing yours. “Every moan—fuck—it’s going straight to my cock. Wanna fuck you slow after this. Real slow. Wanna feel you pulse around me ‘til you’re crying.”

"Please keep going. I need you." You whimper.

“You gonna cum for me like this? Just from grinding? Look how fucking needy you are. I know your body better than anyone, don’t I?”

You nod frantically, already there. The build-up has been burning in your gut since the moment he touched you, and now it’s crashing down in waves—your orgasm slamming into you so hard your knees buckle.

“Yeonjun—” you cry, nails digging into his arm, your hips jerking helplessly against his cock as you cum.

He holds you through it, one arm wrapped tightly around your waist, the other still cupping your cunt, letting you ride the high out on his palm. You’re soaked, panties ruined, your whole body trembling as he whispers filth against your ear.

“That’s it, baby. Just like that. You cum so good for me.”

And then you feel it, how soaked he is.

The front of his boxers is soaked with pre-cum, the evidence of how hard he’s been holding back nearly obscene. He doesn’t even ask. He pushes his boxers down and tosses them aside, freeing himself. You’re still recovering, but the second his fingers hook into the sides of your panties and peel them off, the heat returns.

You don’t even think—your body moves on instinct. When he comes back down beside you, you grind against his thigh this time, and his jaw clenches at the feel of your bare, soaked folds dragging against his skin, leaving a trail of arousal in your wake.

“Holy shit,” he bites back a moans, watching you with heavy eyes. “Greedy girl. Get on your stomach again.”

You obey, letting him guide you down. He straddles your thighs like before, but this time, everything is different. This time, he knows you’re his. You know it, too.

“Ruin me, baby,” you whisper into the sheets.

He strokes himself slowly behind you, lined up and leaking, watching the way you lie flat before him. He lowers himself, chest and stomach pressed to your back, the weight of him trapping you.

“I meant every word I’ve ever said to you in bed,” he says softly before proceeding, brushing your hair to one side. “Every.” A kiss to your temple. "Single." To your neck. “One.” To the corner of your mouth.

Then he pushes in, sliding into your sensitive heat inch by inch until he’s fully buried. You choke on a moan.

“God, you’re so tight,” he whispers. “Still clenching from that last orgasm, huh? You’re gonna give me another, aren’t you? Such a good girl.”

He starts to move slowly at first, grinding into your sweet spot with every stroke. Your body reacts on its own, already building again. He keeps you flat against the bed, one arm cradling your waist, the other laced with your fingers when you reach back for him. He intertwines your fingers without question.

You’re gasping now, high-pitched whines escaping your lips, babbling about how good it feels, how full you are, how close you are again.

“Don’t stop, please, fuck—Yeonjun—gonna cum again.”

“Shit, baby, you’re so good,” he grits out, rutting into you harder now, hips slapping against your ass, the sound filthy and wet. “So fucking perfect. So tight around me I can barely think.”

You sob into the mattress, your whole body vibrating with pleasure. His cock taps that perfect spot again and again, and you can feel his rhythm falter, his breath hitch. He’s close, so close.

“So sexy like this. Fuck, I’m gonna cum. Where do you want me, baby?”

“On my ass,” you whimper. “Wanna feel you.”

That’s all he needs. His hand slides into your hair, gripping tight, pressing your cheek to the mattress. His thrusts grow frantic, your clit grinding against the sheets, the pressure sending sparks down your spine.

“I love you,” he gasps, voice raw. “I love you so fucking much—”

And then you’re both coming.

You first, spasming around him, thighs shaking uncontrollably as the friction sends you over the edge a second time. He pulls out quickly, stroking himself fast as thick, hot ropes spill across your ass and lower back, his body trembling above you.

Neither of you moves. Your face is still buried in the sheets, breathing hard. He leans down, kissing your spine, your shoulders, your cheek. He's extra tender now.

But the fire in both your bodies hasn’t gone out. Not even close. Yeonjun knows it, too. Not when you two are finally on the same page.

His lips brush your ear. “I think we’re gonna need a bed we can ruin properly.”

You smile, still breathless. “Then let's get out of here. I want more of you."

"Come on," he chuckles, rolling off the bed. He extends a hand to you, gently tugging you up with him. "Yours or mine?"

You hesitate to say yours, and he senses it. His hands cup your face on each side, lowering his head to meet your eye line. "It's okay. You’re not sleeping alone tonight. I won't make that mistake ever again."

You don’t say another word. There’s no need to.

Clothes are slipped back on in silence, the air still thick with everything that just passed between you. When you head back downstairs, hand in hand, you don’t miss the wide eyes and gaping mouths staring after you. Yeonjun tosses a few half-hearted goodbyes over his shoulder without slowing down. You stay close behind him, face tucked shyly into his back as he guides you out the door.

But behind your flustered smile, pride, giddiness, and relief are all wrapped in one. Because finally, Choi Yeonjun was yours.

tags: @vkravenz @bunnysoonie @zznblr @another-lemon-tree @gyudollies @beomgyusluver @dawngyu @boba-beom @taebatu @simpforseoho @beestvng @yyeonbinn @chubichubs @jooyeonsvape @txt-thelmi @zorange13 @jellyyjn @frenziedpiratetrap @gardnhee @txtsdoll

likes/comments/reposts are always appreciated <3

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junwritten · 11 days ago

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my blogger

pairing: choi yeonjun x f!reader

genre: fluff, mutual pining, slice of life, light academia vibes

warnings: light swearing, mild academic stress, adorable yeonjun being adorable

summary: you’re sitting at starbucks with your crush doing homework when he invites you over to a friend’s place—and drops a line that just might ruin you forever.

MDNI . txt masterlist

you don’t really mean to fall in love with choi yeonjun.

it just kind of… happens.

it starts in your elective media studies class, where he shows up with fluffy hair, chapstick shimmer on the edge of his cup, and opinions on blogging that make the whole room sit up straighter. you don’t talk to him for the first two weeks. you just write about him.

because, well—your professor made you start a blog. and not just a pretend blog—a real one, with actual weekly entries about digital culture, personal reflections, media consumption, blah blah. most of your classmates do the bare minimum.

but you? you write essays about yeonjun.

not directly, obviously. that would be unhinged. you just refer to him vaguely as “the boy with the soft laugh who sits by the window.” and “gloss boy,” once, which is embarrassing in retrospect.

you write about how he talks with his hands, like he’s painting ideas in midair. how he doodles on the sides of his notes. how he reads blog posts out loud with this half-laugh in his voice, like everything is secretly funny to him.

so when he turns to you one day and goes, “hey, wanna get coffee and study sometime?” you nearly choke on your own breath.

but somehow you say yes. and even more miraculously, it turns into a habit.

starbucks becomes your thing.

you get the same drinks each time—he orders some ridiculous iced monstrosity with extra whipped cream and strawberry drizzle, and you get a boring latte and steal sips from his cup when he offers. he always offers. you always pretend not to want it and then take it anyway.

you work together, side by side, laptops open, headphones half-on. he makes you laugh more than you probably should during a study session. you keep writing blog entries about him, even though your class only requires one a week and you’re way past the limit.

and okay. maybe you’re delusional. but sometimes it feels like he’s writing about you too. not in blog posts—you’ve never seen his, he’s secretive about it—but in the way he looks at you when you’re not paying attention. in the way he saves the seat next to him with his jacket. in the way he texts you at midnight like, “send me a pic of your notes i zoned out thinking about waffles.”

you’re so down bad it’s painful.

today’s no different.

he’s waiting for you at the usual table when you arrive, spinning his iced drink between his hands, eyes lighting up when he sees you.

“you’re late,” he says with a grin.

“you’re early,” you shoot back, sliding into the chair across from him.

your laptop’s heavy in your bag, your brain foggy from too many late nights, but something about being here—being next to him—makes everything feel easier. he always does.

you sip your drink, scroll through your notes, make it exactly fifteen minutes before he distracts you again.

“hey,” he says suddenly, glancing at his phone. “soobin just texted. he’s having people over. wanna come?”

you blink. “oh, i thought you were just heading over to his place.”

“yeah,” he says, like it’s obvious. “but aren’t you coming?”

you pause, caught off guard. you were fully prepared to say goodbye, to sit here alone with your homework and your unspoken feelings.

“well…” you start.

but before you can finish, he’s looking at you with that stupid, goofy smile. the one he only ever really gives to you. and he says, with zero hesitation and all the dramatic flair of someone who absolutely knows what he’s doing.

“i’d be lost without my blogger.”

you freeze.

your heart skips three beats. maybe four. your brain explodes.

“you—” you choke out. “what?”

he just sips his drink, unbothered. smug. “what?” he echoes, voice light.

“you know about my blog?” you hiss, leaning across the table like it’s a secret government mission. “how do you—”

“you write like you think no one’s ever gonna read it,” he says, all soft and honest, like he hasn’t just upended your entire existence. “but i read it. every post.”

you are going to die right here in this starbucks.

“you’re the reason i passed that midterm,” he adds. “your notes? immaculate. your media takes? unhinged but smart. your entries about ‘the boy with the soft laugh’?” he wiggles his eyebrows. “flattering.”

you cover your face with both hands. “oh my god.”

he laughs—actual, full-body laughs—and reaches out like he’s going to tug your hands away, then thinks better of it and just lightly taps your wrist.

“you’re a good writer,” he says. “and a terrible liar.”

you peek through your fingers. “how long have you known?”

“first week,” he says. “you posted about my ‘strawberry crime against coffee.’ i put two and two together.”

“why didn’t you say anything?”

“i dunno,” he shrugs. “i liked being your secret muse.”

you groan. “yeonjun.”

he tilts his head. “what?”

you lower your hands, exhale, and look at him—really look at him

he’s so annoyingly pretty. he’s so bright, and funny, and stupidly clever, and he’s looking at you like you’re something worth reading twice.

“you’re lucky you’re cute,” you mutter.

“oh?” he says, smirking. “so you do think i’m cute.”

you shake your head, laughing despite yourself. “are we going to soobin’s or not?”

“only if you sit next to me the whole time,” he says. “i need my blogger.”

“you’re never gonna let me live that down, are you?”

“not a chance.”

you pack up your stuff together, sipping from the same drink, your shoulders brushing as you walk out into the golden haze of late afternoon.

it’s a little ridiculous. a little romantic. painfully soft.

you don’t know what’s going to happen next. you don’t know if this means anything real, or if he’s just teasing, or if you’re dreaming this whole thing up and you’ll wake up in your dorm bed with a dead phone and a missed alarm.

but then he slips his hand into yours without saying a word.

and you think maybe—just maybe—you’re not the only one who’s been writing love letters between the lines.

later that night, when he falls asleep halfway through a movie at soobin’s, curled into your side with his head on your shoulder, you take a picture of him and post it to your blog with no caption.

the next morning, he reblogs it from his burner account.

the tags say:

#i’d be lost without her

#yes this is about me

#no i’m not embarrassed

and you just sit there smiling at your phone like an idiot, typing one final entry for the class.

“there’s a boy i wrote about once. i thought he’d never know. i thought if he did, it would ruin everything. but it didn’t. it made everything better. it made everything real.”

you hit post.

and for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel like you’re writing for a grade.

you feel like you’re writing for the boy who sees you.

the one who reads between the lines.

and honestly?

you’d be lost without him, too.

#txt imagines #txt fluff #txt #txt angst #txt fanfic #txt fic #txt post #yeonjun #beomgyu #yeonjun fic #yeonjun angst #yeonjun imagines #yeonjun au #yeonjun fluff #junwritten

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viasdreams · 1 month ago

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✧°🦊 ⋆｡

yeonjun boyfriend texts !!

a/n: yea i make it sticky like 👅👅👅

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ev3rm0re-q · 18 days ago

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fire & ice ⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

desc: basically the hotel room scene in challengers (with a twist!) but with yeonbin!!

pairing: tennis player!Yeonjun x tennis player fem!reader x tennis player!Soobin

genre: challengers AU, spicyy

warning/s: lots of swearing, smoking, 18+ content (suggestive)

wc: 5.1k

a/n: okay, okay.. i know i did promise a part 2 for half a spell, but i just couldnt help myself ITS A CHALLENGERS AUU I MEANN. i feel like u guys are getting fed as much w this one bc this one is scrumptious as fuckkk HELPPPAKSHBFAJS anyway, pls comment if u guys want more from thiss (part 2??) bc i doo have a very fun dynamic planned for these three!! hope yall enjoyyy <33

"She’s not coming, Yeonjun."

"She’s coming."

Soobin lies the wrong way across the bed, his bed technically, but both mattresses had been shoved together hours ago in a half-assed attempt at a bigger one.

His bare feet rest on the pillows as he tosses a tiny rubber ball against the wall—thunk, thunk, thunk—watching it rebound into his palm again and again.

“You don’t know that,” he says, flicking his wrist. His voice isn’t bitter, just worn out.

Yeonjun doesn’t answer right away.

He’s slouched in the wooden chair at the foot of the bed, one leg propped up, elbow draped over his knee. The dim light from his phone screen casts a pale blue shine over his face. A lit cigarette hangs loosely from his mouth as he scrolls through social media.

"She said she’d think about it," Soobin mutters, catching the ball mid-air and letting it sit in his hand for once. "People don’t usually show when they say that they'll 'think about it.'"

Yeonjun stops scrolling. His eyes flick toward the door.

“She’s coming.” He says it with quiet finality.

Then, just as easily, he scrolls again.

Thunk. Thunk.

The ball hits the wall.

✧˖° earlier that day °˖✧

The game was still in full swing, the bright yellow ball cracking sharply against the court with every controlled hit.

Yeonjun didn’t flinch or clap.

He simply sank deeper into his seat, a popcorn bucket left forgotten on his lap as one hand loosely held onto the container. His eyes flicked back and forth across the court, tracking the steady rhythm of the ball.

Soobin, on the other hand, leaned forward slightly, lips curled softly around the straw of his iced tea, sipping with quiet focus.

His eyes were only locked on her, sharp and unreadable, like he was silently memorizing every flick of her wrist and every subtle shift in her stance.

Moments earlier, Yeonjun had practically dragged Soobin into the stands, insisting he watch the women’s finals—raving about this tennis prodigy who, in his words, was "the hottest woman he’d ever seen."

Sure.

Soobin had taken it lightly at first, figuring Yeonjun was just exaggerating again.

But now, watching Y/N move across the court with that rare blend of grace and fire, he couldn’t look away. She wasn’t just a prodigy.

She was easily the most captivating girl he’d ever laid eyes on.

Just then, Y/N sent a sharp hit of the ball, skimming right at the edge of the court, just out of her opponent’s reach. The point was hers, and a soft murmur rippled through the crowd.

She made her way back to the baseline, casually bouncing the ball in her hand. Her hair was tied back loosely in a ponytail, her wrist completely relaxed—no tension, just precise control.

A small twitch ran through her fingers as she lined up the serve, fully absorbed in the rhythm of the game. Still, her expression remained soft—effortless and sweet, yet deadly in its own grace.

With calm focus, she tossed the ball into the air.

Her serve sliced through the court.

Her opponent reacted almost instantly, matching her pace with barely a pause. The ball returned with equal force, flying through the court with razor-sharp precision.

The rally stretched on each shot smooth, deliberate, and packed with skill. And with every return, quiet grunts slipped from her lips as the scoreboard crept closer to the final point.

“Holy… fuck…” Soobin breathed out, his voice barely more than a moan.

Yeonjun let out a soft groan and shifted in his seat. Both of them subtly adjusted their jeans, trying to stay composed despite the rising tension.

On the last shot, her opponent lunged but missed—the ball slipping just past their racket, out of bounds.

The crowd’s applause swelled, growing louder with every second.

“Match point. Y/N,” the announcer said, calm and clear.

Her breath slowed, every muscle tightening and then releasing, moving like clockwork. The ball bounced once, then twice.

Y/N tightened her grip on the racket, eyes locked on her opponent—ready for the final play. Without a second thought, she sprung into action.

Her racket cut through the air as she launched the last serve. The ball blasted across the court with deadly speed, landing just out of her opponent’s desperate reach at the far edge court.

The crowd held its breath as the ball slammed into the baseline, the sharp crack echoing across the outdoor court.

Her opponent lunged once more, the tip of the racket barely grazing the ball—but it was too late.

The match was hers.

And for a split second, everything stood still.

Then—

Y/N lets out a soft breath.

Not a loud battle-cry shout or a booming cheer—just a quiet sigh that slipped through the silence of the court. For the first time all match, the composed mask she’d been wearing slipped just enough to let the fire underneath peek through.

Then, the crowd erupted in thunderous applause.

Soobin blinked, like he’d just been snapped out of a trance, lips parted in something between awe and disbelief. Even Yeonjun was uncharacteristically speechless—until he let out a low whistle and leaned back with a small, impressed smile.

Down on the court, Y/N didn't move. Her feet were kept grounded to the floor as her shoulders held loose but steady, chest rising and falling with quiet, measured composure.

Like the match hadn’t taken everything.

Like she still had more to give.

Then, as the cheers grew louder, she smiled.

It was soft yet bright. Almost too dazzling to look at. It wasn’t the kind of smile that begged for attention. It just had a way of drawing you in.

Y/N had won.

Not with noise. Not with theatrics.

But with grace, control, and a fire that didn’t need to roar to be felt. And in that moment it was undeniable:

She didn’t just belong on that court.

She fucking owned it.

Later that evening, Yeonjun and Soobin somehow ended up at a celebration party thrown in her honor—despite the fact that Soobin had only learned of her existence a few hours earlier.

Between the pop of champagne and the buzz of congratulatory chatter, both boys just stood off to the side, looking completely out of place. They almost resembled two lost puppies who were simply basking in the glory of her ADIDAS sponsorship, the swarm of rich kids in sleek designer outfits… and, of course, her.

Neither of them really mingled. They just kind of… hovered.

Close enough to see her laugh, talk, and dance. But far enough to not be too obvious about it.

Which, of course, made it almost glaringly obvious.

Eventually, Yeonjun couldn't take it anymore and worked up the courage to cross the room over to Y/N. Soobin trailed closely behind him, carrying an expression that looked like he wanted to turn back with every other step.

And when finally they reached her, the nerves hit. But to their surprise, the girl didn’t wave them off.

She smiled. Laughed even.

Teasing them back just enough to make it hard to tell if she was being polite… or genuinely flirting back.

Then Yeonjun, bold as ever, just went for it.

“You know,” he said, feigning casual, “since we’re all staying at the same hotel. If you’re free later, you could… swing by our room?”

She looked at him with that soft, unreadable smile. The kind that said absolutely nothing and everything all at once.

“I’ll think about it,” she said, voice sweet as honey.

And then she was gone—off to greet another guest who had just arrived at the party, leaving both boys staring after her like they’d just been hit by a truck.

A beat passed.

Then another.

And then, suddenly, they bolted—straight back to their hotel room, scrambling to clean their mess like their lives depended on it.

Pillows were deliberately fluffed. Scented air fresheners and personal colognes were deployed.

Soobin even wiped the windows.

Just in case.

✧˖° Cut back to the present °˖✧

The hotel room, once spotless in a frenzy of panicked cleaning, has now slowly returned to its natural state of chaos.

Pillows and blankets are, once again, tossed haphazardly across both beds, and clothes lie scattered in every direction. It’s the same mess Yeonjun had promised—multiple times—that he’d “get to later.”

And honestly? It’s really starting to seem like she’s not coming after all.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

Soobin huffs, “I’m telling you, she’s not—”

A knock cuts through the room.

They both go still.

The rubber ball slips from Soobin’s fingers and hits the floor with a soft thud, rolling just beneath the coffee table.

Another knock. Then one more.

And then all hell breaks loose.

Yeonjun quickly flicks the cigarette out the window, exhaling the last bit of smoke through his nose as they both rush to fix the room—again. Blankets are yanked back into place, clothes shoved under the beds, pillows re-fluffed in a frenzy, like they hadn’t just trashed the place twenty minutes ago.

Soobin, caught up in the chaos, reaches for a pillow but missteps.

He rolls right off the bed with a surprised yelp, landing with a soft thud on the floor. He immediately scrambles to get back up as Yeonjun stifles a laugh.

On the other side of the door, Y/N presses her ear lightly against the wood, biting back a laugh.

She hears frantic footsteps, whispered scolding, and then the unmistakable sound of someone tripping over something. Her grin spreads wider with each passing second.

Without warning, the door swings open. Y/N quickly straightens, slipping into a calm, indifferent expression.

Inside, both boys freeze in awkward poses.

Soobin 'coolly' leans against the doorframe, trying to look casual. Except, his elbow is positioned too high, making him seem more like he’s mid-flinch than striking a cool pose.

Yeonjun stands in front of him, attempting a smooth, effortless smirk, but the panic in his eyes and the messy hang of his half-untucked tank top ruin the effect completely.

Y/N lifts an eyebrow, visibly amused.

“…Hey,” Yeonjun says, breath just a touch uneven.

Soobin gives her a slight nod, pretending that his shoulder isn’t starting to cramp from that ridiculous pose.

She just smiles. Innocently. As if she hadn’t heard every second of their panicked scrambling.

"Hi."

Her voice is soft, but it cuts right through the thick cloud of tension hanging in the air.

For a beat, no one moves.

Soobin, still awkwardly leaning against the doorframe, blinks like he forgot how to function. Yeonjun opens his mouth, then closes it again. Neither of them speak. The silence stretches—long enough to feel heavy, too short to recover.

Somewhere behind them, a sock slides slowly off the bed and lands on the floor with an audible flop.

Y/N tilts her head, lips twitching like she’s fighting a smile.

"Soo… are you guys gonna let me in?"

Soobin jolts upright so fast he nearly knocks into the door.

“Yeah, s-sorry...come in!” he stammers, quickly stepping aside to give her space.

Yeonjun clears his throat, suddenly standing straighter as he tries to kick away a wrinkled shirt behind him with one foot.

“Make yourself at home,” he says, stepping aside as well as he flashes what he hopes is a cool, effortless smirk. But it’s mostly just nervous.

Y/N steps inside, eyes sweeping the room with a knowing look that says she’s already seen everything she needs to.

But, she doesn’t comment on the grey t-shirt poking out from behind the curtain or the suspiciously empty chip bag sticking out from under a pillow. Instead, she just walks in like she belongs there, comfortable, unfazed, and completely in control.

Yeonjun and Soobin glance at each other behind her back, both silently mouthing what now? like two idiots in over their heads.

Y/N turns around to face them, arms crossed and one brow raised.

“Well?” she says, playful. “You two gonna stand there all night or offer me a drink?”

A beat of silence—Soobin blinks like he’s short-circuited, and Yeonjun jumps in, a little too loudly, “Right! Yeah. Of course!”

-------˖⁺. ༶ ❤︎ ⋆˙⊹ ෆ ⊹˙⋆❤︎ ༶ .⁺˖-------

Now, they’re sitting on the floor, legs either stretched out or curled up, passing around a half-empty beer can between them.

A few crushed cans lie scattered nearby—a quiet reminder of the nerves they’d been carrying just moments before. Soft music plays from Soobin’s phone, propped up on the table beside him, blending seamlessly with the warm glow filling the boys’ hotel room.

The earlier tension has now melted away, replaced by easy chatter, casual laughter, and quiet—sometimes not-so-subtle—glances exchanged between them.

“Wait, wait—so you guys started a band back in middle school? That’s how you met?”

“Yeah. We started this little garage band with three other friends. Instruments and everything,” Soobin says, taking another sip of the beer. “I played guitar, and Yeonjun here was the lead singer.”

“Wow, that’s really cool,” she says, tilting her head with a soft smile.

Then, after a beat, she adds smoothly, “But how did you guys become… this?”

“This..?” Yeonjun raises a brow, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Tennis,” Y/N says, gesturing vaguely between the two of them. “You know, Fire and Ice.”

Yeonjun leans back on his hands, legs stretched out in front of him, tank top loose against his frame. “Oh, we always played. Not seriously at first—just with our dads, sometimes after school.”

“Yeah, our dads were friends,” Soobin says, sitting cross-legged at the foot of the bed, beer in hand. “They used to take us to their country clubs and let us mess around on the courts for hours.”

He lets out a soft laugh. “But we were pretty awful back then. I’d swing like I was trying to murder the ball. And Yeonjun kept trying these dumb trick shots on the court.”

“Sounds about right,” Y/N giggles, curled up across from them in a sweater and black shorts, knees pulled to her chest. She watches them with quiet amusement.

A pause. She tilts her head again, voice soft but clear.

“When did it get serious?”

“Tennis camp in Jeju,” Yeonjun says, running a hand through his raven hair. “It was the summer before high school. Our parents shipped us off for like three weeks—thought we needed discipline or whatever.”

A beat.

“And?” she prompts.

Yeonjun exhales. “And, it was the first time anyone really pushed us.”

"We also got placed in the same dorm room,” Soobin says, glancing at her. “Tiny-ass bunk beds, shitty air conditioning, and we shared it with like six other kids.”

“I swear we almost killed each other the first night,” Yeonjun says, grinning at Soobin. “Then we both realized we hated everyone else more.”

“That’s cute...” Y/N laughs, eyes crinkling. Her gaze flickers briefly to the beer in Soobin’s hand as he lifts it for a sip.

A quiet beat later, Y/N leans forward with graceful ease, fingers brushing his as she takes the can. Then she leans back again, her movements smooth and unhurried, and takes a slow sip.

“The training must’ve been intense,” she says, voice still light.

“Oh it was brutal,” Yeonjun adds. “Drills before sunrise. Coaches who didn’t give a shit if you puked in the grass.”

The room quiets for a moment.

“But,” Soobin shifts slightly, “it was also the first time we realized we were pretty good at tennis.”

“Yeah, like maybe-we-could-actually-do-this kind of good,” Yeonjun echoes.

“So.. you’ve been playing together since then,” she says, almost to herself.

“Yeah,” Yeonjun nods. “Always doubles. Sometimes singles, but… you know, it’s different when there’s someone you trust on your side of the court.”

Soobin glances at him, then at Y/N again. His expression softens, but there’s something else there too. It was subtle and unreadable.

“I guess you kind of start to know different things too,” Soobin says. “How they move. How they think. When they’re gonna overhit or choke a serve. It’s like…”

“Muscle memory,” Yeonjun finishes quietly.

Y/N’s gaze lingers on the both of them. Then, with that same casual ease, she leans forward again and takes another sip from the can, eyes still on them.

“But this camp,” she asks, voice smooth and nonchalant, “was it co-ed?”

“Yeah,” Soobin says, eyes still on her. “But they split the dorms—guys and girls.”

Y/N nods slowly, a small curve playing at the corner of her mouth.

“Is that where you met your girlfriend?” Y/N asks, pointing at Yeonjun with the can still in her hand.

“Oh, she’s not my, uh…” Yeonjun starts to trail off, eyes flicking away as he thinks. Soobin smirks as he crosses his arms, clearly enjoying watching the other boy squirm.

“…Yeah. I guess.”

Y/N grins, amusement shining in her eyes.

“And you,” she shifts her gaze to Soobin, taking another sip of the beer, “why aren't you pretending not to have a girlfriend?”

"Oh no, I don't—"

“Soobin’s got this whole 'no strings attached' thing going on right now.” Yeonjun smirks, taking the beer from Y/N’s hand.

“What? No—no, that makes me sound like—”

“A player?” Y/N offers, eyes twinkling with quiet mischief.

“Yeah, Soobin does fine for himself.” Yeonjun says, smirking. “I mean, come on—look at him.” He reaches over and gives Soobin’s cheek a light tap before Soobin swats his hand away.

Y/N smiles, the corners of her lips lifting as she shifts slightly from her postion.

“Alright then—how about this? Right now… how often do you guys go after the same girl?”

And just like that, both of them freeze, caught off guard.

Soobin finally looks away, eyes dropping to the carpet, cheeks flushed. Yeonjun chuckles softly, raising his hands in mock surrender.

“Were we that obvious?”

Y/N shrugs, taking the beer can back from Yeonjun. “It’s like looking through a glass window.”

A beat passes.

Soobin clears his throat, still a little pink. “Not very often…”

“We usually have different types,” Yeonjun adds with a smirk.

Y/N takes a slow sip of the beer. Her voice is velvet-smooth, but there’s a glint behind it now.

“Soo you’re saying I’m supposed to be.. flattered?” Y/N teases.

Soobin takes the beer from her, holding her gaze a beat too long, then looks away, lips twitching like he’s holding back a smile.

“Depends.”

“On?” she presses, brow raised, as if she doesn’t already know.

Yeonjun answers, voice low, teasing. “On whether you mind being the exception.”

Y/N leans back, arms draped over her knees, calm and in control, like she knows exactly what she’s doing. “Hmm,” she hums, eyes flicking between them. “I don't mind the view from here.”

Then, silence. The boys don't utter a word, they just watch her.

Tension slowly filling the air around them.

Yeonjun finally speaks, tone softer. “Alright then, since you’re so curious about us… how about you? What’s your experience been like—navigating this kind of attention?”

Y/N rolls her eyes playfully at Yeonjun’s question, but there’s a gentle light in her eyes that feels almost unguarded.

“I’ve had a few boyfriends here and there,” she says softly, voice steady but with an easy warmth. Then, after a brief pause, she adds quietly, “Most of them just didn’t know how to handle someone like me, though.”

Her smile is calm, almost innocent. “So, I simply didn’t stick around long enough to teach them.”

Yeonjun blinks, clearly surprised by the quiet honesty. Soobin’s grin softens, his gaze thoughtful.

Y/N tucks her hair behind her ear, looking down briefly before meeting their gaze again.

“I’m usually the one who holds it all together,” she says gently. “But sometimes… I feel like it’s okay to just let things be.”

Yeonjun’s leaning back on his hands now, but his eyes stay on her—curious, like he wasn't expecting this moment of such raw honesty.

Soobin, on the other hand, grows quieter now, fidgeting with the tab on the beer can as his knees slowly brush against hers.

“You know, you guys talk a lot,” she says, voice soft, teasing. “But you’re kind of terrible at this kind of thing.”

“Oh?” Yeonjun lifts a brow.

“You two keep looking at me like I’m going to break,” she says, voice soft but charged.

“If you’re going to keep staring… you might as well do something about it.” Her eyes lock onto them without flinching.

...huh?

This makes their brains completely short circuit.

Soobin freezes, fingers hovering over the can, eyes snapping up to meet hers—wide and caught completely off guard. Yeonjun breathes out a low, incredulous laugh. He seems to be struggling to conceal the smile tugging at his lips as his head briefly dips.

But, when he looks up, his eyes are darker now. Focused.

The silence stretches, but it isn’t awkward. it’s fucking electric.

That's when he makes his move.

With careful movements, Yeonjun pushes off his hands, shifting from his seated position and slowly closing the distance between him and Y/N.

He kneels tall, just right above her, his eyes darkening with lust as they roam over her figure beneath him.

Y/N’s breath hitches ever so slightly as she tilts her head up to meet Yeonjun's gaze. But her expression remains calm, unbothered, as she tries to casually brushing past the subtle tremble in her fingers.

She looks at him with soft, doe-like eyes. The picture of pure innocence—almost. Because beneath that softness, there’s something else entirely.

Hunger.

She looks at him as if this moment was always meant to be—from the second she stepped into the boys’ hastily cleaned hotel room. Like she’d known all along and was just waiting for them to catch up.

His eyes linger on her face a moment longer, quietly drinking in her soft, perfect features—like he’s trying to memorize every detail, unwilling to let a single part of her slip from his memory.

Carefully, his gaze drifts down to her lips.

Then, he reaches out, fingers brushing along the side of her face, gently caressing her soft skin. She leans into it, calm and steady, her eyes never leaving his.

Soobin sits cross-legged just across from them, his heart pounding so hard it feels like it might burst from his chest. His palms grow clammy, and his lips part slightly in stunned anticipation, unable to tear his eyes away from what’s unfolding right before him.

Yeonjun leans in slowly, his movements soft but charged with an unmistakable hunger. Their lips meet in a gentle, lingering kiss—his soft, plump lips pressing against hers with sensual tenderness.

He moves closer, his body nearly pressing against hers as he settles between her legs, still kneeling. His tongue traces delicate, kitten-like licks along her pink lips, drawing a soft moan from the girl.

Then, just as Yeonjun parts his mouth slightly, Y/N takes the lead, slipping her tongue inside with practiced ease. She feels his warm breath tickling her face as she deepens the kiss, and he lets out a low, surprised moan, caught off guard by her sudden boldness.

Meanwhile, Soobin just sits there again, eyes wide, her moans sounding like gentle music in his ears. His cheeks flush a soft pink as he bites down on his bottom lip, trying to hold back a low groan from slipping past his lips.

He shifts uncomfortably in his spot, struggling to ignore the tent growing in his shorts as he tries to figure out what to do next.

Does he leave?

Does he stay?

Fuck, what do I do now? Soobin thought to himself.

Then, Y/N breaks the kiss, before slowly leaning in again. Her lips brushing Yeonjun's in a teasing whisper of contact—just enough to leave him breathless—before pulling away completely.

Her eyes don’t stay on him for long.

Instead, she tilts her head to the side, gaze drifting over to Soobin.

God, he looks so cute, she thought.

He continues to sit there cross-legged, the beer can he previously in his hand is now discarded on the floor beside him.

One hand rests over his lap—not subtle, but not exactly trying to hide it either. It makes her wonder if he’s shielding himself… or just chasing a bit of friction through the fabric of his shorts.

He looks up at Y/N, eyes wide and darkened with a mix of jealousy and lust.

"Come here, baby. Don’t be shy," she says, her voice soft and inviting as she gestures him over with a crook of her finger.

Soobin’s eyes widen, but he doesn’t hesitate—scrambling forward so quickly that he knocks over the empty beer can with a soft clatter. Yeonjun slowly leans back, hands braced against the carpet, watching them with lust-filled eyes.

Soobin finally settles beside her, sitting like an obedient puppy waiting for his owner's command—eyes fixed on her, breath shallow. He's practically vibrating with nervous energy now, the need in his gaze impossible to miss.

Y/N leans in, effortlessly straddling his lap as her arms drape around his neck. Her breath fans against his face, their lips now just centimeters apart.

By now, Soobin wants to individually thank every single person who has led him to this exact moment.

His parents, for pushing him into tennis camp. His coaches, for their brutal training schedules. And, of course, Yeonjun—for convincing him to come watch that match in the first place.

Because right now, in this moment, Soobin feels like the luckiest man alive.

“Don’t be scared, baby, okay?” she whispers, gently brushing his hair away from his face as she leans in even closer.

“I’ll take care of you,” she adds softly.

Soobin melts under her touch, every feeling of doubt and hesitation dissolving into the warmth of her words.

He places his hands on her waist carefully, his gaze still locked onto hers, almost like he’s afraid to blink and miss it.

Then she leans in, her lips meeting his.

Soobin lets out a quiet, surprised moan, caught off guard by the contact, as if he’d been waiting for this exact moment without even realizing it. (It’s not his first kiss, but god, it might as well be.)

Her fingers tangle into his hair, gently scratching at his scalp, and Soobin groans again, louder this time, completely at her mercy.

Slowly, Y/N begins to rock back and forth in his lap, the soft friction sparking heat between their lower areas. The kiss deepens naturally. Their lips parting just a bit, tongues brushing softly against one another—growing a small pool of wetness in her core.

Holy. Fuck.

Soobin softly tightens his grip around her waist, carefully slipping his hands beneath the fabric of her sweater, resting them on her bare skin.

Y/N slowly withdraws one hand from Soobin’s hair, tilting her head just enough to catch Yeonjun’s gaze—her lips never parting from Soobin’s.

Yeonjun’s gaze is fixed on her, jaw clenched, eyes filled with lust and desire as they trace the scene before him. His hand moves quietly over his clothed member, fingers stroking with a slow, measured rhythm, searching for some quiet release.

Then, Y/N reaches over slightly, taking Yeonjun's his hand and gently pulling it closer to herself and Soobin.

Yeonjun leans in from behind her, softly brushing her hair aside before pressing his plump lips to the tender curve of her neck.

She lets out a soft moan against Soobin's lips, pulling him in closer, as her kiss grows hungrier and heavier. His grip on her waist tightens, unaware of the faint bruises forming on her delicate skin.

But she couldn’t care less—in fact, it only made everything feel even better.

Then, Y/N slowly pulls away from Soobin, her breath still shaky as she turns to Yeonjun. With a gentle touch, she takes his face in her hand and leans in, pressing her lips greedily against his.

Soobin sits there, mouth slightly open, arms still locked around her waist. Then he inches forward a bit, pressing soft wet kisses to her neck.

If it weren’t for her sweater, god knows he’d be trailing even lower.

Instead, he tightens his hold on her, gently rocking her hips in his lap, building the friction and heat between them as she stays locked in a kiss with Yeonjun.

Her free hand slides up to the front of Yeonjun’s neck, fingers curling tight around his throat, making him moan loudly at the touch. His hands follow, slipping slowly beneath her sweater, settling over her clothed breasts.

She groans into his mouth before shifting one hand to guide Yeonjun’s hand beneath her bra, her fingers intertwining with his as he cups her bare breast, playing with her soft nipples.

With her other hand still clenched tightly in Soobin’s hair, she draws him closer, encouraging his sloppy, desperate kisses on her delicate skin and the blooming purple marks forming on her neck.

Slowly, her grip eases on both of them, and the kiss slows, losing its urgency and settling into a slow, lingering rhythm.

Then, without warning, Y/N pulls away from Yeonjun, their lips parting with a soft, breathy sound and a thin string of saliva stretching between them for just a second.

She catches her breath, her chest rising and falling slowly as her eyes flicker between Yeonjun and Soobin. They both stare back at her, breathless. Then, she shifts, easing herself off Soobin’s lap. His hands linger for a moment as she pulls away from his grasp.

Soobin lets out a soft, almost involuntary whine at the loss of her warmth.

The room falls silent.

Both boys sit there, completely dumbfounded—caught somewhere between confusion and desire, unable to find the words. Y/N breaks the quiet with a soft, teasing tone, her voice low and playful.

“It’s getting late… I should probably head back.”

She stands in front of them, and they look up at her—flushed cheeks, heavy breaths, and lingering eyes.

And then—

That smile.

That same innocent, sweet smile, like she hadn’t just borderline orchestrated a threesome between the three of them.

She takes a step away, but Yeonjun’s voice stops her.

“Wait… that’s it?”

Soobin looks a little lost, his voice soft and hesitant. “Oh… I.."

Then he adds, hopeful, “C-can we at least have your number?”

There’s a brief pause—then Soobin’s voice lowers, almost pleading, “…Please?”

Y/N glances between them, a playful smile tugging at her lips, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“You guys study at Eastmound, right?”

They both nod silently, still trying to process everything.

“Well... I’ll see you both around campus, then.”

With that, she turns and leaves their hotel room, the door clicking softly behind her.

Yeonjun and Soobin stand there, stunned and speechless, the moment lingering in the quiet air.

a/n: this one is craaazzyyyyy omgg pls comment if yall want a full story out of thiss!! (will start working on half a spell pt 2 now hehe)

356 notes · View notes

nichoswag · 10 months ago

Text

🌱 - soft intimate moments with txt

[pairing] bf!txt x gn reader

[warnings] lots and lots of fluff, kissing

[song rec] 20cm - tomorrow x together

🌱 - yeonjun

holding hands in crowded spaces so he knows you’re with him. sweet goodbye kisses after he walks you to your door. a hand on your waist while he grabs something you can’t reach in the kitchen. sad teary cheer-up kisses when you cry.

🌱 - soobin

shy cheek kisses in public. matching animal face masks on skincare sundays. shoulder massages after a stressful day. spontaneous road trips to get away from everything for a weekend. sweet morning kisses to wake you up for work.

🌱 - beomgyu

smearing frosting on each others faces while eating a sweet treat. tickle fights during movie nights. watching silly youtube videos to fall asleep together. gentle but tight embraces while being reunited after a while.

🌱 - taehyun

laying on his chest cuddling after a long day. holding your purse for you to take the weight off your shoulders. soft, gentle make-out sessions after a disagreement. sitting on his lap while he plays video games to give him kisses when he wins (or loses).

🌱 - huening kai

mirror selfies with his face hidden in your neck. giving you plushies he bought because they reminded him of you. playfully tickling you when you tease him in front of the members. making matching ugly beaded necklaces neither of you ever take off.

1K notes · View notes

junnieverse · 3 months ago

Text

— C. YEONJUN 💌 HAS TAGGED YOU IN A POST !

➙ “pictures I posted on my instagram story for my crush to see” ft. yeonjun

pairing: non idol!choi yeonjun x fem!reader

genre: fluff

warnings: lowercase intended, not proofread (may or may not have typos idk)

a/n: —REBLOGS HIGHLY APPRECIATED!

#junnieverse.zip #yeonjun #choi yeonjun #tomorrow x together #txt #txt yeonjun #yeonjun x reader #yeonjun scenarios #yeonjun fluff #yeonjun smau #txt x reader #txt fluff #txt smau #txt scenarios #kpop #kpop scenarios #kpop fluff #kpop smau

673 notes · View notes

cbeargyu · 2 months ago

Note

Ever you think about camboy!yeonjun? 🥺

just chillin'

summary: alone on a saturday night, you stumble upon a camboy's stream by pure accident. what begins as innocent curiosity spirals into an irresistible addiction, especially when he seems to notice you among the thousands. and when he reaches out to you personally... you realize that some fantasies are too tempting to leave behind.

pairing: camboy!yeonjun x fem!reader

genre: smut, strangers to lovers, slight angst (insecurity), heavy tension, slow burn turned fast, eventual public sex (streamed), slight exhibitionism.

warnings: explicit sexual content (18+), camboy themes, masturbation (m and f), sexting, sextalk, blowjob, vaginal sex, multiple positions, dirty talk, slight choking, spanking, use of sex toys, praise + possessiveness, masking identities (reader wears a mask, yeonjun wears sunglasses) during public stream, emotional insecurity (reader worried about appearance), reader is implied to be inexperienced or shy, mild degradation (very soft, mostly praise kink), slight breeding kink talk, heavy mentions of viewer comments/donations.

wc: 4,6k

notes: baby, thank you so much for this amazing request, i was blushing like crazy thinking about all the ways i could handle the story, wow, not gonna lie, my favorite request ever, bae, yeonjun camboy is such a concept 😭💗

it’s saturday night, and the house is dead quiet.

your parents left earlier for some family dinner party—you had no interest in small talk with distant cousins or watching your dad argue about politics over cheap wine. your brother, predictably, is out with his girlfriend, probably halfway into some movie or already making out in his car. either way, he’s not coming home anytime soon.

you’ve got the whole house to yourself. all night.

at first, it felt nice—freedom. silence. you curled up on the couch, made popcorn, browsed netflix like it was an olympic sport. but after an hour of half-watching three different movies, nothing could hold your attention. not even the romcoms with shirtless leads.

you switched to tiktok. scrolled. scrolled more. a couple thirst traps. a couple puppies. nothing hit.

you huffed and opened your laptop, fingers drifting without purpose. maybe a gameplay stream would help pass time. something soft. chill. maybe even fall asleep to it.

you searched “streamers live now” and clicked a random site link that looked slightly sketchy.

only—it wasn’t for gaming.

the homepage was dark. black background, bright red accents. pulsing icons and neon outlines. bold letters reading “18+ only. enter responsibly.”

you blinked. hesitated. your heart kicked once in your chest.

then curiosity won.

you clicked.

the page opened with a grid of livestream thumbnails. too many skin tones. too many soft moans bleeding through overlapping audio. most thumbnails showed women—arched backs, lace underwear, fingers between thighs. the kind of content you’d only ever dared to peek at by accident.

you licked your bottom lip without realizing. eyes glued to the screen.

and then you saw him.

a stream titled “just chillin’”. the thumbnail was cropped just below the neck, showing a toned chest in a tight black tank top, arms flexed casually as he leaned back in a gamer chair. loose, light-wash jeans slung low on narrow hips, exposing a hint of red boxers.

his username: yawnzzn.

something about it made your fingers freeze.

there weren’t too many viewers inside. only a few hundred, way less than the others. maybe that was better. maybe you wouldn’t get noticed.

you clicked the stream.

your screen went black for a moment—then it loaded.

he was talking already, laughing softly, the kind of voice that scraped low and slow against your ears. the room was mostly dark, lit only by the glow of his monitor and faint neon strips behind his desk. it cast shadows across his collarbones, the slope of his shoulders.

you quickly plugged in your headphones, pulse jumping.

he leaned forward, adjusting something on the desk, and that’s when the camera caught his chin. his mouth.

his lips were plush, pink, and curved into a lazy smirk.

your whole body froze when you heard it:

“huh,” he chuckled. “who’s ‘babygrl87’?”

your username.

your dumb, randomly chosen username.

you nearly slammed your laptop shut, face burning, heart jackhammering inside your chest.

“didn’t think we had new viewers tonight.” his voice dipped lower, teasing. “you shy, babygrl?”

you didn’t answer.

his chat was wild. emojis, donations, constant messages.

“take the tank top off!” “the new girl better tip if she’s gonna stare.” “yo, yawnzzn, we want the show.”

he ignored most of them. or teased them back.

“which one should go first?” he mused aloud. “shirt or pants?”

your thighs pressed together. he wasn’t even doing anything yet, and your body was already betraying you.

then—slowly—he stood up.

his tank top hugged his body in all the right places. tight against his chest, his waist slim. he stretched, letting his arms lift overhead, showing a sliver of skin above the waistband of his jeans. the v-line below his abs? obscene.

you didn’t even realize you were holding your breath.

then he reached down, thumbs hooking into his belt loops.

“you wanna see more?” he asked, looking directly into the camera. it felt like he was looking straight at you.

“say please.”

his viewers spammed please, but you stayed quiet.

and yet—you couldn’t look away.

he unbuttoned his jeans. dragged the zipper down slow. the denim slid off his hips, falling to his ankles with a dull thud.

your breath hitched.

tight red boxers. snug. low. the bulge underneath them? impossible to ignore. thick, heavy-looking. twitching slightly under the fabric.

you pressed your thighs tighter.

he sat back down, shifting slightly, letting one leg rest wide open on either side of the chair. spread just enough to show off the outline pressing against the boxers.

“you guys are fucking filthy,” he muttered with a smirk. “but lucky for you... so am i.”

his hand dipped under the waistband.

not all the way—just enough to tease.

his fingers brushed over himself, then pulled out, gripping through the fabric, pressing against the hardness. you watched the muscles in his arm tense.

he exhaled softly. deep. like he really needed to touch himself.

you couldn’t stop staring.

his palm moved slow at first, just rubbing the base, then stroking up and down along the outside. the fabric grew darker at the tip. he was leaking already.

you bit your lip hard, your own thighs twitching.

he kept going. breathing heavier. head tilted back, exposing his throat.

“fuck, babygrl,” he groaned suddenly. your eyes widened.

did he just—

“you’re still watching, right?” he said between shallow breaths. “don’t look away. i’m doing this for you.”

he reached into his boxers, finally pulling himself out.

thick. veiny. flushed red at the tip.

he spat into his hand. started stroking—slow at first, then faster.

the slick sound of skin on skin filled your ears through the headphones.

you were hypnotized.

his moans were low and filthy, hips shifting as he fucked into his hand. his tank top bunched up higher on his chest, exposing his abs, the muscles in his thighs tensing as he got closer.

his eyes were heavy-lidded now, lips parted.

“wish i had you here,” he muttered. “wish i could see you... touching yourself too.”

you were. not even sure when your hand slipped under your shorts. but it was there now. fingers rubbing, too fast, too needy.

he got louder.

he leaned forward, panting, fisting himself hard.

“you want it?” he growled. “want me to come for you?”

you gasped. the tension snapped.

you came first.

trembling, breath caught, hand soaked.

he moaned—loud, raw—and came a second after. cum spilling over his knuckles, streaking his abs. he didn’t stop stroking until every last drop was out, breathing like he’d run a mile.

for a second, it was quiet.

only his ragged breath. and yours.

then he talked to the camera again.

“thanks for watching, babygrl.”

you slammed your laptop shut.

you never meant to stay.

at first, it was just curiosity—an accident on a saturday night, when the house was too empty and the silence wrapped too tightly around your neck. you stumbled into his stream, yawnzzn, because it was late, and you were bored, and the thumbnail showed more skin than anything you were brave enough to click before.

you should’ve closed the window. you should’ve gotten up, made tea, gone to bed.

but you didn’t.

you stayed. wide-eyed and still, staring at the boy who leaned back lazily in his gamer chair, the room bathed in the low glow of his monitor, his body relaxed, his fingers moving with casual, devastating confidence over himself.

you didn’t even know his name.

all you had was a username. a voice. a body that looked carved by hands more careful than god’s. long fingers. full pink lips. shoulders wide enough to carry the whole damn world.

you never commented. not once.

you just watched.

he noticed, somehow.

your username would blink into the list of viewers and he’d smile, low and wicked.

“looks like babygrl87’s here,” he’d tease once in a while.

the chat would explode with laughter.

"silent watcher’s back." "she's loyal but shy." "say something, girl!"

but you never did.

you stayed hidden, frozen, cheeks burning, fingers trembling at the sight of him.

and he kept performing for you anyway.

stroking himself slow in the shadows, spreading his legs wide so you could see everything, moaning under his breath, letting his pleasure spill into the microphone until it felt like he was touching you through the screen.

sometimes he'd say things like—

"bet she's watching real close..." "wish she'd tell me what she likes..." "i'll just have to guess, baby."

every time he said "baby," something deep inside you twisted.

you touched yourself to him more times than you could count. memorized every shift of his hips, every flex of his thighs, every low curse that spilled from his throat. his face stayed mostly hidden—just his mouth, his jaw, the curve of his nose—but it didn’t matter.

he had you wrapped around his finger without ever seeing his whole face.

until tonight.

the notification buzzed on your phone and you didn’t hesitate. you flung your laptop open and clicked into his stream before your fingers could even register it.

live now: yawnzzn — "friday chill."

it was late. almost midnight. but it was friday, and you could stay up all you wanted.

the stream loaded—and immediately your breath caught.

yeonjun was different tonight.

he wore a black hoodie, the hood pulled up to shadow most of his face. only the sharp line of his jaw, the tempting curve of his lips, and the glint of an earring peeked out.

his posture was lazier than usual, sprawled low in his chair, legs spread wide.

and—

only two viewers.

just you. and someone who quickly left.

you were alone with him.

your heart pounded so loud you barely heard him speak at first.

“well, look who it is.” he smiled, a little softer this time. “thought you’d come."

you swallowed hard.

he leaned closer to the camera, tapping his fingers on the desk.

“guess it’s just you and me tonight, babygrl.”

your hands shook.

for the first time, you typed something.

hi.

the word looked tiny in the chatbox. pitiful. but yeonjun froze when he saw it.

his mouth parted.

then—

he laughed.

god, the sound was warm. real. his whole body tilted a little, like he couldn’t believe it.

“no way,” he said, eyes shining. “you’re real. you actually talk.”

you bit your lip so hard it hurt.

he grinned wider, teeth sinking into his bottom lip for a second. he looked—happy. excited. like you just made his whole night.

"fuck, i should do something special for you," he mused. "loyal watcher deserves a reward."

you hesitated. then, shaky fingers flying across the keys, you typed:

can i see your face?

for a second, the world stopped.

he leaned back, tapping his chin, pretending to think. then he smirked, eyes glinting under the hood.

"only because it’s you," he said, voice low. "only because you’ve been good."

he reached up, gripping the hood—and slowly pushed it back.

you forgot how to breathe.

he was beautiful.

no. beyond beautiful.

his face was unfair.

sharp, slanted cat-like eyes, framed by thick lashes, glinting dark and dangerous under the soft light. a high nose bridge, cheekbones cut clean enough to bleed on. his mouth, god, that sinful mouth—full and pink, curled into a smirk that promised ruin.

he was the kind of beautiful that wasn’t supposed to be real.

the kind that hurt to look at.

your stomach flipped violently. your whole body flushed hot.

he tilted his head, messy dark hair falling into his eyes, and smiled.

"what do you think, baby?" he teased. "worth the wait?"

you couldn’t even type.

he chuckled, low and raspy.

“i’ll take that silence as a yes.”

he leaned in closer, so close the camera almost fogged.

"don’t disappear on me now," he whispered. "you’re mine tonight."

and you knew—deep in your bones—you’d never escape him.

not now.

not ever.

you should’ve closed the laptop.

you should’ve logged off the moment he smiled at you like that—dangerous and sweet, like he already knew what you tasted like.

but you stayed. frozen in your seat, trembling, helpless.

yeonjun leaned back, dragging his palm down his chest, over his stomach, slow enough to make you whimper.

"you know," he said, voice dropping, "i've been saving something… just for you."

he reached under the desk and pulled out something unexpected—not just a toy, but a miniature torso made of soft, rosy pink silicone, barely the size of his hands.

it was shaped like a woman’s lower half, smooth thighs tapering into the curve of hips, and right between them, the detailed, glistening folds of a pussy. obscene. delicate.

lewd in a way that made your stomach twist. the soft rubber glinted under the light as he turned it in his hand, spreading lube over it like he was preparing you instead.

a thick stream of it spilled out—over his hand, over the soft pink opening of the toy, dripping lewdly.

your breath caught.

he grinned lazily at your silence, clearly enjoying the way you were glued to the screen.

"thought about using it a couple times," he murmured. "but it didn’t feel right without you here."

your thighs pressed together, trying uselessly to ease the heavy, aching heat between them.

your mouth went dry.

he groaned under his breath, squeezing some over his own cock. it was already hard, thick and flushed red at the tip, veiny and heavy between his thighs.

your whole body clenched at the sight of it.

yeonjun caught the way you froze.

he chuckled, low and warm.

"you like watching, don’t you?" he teased, voice velvet-soft. "such a dirty little thing, just sitting there all quiet for me."

you couldn’t even type back. your hands were gripping the edge of the desk, knuckles white.

he slicked himself up slowly, deliberately, hissing as his fingers wrapped around the base.

then he grabbed the toy.

"gonna pretend it’s you," he said, smiling in that way that made your head spin. "gonna fuck you so good, baby."

he eased the tip of his cock into the toy, slow, teasing.

the lube made everything shine under the dim light, making it look so wet, so messy.

a broken moan left his mouth as he pushed deeper.

"fuck..." he whispered, hips twitching. "you'd feel so fucking good around me."

he started moving, thrusting lazily into the toy, one hand gripping it tight, the other braced against his thigh. his head dropped back, lashes fluttering, mouth parting on soft, desperate sounds.

your name fell from his lips like a prayer.

"babygrl," he moaned, hips stuttering. "wish you were here... wish you’d let me hear you."

you pressed your thighs together harder, trembling, burning with need.

he moved faster now, fucking the toy like it was real—like it was you.

the wet sounds were filthy. obscene. echoing through your headphones like he was right there in the room with you.

"bet you’d be so tight," he panted, thrusting harder. "all hot and wet for me… fuck, i’d ruin you."

he gripped the toy tighter, biting down on a groan.

you watched every second—hypnotized, devastated.

watched his hips buck, watched the muscles in his arms flex, watched the way his stomach tensed up when he got close.

he didn’t look away from the camera once.

he fucked that toy like he was making love to you.

slow, deep, passionate.

like you were the only thing he ever wanted.

your chest heaved with every breath, nipples aching, panties soaked beyond salvation.

and when he finally shuddered, spilling hot and thick into the toy, moaning your username again in that wrecked, desperate voice—

you knew you were already ruined.

he slumped back in his chair, panting, hair a mess, lips swollen and wet from how hard he’d been biting them.

and then—

he smiled at you. soft. sweet. devastating.

"thanks for staying with me, baby," he whispered.

the screen went dark a few seconds later, leaving you staring at your own reflection, wrecked and trembling.

alone.

but never lonely again.

you hadn’t gone back.

not because you didn’t want to.

god—you did. more than anything.

but it was too much now.

something had shifted in you after that night. after watching him fuck that toy like it was yours—moaning your username like it was sacred, like he needed you to breathe.

you couldn't stop thinking about it.

the way his hand moved. the way his voice cracked when he came. the way he smiled right before the screen went black.

he ruined you, and he didn’t even know it.

you tried to forget him. muted the notifications. ignored the replays. avoided even opening the app, like a coward. like a girl who couldn’t trust herself not to break down and need again.

because now when you thought about him, it wasn’t just lust—it was hunger.

two weeks passed.

you didn’t watch a single live.

but you did think about him. in the shower. in your bed. in the quiet moments when no one was around. and every time, you pressed your thighs together and tried to chase the ghost of his voice in your head.

you thought you were safe. that this distance would protect you.

until the dm.

at first, you didn’t believe it. you were half-asleep, phone in hand, thumb swiping lazily through random memes—until the little red dot appeared in your inbox.

no one ever messaged you. even though you were kind of known in his chat, everyone respected the line. no dms. no creepiness. everything stayed inside the stream.

but this—this was different.

you opened it slowly, heart thudding.

yawnzzn [11:32 PM]: been kinda sad u haven’t joined the lives lately :( miss seeing ur name pop up every night.

your heart stopped.

it was him.

he messaged you first.

and now everything inside you was heat and panic and that same damn ache he always left behind.

you stared at the screen, your fingers hovering over the keyboard, your whole body on fire from just one line.

he missed you.

he noticed you.

and worst of all—he cared.

you stared at the screen for what felt like an hour.

your thumb hovered over the keyboard, mind racing, heart hammering. he’d messaged you. yeonjun—yawnzzn. the boy you’d been secretly watching for months, who moaned your username like a lover, who made you cum more times than you could admit.

and now he was in your inbox. waiting.

you breathed in, deep and shaky. then finally, you typed. slowly. carefully.

you [11:46 PM]: i’m sorry i disappeared… i’ve just been feeling a little overwhelmed lately.

your chest felt tight when you hit send.

you almost didn’t expect him to answer right away—but less than a minute later, the typing bubble popped up.

yawnzzn [11:47 PM]: overwhelmed? like… because of me?

your face burned.

fuck.

you should’ve lied.

but maybe it was the way he asked it—gentle, teasing, soft.

you hesitated for a second, then typed again. a little braver.

you [11:49 PM]: yeah. i think watching you became… a little too much for me.

you hit send before you could regret it.

then added one more line.

you [11:49 PM]: you make me feel things i don’t know how to deal with.

there was a long pause.

long enough to make your stomach twist. long enough for you to want to unsend everything and run.

but then:

yawnzzn [11:53 PM]: …fuck. that’s probably the hottest thing anyone’s ever said to me.

your breath hitched.

yawnzzn [11:54 PM]: i thought maybe i was imagining it. the way you looked at me. how you never talked but always stayed until the end. i always felt like… you were watching differently.

you swallowed hard, heart in your throat.

yawnzzn [11:54 PM]: can i ask what it is exactly i make you feel?

his words lingered on your screen, sweet and dangerous.

you could lie.

or you could tell the truth, even if it made your skin burn and your thighs clench and your whole body betray you.

you told him.

typed it all out, trembling fingers and flushed skin—how much he turned you on. how just watching him made you ache. how you’d touched yourself to the sound of his voice so many times it scared you.

he didn’t tease you.

he just replied:

yawnzzn [12:02 AM]: you don’t know how long i’ve wanted to hear that from you.

the next night, he asked if he could call you. just for a second. just to hear your voice.

you hesitated. but then said yes.

the screen lit up with his face—hoodie on, smile soft, and it was dark in his room.

you couldn’t show your face right away.

your camera stayed off while you whispered hello.

you expected him to sound different. more confident. more teasing.

but he didn’t.

he sounded gentle. nervous. warm.

“can i see you?” he asked softly. “just a glimpse?”

your heart pounded as you turned your camera on. you were in a hoodie. no makeup. hair a mess. you hated the way your stomach twisted.

but he smiled.

really smiled.

“wow,” he whispered. “you’re… so much prettier than anything i ever imagined.”

you only lasted five minutes before you panicked and hung up, stammering out an apology.

he didn’t push you.

he just texted:

yawnzzn [12:28 AM]: you looked beautiful. thank you for letting me see you.

the days after that were soft. messy. hot.

late-night texting turned into slow, sticky sexting.

he’d ask if you were touching yourself. you’d ask what he was wearing. sometimes, he’d send you voice notes, low and breathy, moaning your username until you were whimpering into your pillow.

eventually, he asked to see you again. in person this time.

you said yes.

but something about it scared you—the way your heart twisted at the idea of being real to him. what if you weren’t enough?

and then, the idea.

he texted you in the middle of the night:

yawnzzn [1:03 AM]: what if we did a stream together? i could blur your face. or you could wear a mask. sunglasses. anything. i just want them to see that i’m finally fucking the one person i actually wanted.

your heart stopped.

you said no, at first. embarrassed. shy. it felt too raw, too exposing.

but that night, in the dark, with your hand between your thighs and his voice playing in your head, you imagined it.

imagined being on his lap. riding him in front of the same camera that once made you weak. imagined hearing him moan your name into your neck while the whole world watched.

you texted him at 2:11 AM.

you [2:11 AM]: i’ll do it. but only if i wear a mask.

his room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of his monitor and a red led strip that cast everything in that deep, sinful color. your silhouette, perched on your knees between his thighs, looked unreal—masked, trembling, mouth parted in anticipation. he was already hard, the thick outline of his cock pressing against his grey sweats, and the stream had barely started.

yeonjun leaned back in his chair, lazy smirk on his lips as he brushed a thumb across your cheekbone.

“they’ve been begging for this,” he murmured low, his mic catching every syllable. “but they don’t get you. i do.”

your fingers tugged at the waistband of his sweats, dragging them down with teasing slowness. the chat was explodingalready—hearts, donation pings, horny messages flying too fast to read.

his cock sprang free, hard and flushed and leaking, and you didn’t waste time—your lips wrapped around the head while he hissed through clenched teeth.

“fuck—yes, baby. just like that,” he moaned, voice rough and trembling.

you bobbed your head slowly at first, tongue circling the tip, making sure to be loud about it—each wet suck and messy slurp caught by the mic, echoing through the stream like the soundtrack to a dream. he groaned and held your hair back, letting everyone see the way your lips stretched around his cock, eyes glossy behind the lace mask.

“look at her,” he murmured, gaze flicking to the camera. “taking it so good, like a perfect little slut. you’re so fucking pretty like this, baby.”

you moaned around him, the vibration making his thighs twitch. spit dripped down your chin as you took him deeper, and he let out a breathless chuckle.

“they wish they were me,” he said, licking his lips. “but only i get to feel this mouth. only i get to fuck it raw.”

you choked a little when he gently thrust into your throat, but you didn’t stop—you loved it. you loved knowing thousands were watching you drool and gag around him, craving something they could never have.

he pulled you up by your arms, lips crashing onto yours in a messy kiss. his cock was wet between your bodies, twitching, desperate.

“get on my lap,” he growled, voice thick with need.

you straddled him, one hand guiding him to your entrance as you slowly, so slowly, sank down.

the stretch was unreal, every inch of him filling you up, and you both moaned into each other’s mouths.

“oh my god,” you gasped, hips rolling instinctively.

he grunted. “fuck, baby… fuck, you’re tight—been dreaming about this cunt since the first time i saw your name in my chat.”

your hands clung to his shoulders, bouncing gently on his cock as he held your waist and thrust up, hard and deep.

“yeah? you like showing them what they can’t touch?” he panted. “you like knowing they’re all jerking off to you being mine?”

you nodded, dazed, flushed all over.

“say it,” he growled, slapping your ass.

“i’m yours,” you whimpered. “all yours, yeonjun…”

“that’s fucking right.”

he adjusted the camera angle, making sure it caught your pussy swallowing his cock over and over as you rode him in a rhythm that made your thighs shake.

“fuck, baby, i can see how wet you are,” he groaned. “dripping down my balls—look at this mess. they’re fucking jealous, huh?”

you moaned loud, thighs burning, your mask slipping slightly but you didn’t care—you were too far gone.

he dragged you up, twisted your body so your back was against his chest, legs spread wide as he pistoned up into you.

your head dropped back onto his shoulder, a string of helpless cries leaving your lips.

he reached down, thumb circling your clit fast and tight.

“you gonna cum like this?” he panted in your ear. “with all of them watching? gonna cream on my cock while the world sees who really owns this little pussy?”

your body jerked, climax rushing over you in a tidal wave of heat and noise, clenching hard around him as he grunted and chased his own.

then he flipped you over onto the desk, bending you forward, ass up for the camera.

“still not done,” he murmured, slipping back in. “they’re gonna watch me fill you up.”

he fucked you hard, fast, raw. each thrust loud and wet, your body shaking, hands gripping the edge of the desk.

“so tight, baby—gonna cum so deep—gonna knock you the fuck up on stream, yeah?”

“yes, yes, please—cum in me, yeonjun—fuck, i want it—”

he groaned, shuddering, cock pulsing deep inside as he came, buried to the hilt.

and right before he reached over to end the stream, he leaned in, kissing your masked cheek.

“mine,” he whispered.

then the screen went black.

but your moans still echoed in the dark.

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