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rd0265667 · 20 days ago

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Yooyeon x Reader: A love like spring

Tags: College AU, Rivals to lovers

A/N: Happy birthday @1luvkarina

There’s nothing romantic about 7:59 a.m. on a Monday.

Your hair’s half-wet. Your backpack’s tearing at the seams. Your coffee tastes like burnt ambition. And worst of all, there she is—again—in all her smug, straight-A glory.

Yooyeon.

The school’s academic darling with the face of a webtoon lead and the GPA of a spreadsheet deity. Top of the leaderboard every week since her freshman year. If intelligence were a crime, she’d be serving four consecutive life sentences and getting bonus credits for charm.

And you? You’re the upstart sophomore who’s been stuck in her shadow since the day you decided you were good enough to try and outpace her. Since you decided you had to.

Spoiler alert: you’re not. Yet.

You slow your steps as the glowing digital leaderboard updates.

There it is.

#1: Yooyeon #2: You

Again. That unshakable, perfect name above yours like it's a personal attack.

“Good morning, second best,” comes a voice behind you. Smooth. Deliberate. Unreasonably amused.

You don’t flinch—you’re used to her sneaking up like this. Yooyeon has the uncanny ability to appear exactly when you least want her around. Like a pop quiz or a mirror when you’re breaking out.

You sigh. “Yooyeon.”

She steps beside you, holding a hot matcha latte like she didn’t just ruin your week with her existence. Her uniform is barely regulation—tie undone, sleeves pushed up, hair tied loosely like she’s got better things to do than follow rules and still somehow wins at everything.

You brace yourself.

“I see the board’s still allergic to change,” she muses, tapping her cup like she’s bored.

“I see your ego’s still immune to humility.”

She hums, like she’s actually considering your words. “Not immune. Just... in remission.”

“Do you practice this banter or does it come naturally?”

She looks at you, tilts her head just enough to be condescending. “Oh, please, spare me the jokes Princess. You think I have to practice for you?”

You roll your eyes so hard they nearly detach.

Yooyeon leans a little closer. “You were third this time last semester, right?”

You clench your jaw. “Second now.”

“Exactly,” she says, like it’s a compliment. “You’ve been climbing. Just not fast enough.”

You turn to leave. But of course, Yooyeon follows.

Because she’s never known when to shut up—or maybe she knows exactly when, and just chooses not to.

“I have to admit,” she calls after you, “watching you try to beat me every week is the most fun I’ve had all year.”

You spin on your heel. “It’s not a game.”

She smiles. “Everything’s a game if you’re winning.”

Your fingers twitch around your coffee cup. “One day I will beat you.”

“I hope so,” she says with a glint in her eye. “It’s getting boring up there by myself.”

She gives you a lazy two-finger salute and walks off like she didn’t just light your brain on fire.

You hate her.

You hate her and her relaxed brilliance and her effortless grades and her stupid, elegant neck and the way she says your name like it’s a dare.

You definitely don’t have a crush.

You definitely don’t.

Your screen is blinding, your legs are numb, and you’re 97% sure you’re running on sheer spite and protein bars. You’re on your third pass through a theoretical physics paper that Yooyeon probably skimmed once and called “cute.”

You shouldn’t be doing this. You know you’re pushing it—skipping meals, running on caffeine, grinding until your eyes blur. But every time you think about easing up, you see her.

Yooyeon. Looking down from her throne of extra credit and cute smiles.

And suddenly, you’re typing faster.

You don’t even notice the chair slide out across from you until she speaks.

“Still here? Should I be worried?”

You glance up and she’s there—again. Her hair’s down now, loose and slightly damp at the ends like she just showered. She smells like herbal shampoo and quiet confidence. Unfair.

“I don’t need a babysitter,” you say, keeping your voice level.

Yooyeon shrugs. “Good. I’m not getting paid.”

She drops into the seat across from you like this is her table. Like everything here belongs to her, including your attention.

“You know,” she says casually, “there’s a difference between working hard and working smart.”

“You would say that,” you mutter, scribbling a correction into your notes. “Some of us aren’t born with magical perfect-brain genetics.”

She rests her chin on her hand, eyes sharp despite the lazy posture. “You think that’s what it is? Genetics?”

You pause.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you say. “You’re just a well-dressed calculator.”

Yooyeon smirks. “And you’re a sleep-deprived caffeine goblin with excellent handwriting. We all have our strengths.”

You try not to smile. You fail.

She notices. Of course she does.

“Are you... encouraging me?”

Yooyeon leans back, her chair creaking just slightly. “Don’t get used to it. You looked like you were about to pass out face-first into your textbook.”

You scowl, but yeah. She’s not wrong.

She slides a granola bar across the table without looking at you.

You blink. “What’s this?”

“An intervention.”

You stare at it like it might explode.

“Don’t be dramatic,” she says, unwrapping her own. “I can’t have my favorite competition collapsing mid-semester. Who else deserves second place behind me?”

You pick it up slowly.

“…Thanks.”

“Anytime, princess.”

She winks.

You hate her.

You hate her so much it might be love.

There’s a strange sound that’s started following you lately. A high-pitched ringing, almost like feedback in your skull. You’ve heard people describe burnout like exhaustion, like fire running out of fuel.

But this?

This feels more like an implosion.

You haven’t slept in more than a handful of hours since midterms. Your meals come in bites between classes. Water? Optional. The only thing you've consumed reliably is the sharp sting of Yooyeon's name above yours on every results board.

She’s always one step ahead. One mark higher. One moment faster.

The library is so quiet you can hear your heartbeat. You’re highlighting entire paragraphs. Useless. Your brain’s not retaining anything.

Someone slides into the seat across from you with the grace of a cat and the audacity of a god.

“Planning to absorb the textbook via osmosis?” Yooyeon asks, raising an eyebrow.

You look up through dark circles and dry eyes. “It’d be faster than this.”

“Bold of you to assume your brain still functions.”

You give her a flat look, but she doesn’t smirk like she usually does. Her gaze lingers on the way your hand shakes when you cap the highlighter.

“You know,” she continues, tone light but eyes sharp, “some people take breaks. Step away. Breathe.”

“Some people don’t have to play catch-up,” you mutter.

She leans back, kicks her boots up on the bench like she owns the place. “You act like I didn’t start ahead of you because you were busy flirting with mediocrity.”

There it is. Classic Yooyeon.

Still, something in her tone feels...off. Forced.

You go back to your notes. She stays longer than she needs to.

You don’t remember sitting down in the courtyard, but the sun is too bright and your coffee’s gone cold. Your head rests on your forearm while your untouched sandwich sits in front of you like a guilt trip.

“Sleeping Beauty,” Yooyeon’s voice says.

You lift your head sluggishly. She’s standing over you, holding a bottle of water. She drops it next to you like she’s not doing you a favor.

“Didn’t peg you for the collapsing-in-public type,” she says, eyes narrowing. “Very... first act of a tragic drama.”

You mumble, “Didn’t peg you for the fairy godmother type.”

“Please. If anything, I’m the charming villain with better cheekbones.”

Despite everything, the corner of your mouth twitches. Her jokes don’t land like they used to—they land heavier now. Like they’re carrying too much meaning, too much watching.

She studies you for a beat too long before muttering, “Drink the damn water.”

You obey. Not because she told you to, but because... it’s her. And her gaze makes your skin buzz.

You’re sitting on the floor outside your dorm room. The hallway light flickers.

Your roommate locked the door while you were in the lounge. You forgot your phone. Your laptop bag is heavy against your back, your eyes sting, and your breath keeps coming short.

You crack your calc textbook open just to do something.

You don’t realize you’ve fallen asleep until someone crouches beside you.

“You’re kidding.”

You blink awake. Yooyeon. Of course. She’s staring at you like you’re a science experiment that’s grown mold.

“Seriously?” she says, voice flat. “The hallway?”

You try to sit up. “It’s fine—just locked out.”

“Oh, yeah. Very normal behavior. Just a girl, a textbook, and rock-bottom study hygiene.”

“Go away, Yooyeon.”

She doesn’t. She sighs, long and annoyed—then slips her phone from her pocket and dials.

“You’re not sleeping here. My place is closer.”

You blink. “Excuse me?”

“I’m not dragging your body to the nurse in the morning. I already have plans. Let’s go.”

You hesitate. She eyes you again. “You look like you haven’t eaten a real meal since the lunar eclipse. Grab a meal at my place, I’ll call your idiot roommate to open the door later.”

You follow her. You weren’t sure if it was the fatigue, or because it was her. And her hand on yours makes your heart beat faster

You're at your desk in the library again. You don’t remember how long you’ve been there. Two hours? Five?

Yooyeon walks past and drops a sticky note on your open book without stopping.

~You forgot your notes in the study room. Again. You’re lucky I like collecting strays. Study up. I expect you right behind me, beautiful. —Your number one.

You stare at the handwriting.

You don’t know how to feel. She's watching you too closely, caring too much, and you're not sure if it's humiliation or... something warmer crawling under your skin.

You crumple the note. But you don’t throw it away.

The professor compliments your analysis. Your voice wobbles when you thank him, and you feel a dozen pairs of eyes turn your way. You grip the desk.

Yooyeon cuts in casually. “We split the work pretty evenly. Honestly, they’re the real brains. I just added sparkles.”

The class laughs. Attention shifts.

You stare at her after. She avoids your eyes.

She’s helping.

She keeps helping.

She keeps pretending she’s not.

Something rumbles in your chest, and it might not be hunger.

Your pencil skids across the desk as you jot another definition into the margin. Your coffee is cold. You don’t remember drinking it — or making it, honestly. The page blurs, sharpens, then shifts entirely. You blink. The words don’t.

It’s fine. You just need a few minutes. A few more pages. Just until your head stops swimming.

“Are you trying to kill yourself with caffeine and stubbornness?” a familiar voice drawls behind you.

You don’t look up. You already know who it is. Only one person can make academic condescension sound like flirting.

“I’m fine,” you mutter, scribbling harder.

Yooyeon slides into the seat across from you at the library table. She sets her iced Americano down with a casual clack. She looks maddeningly well-rested. Hair tied in a loose ponytail, nails painted an obnoxious sky-blue. Her smile is faint — but not cruel. Just... curious.

“You look like you’ve fought a war and lost,” she says. “Did the mitochondria revolt in the middle of your flashcards?”

You glare at her, but it comes out more glassy than venomous.

Yooyeon leans forward slightly, lowering her voice. “Hey. Seriously. When’s the last time you slept more than four hours?”

“I don’t need sleep,” you shoot back, forcing the edge into your tone. “I need results.”

“Cute. You sound like a motivational poster taped to a stress ball.”

You huff and turn back to your notes.

Yooyeon stays quiet for a second too long.

Then she mumbles, “You’ve stopped eating lunch with your friends. I saw you in the atrium yesterday — you looked like you were arguing with a vending machine.”

You don’t respond. She sighs.

“I’m not saying this to be annoying, you know.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

There’s a pause.

Then Yooyeon says, quieter, “I notice things.”

You freeze.

She backpedals instantly, voice snapping back to normal. “Not because I care or anything — you’re just loud when you’re stressed.”

You snort, exhausted and bitter. “I wonder why I’m stressed, Yooyeon.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault you turned this into some Olympic-level grudge match. I just showed up and got better grades. It’s not my fault you-”

You flinch. She notices.

“Fuck” she mutters under her breath, turning to you “Listen, I didn’t mean that”

“Whatever. Just leave me alone.” You didn’t want her to see you like this

The banter sputters out.

Yooyeon opens her mouth, then closes it. For once, she doesn’t have a comeback. Her hands fidget with her drink, spinning the straw back and forth. Her mouth twitches like she wants to say something else — but whatever it is, it dies in her throat.

You’re not even mad. You’re too tired to be mad.

Midterms week hits like a truck.

The hours bleed together. You pull two all-nighters in a row. Your hands cramp from writing. Your head pounds from dehydration. You’re three minutes late to your Philosophy exam and your professor gives you a look that makes your stomach twist.

Yooyeon intercepts you in the hallway after.

“You’re late,” she says, arms crossed.

You don’t stop walking. “So?”

“So? You don’t do late.”

“Maybe I’m changing.”

“Maybe you’re crashing.”

You whirl around. “Why do you care?”

Yooyeon blinks. Her mouth opens — but again, the words don’t come.

“…I don’t,” she says finally, though it sounds like a lie. “I just don’t want my academic rival to turn into a cautionary tale. Or for this not to be a fair fight.”

You shoot her a look. “Touching.”

She’s silent for a beat. Then—

“…Did you get the chemistry lab notes from Tuesday?”

Your brows furrow. “No, I—”

She hands you a neatly stapled packet.

You stare.

“I noticed you weren’t there,” she says, words tripping over themselves, like if she rushes through them, they won’t mean anything. “Thought maybe you were busy... plotting my untimely demise or passed out on top of your textbook again. So. I wrote some stuff down. When I had time.”

You thumb through the pages. Clean, organized. Little side notes in the margins—some sarcastic, some oddly helpful. It’s better than what the TA would’ve given you.

You glance up. She won’t quite meet your eyes.

Two nights later, you wake up on the floor of the library hallway, your face pressed into the spine of your biology textbook.

Yooyeon is crouched beside you.

“Seriously?” she hisses. “Are you living here now?”

You try to sit up. Your arms don’t respond.

“Okay, nope,” she mutters, grabbing your bag and slinging it over her shoulder. “This is officially the dumbest thing you’ve ever done. And I’ve watched you voluntarily take an extra calculus elective.”

You don’t argue. You can’t.

You let her guide you up. She doesn’t look at you, not really. But her grip is firm. Protective. Almost furious.

She doesn’t say anything else as she half-drags you back to your dorm — until she sees your roommate’s ‘DO NOT DISTURB’ sign on the door. And a sock on the door handle.

“Unbelievable,” she mutters. “Come on.”

“Come on where?”

“My room.”

“What?”

“My dorm. Unless you want to go pass out on the quad lawn instead, be my guest.”

You blink. “You’re inviting me into your space to sleep?”

“Desperate times,” she mutters, not looking at you.

You don’t remember much after that.

Just that her bed is warm. Her sheets smell like citrus and something else you can’t name. You hear her pacing, mumbling things like, “idiot,” and “should’ve said something,” and “I’m not even good at this—”

There’s a damp cloth on your forehead. A straw pressed to your lips. Her hand hovering near yours, then quickly pulling away.

You hear her mutter, voice tight and quiet:

“Why’d you have to push so hard?”

And then:

“Not like this.”

You wake up to soft light.

Yooyeon is curled up in the chair by the bed, a book open on her stomach. Her glasses are slipping down her nose. Her head is tilted back, exposing her throat. She looks… peaceful.

Vulnerable, even.

You shift slightly.

She startles awake instantly, blinking blearily.

“Hey,” she croaks. “Welcome back to the land of people with functioning blood sugar.”

You try to sit up.

“Don’t even think about it,” she warns, pushing you back with two fingers. “You nearly went full Victorian fainting maiden on me yesterday.”

You stare at her. “You stayed?”

She rolls her eyes. “No, the Florence Nightingale fairy showed up and did all the work. Yes, I stayed.”

You swallow hard. “Why?”

She looks down.

“Because I was scared,” she says. Then quickly adds, “Not, like, scared for you or anything. Just—scared that my GPA would tank if you actually died.”

You huff a laugh. “Classic.”

She tries to smirk. It doesn’t land.

You study her face. The slight crease in her brow. The nervous way she keeps tapping her thumb against her palm. This isn’t the girl who taunted you across study tables. This isn’t the smug top-ranked student.

This is just Yooyeon.

Messy. Soft. Trying her best.

“…Thanks,” you whisper.

She looks at you, startled.

And then — a smile. Small. Real.

“Don’t mention it,” she says, softer now.

Then it all disappears. “Seriously. Don’t. I’ve got a reputation to keep. This night never happened.”

You were unsure why, but your chest ached as she said that

Monday. The rankings post.

You're second.

So is Yooyeon.

Tied.

The hallway buzzes behind you with a hundred voices and the low squeak of sneakers on linoleum. But all you hear is the steady beat of your pulse in your ears as your eyes scan the bulletin board—twice, then a third time, like the numbers might change if you look at them hard enough.

Yooyeon’s name sits right next to yours. Identical score. Perfect tie.

She appears beside you with the smooth nonchalance of someone running on caffeine and stubbornness alone. Her hair is in a messy bun, half-fallen. There’s a coffee cup in her hand and bruised half-moons under her eyes.

“Well,” she says, her tone light but stretched thin at the edges. “Guess the apocalypse came early.”

You don’t answer.

Neither does she.

The silence settles between you, not cold or hostile—just too quiet. You’re standing close enough to feel her shoulder nearly brush yours.

You should say something snide. You should win this moment, score the verbal point. Something like Guess you’re not so untouchable after all.

But nothing comes out.

Because all you can think of is the cold towel she pressed to your forehead. Her voice, breaking like glass when she called your name. The way she stayed.

The way she didn’t leave.

In the library, everything is the same.

Except nothing is.

You sit across from her, like always. Your textbooks open. Your pens lined up in color-coded formation. But the usual energy—your electric, relentless rhythm—is muted. Stiff.

You catch her glancing at you. She catches you too. But neither of you say anything.

“You misspelled ‘haemoglobin,’” she says eventually, flicking your notes toward you with a fingertip.

You raise an eyebrow. “You misspelled ‘delusional’ when you thought I wasn’t going to catch up.”

She snorts. “And here I was, thinking your near-death experience might’ve humbled you.”

“It gave me clarity,” you say with mock solemnity. “And a much better immune system.”

“Sure,” she murmurs. “All it cost was my sanity and my extra blanket.”

You smirk. She doesn’t.

And then the silence slides in again, heavy and stretched like a wire between you. Frayed.

You don’t know when it started feeling like this. This thing between you—too tense to be normal, too soft to be war.

It tries to hold. It tries to strengthen itself, in a vain hope to stop what is inevitable.

It breaks. You’re walking back to the dorms after study group. It’s late, and the air smells like wet pavement and budding leaves. The night feels like it’s holding its breath — like something’s about to change.

Yooyeon’s beside you, hands in her jacket pockets, kicking absently at the gravel path. There’s a beat of silence between you, stretched but not uncomfortable. Not quite.

“You haven’t picked a fight with me all week,” she says eventually. “I’m starting to worry.”

You glance at her. “Thought I’d give you a break. You’ve been too easy.”

She smirks. “Wow. A mercy from my greatest nemesis. I’m touched.”

You roll your eyes, but it’s fond. Too fond. And you both feel it — the quiet shift in the air. The kind of silence that doesn’t beg to be filled, but felt.

You stop walking. She does too.

“We’ve both been pretending that night didn’t happen.”

She turns to face you, her expression unreadable but her eyes tired. Honest.

“But it did,” she says. “You know it did.”

You nod. Slowly. “Yeah. It did.”

The silence settles again, but different this time—heavier. Expectant.

“I didn’t know how to bring it up,” you say. “Didn’t know if you wanted me to.”

She exhales through her nose. “I didn’t. At first.”

You study her face, the slight tension in her jaw, the flicker of hesitation in her eyes.

“I was scared,” she admits. “Because that night—how I felt—how I looked at you… I don’t think I could’ve kept pretending after that.”

You swallow. “Yeah,” you say, your voice low. “Me too.”

She meets your gaze then. Really meets it. And for once, there’s no smirk, no barb, no shield between you. Just Yooyeon. Just you.

“I think the truth is…” you begin, carefully, “…there was always something more. Even back when all we did was argue and try to outscore each other.”

Her lips twitch. “Back when you were too proud to admit I made you nervous.”

You raise an eyebrow. “I wasn’t nervous.”

“You color-coded your pens every time I sat next to you.”

“That’s called being organized,” you mutter.

“That’s called spiraling,” she teases—gently, now. No venom. Just warmth.

You crack a small smile, but it fades just as quickly.

“I kept telling myself I had to beat you,” you say. “That I needed to prove I was better. Like if I didn’t, then… then maybe everything I’d worked for would mean less.”

Yooyeon’s expression softens. “And I kept telling myself it didn’t matter. That none of it—none of you—mattered. Because if it did, I wouldn’t be able to compete the same way.”

You nod, slow. “I think we were both lying to ourselves.”

“For a while now,” she murmurs.

A pause.

Then: “When you collapsed,” she says, voice smaller than you’ve ever heard it, “I didn’t care about the exam. Or our scores. Or the board. I just—” She breaks off, looking away for a second, gathering herself. “I was so scared. And all I could think about was how I never told you.”

“Told me what?”

“That I cared,” she says. “That I’ve always cared. Even when I pretended not to. Even when I was throwing jabs or pretending I didn’t notice the way you always tapped your pencil twice before a big answer.”

Your breath catches.

“I saw you,” she whispers.

You blink fast, the lump in your throat impossible to swallow.

“I think…” you start, but your voice wavers, so you pause, exhale. “I think I kept trying to prove something I didn’t need to prove. Not to you. Maybe not to anyone. But especially not to you, because I think deep down—some part of me just wanted to impress you.”

Yooyeon’s lips part, like she’s about to speak. But instead, she just steps forward. One slow, steady step.

You meet her halfway.

“I don’t want to pretend anymore,” you say quietly. “Not about how I feel. Not about you.”

“Neither do I,” she says, breathless.

“You remember the first time we met?” you ask.

She tilts her head. “Let me guess — you're about to say you knew I was your greatest threat the second I opened my mouth.”

You smile faintly. “No. I was going to say I hated how fast I noticed you.”

She blinks.

“Not just because you were smart,” you continue. “But because... you lit up the room the second you walked in. And I didn’t know how to deal with that. So I decided I had to beat you.”

Yooyeon’s voice is softer now. “You always looked at me like you had something to prove.”

“I did,” you admit. “I thought if I could outscore you, outrank you, maybe that ache in my chest would make sense.”

She lets out a breath, not quite a laugh. “You think I didn’t feel it too?”

You glance at her.

“From the beginning,” she says, voice quieter now. “There was always something more than just competition with you. But I told myself it wasn’t real. That it was easier to pretend, that it didn’t mean anything, that it was just a competition.”

She smiles, but it’s sad around the edges. “You worked so hard to push me away. I didn’t want to care about someone who saw me as an obstacle.”

“I never saw you as just that.”

She looks up at you, searching your face. “Then what did you see?”

You hesitate. Then: “Someone who saw through me. Who made me feel like I wasn’t alone, even when I was trying to act like I didn’t need anyone.”

Yooyeon blinks fast. “I cared,” she whispers. “Even when I tried to hide it behind sarcasm and insults and pretending like your dumb matcha obsession wasn’t growing on me.”

You laugh, low and raw. “I used to time my walks to the café just to run into you.”

“I knew it,” she says, half-laughing, half-breaking. “You were so bad at pretending it was a coincidence.”

“And you,” you counter, stepping a little closer, “you always offered me gum right before tests.”

“That was strategic.”

“It was sweet.”

Another breathless silence. Her eyes are wet, but she doesn’t look away.

“I didn’t want to admit how much I wanted you to see me,” she says quietly. “Not as your rival. Just... me.”

“I always saw you,” you whisper. “I just didn’t know how to let you see me back.”

She stares at you. Then slowly, deliberately, she takes your hand. Fingers lacing through yours.

You squeeze, just once.

“Can I kiss you?” you ask, so quietly you’re not sure the words made it out.

She nods. “Please.”

You lean in. And the kiss is slow — unhurried and trembling and full of everything you’ve both been holding back.

When you pull away, you stay close. Forehead to forehead.

“You still drive me crazy,” Yooyeon murmurs.

You smile. “Good. That’s half the fun.”

She pulls back just enough to see your face, lips curved in that small, teasing way. “So… does this mean I can finally stop pretending your annotated flashcards don’t turn me on a little?”

You laugh, cheeks burning. “Yooyeon.”

“What? They’re hot. Color-coded chaos? I live for it.”

“You’re such a menace.”

“Yeah,” she says, tugging your sleeve so you step closer again, “but I’m your menace now.”

You shake your head, smiling so much it hurts. “God help me.”

She rests her head on your shoulder for a moment. “He already did. He gave me you.”

You blink. “That’s disgustingly sweet.”

“I know.” She looks up at you, grinning. “It’s your fault. I was perfectly insufferable before you.”

You press a kiss to her temple. “Don’t worry. You’re still insufferable.”

She laughs, soft against your neck. “Good. Wouldn’t want you to get bored.”

“Not a chance,” you murmur. “Not with you.”

“You know,” you whisper, “this does technically count as fraternizing with the enemy.”

She smirks. “Are you calling yourself the enemy now?”

“I’m calling myself dangerous. You never stood a chance.”

Yooyeon tilts her head. “Please. I had the upper hand the second you fainted like a Victorian ghost and I had to tuck you into bed.”

“That’s slander,” you say, mock-scandalized.

“It’s documented.”

You laugh, breathless, and she leans in again, brushing your cheek with the back of her hand.

“I still want to beat you,” she whispers.

“Good,” you whisper back. “Because I’m still going to outscore you in physics.”

“You won’t,” she says, nose brushing yours. “But I look forward to watching you try.”

And under the breathless night, with the world on pause around you, she kisses you again.

It tastes like promises.

Like spring.

#rd0265667 #fluff #kpop #kpop imagines #kpop gg #kpop idol x reader #yooyeon #triples yooyeon #triples yooyeon fluff

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kwilquib · 4 months ago

Text

Falling for You, Again.

TripleS Kim Yooyeon x Reader

Switching POV

Word Count: 14.4k+

Kim Yooyeon sat upright in the hospital bed, the sterile scent of disinfectant clinging to the air. It no longer unsettled her the way it once did. She had been here long enough to adjust—to wake up every morning knowing she had lost her memories, knowing that her only grasp on the past came from what others told her.

And what they told her was this:

She was married. She was deeply in love. And her husband, who had been abroad for work, had been devastated when he heard about the accident, even more when he couldn't return immediately. Today—the day of her discharge—she would finally go home.

Her parents had been with her since the beginning, threading her past together with their words. Their voices were steady, unwavering—as if the truth could be spoken into existence.

"You and your husband were so perfect together," her mother gushed, her voice thick with emotion. "Always looking at each other like you were the only two people in the world."

Yooyeon held onto the words, testing them, trying to find something familiar in them.

A flicker of memory surfaced. A formal dinner, the gentle clink of wine glasses, a man’s hand resting on the small of her back as they smiled for photographs. She could almost hear the laughter, but it felt distant, muted—like a scene from someone else’s life.

Her father nodded approvingly. "He's a good man. Responsible, capable. And devoted to you, as any husband should be."

Another fragment—her husband adjusting his tie in their shared bathroom mirror, his reflection catching hers. A quiet familiarity between them, practiced and smooth. She remembered feeling something then—a warmth in her chest, steady and certain.

"You don’t remember?" her mother asked hopefully.

Yooyeon hesitated. Did she? The images were there, but they felt too crisp, too clean—like a story well-told, not a memory truly lived.

"I... I think I do. Little pieces."

Her mother brightened immediately. "See? It’s coming back! I always said true love leaves its mark on the soul, even if the mind forgets."

The words settled over her like a soft weight. True love.

With each story they shared, more pieces seemed to surface. Their first dance at a business gala. Weekend brunches with friends where they finished each other’s sentences. Vacation photos where they looked blissfully happy.

Each memory felt genuine—yet the edges of them blurred, like an oil painting smudged by an impatient hand.

She wanted to believe it. She wanted to be the woman they spoke of, the one who had been so deeply in love.

But wasn’t love supposed to feel more certain than this?

The nurse entered with her discharge papers. "Mrs. Kim, you’re all set to leave. Your husband must be relieved—his wife is finally getting discharged."

His wife.

The words settled into the quiet room, lingering in the air longer than they should have.

She had heard it before—"your husband," "your loving marriage," "you were so happy together." Each time, the words had been spoken with certainty, as if they alone could fill the void in her memory.

But this felt different. Final. Binding.

Her fingers curled around the ring on her left hand. The metal was warm, familiar. She traced its shape, searching for something—anything—that felt like certainty.

She waited for the rush of emotion, the deep-seated knowing. It didn’t come.

Her mother squeezed her hand. “Your husband called while you were resting. He’ll be returning from his work trip this week.”

Yooyeon nodded, ignoring the flutter of something in her chest. Excitement? Anxiety? Or something else entirely?

As the elevator descended to the hospital lobby, her parents chatting excitedly beside her, Yooyeon let herself lean into the stories, into the warmth they promised.

If she reached for the love they spoke of, if she believed hard enough—would it become real?

Today, she was going home.

To them.

And maybe, just maybe, to the love she was supposed to remember.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You step into the familiar quiet of your home, and for a moment, it doesn’t feel real.

This place—this moment—was never supposed to happen like this.

You were supposed to come back with a clearer mind, with the weight of your feelings for Yooyeon finally worn down by distance and time. You had convinced yourself that being away, that drowning in work, was the right thing. You had nearly succeeded in quieting the ache of wanting her—of wanting something you were never meant to have.

But then the call came.

The accident. The words you never expected to hear. That she had lost her memories, that she couldn’t remember you.

And suddenly, the distance that was supposed to help you move on became unbearable.

You couldn’t leave. Couldn’t abandon your work, not when this deal had been months in the making. But you couldn’t call her either. You weren’t ready to hear her voice, to confirm with your own ears that she didn’t remember you. Instead, you asked about her indirectly—through doctors, through her parents. Keeping yourself just close enough to know she was okay, but far enough to not face the truth.

Now, you’re home. And for the first time since you left, you can’t avoid her anymore.

She’s in the living room when you step in, arranging flowers—an image so delicate, so carefully composed, that it stops you in your tracks. You never remembered her paying so much attention to things like this before.

“Welcome home,” she says, offering you a small smile. It’s polite, warm even, but there’s something unfamiliar about it. It’s measured, like she’s giving you exactly what she thinks you expect.

It throws you off.

She’s different, and yet—she’s not. She’s not an entirely new person, not a stranger. She’s still Yooyeon, but softened in ways she never was before. Less guarded, less sharp. And it terrifies you how easily she could slip into the version of her you used to dream about—the version that could have loved you back.

You clear your throat, setting down your luggage. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get back sooner.”

Her fingers still briefly over the petals. “It’s fine… they told me your trip was important.” Her voice is light, but there’s something beneath it. A hesitation. A quiet disappointment.

Then, softer, almost to herself, “We could’ve at least talked on the phone.”

Your chest tightens. You don’t know if she’s saying it because she wanted to talk to you or because she thinks it’s something she should say.

“How have you been?” you ask, even though you already know. You know what the doctors have said, what her parents have told you. But you need to hear it from her.

She launches into a recounting of her recovery—how she’s been adjusting, how her parents have practically hovered over her. But as she speaks, something feels off. Her words are careful, almost rehearsed, as if she’s reading from a script someone gave her.

And it hits you—she is following a script.

She’s trying to fit into the life everyone says she had. Trying to be the person they tell her she used to be.

The realization unsettles you.

It should be easy to draw the line. You told yourself, over and over, that this marriage had given you nothing but a lingering ache. That whatever warmth you once felt had long since dulled into something muted, tolerable. Maybe this is the clean break you need—the perfect excuse to finally move on without guilt.

But instead, all the walls you’ve built, the callousness you spent months forging, begin to crack.

You watch her—this version of Yooyeon, untouched by old wounds and past hesitations—and wonder.

Is this a curse? Or is this the only chance you’ll ever have to hold onto something that was never truly yours?

Later, over lunch, the air between you still carries an odd tension—not uncomfortable, just… unfamiliar. You catch yourself hesitating before speaking, unsure which parts of your shared past she still holds onto and which have slipped through the cracks.

"Do you remember the trip to Busan?" you ask, testing again, reaching for a thread of the past.

Yooyeon blinks, her brows knitting together. "Busan…?"

"The conference," you remind her. "Last year. You spent half the time making fun of that presenter’s slides."

She lets out a small laugh but shakes her head. "I don’t remember that at all. But it does sound like something I’d do."

There’s a beat of silence, then a quiet chuckle from both of you—awkward, but not entirely unpleasant.

"Tell me about it?" she asks, tilting her head, curiosity flickering in her eyes. "I want to know what kind of person I was."

The question throws you off guard, though you’re not sure why. Maybe it’s the vulnerability in her voice, the quiet plea to be filled in on the version of herself that she’s lost.

You hesitate, then exhale softly. "You were—" You stop, correcting yourself. "You are sharp. Witty. You never let anyone get away with nonsense."

She smiles at that, as if it reassures her. "That’s good to hear."

Bit by bit, the stiffness fades.

By evening, it’s different. The space between you, once uncertain, feels smoother, more fluid. It’s not the same as before, but in some ways, it’s easier. Lighter.

Yooyeon touches you more. Small, fleeting gestures—her fingers brushing against yours when she hands you a plate, resting a hand on your wrist when she asks a question, leaning into you slightly when you walk side by side. It’s nothing dramatic, nothing she seems to think twice about. But it’s different.

Before the accident, before the marriage, you thought of Yooyeon as a great friend—someone easy to talk to, someone who made life feel less heavy. When you agreed to the marriage, you thought maybe, just maybe, you were moving toward something more. At first, it seemed like it. The familiarity deepened, your feelings began to take shape, creeping in slowly, almost unnoticed. There were moments—glimpses of what could be—where it felt like the two of you were truly building something together.

But then, it stopped. Or maybe it just never went far enough. She was always there, yet just out of reach. She smiled at you, laughed with you, shared meals with you, but there was always a quiet hesitation in her, an invisible wall she never dared to cross. You wanted more. You wanted to pull her closer, to make her see what you were feeling, but something kept holding you back. Kept holding her back.

Your love for her didn’t fade—it grew. And the more it grew, the more it hurt.

You lived together, spent your days and nights side by side, yet the gap between you remained. A happy marriage, but never quite content. Companions, but never quite lovers.

And now? Now she’s changed. Now, that boundary is gone—not in the way you once wished it would be, but in a way that feels almost unreal. Like something delicate and fleeting, something that shouldn’t be yours to hold.

You don’t comment on it.

You tell yourself it’s just her way of adjusting, of seeking comfort in something familiar.

So you play along.

As the evening drags on, you feel her eyes on you constantly, but there’s no familiar ease to it. No comfort. It’s as if she’s studying you, trying to figure out the person she’s married to, trying to place you into this new reality where you don’t fit. You catch her refilling your water glass before you even ask, adjusting your collar just slightly, even suggesting things she thinks will please you—asking how the trip went, what you did, if you’re tired. Every move she makes feels calculated, like she’s not trying to be the woman you married, but the woman she thinks you expect her to be.

Her actions are all wrapped in politeness and care, but it feels like a performance. You’re a stranger to her now, and she’s just trying to fit the role she believes she has to play.

You can’t help but wonder, does she even know who you are anymore?

After dinner, Yooyeon sets her chopsticks down and looks at you expectantly. “Can we watch some videos?” she asks.

You blink. “Videos?”

“Our wedding, maybe? Or just… us?” She hesitates, twirling a strand of her hair between her fingers. “I want to see. I want to remember.”

You don’t answer right away. Something about the request unsettles you, but you don’t know why.

She watches you carefully, waiting. And for some reason, you find yourself nodding.

Minutes later, you’re both sitting on the couch as the TV screen flickers to life. The first video plays—a montage of your wedding day. The ceremony, the smiles, the laughter. The perfect image of a couple in love.

Yooyeon watches intently, her gaze scanning the screen like she’s trying to etch every second into her mind. “I remember this part,” she murmurs when the camera captures her slipping the ring onto your finger. “I was so nervous.”

You glance at her. “Were you?”

She nods, eyes still locked on the screen. “I kept worrying I’d drop the ring. But you… you looked so calm.” She tilts her head, studying the way you held her hand in the video. “Did you feel nervous?”

You almost laugh. “No. It was just a formality, I was rushing for the event to be over.”

The words sit between you, stark and unfiltered.

Yooyeon doesn’t flinch. Instead, she hums thoughtfully. “Still. We looked happy.”

You don’t answer.

The video shifts to another clip—your honeymoon. A trip spent half in public, playing the roles expected of you, and half in quiet companionship behind closed doors.

“You remember this?” you ask, testing her again.

She pauses. “Not all of it,” she admits. “But some parts… they feel familiar.”

She leans into your side, her body warm against yours.

You hadn’t noticed when it happened, but somehow, Yooyeon ended up nestled against you, her head resting lightly against your shoulder, your arm loosely draped around her. The closeness should feel foreign—it never used to be like this—but strangely, it isn’t.

It feels natural. Too natural.

On the screen, the version of you from the past smiles at her, something soft in his expression that even you don’t quite recognize.

Yooyeon shifts slightly in your arms, tilting her head up to look at you.

Your breath catches.

She’s close. Closer than she should be.

The glow of the screen casts soft shadows over her face, highlighting the curve of her lips, the quiet intent in her eyes. The air between you grows heavy, charged with something neither of you acknowledges.

And then she moves.

Her lips press against yours—gentle, seeking. A quiet, hesitant question in the form of a kiss.

Your body reacts before your mind does.

You’d spent months trying to forget, convincing yourself that this love was better buried.

And yet, here you were—undoing everything in a single moment.

You kiss her back.

Before your kisses could get any deeper, she breaks it off.

“I— I should probably take a shower…” her breath heavy. “Before we continue…” she muttered almost a whisper. As she runs towards your room.

The warmth of her lips still lingers on yours as Yooyeon stumbles away, her words barely registering in your mind. Your pulse is erratic, breath unsteady as she disappears into the bathroom. The sound of running water fills the space, but your thoughts are too tangled to process anything else.

You exhale sharply, running a hand through your hair. What just happened?

The weight of her kiss, the way her body fit against yours—it felt inevitable, like something long overdue.

Minutes pass, stretching endlessly until the water finally stops. The door creaks open, and for a brief moment, you catch a glimpse of her silhouette before she vanishes into your room, wrapped in nothing but a towel.

Your heart is still racing as you push yourself off the couch. The air feels thick, charged with an energy you don’t know how to name.

The shower is quick, the cold water doing little to calm the storm inside you. Even as you dry off, the memory of her touch lingers—her warmth, her scent, the way she looked at you before she kissed you.

Steeling yourself, you step into your bedroom.

And then—you freeze.

Yooyeon lies on your bed, the blanket pooling around her bare shoulders, exposing smooth skin bathed in the dim light. Her damp hair spills over the pillows, dark strands curling at the ends.

Your throat goes dry.

She watches you, her expression unreadable, lips parted slightly as if caught between hesitation and expectation.

Then it hits you.

Under that sheet, Yooyeon is completely naked.

And so are you.

The towel slips from your fingers, falling soundlessly to the floor. Her gaze follows the movement, trailing over your body before flickering away when it lands lower—shyness warring with curiosity.

You move closer, sitting at the edge of the bed. Your hand reaches out, fingers brushing against the soft fabric of the blanket. Slowly, deliberately, you peel it back, unveiling inch after inch of her bare skin.

First, her collarbones, delicate and defined.

Then her breasts, supple, rising and falling with her breath.

Your eyes trace the gentle slope of her stomach, the way it tenses slightly under your gaze.

And then, finally, the last of the blanket falls away, revealing the most intimate part of her.

You pause, drinking her in—every curve, every detail, the sheer vulnerability of this moment.

She is beautiful.

You remind yourself not to rush. To take your time.

Slowly, calmly, you lean in, capturing her lips in a kiss—soft at first, testing, savoring. Her breath hitches, but she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she melts into you, her hands trailing up your back, fingertips pressing lightly as if urging you closer.

The kiss deepens.

Your tongues meet, a slow, intoxicating dance. Her taste lingers on your lips, warm and sweet. You tug at her tongue, coaxing it out, teasing, savoring every second before finally breaking apart, breathless.

Both of you pant for air, foreheads pressed together, heat radiating between you. Then, you feel it—Yooyeon’s hand wrapping around your length, her touch light at first, then firmer, stroking you, making you harder than you already are.

You tense, instinctively pulling back for a second, startled by the sudden contact. Her eyes flicker with confusion, but you don’t explain. Instead, you press forward, shifting your focus.

Your lips trail down her body, kissing her skin, feeling the way she trembles beneath you. Her quiet moans spill out as you kiss along her side, then lower, past her navel.

You don’t linger. You know she’s already wet.

Positioning yourself between her legs, you part them, revealing her.

“Yooyeon… can I?” Your voice is low, thick with need.

She nods, her gaze heavy-lidded, filled with anticipation.

You lean in, your tongue sliding against her folds, tasting her, teasing her. She gasps, back arching slightly, her moans growing louder as you work her with slow, deliberate strokes. You take your time, letting each flick, each swirl of your tongue build her pleasure.

You feel her body loosening, her walls softening around your touch. Taking it as your cue, you push your tongue inside, warmth enveloping you as her arousal coats your mouth. She’s overflowing, her body giving in to pleasure.

Her legs clamp around your head, a sharp gasp escaping her lips. Fingers tangle in your hair, grasping tightly as her moans turn desperate, erratic.

You hold her thighs apart, refusing to let her escape. The way she writhes beneath you, the way her voice rises with each stroke of your tongue—it only fuels you. Her pleasure feeds your hunger.

You pick up the pace, teasing and flicking against her sensitive bud. She cries out, hands gripping the sheets, her body arching as the sensation overwhelms her.

Then, without warning, you push your tongue back inside, not giving her a moment’s reprieve. Her moans turn to breathless, broken sounds, her mind too lost in the pleasure to form words.

"Fuh…Ah—Nnn… fuah!!!"

Her body tenses, muscles locking up as the pressure builds. Her legs tremble, stretching outward, her hands pressing against your head, trying to ground herself. Her back arches high, head tilting back as the wave finally crashes over her.

And you don’t stop—drawing out every last pulse of her release, savoring the way her body trembles beneath you.

But your hunger isn't satisfied.

Even though she’s already drenched, already ready, you want more.

Moving back up, you claim her breast, taking a hardened peak into your mouth. Your tongue swirls around it, sucking, teasing, while your hands knead her softness, fingers flicking and pinching in tandem with your lips. You alternate between gentle licks and sharp bites against her sensitive tips, drawing a sharp gasp from her lips.

A loud moan escapes her, her back arching.

Your eyes flick up, catching the way her head tilts, her neck exposed—a silent invitation.

You answer it immediately, trailing kisses along her skin, feeling her pulse quicken beneath your lips. Each press of your mouth sends another shiver through her, her body reacting to every touch.

But you need more.

Your lips find hers again, and before you can even take the lead, she’s already parting her mouth, welcoming you, her tongue eagerly meeting yours.

The kiss deepens, slow and consuming, both of you losing yourselves in the heat of it.

And then—another moan escapes her, breaking the kiss.

Your tip presses against her, teasing her entrance.

You don’t stop. Instead, you return to her lips, deepening the kiss as you rub your length along her slick folds, coating yourself in her arousal.

Her moans sync with each slow, deliberate movement, her body shuddering beneath you. Her hands cradle your face, fingers gliding over your skin, smearing the mess of your mixed saliva as she pulls you in closer.

Your lips part, but your tongues remain locked in their heated dance, unwilling to separate—until she finally pushes you back, breathless.

"Dear… it’s enough… ah!" she whispers between moans.

But is it?

Doubt lingers, and instead of answering, you dip back down, capturing her breast in your mouth, sucking lightly, flicking her sensitive tips with your tongue. She gasps, arching into you, her fingers tightening against your skin.

You trail back up, capturing her lips once more, silencing any protests. She parts her mouth as if to speak, but you don’t let her—your tongue claims hers again, drawing another muffled moan from her.

Finally, she pleads, her voice trembling with need.

"Please… put it in…"

You pull back slightly, your breathing ragged.

Is it really enough?

Your eyes search hers, questioning and hesitating. You want her completely—but only when she’s truly ready.

Then another thought crosses your mind: rubber. Hastily, you reach for the drawer, but before you can, her hand intercepts yours.

“Wait…” she says softly, holding out a condom. Her eyes sparkle with a mix of impatience and assurance. You know you’re supposed to use it, yet in this heated moment, the raw intensity of your desire makes you yearn for an unfiltered connection.

Clutching the condom in your hand, you feel that inner battle between safety and passion. In one impulsive moment, you decide—raw is what you need. With deliberate urgency, you press yourself against her, entering her without delay.

“Ahnnn…” escapes her lips as she welcomes you. Every thrust is met with her rising moans—a rhythmic symphony that spurs you on.

Your hand slides up to her breast, massaging and flicking it, alternating between gentle licks and teasing bites along her sensitive nipple. The sound of her moans draws your attention to the delicate curve of her neck, where your lips trail a fiery path of kisses.

Her insides grow warmer and more intense with each movement, wrapping around you, pulling you deeper into the moment. Sensing that the intensity might soon overwhelm both of you, you briefly pull back—tearing open the condom wrapper with a mix of urgency and hesitation.

You withdraw slightly, and she moans in response. The pause makes you acutely aware of how close you both are to the edge. Desperate not to lose the rhythm, you fumble to put the condom on again.

Sensing your hurry—and perhaps sharing in your urgency—her hand reaches out, deftly fitting the condom for you. Without missing a beat, she guides your length back to her welcoming embrace. Your body re-enters her, and you murmur her name, “Yooyeon.”

“I'm about to cum,” you confess in a low, husky tone, “but… is it okay?”

She meets your gaze with a smile and a nod of encouragement, “Yes… do it whenever you like.”

Emboldened, you resume your pace, each thrust growing more rapid as your kisses overlap with her soft moans. The sight of her—flushed and panting, eyes half-closed in bliss, strands of hair clinging to her flushed skin—drives you closer to your limit. You grip her waist tightly as her arms cradle your head, locking you together in a passionate embrace.

You feel your release building rapidly. Her hips rise to meet your every thrust as she arches her back, her body moving in perfect rhythm with yours. In a final, desperate surge, your finger finds her clit, adding one last burst of stimulation to the electric mix of pleasure.

“No—… Not—There—” she gasps breathlessly as her body twists with the overwhelming sensations.

"I’m—cumming—cumming… Ah!!!" she cries, and in that climactic moment, both of you shatter under the intensity of your shared release.

Her body convulses as waves of heat and pleasure surge through her, each pulse sending shudders down her spine. The sheets beneath you seem to ripple with the force of your climax, every fiber of your being alive with raw ecstasy. You feel her muscles tighten around you, an unspoken invitation to surrender completely to the overwhelming sensation.

Exhausted yet exhilarated, you collapse beside her, your heads turning to face each other. Her expression radiates satisfaction and joy as she softly calls your name. Gently, she plants a kiss on your lips, then on your forehead, and finally on your nose—each tender gesture sealing the memory of your shared passion.

As her eyes close and she nestles into your embrace, you both drift in the afterglow—a raw, unforgettable moment of intimacy that lingers long after the night fades.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yooyeon stirred awake to the warmth of a steady heartbeat beneath her cheek, her fingers curled lightly against his bare chest. His arms were still around her, firm yet relaxed, holding her in a way that made her feel safe. Wanted. Loved.

A quiet smile ghosted her lips as she let herself sink into the moment.

Last night had been…

Her cheeks flushed at the memory—her own boldness, the way she had moved on instinct, the way his touch had set fire to every inch of her skin. She hadn’t thought too deeply about it at the time. She had simply acted on a feeling—a feeling that told her she wanted him, wanted to be close to him in the most intimate way.

And she had been right.

Being with him had felt good, natural. She felt satisfied, happy, content in a way that only reaffirmed everything she had come to believe since waking up in this life—she loved him.

She was sure of it.

The realization sent a quiet thrill through her. She had been nervous, hesitant, unsure if her memories would ever return, but last night had proven that love didn’t need memories to exist. She felt it in the way she craved his presence, in the warmth that filled her chest when he looked at her.

Yooyeon shifted slightly, pressing closer to him, breathing in the faint scent of him—clean, comforting, familiar.

But then his voice cut through the soft haze of her thoughts.

“That was… unexpected,” he murmured, his fingers absentmindedly tracing slow circles on her back.

She blinked, tilting her head up to meet his gaze. “Unexpected?”

He hesitated, just for a second. Then, with a careful smile, he said, “It’s been a while.”

A while.

The words settled in her mind, stirring something she didn’t quite understand. Of course, it had been a while—she had only woken up to this life weeks ago. But his tone, the way his hand tightened slightly around her waist, made her feel like it was more than that. Like this distance between them wasn’t just from her accident, but something older.

She wanted to ask—why had it been so long?

But the words never left her lips. It wasn’t hard to imagine why. Their relationship was complicated. She might not remember everything, but she could sense it—the hesitance in his touch, the way he always seemed to be holding back, like there was something unspoken between them.

Maybe that was just how marriage worked. Maybe love wasn’t always constant, but something that came and went.

Still, as she rested her head against his chest, the thought lingered.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

At first, it unsettles you.

The way Yooyeon moves around you so effortlessly, the way she reaches for your hand without hesitation, the way she speaks to you with such natural affection—it’s disorienting.

She doesn’t remember.

She doesn’t remember that your marriage was built on something practical, something strategic. She doesn’t remember that love was never part of the equation.

And yet, she looks at you like it is.

Like it always has been.

You catch yourself hesitating around her more often than not. There’s a strange discomfort in knowing something she doesn’t, in feeling the weight of the truth pressing against your ribs every time she smiles at you. You should tell her. You should set things straight.

But you don’t.

Instead, you find yourself falling into the rhythm of her new version of your life together.

You wake up with her in your arms, and you don’t pull away.

You sit together for breakfast, and when she instinctively places a peeled orange slice on your plate, you take it without thinking.

You come home from work to find her waiting, sometimes with dinner already prepared, other times with stories of her day, filling the house with a warmth that never quite existed before.

And slowly, day by day, you stop resisting.

You settle into married life again—but this time, without hesitation.

She reaches for you first. She falls asleep in your arms, waking up smiling at you like it’s the most natural thing in the world. The distance that once defined your relationship is gone, replaced by something warm, something dangerously easy to believe in.

You let yourself fall into the illusion.

One evening, as you sit in the living room, Yooyeon is curled up beside you, flipping through an old photo album she found while reorganizing the shelves.

“Oh,” she says, her fingers tracing over a picture. “I remember this one.”

You glance over. It’s from a ski trip, a company retreat you attended together two winters ago. She had nearly sprained her wrist trying to prove she could keep up with the more experienced skiers. You had ended up guiding her down the slope, an arm around her waist, both of you laughing as she barely managed to stay upright.

“You do?” you ask, cautious.

“Sort of,” she hums. “It’s faint. More like… I remember how I felt.”

You watch her quietly. “And how did you feel?”

She turns to you with a small smile. “Happy.”

Your chest tightens.

There are other moments, too—soft, fleeting, but impossible to ignore.

Nights spent in the kitchen, cooking together, bumping into each other as you move around the stove. She steals bites of whatever you’re preparing, grinning at you when you feign irritation.

Late-night talks, lying in bed with the lights off, her voice quiet but filled with warmth as she tells you about all the things she wants to do, all the places she wants to see. And for the first time, you let yourself imagine being there with her.

She steals kisses—teasingly, playfully, like you’ve always been in love. A kiss on the cheek as she passes by, a lingering press of her lips to yours just before bed. At first, it startles you, but then you start to expect it. Crave it.

And before you realize it, you start kissing her back.

You begin to dream of a life where this isn’t just a lie.

Another time, during dinner, she asks a question you aren’t prepared for.

“What was our first date like?”

You pause, chopsticks hovering midair. “Our first date?”

She nods eagerly, resting her chin in her hand. “I was thinking about it earlier. I tried to remember, but I couldn’t, so… tell me.”

You exhale slowly, setting your chopsticks down. A smile tugs at your lips, unbidden. “You don’t remember sneaking out of that charity banquet when we were seventeen and eating instant ramen at a convenience store?”

Her eyes widen in surprise before a small, delighted laugh escapes her. “That was a date?”

“You called it one,” you say, smirking. “Said it was the best meal you ever had.”

She hums, thoughtful, before grinning. “I must’ve been charming back then.”

“You still are,” you murmur without thinking.

Her expression softens. Then she tilts her head playfully. “That’s cute, but I meant a real date. You know—one where we both knew what it was.”

You hesitate, because you know what she’s really asking.

There was never a first date in the way she’s imagining—no sweet, nervous anticipation, no deliberate choice to step into something romantic. Your relationship had always been tangled in something more complicated.

But now, as she looks at you with expectation, her fingers absentmindedly toying with the edge of her napkin, you find yourself saying—

“Then let’s have one.”

She blinks. “What?”

“A first date,” you say simply, watching her reaction. “One you can remember.”

Her face brightens, eyes gleaming with something warm, something real. “Okay,” she says, smiling. “Let’s do it.”

And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself believe that maybe—just maybe—this doesn’t have to be a lie.

You don’t realize when you stop overthinking things.

When she slides her hand into yours while walking through a park, you don’t flinch.

When she leans against you while watching a movie, you don’t stiffen.

When she laughs at something you say, her whole face lighting up, you don’t look away.

And one day, you catch yourself smiling at her when she isn’t looking.

The feeling that stirs inside you is unfamiliar and familiar all at once.

Because the truth is—you’ve always had feelings for her.

You just never let yourself acknowledge them before.

But now, standing in the middle of a life that feels almost real, you wonder if this is a sign.

A sign that maybe, just maybe, you can start again.

And maybe—just maybe—you don’t have to tell her the truth.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yooyeon stood in front of the mirror, carefully adjusting the delicate bracelet around her wrist. A soft hum of excitement bubbled in her chest as she checked her reflection one last time. Their first real date—the kind she had always dreamed of. She wanted today to be perfect. Not because it had to be, but because it already felt like it would be.

She had spent the past hour choosing the right outfit, something that felt effortless yet pretty, hoping he would notice. Hoping he would look at her the way she was starting to look at him.

By the time she stepped out of the bedroom, he was already waiting near the door. His gaze flickered over her, lingering just long enough for warmth to spread through her.

“You look nice,” he said simply, his voice softer than usual.

She grinned. “Only nice?”

He exhaled a small chuckle, shaking his head as if she was impossible. Then, more sincerely—“Beautiful.”

Her breath caught. She wanted to tease him, but the way he said it, like he meant it, left her speechless. Before she could find the words, he extended his hand.

A simple gesture. A quiet offering.

She took it without hesitation, her fingers slipping between his, fitting as if they belonged there. He gave her hand a small squeeze, and together, they stepped out into the world beyond their home.

The day unfolded like something out of a dream.

Their first stop was a small bakery-café, the kind nestled between old bookstores and cozy boutiques. It smelled like fresh bread and vanilla, warmth curling in the air like an embrace. Yooyeon picked a selection of pastries for them to share, carefully choosing the ones she thought he would like.

She watched with barely contained excitement as he took a bite of a strawberry tart.

“It’s good,” he admitted, chewing thoughtfully.

“Good?” She gasped, placing a dramatic hand over her chest. “This is art.”

His lips quirked into a smirk. “Alright, it’s art.”

Satisfied, she took her own bite, savoring the sweetness. The café was quiet, filled with the murmur of soft conversations and the gentle notes of a piano melody playing in the background. She found herself stealing glances at him, memorizing the rare ease in his expression, the way the afternoon sunlight kissed his skin.

For the first time in a long time, it felt like they weren’t pretending.

The movie theater was next. She had picked a lighthearted romantic comedy, wanting to keep the mood playful. He hadn’t protested, only giving her an unreadable glance when she insisted it would be fun.

It was.

She found herself laughing at the silliest scenes, and every now and then, when she peeked at him, she caught the faintest trace of amusement in his eyes. He wasn’t laughing outright, but he was watching her more than the movie, and somehow, that made her heart flutter more than anything on the screen.

At one point, when she reached for the popcorn, their hands brushed. Neither of them moved.

Slowly, he intertwined their fingers beneath the dim glow of the screen.

Her heart stuttered. She squeezed his hand lightly.

He squeezed back.

By afternoon, they had made their way to the park, where a small picnic awaited them. She had planned it in advance, packing simple homemade sandwiches and fresh fruit. The air was crisp, the sky stretching endlessly above them, and for a while, they simply enjoyed the peacefulness.

Yooyeon leaned against him, letting her head rest against his shoulder. He didn’t move away. Instead, his hand found its way into her hair, his fingers brushing through it absentmindedly.

Her heart melted.

“I think this is the first time we’ve actually done something like this,” she murmured.

“Like what?”

“Spent a whole day together… just being a normal couple.”

He was quiet for a moment. Then, in a voice so low she almost missed it—

“Yeah.”

She smiled, closing her eyes for a brief second, savoring the warmth of him. The world felt quieter like this. Like it had shrunk to just the two of them, existing in a space untouched by the past.

She wanted to stay in this moment forever.

Night had fallen by the time they reached their final stop—a quiet hill overlooking the cityscape. From afar, the lights twinkled like stars, stretching far beyond what the eye could see. The air was cool, crisp against her skin, but standing beside him, she barely noticed.

“I used to come here alone sometimes,” he admitted, his voice softer, more open. “Just to think.”

Yooyeon turned to him, searching his face. “And now?”

He looked at her then—really looked at her. As if seeing her for the first time. As if realizing something he hadn’t before.

“Now, I think I’d rather share it with you.”

Her breath hitched.

The moment stretched between them, delicate and charged.

Without thinking, she stepped closer, lifting a hand to his cheek, her thumb brushing over his skin. He didn’t pull away. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, leaning into her touch, like it was something he had been waiting for.

Her gaze flickered to his lips.

The tension thickened, the world around them fading until there was nothing left but the space between them.

She moved first, closing the distance, pressing her lips to his in a kiss so soft, so tender, it felt like a secret. He inhaled sharply against her mouth, his hands finding her waist, pulling her closer.

The kiss deepened, slow and consuming, filled with something warm and terrifyingly sweet.

When they finally pulled apart, they were both breathless. He pressed his forehead against hers, eyes closed as if grounding himself.

“Maybe we should go home,” he murmured, voice husky.

Yooyeon nodded, still dazed. “Yeah.”

He took her hand again, this time holding it a little tighter as they made their way back.

And deep down, she knew—tonight wasn’t over just yet.

The drive home is quiet, but not tense. Her fingers remain laced with yours the entire way, her grip firm—like she’s afraid you’ll disappear if she lets go. You don’t say anything about it. You just hold on.

By the time you step through the door, the house feels different. Warmer, despite the lingering shadows. It’s strange how just her presence can make it feel like home again.

Neither of you turn on the lights. There’s no need. The dim glow from the night city lights outside is enough to guide you through the familiar space. Without a word, you both make your way to the bedroom, as if some unspoken understanding pulls you forward.

And now—here you are.

Sitting side by side at the edge of the bed, your hands still loosely linked. The weight of the night settles over you, thick with all the words that haven’t been spoken yet.

You steal a glance at her, only to find her already looking at you. There’s something different in her eyes tonight—not just longing, not just resolve, but something deeper. Something that makes your breath catch.

You thought you had lost her. And maybe, in a way, you did. But now she’s here, choosing you—not because of old memories, not because of a past you held onto alone, but because of now.

And that’s when it hits you.

You had loved her before. Loved her in quiet ways, in restrained touches, in the unspoken words that always hovered on the tip of your tongue. But now—now, you’ve fallen again. Harder. Deeper.

She tilts her head slightly, waiting. For you to speak, for you to move, for you to reassure her that this isn’t a mistake.

You exhale, threading your fingers through hers, squeezing once. “Yooyeon…”

Her name feels different when you say it this time—like something new and familiar all at once.

She smiles, small but real, and she pressed her lips against you.

And just like that, you fall all over again.

She pulls away, her lips barely parting from yours as she searches your face. There’s warmth in her gaze, a quiet certainty that makes your chest tighten. Then, she smiles—soft, unwavering.

You cradle her face in your hands, and she leans into your touch, her eyes fluttering shut for a moment as if memorizing the feel of you.

You kiss her again. This time, there’s no hesitation—just slow, unhurried intimacy, deepening with every passing second.

Her hands rest lightly against your chest, fingers curling slightly against the fabric of your shirt. You can feel her heartbeat, unsteady yet eager, mirroring your own.

Your hand slides up the smooth curve of her thigh, fingers ghosting over her soft skin before slipping under the hem of her skirt. She shudders but doesn’t pull away—if anything, she presses closer, her breath coming faster, anticipation thick in the space between you.

Your lips break apart just as her gaze flickers down—drawn to the movement of your hand between her legs. She knows what’s coming. She wants it.

Without hesitation, your fingers slip beneath her panties, gliding over her soaked heat. A slow, teasing stroke along her slit makes her breath hitch, her thighs twitching in response. You find her clit, circling it with deliberate pressure, and she gasps—soft at first, then louder as your touch grows bolder.

Her head drops onto your shoulder, her body sagging into you, surrendering. You let your free hand tangle in her hair, stroking her, keeping her close as she clings to your other arm. Her grip tightens whenever you rub just right, her body reacting instinctively, desperately.

She’s soaked now, dripping, her slickness coating your fingers as you ease one inside her. She tenses, then relaxes, her walls fluttering around you as you curl your finger, testing, teasing.

“Hnnng…” A breathy moan spills from her lips, her body trembling against yours.

She leans into you, eyes wide and desperate as they lock onto yours—raw, pleading, and hungry for more. You can tell she’s craving every inch of this moment, and you’re more than ready to deliver.

“Can... can I—like, you... lie down?” she asks shyly, her voice low and breathy.

“Sure,” you reply, a mix of confusion and intrigue in your tone as you both head for the bed. Once there, she starts undressing, and you watch, not quite sure what she’s planning.

“Should I... too?” you ask with a playful smirk.

“Ye—yes,” she stammers, her voice thick with anticipation.

Before long, you’re shedding your shirt, pants, and boxers, leaving you completely bare as you wait for Yooyeon to finish. With a final, deliberate move, she slips off her soaked panties, revealing everything. Her eyes linger hungrily on your throbbing package, and after a deep, steadying breath, she crawls over and positions herself on top of you.

Meeting your gaze, she confesses, “It’s because... last time, you teased me way too much,” her cheeks flushing with both embarrassment and desire.

Before you can even reach out for a cuddle, her hand finds your cock, stroking it with a confident, teasing rhythm.

“Yooyeon...” you murmur, barely above a whisper.

Without missing a beat, she shifts so that her dripping, slick pussy meets your throbbing tip. Her natural juices make every touch wet and irresistible.

“Hnnng…” she breathes as she slowly pushes down on you, her warm, inviting opening taking you in inch by inch. Her body settles over yours, fully engulfing you as she adjusts to the sensation.

Then. Her hips start moving—first slow and deliberate, then quickening into a relentless, pulsing rhythm. The heat of her body surrounds you as she rides you hard, every thrust drawing you deeper into a night of raw, unfiltered passion.

“I can feel it twitch…” she breathes, her voice husky as she asks, “Do—does it feel good?”

“Yeah, Yooyeon… it feels amazing,” you reply, your words thick with desire.

Your lips collide, entangling in a deep, fervent kiss as your fingers cradle her cheeks. The kiss intensifies, every touch stoking the fire between you. Rising slightly, she quickens her pace—her desperation unmistakable as she chases her own pleasure.

Before long, exhaustion begins to claim her, and her movements slow; yet even as she gasps for air, her hips remain insistent, grinding slowly despite her fatigue. Sensing an unspoken urge, you murmur, “Yooyeon, there’s something I want to try,” offering an excuse in case she’s too shy to ask outright.

A quick nod is all you need. You reposition her gently to your side, guiding her so that her head rests on your arm. With her back to you, you slide into her again, savoring the fresh angle as both your rhythms realign. Her moans return, matching the new, steady pace that builds once more.

As your hands explore, hers finds yours, fingers interlocking tightly as the intensity escalates. Your other hand wanders over her breasts, teasing her hardened nipples with every deliberate stroke. “I’m—I'm close,” Yooyeon confesses, her voice trembling with anticipation.

Noticing her gaze drifting back to you, you grasp her chin and pull her into another searing kiss, your tongues dancing together. Shifting once again, you climb atop her, pressing her flat against the bed as you prepare to drive her to the edge. “I’m close too,” you murmur between kisses, the admission fusing your sensations into one.

The pace quickens; her moans grow louder, her movements erratic as both your breaths come in ragged bursts. The heat between you becomes almost unbearable, every thrust and every touch amplifying the approaching climax. “Cum with me… please,” she pleads, her voice raw with need.

In that electrifying moment, her body convulses in overwhelming pleasure. You feel your own climax surge through you as you pull away, releasing your heated burst onto her back. The space between you, though charged with the remnants of passion, holds the echo of every gasp, every moan, and every shared moment of unbridled ecstasy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lying in bed, Yooyeon feels the warmth of his arm draped over her waist, the steady rise and fall of his chest against her back. The room is dim, the only light coming from the soft glow of the city outside. She should be at peace, comforted by his presence—yet something gnaws at her, an unease she can’t quite place.

She traces slow circles on the back of his hand with her fingertips, a habit that feels instinctual, familiar, though she can’t remember why. The motion soothes her, but the ache in her chest lingers. Without thinking, she murmurs,

“You always used to hate holding hands.”

His entire body stiffens.

She feels it instantly—the tension in his muscles, the way his breath halts for a split second before resuming, just a little too controlled.

She blinks, turning to look at him. His face is carefully blank, but she knows better now. Knows enough to recognize the way his guard snaps into place.

“…Didn’t you?” she presses, searching his face for an answer.

He exhales slowly, withdrawing his hand. “I don’t remember saying that.”

But she knows he does.

Her memories aren’t whole—just flickers, shadows of something real but unreachable. Yet, in those fragments, there’s a truth she can’t ignore.

She starts noticing it more—the subtle moments when he pulls away. The slight hesitation before he responds to her touch. The darkness in his eyes when she speaks too easily of their love.

And it starts to hurt.

One night, the weight of it all crashes into her. “Why do you act like this?” she asks, voice trembling. “Like you’re afraid of me?”

His expression hardens. “I’m not.”

“You are,” she insists, stepping closer. “I see it in your eyes. Every time I talk about us, about our past, you look at me like—” Her throat tightens. “Like you’re waiting for something to fall apart.”

His jaw clenches. He looks away. “Yooyeon, drop it.”

But she can’t. She won’t.

“Why did we choose the beach?” she asks suddenly, searching his face for the truth she feels slipping through her fingers.

His arm stiffens around her shoulders. “You wanted something grand.”

No. The memory surfaces, unbidden. I wanted it small. Private. Just us.

His gaze is raw, almost pained, as if she’s a ghost he can’t touch. When she reaches for him, he hesitates—a heartbeat too long—before brushing a kiss to her temple.

Something inside her cracks.

The fear she’s been trying to suppress rises to the surface, wrapping around her throat, making it hard to breathe. She needs to hear it. Needs him to say it.

“Did you love me from the start?” she whispers in bed that night, her palm flat against his chest, feeling the erratic rhythm of his heartbeat.

He goes still. Seconds stretch into something unbearable before he answers,

“Yes.”

But it’s the wrong kind of yes—heavy with guilt, not devotion.

She sits up, the sheets pooling around her. “Then why does it feel like you’re lying to me?”

His jaw tightens. Moonlight catches the sheen of sweat at his temple.

“Yooyeon—”

“Tell me the truth.” Her voice cracks. “Please.”

He turns away, his silhouette rigid against the night. “You’re still recovering. We shouldn’t—”

“Stop treating me like I’ll break!” The words burst out sharper than she intends. When she grabs his wrist, he flinches.

He actually flinches.

Her breath catches. “You… you’re scared of me.”

“No.” But his pulse is racing beneath her fingers.

“Then why won’t you look at me?” She cups his face, forcing his gaze to meet hers. What she sees there steals the air from her lungs—anguish, regret, something deeper, darker.

His voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper.

“Because when you remember everything… you’ll wish I hadn’t.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You notice it the moment you step inside.

The air feels different—thicker, colder, heavy in a way that has nothing to do with temperature. Some of the lights are off, casting the house in an eerie dimness, as if it were holding its breath.

And Yooyeon—she isn’t there to greet you.

That alone makes you pause. Even on days when she’s distracted, even when she’s lost in thought, she always turns at the sound of the door unlocking. Always lifts her head, always meets your gaze.

But tonight, she doesn’t.

Your chest tightens. You don’t even take off your coat before stepping further inside, following the faint glow of the living room lamp.

Then you see her.

She’s sitting on the couch, unnaturally still. Her hands rest in her lap as if she’s forcing them to stay there. But it’s her eyes that give her away—locked onto something on the table, unblinking.

A single sheet of paper.

Something prickles at the back of your neck.

“…Yooyeon.”

She flinches. It’s subtle, barely noticeable, but you catch it.

Then, like a switch, she turns to you, a smile flickering onto her lips—too practiced, too forced. “You’re home.”

Your gut twists. Something is wrong.

Still, you don’t press. You nod, greeting her quietly. She nods back, but her fingers tighten against the fabric of her dress, her nervousness seeping into you.

You tell yourself to let it go. To wait. If it’s important, she’ll bring it up.

So you step away, heading toward your home office. The silence follows you.

You place your briefcase down, reaching for the drawer to put away your documents—

—and stop.

The drawer is open.

Your heart stutters.

It shouldn’t be. You always keep it locked. You always make sure.

Your breath is shallow as your eyes lower—and then you see it.

The contract.

The one detailing everything. The terms of your marriage.

The proof of how pragmatic your relationship was.

The paper that stands in direct contrast to the warmth you’ve built with her now.

Your pulse pounds.

Yooyeon.

She saw it.

You’re moving before you can think, your footsteps brisk as you retrace your steps, each second stretching unbearably long.

When you step into the living room again, she’s already looking at you.

Panic. That’s what you see first. She opens her mouth, stumbling over her words, voice thin and desperate, like she’s trying to contain a flood. “I—I found it when I was cleaning. I didn’t mean to pry, I just—”

She stops, swallowing hard. Then, softer, like she already knows she won’t like the answer:

“…What does it mean?”

Your throat tightens.

The weight of it crashes between you, an invisible force pressing against your chest, against your ribs.

She knows.

She doesn’t know.

Not completely. Not yet. But she’s one breath away from understanding.

You could lie. You could say it was nothing. That it was just an old, forgotten document. You could keep pretending.

But you don’t.

Because the truth is already here, unraveling between you.

You exhale, stepping forward, your voice quiet, steady.

“Yooyeon… there’s something I need to tell you.”

The silence is suffocating.

Yooyeon doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t have to. You see it in her eyes. The confusion, the disbelief, the quiet, desperate hope that this isn’t what she thinks it is.

You wish you could spare her. Wish you could rewind to a moment before she found that damned contract, before she looked at you with that kind of fragile, breaking expression.

But you can’t.

So you force yourself to meet her gaze, force yourself to let the truth spill before it’s too late.

“Our marriage wasn’t… real. At least, not the way you think it was.”

Her breath catches.

You don’t look away. “It was arranged. A contract. Your parents and mine, they wanted us to marry. We went along with it.”

Her lips part, but no words come out. You can see the gears turning in her head, the memories she’s tried so hard to piece together now twisting into something cruel, something she never saw coming.

She swallows. “So… so you’re saying…” Her voice shakes. “It was all fake?”

Something twists in your chest.

“No,” you say immediately. Desperately. “No, I—” You drag a hand down your face, frustration clawing at you. “It wasn’t like that. Not for me.”

She flinches.

And that’s when it happens—the moment her heart breaks.

You can see it, feel it, the way her entire body tenses like she’s trying to hold herself together, but the cracks are already there, spreading, widening.

“…Every time you told me you loved me,” she whispers, “was it just part of the act?”

“Yooyeon.” Your voice is strained, pleading. “I didn’t lie about loving you. I just never had the courage to tell you the truth.”

She stares at you.

Then she lets out a quiet, shaky laugh—one that isn’t amused at all.

She takes a step back. Then another.

Your stomach drops.

She’s leaving.

You don’t know where, don’t know if she even has anywhere to go, but she’s walking away from you.

“Yooyeon, wait—”

She shakes her head. “I need to think.” Her voice is barely above a whisper. “I just… I need to think.”

Everything in you screams to stop her. To explain, to beg, to do anything but let her go.

But you don’t.

Instead, you inhale sharply and take a step back first.

“I’ll give you space,” you say, though it nearly kills you. “But don’t leave. Please.”

She hesitates.

You reach for her hand—just barely, just enough for her to know you would still hold on if she let you.

And finally, finally, she exhales, her shoulders dropping as if she’s too exhausted to fight anymore.

“…Okay,” she whispers.

She stays.

But the distance between you has never felt wider.

You exhale, slow and measured, though everything inside you is fraying at the edges.

“I’ll stay at a hotel,” you say, voice quiet but firm. “For as long as you need.”

Yooyeon doesn’t respond right away. She’s still looking at you like she doesn’t know who you are anymore. Like she’s seeing you for the first time and hating that she ever trusted you.

It’s unbearable.

“I don’t want you to feel trapped here,” you continue, forcing the words out despite the knot in your throat. “I don’t want you to think I’m keeping you in a place built on lies.”

Her breath stutters, but she quickly masks it. She’s still trying to be strong.

You wish she wouldn’t.

You wish she’d yell at you, cry, say something that doesn’t feel like an unbearable silence stretching between you.

“Okay,” she finally whispers.

You nod, forcing yourself to move. To walk away first, even when every instinct in you screams to stay.

But before you reach the door, her voice stops you.

“How long?”

You turn, eyes meeting hers.

“How long were you going to keep this from me?” she asks, arms wrapping around herself. “If I hadn’t found out… would you have ever told me?”

The truth is cruel, but it’s the only thing she deserves now.

“…I don’t know.”

Yooyeon swallows, then looks away.

That’s when you realize—you’ve broken something that might never be fixed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yooyeon wakes up alone.

The bed feels bigger now, colder, the silence stretching around her like an unwelcome embrace. She lies there for a moment, staring at the empty space beside her, before finally sitting up.

Another day.

She moves through the house like a ghost, her footsteps quiet, her routine unchanged—yet everything feels different. The kitchen table where they used to share quiet breakfasts, the couch where he used to sit, sifting through papers while she curled up beside him. It’s all the same, and yet it isn’t.

Because he’s not here.

He never called. Never came back.

She should be relieved. This is what she wanted, wasn’t it? Space. Time.

But instead, all she feels is this aching loneliness.

Her eyes fall to the coffee table, where the contract still sits, edges curled from how often she’s touched it, read it, searched it for something—anything—that could make this hurt less.

Each word, each line, feels heavier now. A binding agreement, an arrangement born from necessity. But as the days pass, as she reads it over and over, something in her shifts.

It was never just that.

Her mind drifts back to that night—his voice, raw with emotion.

"I didn’t lie about loving you. I just never had the courage to tell you the truth."

She remembers the way he looked at her, desperate, conflicted, afraid. She hadn’t been able to see it then, too consumed by the betrayal, by the weight of everything she didn’t know. But now, with time, with distance—

Hadn’t she felt the same way?

She rests a hand over the contract, fingers trembling slightly.

Her memories come in fragments. Unclear at first, like pieces of a puzzle she can’t quite fit together. But slowly—painfully, inevitably—they start to return.

She remembers loving him. Wanting him. Long before marriage was even a question.

They had been friends first, before their parents had forced them together. But she had never felt trapped, had never resented the idea. Because she had wanted it too.

She had been happy, at first. Happy at the opportunity to be something more, to step into a future where she could love him freely.

But then—she hesitated.

Fear had crept in, silencing her before she could say the words, before she could risk what they already had. She had told herself it was better this way. Safer.

And then—

The accident.

The memories she had lost. The love she had forgotten.

Yooyeon lets out a shaky breath, pressing her palm against her forehead.

She had already fallen for him before the marriage.

And now—she's not going to lose him again.

She already lost him once to her memories. She won’t let it happen a second time.

It doesn’t matter how it all started, doesn’t matter what had happened before. She had fallen for him before. More importantly is that she fell for him again.

She loves him. Now.

And that’s enough.

Her hands tighten around the contract for a moment before she exhales, setting it aside. She grabs her coat, her keys. She needs to see him.

She needs to fix this.

Without another thought, she heads for the door, heart pounding as she makes her way to his hotel.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You weren’t expecting her.

Not tonight. Maybe not ever.

Days had passed, stretching into something unbearable, something you forced yourself to endure because it was what she needed. Space. Time. A chance to decide if she even wanted to come back.

You had told yourself you wouldn’t wait forever. That if she wanted to leave, you would let her. That you wouldn’t be selfish—not anymore.

But when the knock comes, sharp and hesitant against the hotel door, your heart betrays you.

You open it, and there she is.

Yooyeon stands in the dim hallway, arms wrapped around herself, eyes flickering with uncertainty. Her hair is slightly damp, as if she’d rushed here without thinking twice. Her lips part, as if searching for something to say—something to explain why she’s here at all.

But then she steps forward.

Her hands reach for you first, fingers curling into your shirt, and before you can ask, before you can even breathe—

She kisses you.

It’s not careful. Not hesitant. Not like before.

It’s deep, unrestrained, filled with something desperate and aching, like she’s trying to grasp something that’s always felt just out of reach.

You’re stunned. For half a second, your body locks up—because how could you have prepared for this? For her? For the way she clings to you, pressing herself close like she’s afraid to let go?

And then you give in.

Your arms wrap around her, pulling her fully into you, returning the kiss with everything you’ve held back for too long.

She came back.

She wants this.

When she finally pulls away, her forehead rests against yours, breaths mingling in the small space between you. “I don’t want to remember a love we pretended to have.” Her voice is quiet, steady despite the way her fingers tremble against your chest. “I want to love you for real.”

The words hit harder than you expect.

You swallow, pressing your lips together, hands tightening at her waist. “Are you sure?”

Her answer is immediate. “Yes.”

And that’s all you need.

You don’t know how you make it to the bed. Only that she doesn’t let go. That every step, every kiss, every touch feels like something slipping back into place—like something that had always been there, waiting to be found.

She’s warm against you, tucked under the sheets, her body curled into yours as if she belongs there.

And maybe she does.

Her head rests against your chest, fingers playing absently with the fabric of your shirt. She’s quiet, but not distant. Not like before.

You hesitate, then run a hand down her back, slow, deliberate. She shivers, but doesn’t pull away.

“I thought I lost you,” you admit, voice low in the quiet.

She shifts, tilting her head up to meet your gaze. In the dim light, her eyes are soft, filled with something painfully tender.

“I won’t leave you,” she murmurs.

You inhale sharply.

She presses her hand against your chest, right where your heartbeat pounds—steady, strong.

“Not again.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Their steps were slow, unhurried, yet every kiss, every touch, pulled them further inside, as if gravity itself was drawing them together. Yooyeon wasn’t even sure who was leading. It didn’t matter. Between soft sighs and the heat of his hands on her waist, guiding her closer, she only realized they had reached the bed when the backs of her knees met the edge.

She looked up at him, breathless, her pulse thrumming with anticipation. There was no hesitation this time, no uncertainty. Just them.

She kissed him again, rising onto her toes to meet him, her lips warm and insistent. He responded without pause, deepening the kiss, his hands steady on her waist as he pulled her closer. The sensation of him, solid and warm, sent a shiver racing down her spine.

Then, he pulled away just enough to rise above her, his gaze heavy with intent. Yooyeon’s breath caught, her skin buzzing with anticipation as his fingers found the hem of her sweater. Slowly, deliberately, he lifted it, the fabric sliding over her skin, gathering just above her chest. Cool air met the warmth of her body, sending a shiver through her as her stomach and the lace-covered swell of her breasts were revealed to him.

Her heart pounded as he leaned down, his lips tracing a slow, unhurried path along her jaw, then lower, down the delicate curve of her neck. Every press of his mouth left her skin tingling, warmth pooling deep inside her. His hands followed, tender yet assured, cupping her breasts, his thumbs brushing over the sensitive peaks. A quiet sigh escaped her, her back arching instinctively into his touch, silently urging him on.

His fingers skimmed the slope of her waist, tracing along her ribs before venturing lower. The anticipation made her breath stutter, her senses sharpening as his hand found the waistband of her jeans. She felt his fingers slip past the fabric with ease, the heat of his touch pressing against the thin lace of her panties.

A sharp breath hitched in her throat as he explored, teasing at her center with slow, deliberate strokes. The sensation was electric, sending waves of pleasure curling through her. She clung to his shoulders, her grip tightening as he pushed her further into sensation—patient, unhurried, savoring every reaction she gave him.

Beside her, his warmth enveloped her, grounding her even as his fingers continued their slow, teasing rhythm. Every movement was precise, coaxing, igniting a fire deep within her. She could feel the way her hips responded, rising instinctively to meet his touch, chasing the pleasure he so expertly drew from her.

Her breath came in quiet, uneven gasps, each one only spurring him on. His gaze flickered between her flushed face and the way her body moved under his touch, drinking in every sound, every shiver.

Then, seamlessly, their position shifted. He sat up, pulling her with him, his arms wrapping around her as he cradled her against his chest. Her head rested against the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, her breath shaky, her body trembling in his hold. Yet his hand remained between her thighs, never faltering, never rushing—just holding her there, guiding her deeper into sensation.

She clung to him, her fingers gripping his shirt as if anchoring herself against the pleasure that threatened to consume her entirely.

“Yooyeon…” He whispers her name, his voice deep and coaxing.

His free hand stroked her hair, tender and grounding—a stark contrast to the way his other hand moved with aching precision. She gasped, thighs trembling around his wrist, and he tightened his hold around her, murmuring soft reassurances against her temple.

She could feel his arousal pressing against her through his pants, heat radiating from him. Instinctively, her hand drifted down, palm grazing over the rigid outline. A quiet sigh escaped him at her touch.

“I want to make you feel good,” she whispered, her voice laced with quiet desire.

A silent agreement passed between them as he slowly withdrew his hand from between her thighs, releasing her just long enough to let them shift.

Yooyeon pulled her sweater over her head, the fabric slipping away to reveal bare skin beneath. He helped her, his fingers grazing along her arms as he eased it off. She returned the gesture, undoing the buttons of his shirt, pushing it from his shoulders, baring him to her touch.

Piece by piece, they undressed—her bra, her jeans, the soft slide of lace slipping down her legs until nothing remained between them. She moved closer, hands finding the buckle of his belt, unfastening it with deliberate care. He watched her, breath shallow, as she worked the zipper down, easing his pants over his hips and letting them pool at his feet.

Left only in his boxers, his arousal strained against the fabric, the tension between them thick with anticipation. Settling between his legs, Yooyeon reached for the waistband, fingers curling around it as she tugged it down, inch by inch. The moment the fabric gave way, his erection sprang free, no longer bound by restraint.

She glanced up at him, lips slightly parted, her breath warm against his skin. He looked down at her, eyes dark with something between restraint and longing.

“Yooyeon… you don’t have to,” he murmured, his voice low, hesitant.

She shook her head, her heart aching at how gentle he was with her. “But I want to.”

And she did. It wasn’t just about desire—it was something deeper, something that went beyond the heat simmering between them. She wanted to show him how much he meant to her, how much she trusted him, how much she loved him. Every touch he had given her had been filled with tenderness, with devotion. She wanted to give that back to him now, to see him unravel because of her.

Holding his gaze, she leaned in, letting her lips brush against him first—soft, deliberate, reverent. His breath caught. Encouraged, she let her tongue flick out, tasting him, before slowly taking him into her mouth. He twitched against her tongue, and a quiet groan slipped from his lips. The sound sent warmth curling through her, not just from arousal, but from the knowledge that she could bring him pleasure like this. That he would let her. That he wanted her to.

She moved slowly, savoring the weight of him, the heat, the way his fingers threaded through her hair—not to guide her, not to demand, but simply to touch, to hold. His restraint was palpable, and it only made her more determined to make him feel good.

Her eyes flicked up to meet his, and the sight of him nearly stole her breath. His jaw was clenched, his brows drawn together, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. But it was his eyes that struck her most—heavy-lidded, filled with something deep, something raw. It wasn’t just lust. It was trust. It was need. It was him letting her in, completely.

She took him deeper, her fingers gripping his thighs as she found a rhythm—slow, unhurried, giving him everything she had. She wanted him to feel it—to feel her. To know that this was more than just pleasure, that it was her love, her devotion, poured into every movement.

“Yooyeon…” His voice was strained, rough with need.

She stilled immediately, understanding him without question. He wasn’t asking her to stop—he just wanted something different. Something more.

He reached for her, his hands open, waiting. Without hesitation, she took them, letting him guide her up, pulling her closer.

She followed his lead, moving effortlessly into his lap, their bodies pressing together as she settled atop him. Face to face now, her knees hugged his sides, her chest brushing against his with every breath. A sharp shiver ran through her as she felt him—hot, hard, pressing against her stomach, the intimacy of their position making her pulse race.

She gazed at him, her fingers trailing over his shoulders, his neck, his jaw, memorizing every inch of him. His eyes, dark and unreadable, searched hers, and for a moment, they simply breathed together, held in the gravity of this moment.

Slowly, tenderly, she leaned in, capturing his lips in a kiss—one filled with everything she couldn’t say out loud.

But she wanted to show him. To give him everything.

Her gaze drifted downward as she reached between them, her fingers grazing along his hardness, feeling the heat of him against her palm. A quiet shiver ran through her as she caressed him, taking her time, savoring the way he responded to her touch. With careful precision, she guided him, adjusting her position, her body instinctively preparing to take him in.

And then, without hesitation, she moved.

A quiet gasp left her lips as she slowly enveloped him, her body stretching to accommodate him, every inch sending waves of sensation through her. Her arms wrapped around his neck, seeking both support and connection, her forehead resting briefly against his as she took a steadying breath.

She felt him—deep, warm, filling her completely. But more than anything, what she felt was joy. A slow, radiant smile formed on her lips as she met his gaze, her heart swelling with something beyond just pleasure.

And then, as if that smile was all the invitation he needed, he began to move.

The first thrust sent a sharp, sweet pleasure rippling through her, her breath catching before it spilled out in a quiet moan. The next had her clutching onto him, overwhelmed by the intensity of feeling. The sound of their mingled breaths, the heat between them, the way their bodies moved together—it was all-consuming.

She melted into him, lost in the rhythm, lost in him.

The intensity overwhelmed him, and he fell back, bringing her with him. A gasp left Yooyeon’s lips as she followed, her body molding against his as his thrusts remained unrelenting. His hands moved to her hips, then lower, gripping her firmly as he guided her movements, driving her deeper into pleasure.

She felt the heat, the desperation between them, the way their bodies refused to part even for a second. Every movement sent another wave of sensation crashing through her, pushing her closer to the edge.

But she wanted more than just the pleasure. She wanted him—completely.

Yooyeon cupped his face, her fingers threading into his damp hair as she looked down at him. His jaw was clenched, his brows furrowed, lost in the sheer intensity of their connection. She could see it, feel it—the tension coiling tight within him.

So she kissed him.

Soft at first, then deeper, her lips parting to welcome him, their tongues meeting in a slow, tangled dance. She poured herself into the kiss, coaxing, soothing, grounding him even as the pleasure consumed them both.

And slowly, she felt him relax beneath her, surrendering to her touch, to her.

As his pace became less erratic, she adjusted, matching his rhythm with newfound confidence. She learned his movements, feeling the way their bodies aligned, and slowly, she took control—rolling her hips in time with his, meeting each thrust with her own.

Their breaths synced, their bodies moving together in perfect harmony.

She felt it in the way he held her, in the way his hands tightened on her waist, guiding her but letting her lead. A quiet thrill coursed through her at the unspoken understanding between them, at the way he let her set the pace, trusting her, surrendering to her.

Their eyes met, locking in an intimate gaze, the world around them fading away. There were no words—there was no need for them. In that moment, everything was clear.

It was just them.

“Yooyeon… I’m close…” His voice was ragged, strained, barely holding on.

She gasped, her fingers tightening against his shoulders as pleasure coiled tighter inside her. “Me too…” she whispered, her breath hitching. Then, she met his gaze, her eyes soft, full of trust. “You can… it’s fine.”

A shudder ran through him at her words, at the quiet certainty in her voice.

And then, together, they unraveled.

His grip on her waist tightened as he thrust deep, his release spilling into her just as she came undone around him. A sharp, breathless cry escaped her lips as pleasure surged through her, overwhelming, consuming. She trembled in his arms, her body clinging to his as the waves of ecstasy pulsed through them both.

For a long moment, neither of them moved—just the sound of their breaths mingling, their bodies still entwined, the warmth of each other keeping them grounded.

Slowly, Yooyeon melted against his chest, her heart still racing, a soft, contented sigh escaping her.

They had never felt closer.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You wake up before her.

The first thing you notice is the weight of her arm draped over your chest, her fingers lightly curled against your skin. The second is how deeply she sleeps—peaceful, unguarded, as if she belongs here, as if there was never a time when she didn’t.

Something tight eases in your chest.

You should move, should slip away before she stirs, but you don’t. You just lie there, watching the slow rise and fall of her breathing, the way the early morning light catches the strands of her hair.

She came back.

Not out of obligation. Not because of memories.

But because she chose you.

Your fingers brush over her knuckles, tracing the shape of her hand. She shifts at the touch, her brows scrunching slightly before her eyes flutter open.

For a second, she blinks at you, dazed with sleep. Then, she smiles—small, warm, real. "You're staring."

You huff a quiet laugh. "You're the one who came here in the middle of the night and threw yourself at me."

She flushes, burying her face into your chest. "I did not throw myself at you."

"You did." You smirk, tightening your hold around her. "Not that I’m complaining."

She groans but doesn’t pull away, only presses closer. You feel the sigh she lets out, something soft and content against your skin.

Then, quieter, almost hesitant—“What happens now?”

Your grip on her tightens slightly.

Because the truth is, you don’t know.

There is no contract binding you anymore. No pretense of a marriage built on expectations, no excuse to hide behind the illusion of what you used to be.

There is only this—the love she chose to give you.

And you—the love you’ve always had for her.

You exhale, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “We take it one day at a time.”

She tilts her head up, searching your face. You meet her gaze, your voice quieter when you add, “And this time, we don’t hide.”

Her expression softens. She lifts a hand, cupping your cheek, her thumb brushing just below your eye.

"Okay," she whispers.

And just like that, it’s decided.

This time, it’s real.

No pretending. No distance.

Just you and her.

#kpop fanfic #kpop smut #smut #female idol smut #girl group smut #kim yooyeon #triples yooyeon #yooyeon smut #qwilorg #qwib-short-story #qwib-TripleS #Yooyeon

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defmaybe · 6 months ago

Text

Sparks

12 Days of Christmas: Day 3, December 27th, 2024

tripleS’ Kim Yooyeon x Male Reader

4.2k words

Christmas Masterlist

A/N: Some gaming reference.

—

You couldn’t care less about Kim Yooyeon.

But she won’t seem to let you out of her sight.

—

It’s Christmas Eve. Taylor Swift’s Sparks Fly blares around the house. A bunch of drunk college students are surrounding you, as you’re playing Balatro on your phone, trying to beat the gold stake, the top one. A cup of beer sits by your side.

Your friends are out there trying to win a woman’s heart with their charms, with the help of alcohol and such. You couldn’t care less. You already have video games as your companion. It’s always like this: you’re always on your phone at social gatherings, talking to nobody.

What’s the damn point of coming here, then?

“Hey.”

A voice shakes you. You look up from your phone to find Kim Yooyeon in her Christmas costume—a strapless red and white dress. She looks good, but that’s not enough to pull you out of this damn fun card game.

“Hey, Yooyeon,” you greet her, before going back to hitting another flush on your phone. What is she even doing here?

“How are you?” She takes a seat beside you, one leg on top of the other. It’s revealing, but you’re not giving to it.

With eyes still focused on your phone, you answer her, “I’m good, thanks.”

You hear her sigh, and you realize that you forgot to ask her back. How rude of you!

“How are you, Yooyeon?” you ask her without pouring much care into it. She lets out a short exhale, amused by your nonchalance.

“Pretty good. Just finished my finals this afternoon,” she replies, leaning closer towards you to see what you’re playing. You can see that her dress is slightly revealing. “Ooh, Balatro~”

You let out a chuckle. What’s the possibility of someone like her playing the same game as you?

“Yeah, you play it?” you say, eyes still focusing on the screen.

“From time to time, yeah,” she answers. Her voice is calm, unfazed by the loud music.

You have never gotten the appeal of Kim Yooyeon to the other people around you. Not that you don’t appreciate her, it’s just that you couldn’t care less about this woman. She’s an activity student, taking part in the school band and playing football. She’s damn good as a left winger, according to the other guys. Her duty is cutting inside and scoring or–what’s the word?

Assisting.

You’ve never watched a single game.

You, on the other hand, are a full-time gamer. You stay in your room almost all the time, immersing yourself in the gaming world. You’ve played it all: Elden Ring, Slay the Spire, both parts of The Last of Us, and now Balatro. Talking to people just isn’t your thing.

“Have fun,” she finally says, noticing the gap between you and her, and she walks away into the party, enjoying the music again.

“See ya.” Your eyes didn’t even leave the screen when you said it.

—

The night rolls on. You’re frustrated at the game. You’ve died in the fourth ante for the third time in a row. Fuck! You reached the seventh ante once earlier in the night!

“Bad luck?”

Yooyeon comes back to you. You swear she looks different from an hour ago. She looks… prettier. Maybe it’s the effect of those damn alcohols. You can’t sway for now.

“Y–Yeah,”

Yooyeon then sits down on the chair beside you, one leg over the other. The view’s inviting “Wanna turn off the game and walk around?”

You shoot her a small, polite smile. “Thanks, but I’d rather be here, really.”

“It’d be fun,” Yooyeon persuades. “Might be better than keeping losing to the gold stake.”

She won’t let up, won’t she?

You let out a sigh. “I’ll go out when I’m ready, Yooyeon.”

Yooyeon chuckles. “Come see me when you’re ready~”

And you start a new run, so damn determined to beat this stake.

—

Your efforts prove fruitless, as you’re getting wrecked by the bullshit boss blinds again and again. Your builds just keep getting wrecked by these fucking bosses.

“Fuck.”

New run, new run, new run.

You hear a small giggle from the back. It’s Yooyeon, again.

“Ready to head out?” asks Yooyeon, thumb pointing towards the partygoers hollering behind her.

You groan in displeasure, frustrated by your defeat. You finally have to accept her invitation.

“Sure.”

You get up from your chair despondently. “Lead the way, Miss Kim.”

She lets out a childish giggle. “Alright, we’ll go to the kitchen. I have something for you~”

What could it be?

Yooyeon then leads you to the kitchen, sauntering. Her hips are swaying seductively. Her red and white Christmas costume is hugging her curves a little too well, and you wish you could just tear it off and start eating–

Where did that come from? Control yourself!

You walk through the murmuring crowd. Some of them are whispering to each other. They’re probably wondering what could’ve a star winger been doing with a nobody like you. You’re a bit tense by the onlookers. But with Yooyeon in front of you, it feels–weirdly calming.

You two finally reach the kitchen. She opens the fridge door, bending down to grab an egg. Her meaty thighs are all there for you to see. Her butt makes a slight contact with your crotch gently. Your breath hitches a little, but you can’t let her know she affects you.

Against the counter, she breaks the egg. She drizzles the white part of it out into the sink, leaving the yolk intact. It hasn’t broken yet.

What is she going to do with it?

She then chugs the yolk into her mouth. Your breath hitches slightly. Does every athlete have this crazy diet?

She turns back towards you. The yolk is still inside her mouth. She’s walking to you, swaying her hips, balancing the yellow blob with her tongue. Fuck, what an image.

“Y–Yooyeo–”

She grabs onto your face with both of her hands, pulling your face closer to hers, pressing you down, making your knees bent. You get a scent of her intoxicating perfume. She smells so good. Her thumbs push your mouth open, before she passes the yellow yolk into your mouth, intact. Your heartbeat speeds up. Your breathing quickens. Your hands tremble. You are everything but sure of what is happening.

Fuck.

You stare nervously into Yooyeon’s eyes, who seem satisfied with her result, making you a shaking mess with a yolk inside your mouth. She’s smirking. She’s rejoicing in this. Her hands are still gripping on your face tightly.

The yellow substance rests on your tongue idly. It tastes so fucking weird, but you can’t just spit it out so damn easily. You’re trying your best not to break it, but it’s fucking hard when you’re a shaking mess like this. You stutter out moans and moans with it inside.

You slowly stand up straight, slightly towering over her again. Although, with the smirk she’s having on her face, and the grip she has on your face, she’s holding the upper hand here.

She then opens her mouth, sticking out her tongue slightly, signaling you to pass the yolk back into her cavern. You close your eyes as you do so, letting out a shaky hum. It drifts from your mouth to hers. The earthy taste of it lingers—raw, pungent.

Yooyeon lets out a giggle with the golden blob in her mouth. It’s opening slightly. Her right hand lands on your back, forming an embrace, drawing stuttered whimpers out of you.

You’re lost in the sensation of her touches. Her left hand caresses your cheeks, even plunging her salty thumb into your mouth. You suck on her finger like some common whore. Her right hand travels under your belt. She’s grabbing your bulge softly. It feels so good.

Again, she then forces your mouth open with her fingers, before carefully lodging the yolk into your mouth. You try to receive it gently. You’re doing your best not to break it, but it’s hard when you’re under Yooyeon’s spell like this.

She plays with the tent in your pants eagerly, doing her best to make you lose control. She smiles wickedly before unzipping your pants, giving her a hole to play with your boxers. God, you feel like a toy for her, and that feels utterly divine.

You can feel that it’s starting to grow runny within your mouth. It’s going to break, but you can’t just let it happen! Yooyeon, please open your gorgeous mouth!

Like a saving grace, Yooyeon parts her lips slightly again. Shaken, you pass the amber blob back into her cavern. She accepts it with a hum, still caressing your caged cock eagerly. She lets out a satisfied hum in response to the yolk within her mouth.

You watch as the golden yolk rests on her tongue. The image is nothing short of outlandishly vulgar—every twist of her tongue, every squeeze of her hand. She’s so good at this.

She decides to toy with you a little more, inserting her slender fingers into your mouth. You accept them gleefully, so fucking ready to suck on her fingers like a bitch. You feel so good, so joyful, being her little man-whore like this. You’re so ready to be used by her like a personal fucktoy.

Her right hand digs under your boxers. She’s grabbing your cock now! And she’s fondling your balls like she owns it (she owns it). Her dexterous fingers are making you want to moan like a bitch. You let out an uncontained whimper at her touch into her fingers, looking weakly into her eyes. She has all the power over you now, and you can do nothing about it but to let her use you.

Again, she pries your mouth open with her fingers, opening hers along with yours. The yolk becomes visible again. Your turn.

She deliberately tilts her head down as you lower your knees to level yourself. The golden blob rests on her lips before it slides into your mouth.

A soft cry leaves you as the egg finds its place on your tongue. The sensation is unreal—the pungent taste of the amber ball, her fondling on your cock. You can cum right here and now, coating her right hand with your white, viscous nectar.

You slowly straighten yourself, towering over her once again. The power she’s holding over you remains. Both you and her know that she’s in control here. Her eyes bore straight into yours, making your legs shaking with anxiety.

There’s a hint of strawberries on her lips. She’s barely touching you on the mouth. Her breathing stays steady, as if she’s not at all affected by this. Her right hand is still squeezing your testicles in a consistent rhythm, enough to keep you stay obedient under her.

The egg enters your welcoming mouth. It feels so fragile inside you, and you’re struggling to control it. You feel weak. You panic. Your body trembles in anxiety. Is it going to–

The yolk breaks.

It explodes inside your mouth. Yellow liquid leaks out of its thin shell. The earthy, pungent taste fills your mouth, and you hear Yooyeon giggle, still groping your cock. Your eyes flutter at the overwhelming sensation. It feels so–full. Your head falls backwards, and the yolk leaks out of your parted lips, leaving a yellow trail in its wake on your face, on your shirt, and on your pants.

“Slut.”

—

The baby blue bedroom is barely lit. There’s a Bringing Out the Dead poster on the wall to your right. The owner probably likes Scorsese, you guess. There are Carly Rae Jepsen vinyls displayed on the shelf on your left—Emotion, Dedication, The Loneliest Time. God, the owner has some taste! The room smells of spring. It was taken care of well.

You lie on the soft bed, pliant, as Yooyeon presses you down with her entire body weight strongly, kissing you. Her legs are straddling your thighs, capturing you in place. You have no escape, but it’s like you’d do a thing right now. Yooyeon captures your lips in a fervent kiss. Her tongue pierces into your mouth hungrily, letting out a content hum as she does so. The taste of the yolk and alcohol still lingers in her breath.

Her hands find themselves on your face, holding you in place for the kiss. Her hips grind on your crotch in an erratic rhythm, and that makes you moan. She feels so damn good on your cock. You’re struggling to thrust up towards her still-clothed cunt. You feel so restrained like this.

She then pulls back, panting, leaving a string of saliva connecting your lips for a split second before it is torn off by the distance. Her hands move down to your flat chest.

“Nasty little slut,” Yooyeon sneers.

You let out a submissive whimper at the demeaning name. This feels great–her hands on your chest, her heat on your crotch, her vulgar words piercing your ear.

“Playing so damn hard to get, aren’t you?” Yooyeon continues. Her grinding grows harsher, making you stutter out whimpers. “Tell me I didn’t get this abs just for you to ignore me in the hallways.”

Her garment is pulled up, showing her firm muscles underneath. Your mouth opens wide in awe. She looks damn delicious. Jokes on you for not looking at her midriff when she wears those alluring crop-tops. You reach out to touch her, feeling the contour of her abs. She groans in satisfaction.

“Fucking whore.” Yooyeon laughs wickedly. Her head falls backward in ecstasy as she ups the ante on your crotch. Your body writhes in unbridled pleasure.

“Oh, I haven’t finished The Last of Us. I’m stuck at Radahn. I’m close to winning Ascension Twenty,” she mocks you. Her assaults on you are violent. You whimper again. What a slut.

“And now you’re touching my abs like some whore,” she scoffs. Her words are searing through you, but your arousal only heightens with the demeaning words. Her breathing seems to quicken with your touch.

Your mind can’t register anything around you anymore, so lost in the haze of her conquest and her degrading words over your body. You’re so lost that you don’t notice her hands unbuttoning your shirt, slowly revealing your out-of-shape body—should’ve hit the gym more often.

In a quick motion, she continues stripping off your body. She pulls your pants down to your ankles as she scoots slightly backwards on the bed. Your erection is visible under the boxers.

“Haven’t been using him a lot, have you?” she asks with an evil grin, fondling your cock gently.

“I–I’ve–ngh–had sex b–before, Yooyeon,” you stammer.

“Slut.”

She then slips your boxers down. Your cock springs free from its fabric cage. Her eyes sparkle with wonder. She loves your cock, and she just can’t wait to impale herself with it.

Hastily, she takes off her gorgeous red-and-white top. What a waste. She looks so pretty in it, but that thought is immediately replaced by the view of her toned body. You stare at her in awe. Her pert breasts are on full display, brown nipples already erect, just for you to–

“Mmm, suck on my tits like that, bitch.” Her words spur you on. You keep tasting her nipples like your life depends on it. You keep alternating your mouth between both sides, kneading the other with your free hand. Her aroma is an aphrodisiac to you—pungent, raw—and that only makes you grow more ferocious under her.

Feeling fulfilled with your sucking, Yooyeon pushes you onto the bed with a thud upon landing. You groan in the absence of her breasts inside your mouth.

“This is the part where you’ll be fucking my cunt,” Yooyeon orders, as she stands up on the bed, taking her panties off. The sight is nothing short of perfectly depraved. Her frame looks even more appetizing towering over you, but sadly (or not), you’re not the one in control here.

Her undergarment comes off easily, and now she’s holding it. She’s looking at it, contemplating, before a light bulb in her head is switched on.

“You want this?” she asks, lowering her panties close to your nose. You can smell the raw aroma of her cunt. It’s so hypnotic.

You nod sheepishly, and she grins wickedly before pressing the cloth onto your nose. Your air becomes the bewitching scent of her pussy. Your inhales grow deeper, wanting to take in all of her smell. She’s musky. She’s tart. She’s making your brain go haywire.

You hear her laugh mischievously. Her eyes are darkened with pure desire. You couldn’t have asked for a better situation to be in right now.

“Keep it on your nose while I ride this cock,” Yooyeon orders sternly. You nod, her panties still on your face.

She then slowly lowers herself. You feel her wet heat hovering above your throbbing manhood. Her red and white skirt covers the nice view, but you’d argue that it’s hotter this way, with her panties on your nose also and all. Your breathing grows even more erratic. So does hers. Her hands find purchase on your chest, almost drawing blood from you. It hurts, but you couldn’t give less fuck about it.

The first contact between your cock and her cunt makes you two form a cacophony with your moans. She welcomes you with such tightness that makes your eyes flutter in ecstasy, while your size stretches her cunt out so wide that she moans.

“Goddamn–shit! You’re so fucking big!” she shouts, eyes looking into the ceiling. Someone is going to hear that, even with these thick walls.

She goes even deeper on your cock. You two groan in pure bliss as she impales her cunt with you. Pleasure shocks through you like electricity. The sensation that’s hugging around your cock is just so unreal. Her eyes point towards the ceiling. She’s really enjoying this.

“You feel so much better than my dildo, holy fuck!” Her words only serve to heighten your arousal, making your body quiver even more, as she sinks down on your cock. She’s going to reach the hilt.

And you feel it, her warm ass touching your balls. She’s at the hilt. You’re fully inside her. Her eyes flutter. Her body spasms. Her moans stutter.

“F–F–Fuck, goddd,” cries Yooyeon. She’s loving your cock. She stays there, savoring every second of your cock inside her entrance. She’s sitting on your lap.

“Y–You know, I’ve been waiting on this day for so f–fucking long,” she says, still gripping on your chest tightly. Her face flushes. “I’ve been doing a lot to make you look, you know?”

“Well, I’m look–”

Yooyeon cuts your train of words with a finger inside your mouth, silencing you. You know what to do: sucking on it like a whore.

“Should’ve known that all it takes for you is an egg.” She lets out a chuckle. “Slut.”

You say nothing, just smiling with joy, not resisting her finger inside your mouth. The sensation pooling in your crotch is burning.

She slowly lifts herself off your cock, the feeling tells, despite her short skirt covering the act. Her breathing grows erratic, and so does yours. You and her cry out in pleasure, eyes fluttering. It feels so good.

And she impales her cunt again. The two of you groan deeply in pleasure. Her thighs ripple against yours.

“Mmm, yesss,” Yooyeon moans.

She finds her rhythm, lifting off of you, slamming her hips back down, and repeats. Your whole body feels electric, welcomed by her tight, wet cunt that grips your cock like a vice. The feeling of the friction on your length is nothing short of ecstatic. Her panties fall off from your face to the side. Her aroma is gone, but you won’t complain.

“You goddamn slut. You love my pussy, don’t you?” Yooyeon scoffs, wrapping her hands on your throat. You can barely breathe, and it’s driving you insane. She grins, and that looks so fucking frightening, but also–hot, somehow. “Bet I’m so fucking wet and tight, gripping your cock so good.”

You can only nod sheepishly to her questions, before she tightens her grip around your throat even harsher. You can’t breathe. You’re making gagging sounds. You’re so damn happy. It’s so goddamn pleasurable.

“Better breed me to make up for that time lost, understand?” she orders, and you just nod along with her words again.

She lifts her hands off your throat. It’s nice to finally get some air again. She picks up her pace on your cock. It becomes reckless now. You’re letting out guttural groans and whimpers, and she’s rejoicing in your pleasure.

Her motions become turbulent. Your cock is now sore from all the riding she’s doing. Still, you’re more than happy to let her use you like this. You’re more than happy to let her own your little ass.

She sucks a sudden, before uttering, “G–Gonna cum.”

“M–Me t–too, nghhnn.”

“Don’t you dare fucking cum before me, alright? I don’t want your cock to go soft before I squirt on this–” she then wanders her hand over your willing body, feeling every single curve and contour she can find, making you whimper “–little body of yours.”

Yooyeon giggles, before ramping up her pace. She plunges her fingers into your welcoming mouth once more, and you’re sucking them like a whore. She lets out grunts and groans, bouncing on your cock. The friction on your cock is just too pleasant. Then, there’s the smell of her body, now slick with sweat. You’re too happy to take it in. She’s pungent. Your eyes are fluttering from the overwhelming sensation.

She lets out a fair bunch of profanities, mostly calling you a slut (which you’d happily admit you are). Then, there come the signals. Her body spasms. Her walls contract. You can just feel it.

“Gonna cum, gonna cum, gonna cum.”

“Wh–Wha–”

“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!”

She arches backwards, showing off her toned abs. A torrent of liquid sprays out of her cunt onto your stomach. Her body writhes on top of you before collapsing into your embrace. Her loud, aggressive groans fill your ear.

“Wh–What a good f–fucking cock,” she mutters with any of the energy she has left. Exhaustion catches her, but you can’t stop now. It’s your turn.

With your remaining stamina, you thrust up into her sensitive cunt. Both of your moans form a cacophony that fills the room, along with the sound of flesh slapping into each other.

“Goddd~” Yooyeon groans. You’re hammering into her with reckless abandon. Her body vibrates with each of your thrust. “I’m not letting you cum outside, slut. I’ve been waiting for this for too long.”

She then inserts her fingers into your mouth again, to which you’re happy to suck on them like you’re her slut (you’re her slut). Your hips are still pumping your cock into her.

And it comes, the impending doom, the storm. The familiar feeling is building up inside your loins. You’re going to cum inside Yooyeon!

“G–Gonna cum.”

“C–Cum inside me, cum inside me,” she orders, eyes staring into yours. She wants this. She needs this.

And you break. Your whole body quivers. Your cock shoots ropes and ropes of cum into her pussy. It twitches and twitches within her. Yooyeon bends forward to capture you in a deep kiss, piercing her dexterous tongue into your mouth. Her hands grip onto the sides of your face tightly. The lewd sound of the kiss fills your ear. Fuck, this feels so good.

The orgasm slowly dies down, though still leaving a lasting effect on your cock that’s twitching inside of her. Yooyeon pulls back from the kiss, finally. A string of saliva connecting your lips can be seen. She pants, looking up at the ceiling. Sweat runs down her face. She looks so ethereal in the afterglow.

“Fuck,” she utters, unable to catch her breath. Her breathing is still out of rhythm.

You can only smile, watching her almost naked on top of you like this. It’s a sight.

Yooyeon then collapses down against your body. Her skin is slicked from all the sweat from the fucking. You can feel her fast heartbeat on your chest. Your cock is still buried deep inside of her.

She then drags herself off of your now-flaccid cock. You groan at the sensitivity you’re feeling. She only giggles at you in response.

“Let me go to the bathroom first, and maybe, maybe, we can go for another round,” she says, before getting off the bed and sauntering towards the bathroom. She strips out of her short skirt on the way, finally giving you the view of her plump ass you’ve been craving.

It’s going to be a long night.

—

#yooyeon #triples #yooyeon smut #triples smut #kpop fanfic #kpop smut

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triplesnet · 2 months ago

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tripleS <ASSEMBLE25> ‘Are You Alive’

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eliatopia · 2 months ago

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　　　　 .·:*¨¨*:·. ✿ᩨ

͏ 　 ͏ 　 ͏ 　𐂯 ͏ 　 ⠀𝒮pring　 ᭄

♫ 　　ໂ✿ ྀི﮾᳜ ⡴ ⠀

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mintwithchoco · 9 months ago

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What You Need

tripleS Yooyeon x Male Reader

Word Count: 3260 words

Categories: smut, oral, facial, dom-ish!yooyeon (?) idk, she's just desperate to get that d

Inspired from;

“My go— Yooyeon! We’re still filming, we can't do this!”

“Shut up.”

There's nothing that can stop Kim Yooyeon from getting what she needs. She may seem cold and calm on the outside, but once an interest is sparked within herself, she'll do whatever it takes to reach it, no matter the situation.

You know that you’re fucked all around when she sends you that look from afar a few minutes ago. Might as well blame it all on her at first for wearing that pink top, showing off her tight figure so well, forcing you to never peel your eyes away from her. She's bold and relentless, and it shows by the way she’s metaphorically fucking you with her eyes while filming, and you can only curse silently behind the camera, catching the secret message. It can only get worse from here on out (or better actually) as once she gets out of the frame, she walks past you quickly while whispering, “Fuck me, now.”

She slams the door shut as soon as she gets you inside the cramped bathroom. Before you can do anything to resist, she forcefully closes the distance between your lips by wrapping her arms around your neck. If you wanted to, you could just break out of her embrace and run out of the door. Instead, you have been poisoned by the emanating warmth of her body, the softness of her skin touching yours, and the sweetness of her lips, making you fall deeper and harder into her.

“Yooyeon—” She doesn't let you speak in the downtime of the makeout, dragging you back in as soon as she gets air in her lungs. “We can’t—”

“Don’t fucking lie. I know you’re craving for me too.”

You recoil at her undeniable statement—that voice is dripping with way too much arousal. “What if someone hears us?”

“I know, but, please,” Yooyeon’s hands rest on your shoulders. “Just for a while. I really need you.”

Fuck, she really knows how to make you submit. Those bright brown orbs, begging for her needs are crumbling your morals apart, inviting you to commit this wicked act that can potentially end everything you have in life. But if it does come to an end, I guess ruining your career with a pretty lady such as her isn't as bad as it seems, right?

“Damn it,” She shrieks when your hands scoot over her butt and squeeze them gently. “Let's make it quick, and quiet.”

You overlook her cute little smile as your lips crash into hers again. The tides have now turned around with hunger filling you up almost immediately, overpowering the girl’s lust, evident by the way you’re aimlessly caressing every single part of her. Fear runs through your veins due to her moaning resoundingly into your mouth, afraid that the muffled noise would alarm anyone close by. Though, it was quickly diminished by her delicate fingers groping the raging tent on your lower half.

“Mmm, you’re so fucking hard already.” Her tone is now deeper than before, and it arouses you even more.

You try your best to control your ragged breaths as the pressure is building up in your bulge. “You’re the one to blame. God, you look so pretty.”

Another thing’s for certain is that you are addicted to leaving your marks all over Yooyeon. You generously land kisses on her neck nonstop while slowly sliding the straps off her shoulders. She giggles away, but also does the equivalent to you by slipping her hand down into your pants and continues her massage through the fabric of your boxers. Unfazed by this, you yank down her top to reveal a white bra, and you waste no further time to knead the covered breasts. Her soft gasps are like a muse to your ears, enthralling you more. Yooyeon is obviously weakening under your touch as her attempt to pull down both your pants and boxers fails as it only comes off halfway.

Yooyeon’s expressions are fucking up your whole self entirely. You eventually finish off what she wanted to do, letting your cock feel the humid air in the bathroom. She feels the warm shaft throbbing in between her thighs, already leaking out with precum. While you reach behind to release her boobs from its fancy confines, her fingers are quick to wrap around your shaft and stroking it to full hardness. The white undergarment then drops to the tile floor, joining in the built up pile of your clothes.

Her husky voice rings in your ear once again. “Sit down. I wanna taste you.”

The toilet is turned into a makeshift seat as you oblige to her request, sitting down on the cold surface. She quickly kneels down in between your legs, the raging shaft is now right in front of her breathtaking visual. You can never imagine that this innocent goddess would be a vixen in disguise, the one who triggers your hormones into this sexual overdrive. The contrasting thought has been completely erased however, as Yooyeon begins her oral teasing on your tip, drawing small circles while collecting your precum on her tongue.

“Holy shit—” is all you can utter when Yooyeon wraps her lips around the cockhead, finally getting a feel of her warm mouth. She starts slow and small, only taking in your tip momentarily before building herself up to take you in deeper. With her hands stroking your thighs, your sensations are heightened, the extreme pleasure shivering down your spine forces your head to unwillingly fall backwards.

And if that wasn't enough, she draws you in with her words. “Keep your eyes on me.”

You muster up the will to look down, and you have never been more than grateful to witness Yooyeon doing wonders to your cock. Showing no signs of slowing down at all, this girl is filling up her wet cavern with the entirety of your length, her cheeks puffing up whenever she brings it to the sides of her mouth. You find it rather cute somehow, but it doesn’t falter the groan that leaves your lips every time she sucks you hard, and releases you by the tip.

Her tongue rests on the underside of your shaft, vigorously licking it up to the head, and down to the base. She takes you in for the second time, and this time she's not holding anything back. Her head bobs furiously at a gradual pace on your shaft, making it fully covered with her saliva. The way her mouth perfectly envelopes with the shape of your cock is agonizingly pleasurable and mysteriously fascinating, as she never seems to gag whenever you hit the back of her throat, only leaving a great amount of spit when she disappointingly leaves your shaft.

“I can suck on this all day. It's so perfect.” The unexpected compliment compels your cheeks to turn slightly red.

Your eyes are blessed with the sight of Yooyeon’s handiwork; fingers delicately running up and down your lubricated shaft and her oral fixation; swirling her tongue around the swollen cockhead. While your whole soul is tearing apart when her dazzling orbs lock upon yours, pairing it with that small smirk and nose scrunch, her visuals clearly contradicting the sinful work she's doing. It goes to show how much she's enjoying herself, the desire that has been building up for the past couple of days finally breaks apart, thanks to her resilience.

You couldn't handle it anymore, plus your time is getting much thinner. Your hand creeps up to her chin, and you lean over to catch her lips amidst her strokes, sharing multiple kisses. As you suck on her lower lip, you slowly guide her into your lap. Your cock brushes against her midriff, which in return emits a low moan from Yooyeon, realizing that her clothed vagina is in the close proximity of the pulsating length.

“Get this off me please.”

Easier said than done. You’re too busy leaving kisses all over her neck, taking in all of her floral scent and having a hand full from squeezing her tits and tweaking her nipples. Nonetheless, the free hand manages to remove her shorts by pulling down on different parts of it. You didn't bother taking off her matching panties however, as it is deemed essential in her disheveled look.

You let out a satisfied breath. “Fuck, I can't get enough of you.”

With a steady grip on her waist, you dive your face into Yooyeon’s chest and engulf her right nipple into your mouth. Your hardness throbs upon the whine she lets out while your tongue does its best to stimulate the brown nub. The left side deserves some love as well, and a set of fingers playing around it is enough to induce an effect. Her small moans are being played into your ears directly, and it motivates you to worship this goddess to the fullest. You feel her hand pressing your head further in as you switch sides of your gratifying assault, this time attacking her left nipple in a similar way.

“Mmmh, fuck! More, I nee— ohh yes, you’re so fucking good.” God, everything that she does never fails to make you swoon.

The heat in between her thighs could not be ignored anymore, and you know just the right way to deal with it efficiently. By bringing her body closer to yours, your cock makes contact with her crotch, and it drives the both of you to cloud nine. You soon realize how soaked her panties really is—it wasn't hard to make her grind against your shaft. The slickness from earlier’s blowjob really adds to the mixture of pleasure, as each sway of her hips is met with audible squelches. The dopamine courses quickly throughout both of your bodies, and it intrigues you to fall deeper into her sinning.

Yooyeon shrieks when your fingers pull her panties to the side, exposing her glistening pussy to you at long last. Even through the really tight space in between your bodies, your eyes manage to send the image of her lips fully covered in her juices, and dripping down on your cock to your brain. Continuing her hips rhythm onto yours is her breaking point of being discreet, as the skin-to-skin sensation makes her shamelessly spit out every curse words that she knows.

“Please, please, please, just— oh!” Yooyeon’s desperation is cut off when you tease the opening to her hole with your tip.

You really want to break her apart furthermore, but your rational thought comes forward in the heat of the moment, as you automatically place a finger on her lips. “Lower your voice, don’t want anyone to hear us.”

Yooyeon snarls, “Fuck that, let them hear us if they want to. All I need is you inside me. Now.”

There's not a single resistance, let alone purity nor innocence left. Sinners are what both of you are, drowning into the depths of eroticism, unable to rise back up to the risks of reality. You grab the base of your cock steadily, carefully letting it glide on her lips to slightly spread them apart. Holding onto your shoulders, Yooyeon prepares herself mentally and physically to take in all of you, although her body is trembling just from your teasing. It didn’t take long for you to penetrate her pussy with just the first few inches, and it sent both of you to heaven in an instant.

“Fuuuuck…” Yooyeon cries out as her tightness surrounds you the lower her hips descend. Halfway inside her walls renders you to bury your head in her neck, its wetness and warmth is truly remarkable. The pleasure elevates when you feel her fluids leaking onto your crotch once you’re fully buried deep in her.

“You’re so fucking tight, oh my god.” You moan into her ears, before your hands familiarize itself with her slim waist. “Fuck me like you mean it.”

Enchanted by your words, Yooyeon grinds her hips as much as she can, squealing in delight even in the smallest of motions. Her walls continue to constrict you with all its might, yet the pain only drives you into wanting more. And that’s exactly what the goddess did, as she began bouncing onto your lap in a slow rhythm. Gripping on her thighs and planting both feet harder to the floor, your hips began to move in a different wavelength than hers, forcing her to take a considerable amount of your length inside.

“You're— fuck, so big, so fucking big! Harder!”

If it wasn’t for the loudness, it's possible that someone may have noticed the suspicious amount of time this room has been occupied. That thought wasn’t in any of your heads whatsoever—breaking it off right now would be meaningless. The risk of being caught in this moment is rather thrilling, and it certainly helps the pressure that’s been building inside you to grow.

“Yesyesyesyesyes!” Her screams resonate within the tile walls. Immediately, you muffle them with a passionate kiss before she gets even more vocal.

Yooyeon has truly lost herself. She doesn't even notice the way her hips are driving faster and harder, her filled pussy continuously seeping out her juices. It’s a breathtaking view from any angle that you can catch with your eyes. Looking up from her ethereal yet depraved expressions, down to her divine body jiggling with each thrust, to the point of impact on both of your crotches—it would be a shame for you to not let out your deepest groans to make her truly understand how you feel.

A sense of dominance comes across your mind. You own her as a whole, and no one deserves her more than you. “Don’t stop. Don’t you dare stop. Fucking cum for me.”

You don’t intend to slow down. As your hips begin pushing up into her roughly, Yooyeon tightens the embrace around your shoulders while profusely moaning into your ears. Eventually, your tip hits deep inside a certain area in her pussy, prompting her body to jerk violently. You stay there for a while before fucking into the same spot once again, this time with much more intensity, sending multiple streams of pure dopamine into the angel who has been tainted with lust.

“Fuck, please, please, make me cum! I wanna cum all over you!”

Your shirt is now soaked in sweat, but that doesn’t deter your adrenaline in the slightest. The force of your thrusts continues to rock Yooyeon’s petite frame, and you gratify her need to reach her climax by latching your lips on her erect nipples anew, the right one being the first. You expertly divide your attention on both tits, and your tongue swirls around them swiftly, letting you taste the saltiness of her sweat. The mix of slick friction on her lower half, the tenacious teasing on her chest and the wordless groans she lets out is enough to lead her into the well-deserved orgasm.

“I’m cumming, oh god, I’m cumming!”

One powerful thrust followed by a high pitched scream, and she explodes on contact. The massive gush of her nectar washes all over your crotch and thighs instantly, while her pussy torturously contracts around your cock, releasing everything that she has. As her body becomes weaker throughout her peak, your thrusts into her haven't died just yet—you’re yearning for the same high that she reached. The wetness escalates, as her squirting prolongs itself to stain your shirt and your seat below.

Still shaky from her climax, Yooyeon struggles to speak up, but her point was acknowledged. “A-Are you c-close?”

You simply nod, and in some way, she manages to come back to her senses to get off from your lap and sink down on her knees, just like earlier. Without any warning, she shoves your cock into her mouth once more, taking away your breath and compelling you to lean against the toilet tank. Her head bobs with precision, not going too deep nor too shallow, but close enough to keep you on this euphoric flow. The unanticipated head is proven to be the consequent snap to your own release, apparent by the excessive heaving of your chest and the twisting tension in your stomach.

“Oh my god, Yooyeon!” You groan out loud just as Yooyeon stuffs you deep in her orifice, her spit drenching you all over and your tip hitting the back of her throat. She withdraws from you with a gasp, and strings of drool trails itself from her lips to your shaft. Her fingers wrap around you straight away, moving back and forth expertly, assisted by the tormenting slurps on its underside.

“Fuck, you look so adorable moaning away like that.” She means it well, given by the increased pace at her strokes, licks and sucks on your member.

There’s nothing that can turn both of you away now. She’s getting what she needs, and you’re on the brink of manifesting it to reality. “Shit, Yooyeon, I’m gonna cum!”

“Cover my face, please? I want it all over me.”

Her gaze full of admiration and wonder is the last thing you see before your vision becomes a blurry mess and your vocal cords let out a shattered grunt, marking it as the last step over the edge to your release. In a split second, long streaks of white cum spurt out of your cock, painting all over the godly facial features of Kim Yooyeon. The hot semen marks its territory on her sharp nose, her flushed cheeks, her closed eyes and most importantly, her slightly ajar mouth.

As the last few drops land upon her chin, you take in the beautiful mess that you have created. You wish that you could save this deep memory—or rather, engrave it into your brain somehow of Yooyeon’s gorgeous look, completely covered in a coating of your semen, and it eventually drips down to her breasts and shoulders. It is truly a magnificent sight to behold, and you can never ask for anything better.

“Wow…” you weakly mutter while Yooyeon sucks the remains of your cum out of your tip. On top of that, she swipes some of the mess on her face with her fingers and licks it off cleanly to get a proper taste of you.

“Delicious.” Yooyeon responds with a hearty giggle. “Thank you, darling. This is what I really need.”

The cleanup didn’t take very long, as the essentials for it are already arranged in the room. Yooyeon quickly settles herself, so in order to avoid any suspicions, you ask her to join in with her members first. She agrees, and leaves you with a sweet kiss on your cheek before going outside.

Although Yooyeon is able to sneak out the door silently, a tall figure creeps up behind her unnoticed.

“What were you doing in there?” Yooyeon jumps in shock and looks behind towards the well-known voice.

Her nervousness was blatant. “Uhh, I had a really bad stomach ache—”

“I saw everything unnie. You didn’t lock the door.”

Yooyeon sighs and facepalms herself for her recklessness. “Shit. Don’t tell anyone please! I’ll do anything!”

“Don’t worry, I won’t.” She smirks. “But you need to keep a secret for me too!”

“What are you— Hey!” She runs off into the bathroom before Yooyeon could say anything further. “Aish, this girl…”

While you take your sweet time in cleaning up and recovering yourself, the door suddenly opens up.

“Excuse me, is this where I get to fuck?”

Your eyes widen upon the unexpected encounter. “X-Xinyu?!”

===========================================

note; now THIS is a fucking BFH. goodness gracious, yooyeon fucked me up in so many ways with these pictures.

i did kept my promise of having a longer story this time, even though this was definitely not in the plans LMAO but yeah, next one will be much more longer, more epic and definitely, more seggs. shoutout to @chunksworld for the quick beta read!

like always, thank you so much for reading, hope you guys enjoyed this one, and have a flawless day! <3

#triples smut #yooyeon smut #triples #yooyeon #kpop smut #kpop fanfiction #male reader #reader insert #Spotify

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