The Prophecy- I.
The prophecy- I.
ꕥ summary: when an angel becomes enthralled by the prospect of emotions, he falls into your world hoping you’d teach him how to be human. little does he know, there's no safety net awaiting him below.
ꕥ pairing: fallen angel!yongbok x fem human!reader.
ꕥ genre: slow burn. heavy themes relating to the complexity of emotions (insecurities, grief, nostalgia, love and sacrifice). angst. comfort. hope and healing. the members are included in the fic as well.
ꕥ warnings: plot installment. mention of alcohol and drinking, description of scars, self-loathing thoughts.
ꕥ word count: 17.8k.
Next. Series Masterlist.
authors note: this fic is my absolute baby. it is heavily inspired by Black Friday by Tom Odell, or rather my interpretation of its lyrics. angel felix is so so special to me, i got the opportunity to be very vulnerable while writing, so i hope you enjoy reading this first part as much as i enjoyed writing it. feedback is highly appreciated <3 this is for @forlix my angel who birthed this fic with me, and for @catboyanon for being my icon 💞 i love you guys 🫶🏻 thank you for reading!!!!!!
the series taglist is open! comment or send me an ask if you wish to be added— @linosssss @agi-ppangx @hwangism143 @httpdwaekki @booksndpoetry @courtnort455 @tonystenk @felixsbakingbud @oyinii @seungzsmin @kayleefriedchicken @freyjhasdesiredreality @babrieeee @nyasstars @lovefool-lix @velvetmoonlght @hash2013 @caticorn61 @hopefulrascalstatesmantoad @minhosbitterriver @dorisnumber1fan @goldenmellow @juskz @chanshyunjin @aslou @hhwangsmoon
Act 1. Everything comes with a price.
“So for once in my life, let me get what I want, Lord knows it would be the first time”- Please, please, please, let me get what I want, The Smiths.
Yongbok's existence has been a steady current of nothingness.
He has known no low, yet simultaneously, no high. Has never stood at the edge of the world nor cradled it within his palm. He is a straight line, knowing no bumps on its road, crafted to stretch forward, and then some more, indefinitely.
That is until you were assigned to him— his human to keep safe, to protect.
That is when Yongbok then realized that, all along, he had felt nothing— that there was a void overtaking his being, an absence of something, rather than what he had always known to be the norm.
Yongbok knew the rules, he knew what his existence entailed— that it was one entwined with yours, that once you’d both turn eighteen he’d sense it when you were in danger, each time you were in physical pain. So, he’d protect you, hover above you like a halo, keep you out of harm's way.
He also knew that it would happen unexpectedly. His one friend Seungmin described it as a minor nuisance, a thorn that needs to be plucked out, a bad weed that has overgrown. “You'll help your human and it’ll be back to normal.”
Yet, for Yongbok it wasn't merely a lone thorn, nor a solitary weed, but rather, a myriad of nuisances falling upon him at once— akin to a deluge of rain pouring as soon as the sky’s gates part. A throbbing so intense it made him falter in his strides, made his golden wings envelop him, as if to cage this unfamiliar feeling, to stop it from seeping from his body and soiling the azure skies.
It was the first time you had called out to him, it was the first time he would see you in. He imagined you’d be in agonizing pain, skirting the edges of death on a final dance with the devils. But, you were on your bed, curled around yourself the way his wings enfolded his body. Sobs rippled from you, an undulating cascade of waves that almost drowned you in sorrow.
You weren’t in danger. You weren’t in physical pain. So why was he here?
Why had he felt it when you simply cried?
Yongbok hovered near your door, unsure of what to do. This wasn’t in the rules he had learned— guardian angels do not deal with emotions, they do not feel the woes of the heart. “Humans are always hurt. Their heart bruises more than their body would ever endure. It is something we cannot control, nor can we help them with it”— those were the words of Christopher, the sovereign of all guardian angels, ones tattooed in the back of Yongbok’s mind.
“They do not affect us,” he had asserted, his voice maintaining its customary tranquility.
So why was Yongbok feeling the bruising of your heart?
He pondered for a fleeting moment before making a soft breeze ripple through your hair. You looked up from your bed, eyes cast outside the window, as a sunbeam delicately landed on your face. To his surprise, that seemed to halt your tears.
In that instant, the weight on Yongbok’s heart suddenly dissipated, like a morning fog chased away by the sun.
“So, this isn’t normal?” he asked Seungmin upon his return, who blinked at him once, then twice.
“No. It must be part of your anomaly.”
His anomaly, what explains Seungmin being his only friend. But his loneliness did not bother him, the perk of never feeling.
“Yeah, that makes sense,” Yongbok sighed, circling the rim of his glass with his pointer finger. “Should I tell… you know.”
“Keep it to yourself.” Seungmin’s voice was stern, biting, leaving no room for Yongbok to object.
So he did not.
He kept it to himself, for the past five years, a diligent secret he’s gotten better at hiding. You were surprisingly a good human to guard, you never burned yourself, crossed the road while looking at both sides, and did not frequent shady places at 4 a.m.
But your heart weighed so much on your soul.
You cried an average of one hundred and sixty-five times per year, sixty of which being heart-wrenching sobs that almost paralyzed him, made the feathers of his wings wither down and scatter on the ground like sakura petals.
“Is it normal for her to cry this much?” he had asked Seungmin who had simply shrugged.
“I don’t know. I don’t befriend humans.” he sighed before adding. “Why does she cry?”
“Other people hurt her.”
“Then she’s stupid for repeating the same process.”
“Isn’t it fascinating, though? She knows the outcome might be the same, and yet–”
“Do you wish to befriend her?” Seungmin had cut him off, eyes narrowing down slightly. There was a hint of warning in his tone, a danger ringing somewhere near. You know where this path will lead you.
“No,” he replied quickly. He never brought you up again after that.
But his fascination with you did not die. Though, it wasn’t you, per se, that intrigued him. More so what you were feeling, every emotion that ran freely through your being. It was as if he perched on the precipice of your soul, drinking the droplets of emotions that escaped your being. Feeling through you, an extension of your very existence.
It wasn’t only the throbbing when you hurt, it was also a satisfaction when he made you smile again. Through a sunbeam falling perfectly atop you, a rainbow appearing above your head, a star shining more brightly as your eyes found it. Each time your heart bled dry and you begged for a sign, he was there, conjuring up one of you, smiling as you smiled, inching closer to you as the months went by.
What if the sign was him? What if he showed you he was there all along?
Would you smile at him too?
These were dangerous questions swirling in his head, translating into even more harmful actions. Like getting closer to trespassing the line between your world and his, drawn by that fascination, that thirst to know more, to feel more.
To talk to you.
But it was all but wishful thinking, it is all thoughts he buried within himself, his body becoming the graveyard of his life— through which he breathes and through which he dies.
Until tonight.
Yongbok felt that same familiar throbbing overtaking his being, only this one was much more intense, so much so he couldn’t hide the discomfort on his face, twisted in agony at the pain overriding you. He expected to find the telltales of your sadness draped on your being— teary eyes and shaky hands, pouting lips and the scrunch of your eyebrows that he’s come to memorize.
But to his surprise, he finds you perched upon an abandoned rooftop overlooking Han River, the moon casting its shimmering reflection above its surface. You weren’t frowning, nor blinking rapidly to dispel your tears. Instead, you sat there, gazing at the river below, legs dangling over the edge, your face as placid as the water before you. However, the burden on your heart was unmistakable, a weight he recognized because he, too, bore it.
He stops for a second, making a gentle rain graze your skin, light enough to feel like an embrace rather than a nuisance. He knew you loved these light showers as you always chased them, tilting your head to the sky as if thanking it for allowing the rain to visit, even for a fleeting moment.
But this time, you remain unmoving, eyes still fixated on the water, as if you wished it would rise from its place and carry you with it underneath.
You look like an angel, for you feel nothing, numbness seizing your being and trapping it into its hold, just as it does for him.
“Sometimes the human’s enemy is itself. They inflict harm upon their souls the most, sometimes even death.” He remembers the somber sayings of Christopher and then the question Jeongin asked, echoing the concerns that gripped everyone’s thoughts.
“Can we still save them from themselves?”
“Not always. We can be too late.”
You inch closer to the edge of the building, and Yongbok wonders if you had felt too much there was no other emotion your heart could pump out for you anymore, no life for it to breathe in you.
Can humanity disintegrate once it pains you too much? Can you turn it off in a desperate bid for survival? Would it still be a life if you do not feel in it?
“I’m not going to jump if that’s what you’re worried about.” Your cold voice startles him, and he looks around quizzically, wondering who you are talking to. But it is only the both of you atop the roof, and his wings are gone, the golden light that usually contours his being subdued.
The realization dawns upon him – you can see him, and you are speaking to him. Yongbok feels the stirrings of his heart, a singular beat that resounds in his chest for the very first time.
“I’m not worried,” he replies, after painstakingly long seconds. His voice sounds different, deeper as it floods his ears. I can’t worry, he decides against adding. “Besides,” he clears his throat, walking over to you, his hands resting on the railing. “You can’t die from here. You’ll just break your bones. Get paralyzed, at most.”
“What are you? A death connoisseur?” you snort, a small life seeping through your voice again as you finally look at him.
“Something of the sort.”
“This makes you sound like a serial killer,” you sigh, a heavy breath pulled from the depths of his heart. “But you don’t look like one.”
“I don’t?” he questions.
“No. You look kind.”
Kind. Yongbok has been draped in a myriad of adjectives since his creation, ones that hang above him like a somber cloud, imprinted on his skin with ink visible to everyone but himself. ‘Abomination’ was the one that came back the most. But you described him as kind.
What do you see in me? He wants to ask. Tell me so I can look for it when I see myself.
He’s acutely aware that he’s breaking the rules, his wings itching to fledge out and carry him away. But he forcefully keeps them at bay. Not now. Just a little more.
“Are you looking for hope too?” you ask, your voice much quieter than when you last spoke. Yongbok now sees it— the numbness wearing off and leaving place to an agonizing sadness, its essence is poured in your eyes alone, dull under the marvelous city lights.
“Hope?” he echoes, the word tasting foreign in his mouth.
“Mm,” you hum, drawing one knee to your chest while letting the other dangle, straddling an invisible line between your two worlds. “I come here and imagine as if the moon shines only for me.”
“That's not true.”
“I know,” you giggle quietly, your laugh swiftly morphing into a pout. “Most of the time it feels as if it’s shining for everyone but me.”
“I don’t think the moon cares enough to single you out.”
“That's somewhat comforting to hear.”
Running a hand through your hair, you speak again. “I don’t usually talk to strangers,” you confess, lifting the nearly empty soju bottle in your left hand. “I’m just a bit drunk, and really sad,” you whisper, as if entrusting him with a secret, an admission that the universe can be cruel in the fates it deals out. He knows that more than most.
“I don't mind,” he inches closer to you, his curious eyes casting over your gloomy figure. “So, you come here looking for hope?”
“It's a bit silly, right?” you smile sheepishly, and he shakes his head.
“Silly, no. It’s just unrealistic to look for something that is not tangible.”
“Everything that is good in life cannot be grasped with our hands.”
He knows nothing of all these good things you speak of, so he remains silent.
“You know what’s funny? Each time I ask for a sign I find it.”
Each time you call out for him he is there.
“Is that so?”
You take a big gulp from your drink, setting it down as your tone grows melancholic with each word. “Yeah. I think I've seen more butterflies in the past five years than the average person does in a lifetime.”
“And that’s a good thing, right?” he asks tentatively, a tinge of uncertainty in his voice. What if, all along, in his attempts to pull you up he has only been drowning you further?
“It is. It makes me believe that things will turn out better, in the end,” you share, pausing briefly as if attempting to contain your words. It’s only a moment later that you continue, “I guess I'm just tired of believing things will get better instead of feeling better.”
He was a temporary patch-up, a band-aid made of silk threads destined to wear off with time. Guardian angels cannot help with the woes of the heart. For all their immortality, they fall short before the power of emotions, kneel in surrender at the altar of humanity.
But on your darkest night— your black Friday where the sky resembles an abyss in which every star has fizzled out, he does not want to leave you without hope.
“Maybe you just need better signs,” he whispers, as a hoard of butterflies swivels before your eyes, a kaleidoscope of colorful wings fluttering in the hopes of breathing life into you once again.
“Butterflies don’t show up at night…” you marvel in hushed tones, your eyes darting everywhere to take in the magical scenery.
“Did you do this?” you’re breathless as you turn to ask but no one’s near anymore.
The heaviness in your heart has dissolved, not entirely, but enough for Yongbok to dismiss it as a fleeting nuisance, a stubborn weed, a lone thorn that he deftly plucked away.
…
Yongbok has not stopped thinking of your conversation, the steadiness in your voice as you spoke of hope, of good things that elude your gaze but infuse your existence with sweetness. He knew that he broke the rules by speaking to you, that there are but severe cases in which an angel is allowed to address their human. Sadness, no matter how profound, was not one of them. And yet, for all the years he spent abiding by the rules, he had not regretted talking to you, not once.
He had memorized the cadence of your voice, the sheer glaze in your eyes as they held his, the way you drowned yourself in alcohol, nose scrunching at its bitter taste. Everything about you, he learned, committing it to his memory that was once a blank canvas, for he had never lived something worth remembering, for he had never strayed from the straight path, drawn out eons ago for him.
Until you.
It is the following Friday and Yongbok hovers near a bar, his eyes absorbing the sight of the drunk humans mingling in there. Some of them are laughing, clinking half-empty glasses as they cheer loudly, Others, too busy pressing their lips against one another to dare dream of forgetting this moment. And then some sitting alone, their gaze fixated on the liquid within their glass, as if it holds the key to all their unanswered prayers. Foolish behavior, but he is drawn to the mundanity of it, for some odd reason.
He draws in a deep breath, before concealing his celestial wings and venturing into the dimly lit bar. He sits by a stool, curiously eyeing the array of alcohol on display. “What can I get you?” the bartender asks and he responds with a nonchalant shrug. “Strongest thing you have.” After all, inebriation is an experience beyond his grasp.
The abrupt sound of glass meeting the counter startles him, and he turns to his left. There, he discovers a young man, roughly his age, signaling the bartender for another pour. Ebony hair pulled into a small ponytail, a furrowed brow shaping his lips into a frown, the man’s gaze remains fixed on the scattered droplets of Whiskey across the counter. In the faint light, Yongbok spots a mole by his jaw, then another one underneath his eye.
“Bad night?” Yongbok inquires, clearing his throat, a thrill coursing through him at the prospect of talking with another human.
“Kinda,” the stranger sighs, turning around to face him. “I’m Hyunjin,” he says, extending his hand with a lopsided smile.
He firmly shakes it, before introducing himself back, “Yongbok.”
“Yongbok, mm… Feelbok,” Hyunjin slurs, “no, no, Hanbok,”— happiness— Hyunjin giggles at his own words punctuating them with a thumbs-up. “Nice name.”
“Thank you,” Yongbok mirrors his smile, although the gesture happens more naturally than he expected. “Are you okay?” he asks softly, as he watches Hyunjin down yet another glass.
“I should be,” he mumbles, before placing his chin atop his palm, gaze lost somewhere far in the depths of his mind.
Yongbok remains silent as Hyunjin blinks slowly, a sad smile imprinted into his mouth. “I opened my art gallery today. It was acclaimed by all the art critics who visited. They said it was moving, woven with emotions that are translated into every choice I made, from the colors to the blending to the lighting.”
Yongbok frowns, a sudden confusion settling over him as he detects the sorrow dripping from Hyunjin’s tone. He realizes that his expression mirrors the same loneliness he witnessed in you countless times before. Humans, it seems, resemble each other at their most vulnerable.
“But…” he continues, prompted by Yongbok’s silence or the strong alcohol, he doesn’t really know. “All these people came but not the one I painted for.”
Ah, Yongbok now understands what drives Hyunjin’s sadness— love. The irony of humans strikes him; for the one feeling they crave ends up hurting them the most.
“Every painting was about her and she wasn’t there to see it,” Hyunjin confesses as anguished tears suddenly well in his eyes. He cannot conjure hope for Hyunjin, for he is not his human to guard, so Yongbok mimics what he witnessed you do countless times to your friends. He places a comforting hand on his shoulder, squeezing it lightly.
“It will pass,” Yongbok reassures, not with a misplaced sense of optimism, but because it is an undeniable truth. Humans forget as much as they remember, grieve as much as they love, heal as much as they hurt. In their short life, everything they go through passes. It is how they survive the hurts of the heart.
“I don’t want it to. If the pain passes then I won’t have anything to remember her by,” Hyunjin smiles sadly, patting Yongbok’s hand above his own.
“Don’t you regret loving her?” he asks, perplexed by the breathing contradiction before him.
“I regret losing her, not loving her. Never loving her.”
As he stood on the same rooftop you were on nights ago, Yongbok is left with Hyunjin’s sleek business card held between his fingers, and a dull longing in his heart, many, many hours later.
Can a straight line stray from its path? Can his void be replaced with love?
At what cost can an angel taste humanity?
“Our kind yongbok.” A calm voice speaks and the wings on Yongbok’s back twitch more intensely than they’ve ever done. The danger Seungmin spoke of was here.
At what cost could he not?
“Christopher,” Yongbok bows in respect, eyes refusing to meet those of his senior.
“You had no problem looking at all these humans, no?” Christopher muses and Yongbok takes one step back. Chris knows, he has always known and yet he allowed it.
Why?
“Fascinating creatures, right? I still fail to understand them. But what I do know for certain is that they are weak,” he pauses, Yongbok’s breath hitches in his throat. “Just like you.”
Yongbok’s nails dig forcefully into his palms, it does not soothe his nerves the way it does to you.
“But see, the difference between you and them is that they were crafted to be weak. Then again… everything about you is abnormal, you agree?” Chris speaks assuredly, his tongue telling facts alone. Yongbok remains silent, anticipating his punishment for trespassing into the human realm, for breaking the sacred rule of interacting with them.
Tales of chained angels, of those stripped of their wings, their bloodied feathers plucked out one by one haunt his thoughts. This is the closest Yongbok has gotten to fear.
In a blink, Chris materializes before him, his hand resting on Yongbok’s shoulder, reminiscent of the comforting gesture he extended to Hyunjin. However, this hold is not reassuring; it bears a weight that spells danger with every squeeze.
“Do you want to feel what humans do? Go, Yongbok, I won’t punish you. Roam with them, talk to them, and feel.”
Yongbok’s wings scatter with the wind, feathers falling like a curtain of white upon their heads. He falls to his knees, hand brought up to his chest as he suddenly senses everything surrounding him— the bitter wind brushing against his skin and the rush of hot blood coursing within his veins, the loud ringing of cars that morph into hands choking him, and worse of all, the loss of his wings that his spine seems to be weeping for.
“But remember, everything comes with a price,” Christopher’s polished shoes come into his view— Yongbok does not recognize the distorted reflection staring back. “Even weakness.”
Act two. The heart weighs heavily on those who bear it.
“If brokenness is a form of art, I must be a poster child prodigy” - Neptune, Sleeping At Last.
Delicate snowflakes descend upon the earth, intricate crystals forming a pristine blanket that veils the ground, concealing its flaws to the naked eye. The snow doesn’t discriminate, it falls atop every building in Seoul, from towering skyscrapers adorned with luminous billboards to the humblest abodes, nestled in concealed alleys, all bathed in a bluish glow at the heights of the night.
And in its fall, the snow does not leave Yongbok’s body behind, draping it in a cloak of icy tendrils, ones that seep through bones he did not know were capable of aching before. It mingles with his golden feathers, scattered all over the rooftop, tinged with his spilled blood. The crimson liquid oozes from his back to the ground, and in his first seconds as a human, Yongbok has already tainted the purity of the soil, he is already a nuisance, in this world too.
He is faintly aware of warm hands cradling his cheeks, attempting to infuse life into his pallid face. A kaleidoscope of blurry hues obscures his vision, and he is no longer sure how much time has passed since Christopher abandoned him on the unforgiven ground. It could have been mere minutes or lengthy hours— he is yet to be acquainted with how time passes on humans.
He also cannot recall you coming into the rooftop, does not remember when you pulled his head onto your lap, nor began combing your fingers soothingly through his golden locks. You are worried, he can still feel the pulsing of your heartbeat ringing in his ears, or maybe it is his own, he still cannot distinguish what is yours and what is his.
He’s in a haze, standing on the edge of a window, assaulted by biting winds that cut through him. He didn’t expect humanity to crash onto him this hard, for it to force oxygen onto his lungs only to set them ablaze.
“You’re awake, you’re okay.” Your reassuring words break through the disorienting daze, your hand firmly clasping his, guiding him away from the window’s edge, ushering him back into safety. In the familiarity of your voice, the winds relent, morphing into gentle zephyrs that cool the burning storm within him. He can feel the softness of your hand, your thumb swirling around his palm as if drawing out a soothing spell with your touch.
“H… hurts,” he stammers, the words escaping between breaths that struggle to find passage. He brings your palm atop his heart, where a myriad of stones seem to have found refuge, crushing his lungs and rendering them a cloud of useless dust, scattered away by the wind.
“It’s okay. You’re having a panic attack. It’s okay,” your voice is calm, though it speaks of frightening things. Would what he felt pass now that you put a name to it? Was it supposed to reassure him to hear that panic, like an uninvited intruder, has seized his being and is attacking it relentlessly? A secret ambush, a Trojan horse infiltrating his body under the guise of humanity.
“Help me,” his plea echoes weakly, an awkward sound that clashes with the very air particles, imprinting itself onto the oxygen you inhale. Is this what Christopher meant? Were his weaknesses only going to surge forth more now?
Is the cost of humanity facing the ugliness within you?
The questions swirl in his head like a relentless tornado, drowning out your voice until it becomes a distant murmur in the backburner of his mind. His body rebels against him, ears amplifying the cacophony of his breaths, shaky hands refusing to be still, lungs constricting to the point of near collapse. He’s back before the window, dangling over its edge with one silky thread, worn out from the countless humans who had clung to it in desperation before.
His hand slips. You seize it before he falls.
“Breathe with me, focus on my voice,” you come to him like a calming tide, pulling him into safe shores. You’re so close your nose almost brushes with his own, your hands enveloping his icy fingers to anchor him back to you. He tries to mimic your slow inhales, tuning out all his tumultuous thoughts to focus solely on you.
Under the starry sky and the unyielding snow, and through the panic that captures his being, his gaze seems to fixate on the most mundane of things— the soft moonlight filtering through the strands of your hair, casting a faint halo around your figure. As you draw in deep breaths, encouraging him to follow suit, the thought crosses his mind – perhaps, you are his guardian angel now.
Time passes in this shared rhythm until, finally, you release his face, falling beside him on the snow. His breaths find a more regular cadence, mirroring yours, yet an ache persists in his chest, as if unseen hands continue to press down on his heart, squeezing it dry of its blood.
You run a hand through your face tiredly, eyes looking up at the expanse before you. “Fuck, I thought you were dying.”
An apology lingers at the tip of his tongue, vocal cords itching to free the three syllables into the chilly air. But Yongbok has never apologized before, he doesn’t know how the words might crystallize in the cold. He isn’t sure he could bear witnessing their form now.
“What happened?” he ventures, his voice small and fragile, his face turning slightly toward you. You appear like a crescent moon, soft and gentle even with only half of your face visible to him.
“I came to the rooftop and I found you on the ground, surrounded by bloodied feathers and shaking from the cold,” you begin to explain only to freeze as if a crucial detail has just resurfaced in your memory. He knows what you’ll ask about before you speak.
“What are these feathers?” your inquiry hangs in the air, your gaze still directed ahead. He remains silent, unsure of how to explain the inexplicable.
“Who are you?” you press, and his reply comes in a single word, uttered vulnerably, “Yongbok.”
Please leave it at that.
Your voice is softer, more resigned when you speak again. “What are you?”
He does not need to voice the truth. He could chuckle and say that he’s human, what else do you expect him to be, and his voice might shake from the unrehearsed lie but you would believe him, and then he’ll make sure your paths would never cross again.
But a small part of him feels as if he does owe the truth to you. Because you cared for his well-being when you did not need to, gave up some of your warmth to infuse his being with it, sacrificed minutes of your time to make sure he’ll have sand left in his hourglass.
So, he sucks in a deep breath, gathering the courage to unravel the truth.
“I’m an angel. Your guardian angel. Or maybe was. I still don’t really know, yet.”
An incredulous laugh escapes your lips, gusts of powdery air materializing before him. “An angel?”
“Yes.”
“This is insane,” you shake your head, your face buried in the same palms that had cradled his cheeks tenderly moments ago— his sail amidst the winds.
“Is that how you managed to make all those butterflies appear that night?” you question, and he nods, shutting his eyes and releasing a strained exhale.
“So you’ve been guarding me all this time?”
“Since you turned eighteen.”
He freezes as he wonders what you’ll say next— maybe you’ll ask him to disappear from your life, not one to wish to mingle with angels and their kindred, maybe you’ll leave him be in the snow, lonely as he has always been.
What he doesn’t expect is for your eyes to find his, compassion swimming in your gleaming irises, your voice dripping with concern as you ask him. “What happened to you, Yongbok?”
There was no way for you to feel what he did, and yet you spoke as if you could— as if you peered into his heart and discovered it butchered and bruised, found thorns entangled around his veins instead of vines.
“I don’t know,” he chokes out a sob, as sudden tears stream down his cheeks, salty as they infiltrate his mouth, drowning him from within. The tears refuse to cease even after he wipes them, one after the other, a futile gesture akin to pouring water into sand, an attempt to nurture something not meant to grow.
“It’s okay,” you smile, your eyes shimmering like a million fireflies in the night. He shakes his head, as more tears escape him in the guise of words. In all of the times he has seen you cry, he never fathomed he would have sobs racking his body, too. That tears would cascade like an unyielding waterfall, an earthquake shaking the planes of his body, rattling his bones with an intensity beyond what he believed humans could endure.
“It’s okay,” you repeat, cradling his face against the warmth of your neck, his tears seeping through your clothing. He is weeping, though he does not know what for. For nothing yet everything. For the loss of his wings and the birth of his heart. For the harshness of the ground and the softness of your hold. For the Yongbok who perished and the one who came to life.
…
A fallen angel comes in various forms, some are entirely disgraced while others retain fragments of their celestial countenance. Yongbok, though deprived of his wings, did not lose his powers. He realized this when he instinctively healed the wounds on his back, the torn skin scarring in fleeting seconds. A small mercy bestowed upon him by Christopher, or so it seemed.
He will understand the reasons behind this act much later.
But for now, in his first breaths of humanity, when the echoes of his sobs have at last withdrawn from his being, leaving behind a lingering weariness, he is dealing with less stellar facets of his existence— the more mundane technicalities of it.
“So, not to rub salt on the wound but I assume you also don’t have a place to stay in,” you ponder, waiting until he regains enough composure to grasp your words, ensuring they wouldn't float beyond his reach.
“No, I didn’t exactly prepare for this,” he winces, his gaze briefly meeting the scattered feathers on the ground. But not for too long, looking at them invited a grand sense of loss into his being, a sentiment too weighty for his fragile state to harbor.
“You can stay at mine, and tomorrow we can start looking for a house for you?” you suggest, stretching out your tired limbs.
“You don’t… You don’t need to help me.”
Yongbok does need your help, you are the only human he knows and he is unfamiliar with how your kind acquire housing. And yet he finds himself at the crossroads between what his heart wants and what his tongue speaks of— ready to vehemently refuse your proposal to not inconvenience you, as if he’s a towering mountain poised to shoulder burdens when in reality, his being has never been this frail.
“You guarded me for five years,” you smile softly, effortlessly dispelling away his concerns like meaningless specks of dust. “It’s the least I could do.”
Stepping into your home was as familiar as walking into his own. He, unwittingly, memorized each nook and cranny of your place, a consequence of all the times he had lingered near— hovering, more accurately, above. So much so that he instinctively slips off his shoes and places them in your rack, mirroring the countless times he observed you perform the same task.
“So you really are my guardian angel,” you shudder quietly and he hums in questioning, turning to look at you, “What was that?”
“Nothing,” you respond, perking up and adorning your lips with a swift smile. “Would you like something to eat?”
“I’m okay,” he whispers, attempting to shrink as much as possible in the confines of your place. He has never felt this much discomfort in his own body, as though the skin draped on his bones belonged to a stranger.
“Well, I’m hungry so you’ll eat with me,” you say with a warm smile, putting your hair up in a quick bun before walking into the kitchen. You move seamlessly as if you are hosting a long-time friend rather than an angel you saved from possible hypothermia.
“Buldak ramen?” you ask, hands resting on the counter.
“Sure,” he nods, settling atop the stool.
He watches in silence as you bring the water to a boil, before pouring two servings of the instant noodles into it. You pause, thinking it over before adding two more.
“How are you so nonchalant about this?” he blurts out, finally freeing the question that had been swirling and growing in his mind- an insatiable weed that needed to be plucked before it infested his brain completely.
“About having an angel in my house who was apparently cast away from the skies and has guarded me for the past five years without me knowing, and who somehow knows where my shoe closet is without me needing to share?” you ramble in one breath, the tightness in your chest palpable. “Yeah, I’m totally cool about that.”
“You’re totally not cool about that.”
“No, I’m not,” you admit sheepishly, settling on the stool before him. “I mean I am. A friend of mine met his guardian angel two years ago when he saved him from a horrible car accident. So, your existence does not freak me out, it’s common knowledge for us humans.”
You bite your lip, averting your gaze from him to the painting adorning the wall above your couch—a bouquet of red roses where the petals seem dripping scarlet, resounding with passion and love, signed by H.
“It’s just… did you do something bad? For you to be left there alone?”
“Not bad,” he mumbles, clearing his throat awkwardly. It suddenly seemed silly to explain to a human that he envied their humanity, the one thing most of them seem to despise. “I broke the rules by talking to you that night, then to another human, and I was punished for it. I think,” he adds hesitantly.
“Oh,” you gasp softly, redirecting your attention to the pot to turn off the heat. It makes breathing easier for him. “You think?” you echo.
“It’s what I wanted,” he whispers, a bit breathless, now frightened by this newfound reality. He kept his powers and yet he lost his wings— he cannot fly back to his home and yet he can conjure anything his mind wishes for. He is with the one human that sparked his fascination and yet he cannot stop thinking of the price Christopher mentioned. Thinking too much about any of these things brings tears back to his throat— his body yearning to produce a liquid it has never known before.
“So, I assume you’ve never watched Howl’s Moving Castle up there,” you abruptly shift the subject, a radiant smile gracing your face as you pour the ramen into two bowls, generously topping them off with cheese.
“No?” His response carries a hint of uncertainty, and a sudden wave of frustration washes over him for feeling so displaced in his own existence. Yet, you appear oblivious to the awkwardness emanating from him as you gasp enthusiastically, seizing the two bowls and making your way to the couch.
“Oh, I think you’ll like it,” you beam, patting the spot next to you before taking the remote and queuing up the movie.
The meal tastes better than anything Yongbok has ever eaten in his life, each bite igniting his taste buds in a symphony of flavors, akin to the spark of a popping candy in his mouth. He finds himself engrossed in the movie, in the stunning visuals, the gentle hues, and the paradoxical characters, uncovering reflections of his own existence within them.
He has never understood the need humans felt for art, dedicating hours upon hours to creating something not for their personal gain, but for others to watch, to reach, to touch. A craft not to appease one’s soul but to soothe the spirits of others. Yet, as the movie’s credits come to an end, a subtle shift occurs within him. Perhaps, he thinks with his widely beating heart, he now understands a little more.
“I feel terrible like there is a weight on my chest,” you repeat one of Howl’s concluding lines, stealing a glance at him, a tender smile gracing your face. The one dialogue that felt like a mirror was brought up to Yongbok's face.
“A heart’s a heavy burden,” he completes Sophie’s response to Howl.
“That’s true. The heart weighs heavily on those who bear it,” you speak softly, as one would do to a child taking tentative steps into the world, learning that their first breath starts with grieving the only place you've known for nine months, followed by happiness, then sadness again, akin to the moon’s gradual phases. And maybe, in a way, he is a child lost in the overwhelming flood of these emotions, ones yet to be untangled in his mind but that already lay upon him like stones.
“Not everyone knows they have a heart, Yongbok. Some end up dying before ever feeling, without ever truly living.”
“I just didn’t imagine it would be this… soul-crushing to bear it,” he admits softly, the words escaping him like a delicate secret. There's a hint of fear that accompanies his confession, an apprehension that Christopher might materialize before him, speaking in that calm, knowing tone—berating him with a simple “I told you so.”
“It’s a little organ facing a big life. It’s normal for it to be overwhelmed, don’t you think?”
“Mm,” he hums in agreement, placing a trembling palm above his heart. Still as heavy.
“You had a long night, get some rest, okay? We can start looking for a house tomorrow.”
“Okay,” he nods, as you rise from your place, only to reach for your wrist before fully thinking it through. “Thank you,” he says sincerely.
In the cracks of his heart, one seed of gratitude has been planted, a singular ray of light amid a stretch of darkness.
Finding a house turns out to be a strenuous task, and Yongbok feels remarkably disinterested in the discussions with every real estate agent you encounter. You play the role of his assistant, weaving a tale about an important businessman client who abruptly secured a job transfer to Seoul. However, he couldn't care less for the large windows ushering sunlight or the expansive patio offering picturesque views of Seoul. Instead, he focuses on your reactions to each room—the gasps of delight at spacious storage areas and the vacant rooms you dream of adorning in the future, once you're no longer a broke college student, as you explain.
You envision a room dedicated to your books, with a chair nestled in the middle for the long nights you spend reading, and another room designed as a painting studio. The expansive kitchens you visit are perfect for your baking endeavors, and Yongbok, perplexed by your fascination with fridges sporting two doors, finds amusement in your lively antics. Yet, a void persists within him, unfilled by the prospects of a shiny new home.
“Still not the one?” you ask on your third day of apartment hunting, and he shakes his head.
“It’s okay, we’ll find the perfect one soon,” you reassure, and in that moment, he thinks back to your very first conversation on the rooftop, wonders how you can find hope for everyone surrounding you but yourself.
“I still can’t believe I befriended a nepo angel,” you giggle, before inching closer to him on the couch, peering at him from beneath your eyelashes. “My air fryer is broken by the way, can you replace it?”
He contemplates for a minute before shaking his head, a subtle smirk playing on his lips. “No.”
“Aren’t you my guardian angel?”
“Right, a guardian angel. Not a bank.”
“But if my air fryer isn’t replaced soon then I’ll keep using it even though all its electric wires are now exposed and a fire will break out and I’ll end up dying—”
“Fine,” he heaves a resigned sigh, “I’ll replace it.”
“Can you also get me the Le Creuset kitchen set?” you grin, standing in your kitchen a few minutes later, cradling your brand-new air fryer between your arms.
“I'm not your sugar daddy.”
Your gasp is so comical that it coaxes a little giggle from his lips. “So you know about sugar daddies and not Studio Ghibli movies.”
“Gossip travels in our world too,” he shrugs, and you put the air fryer down, leaning closer to his face. From this proximity, he can discern the delicate curve of your eyelashes and the way they frame your glowing eyes—how can your eyes shine so brightly even under the shittiest kitchen lighting he’s ever seen?
"Hello? Did you hear me?" you wave a hand before his face, and he snaps back to reality, your voice flooding his senses again.
“Hm?”
“Never mind,” you shrug your hand dismissively in the air, “should we celebrate your third day of knowing me?”
“That's cause for celebration?” he frowns, and you playfully hit his arm. “I feed you, I clothe you, I put a roof above your head—” Your words are muffled as he clasps a hand over your mouth.
“Can you hear that?” he wonders.
You shake your head no.
“It's quiet, finally.”
His hand, a feeble barrier, does not manage to muffle your offended gasp, and in that moment, Yongbok laughs for the first time in his existence, a sound that ripples from the roots of his being, washing over his sadness and erasing it for a split second.
His eyes are closed as he tips his head back in laughter, and he misses the way your eyes soften, your retort withering at the tip of your tongue.
He’s beautiful when he smiles, you think. You hope for all his powers he cannot hear your thoughts.
…
Yongbok does not know what’s there to celebrate on his third day in this world, for all he had felt so far was excruciating sadness. But he complies with your wishes, rising at dawn to join you on the shore of the nearby ocean. Seated on the sand dampened by morning dewdrops, the remnants of melting snow resemble ink on a page not yet dry.
He watches as the last threads of the night unfold before his eyes, leaving way to a mesmerizing palette of soft pinks and oranges, the sky blushing from a night spent with the moon.
You brought him to witness the sun rising above the ocean, said that it would help calm down the frenzy of his heart. You are quite right, since the rhythmic dance of the waves acts like a spell, unraveling the knot in his tongue and coaxing him to recount everything that has led him up to this moment, to you. You were the main reason for his journey, he did not see it fitting to conceal the truth from you. He did not know yet how to deceive or lie.
“So you wanted to feel?” you conclude softly and Yongbok nods, eyes not peeling away from the sky before him. It looks grander from below, a vast ceiling you never fear might collapse on you.
“That’s why it overwhelmed you a lot, every emotion is heightened because it was the first time, I suppose” you muse.
“Yeah, but does it ever lessen with time? Isn't that why you cry often?” he asks, now free of the bounds that once restricted his curiosity.
“Can you please not bring this up again?” you hide your face, and he tilts his head, a perplexed expression etched on his features.
“Why is that?”
“It's embarrassing that you saw me cry this much,” you mumble, your words nearly drowned out by the crashing waves.
“It's not embarrassing. It's... fascinating,” he asserts. You stare at him incredulously, prompting him to elaborate. “You go down the same path, fully aware of where it leads, and yet, you do it again on the off chance that you'll receive the same kindness you show.”
“I sound stupid,” you giggle, and he mirrors your smile, not to mimic you, but because the corners of his mouth yearn to curve upwards, refusing to leave you alone in your grin.
“No, you sound brave.”
Your eyes soften at his words, the light of the rising sun filtering easily through your irises, causing your pupils to widen with each passing second.
“Thank you.”
A tranquil quiet settles between you, the soothing sound of the waves filling the silence. The sun hovers directly above the water now, perched on the horizon, the sky much bolder in the colors it showcases.
“I come here when my heart feels too heavy to bear. I suppose that looking at the sea calms me,” you murmur, your cheek pressed against your knee.
“Why is that?”
“For these waves to reach the shore, they go through a lot, you know? Storms and tumultuous roads, and rage fills them, anger, sadness too at being away from home for too long. But then, they always reach the shores at last. And they calm down, and they’re at peace.”
You turn to look at him, the hues of the sunrise reflecting off your face, dancing with the shadows that mold your features.
You look beautiful, so much so that he almost misses what you say next.
“So it is comforting to know that no matter how grand my worries are, there will come a time when they too will grow tired and rest.”
“It will pass,” he whispers and you nod cheerfully. “See, you’re already getting the gist of it.”
“No,” he contradicts, “everything I know about humanity is from you.”
The colors of the sky seem to seep through your face at his words, and an unfamiliar warmth spreads through his being at the thought of making you blush.
He licks his lips tentatively, bringing your hand to rest atop his heart, hoping that the pressure will help ease its tension.
It does, ever so slightly.
“It feels like my heart is squeezed between two narrow walls,” he explains and you nod in understanding.
“Like it’s been sucked through a straw that drains you out of life.”
“Yes,” He exhales with contentment at the thought of someone understanding what he means, of what he feels no longer being an anomaly, but the norm for most.
“Will you move in with me?” he suddenly asks, and you startle, your fingers growing limp in his hold.
“What?”
“Your apartment is shitty, you hate your landlord and I’m pretty sure there is mold growing on your walls.”
“Okay, no need to attack me,” you roll your eyes amusedly.
“I’ll buy the apartment you wanted, it technically doesn’t cost me anything and it’s closer to your university too, you no longer have to commute. You can get the library you wanted and the painting space too.”
“But—”
“I’m a fallen angel tasting humanity for the first time, I don’t know what I’m doing or what I’m supposed to do. I haven’t looked in a mirror yet because I don’t know who I’ll find there. And I’m so scared, Y/n, so scared,” he confesses, breathless, his hand still pressing your palm against his erratic heart.
A few seconds of heavy silence pass, Yongbok senses a resolve in you unfold.
“And in return?” you ask tentatively.
“I want to be happy,“ he breathes out, eyes flickering over yours like a swaying candlelight, “Could you show me how it’s done?”
Act 3. What’s an angel to a human?
“I want a better body, I want better skin, I wanna be perfect like all your other friends"- Black Friday, Tom Odell.
“So, happiness.” You stand near a blank whiteboard in the middle of your cramped living room, the one you just asked Yongbok to conjure out of thin air.
You’ve been slightly abusing his ability to make your every wish materialize in a fleeting second, but only for useless things, like a bar of soap that smells specifically of these notes combinations you always thought would pair heavenly together (they did not), or a tube of salted caramel ice cream at 2 a.m. because you were too lazy to walk to the fridge (it was mere two meters away). Or just like now, a huge whiteboard so you’d explain to him, visually, how to achieve happiness.
You told him that you’d only allow him to buy you a new house if he truly felt happy, for the very first time in his life. When he asked you how he’d know, you said he’d simply do, when the time comes. You shook hands on that promise two days ago.
“Was this really necessary?” he questions, cocking an eyebrow at you. In response, you place your palms against your hips, eyes squinting at his dubious figure.
“Do you want to be happy?”
“Yes.”
“Then, shut up.”
“I don’t think violence is the way to go about joy,” he quips and you quickly shut him up with a glare. Yongbok came to find that annoying you brought him a strange sense of satisfaction— he enjoyed seeing you pivot away, trying your best to conceal your amused smirk at his teasing. You always fail, or perhaps his perception of your being is heightened by the bond you share.
“I was saying, happiness is a byproduct of biological reactions.” You draw in a smiley face with utter concentration, and he stifles a giggle at the simplistic representation of the feeling. “There are four main hormones that allow us to feel happiness.” You pause, pointing your pen at him. “Yongbok, do you know which these are?”
“If I did know, why would I be here?”
“True,” you nod vigorously, looking back at the whiteboard before locking eyes with him once more. “Can you please play along? I’ve always wanted to be a teacher,” you smile excitedly, speaking in hushed tones as if it was meant to be a shared secret between you both, far from the reach of the angels and peers that must be looking down at you both right now— you in indifference, him in disdain.
He shudders at the thought.
“Fine. No, I do not Miss,” his smile is small, it grows when your eyes soften at him playing along. “Care to explain?”
“So, in theory, we have dopamine, serotonin, endorphins, and oxytocin.” You flip the board, revealing some intricate drawings of what looks like the human brain, different arrows going out of it, filled with many inscriptions that he assumes are definitions of the hormones you just revealed.
“But all of this is…” you play the drums on the board, leaning forth in suspense. “Useless!” you shout, throwing your marker and eraser in the air. Yongbok claps diligently at your dramatics.
“You know for humans with limited amounts of time on this earth, you sure do love wasting your precious minutes,” he taunts and a fire seems to light in your eyes, flames surging higher each time you poke fun at one another.
“You know for an angel who desperately needs my help, you sure do talk a lot.”
“Touché,” he sighs, rubbing his forehead. “Please grace me with your special knowledge.”
“Fine.” You plop down next to him on the couch, your knee bumping against his. A pang of ache flares in his being before disappearing as quickly as it came. It leaves him no time to decipher its cause.
“Happiness is the hardest thing to get in this life. Sometimes you follow all the instructions on how to be happy and yet fail to achieve it.” You speak with a lingering bitterness in your tone as if you’ve spent the best part of your life following defective manuals.
“Happiness won’t come to you, Yongbok. It doesn’t come knocking on our doors. You’ll have to search for it. Especially on days when everything seems grim and dark, you’ll have to squint your eyes and find it in the small things all around you. And when you do, hold on to them with all your might. Even if your hand bleeds, you hold on just as tightly.”
“What small things?” he asks, turning his entire body towards you. He is almost breathless, waiting for you to spell out the secret to tasting life’s sweetest fruit.
“Things that remain gentle no matter what time does to you. Like looking at flowers, sitting underneath the sun, watching the sea, being kind and helping people, enjoying your favorite hobby… “ you enumerate, your eyes never leaving his. “Do you have a hobby?”
“No?” he replies, though it comes off more as a question. You pick up on his uncertainty, waving a hand quickly through the air.
“It’s okay. I’ll help you find one. I promise.”
His response comes as easily as an autumn breeze.
“Okay. I believe you.”
You beam at him, sunlight seemingly pouring into your pores, brightening your face from within. He finds it strange that he suddenly sees the sun in you, a star he has never taken an interest in. But he quickly brushes the thought aside, mirroring your grin.
“I was also thinking,” you add, “you should work with me at my café.”
“Me?” he points at himself and you giggle, nodding. “Yes, you! Do you want to just sit here all day waiting for me to come home from uni?”
“What? Who said I don’t want to be your trophy wife?”
You snort, bewildered. “A what?”
“I did a deep dive into Urban Dictionary yesterday.”
You blink once. Then twice. “Crazy words to hear from an angel. And it’s a no, to being my trophy wife.”
“Please?” he pushes, tugging at the outskirts of your sleeve.
“No,” you sing-song, standing up and heading to the kitchen. “We needed a new barista anyway. And I’ll teach you how to make coffee. Also, I think you’ll enjoy people-watching.”
“That sounds creepy!” he shouts from the couch.
“Says the guy who told me I cry an average of 160 times per year!”
“It’s 165, actually,” he corrects.
You peek your head out of the kitchen, pointing a threatening finger at him. “Die.”
“What happened to live laugh love?”
“Just how much did you stay on Urban Dictionary?”
“A lot,” he shudders, shaking his head. You burst into uncontainable giggles, and the same satisfaction floods Yongbok’s being. Although this time it is much stronger.
It is a weird thought that suddenly brushes his mind— he thinks that if the sun ever spoke it would be your laugh spilling out of its mouth.
…
“Welcome to my humble abode,” you grin, spreading your arms wide as you open the door to Haven Café. Yongbok follows closely behind, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his black jeans.
“It’s nice,” he says absentmindedly, his eyes sweeping across every surface of the interior.
“Nice? This is my baby. Please be more expressive,” you retort, pointing a finger at him threateningly. He shakes his head, amused.
“This is the most beautiful place my fallen angel eyes have ever seen,” he says with mock reverence.
He isn’t lying, though. Resplendent flower vases adorn every corner, and a warm, inviting atmosphere permeates the space, evident in the comfortable auburn chairs and the books scattered on the sage shelves.
“I was actually wondering… What makes something beautiful?” he suddenly asks. You pause in your tracks, then resume opening the blinds.
“How it makes you feel,” you say simply. “Help me?” you add. Yongbok nods, sidling up to your side to open the remaining windows.
“This place is beautiful to me because it makes me feel at ease. I know that whatever happens, I can always escape here. Between the flower vases, the aroma of coffee, and the large windows, I feel good. At home,” you explain.
“But isn’t home your house?” he asks earnestly, tilting his head to the side. Your smile, warm and comforting, brushes over him like a fleeting sunbeam.
“Home is where you feel most like yourself.”
He does when you’re nearby.
Does that make you my home? He wants to ask, but something inside stops him. He thinks it is too big of a confession to be uttered at the rise of dawn.
“When did you start working here?” he asks, watching you refill the ice.
“Seven years ago.”
“Oh,” he gasps softly, suddenly remembering that he hasn’t known you your entire life. He wasn’t there to guard you through your childhood, to watch you stumble off the steps, or swing high to the sky. He realizes how little he knows about you. He suddenly aches to learn more, to know everything.
“The owner was our old neighbor, so when I was sixteen, he got me my first job here. I’m very attached to this place and its memories so I still come here.”
“Memories,” he repeats to himself slowly, as if tentatively tasting the way the word feels on his tongue.
“What was that?” you ask, as you sweep the counter with a purple rug.
“It’s nice to have memories,” he smiles and you scrunch your nose, shaking your head slightly.
“You think so?”
“Yeah, I have no memories. None worth getting attached to anyway because all my life was spent feeling the same way. So, in a way…” he pauses, licking his lips tentatively. “I have never lived anything that shaped me. Except for meeting you.” A few silent beats pass, and you feel as if he has more to say, so you remain quiet.
Yongbok opens his mouth, only to close it again, deciding against speaking. Yet again, too early.
“It’s your first life, in a way,” you finally say, “there are all these unknown feelings that you are experiencing for the first time. It’s unfair to you if you expect yourself to figure it out from the get-go.”
Your palm rests upon his back, swiping gently left and right before you move around the corner to filter the coffee. But Yongbok feels as if the clock orchestrating the universe has halted, the seconds freezing the moment your hand touched his back.
It is a heavy, gruesome knowledge that he bears— knowing that beneath your warm, comforting touch lies a map of butchered skin and scars running down his spine. His powers had fallen short of erasing the remnants of his lost wings, leaving behind clots of skin that starkly highlight all his imperfections in one place.
Yongbok had looked at his back only once, a fleeting glance before he vowed never to set eyes on his abomination again, this grotesque reminder clinging to him like skeletons overflowing from his closet.
He felt ugly, and worthless for carrying such a vivid reminder of who he once was. Who he failed to be. No one should ever see his back.
Especially not you.
“There are twenty minutes left until opening. Shall we discover what your favorite drink is?” you ask, snapping Yongbok out of his haze.
“Yeah,” he clears his throat with an inhuman effort. “That sounds nice.”
Yongbok doesn't like coffee—you could tell from the scrunch of his nose and the squint in his eye after one sip of his iced Americano. “Are you bad at making coffee, or does it always taste like this?” he asks, and you throw a dozen napkins at his head in response.
“People ask for me specifically to make their coffee. Know your place,” you squint threateningly. He raises his hands in surrender, biting his tongue cheekily. Your eyes linger a bit too long on his lips, shaped like a cupid’s bow, their arrow striking straight through your heart.
It sometimes astonishes you how pretty your guardian angel is, and how seemingly unaware he is of the beauty he carries within each one of his features, each worthy of paintings and sculptures to immortalize them for eternity to come.
“This is good,” he grins, sipping his caramel Frappuccino happily.
“Because it’s ninety percent sugar,” you smile just as brightly. He puts down the drink slowly, eyeing you curiously.
“Why do I feel as if this is a secret insult?”
“It’s not a secret insult. I’m doing it to your face,” you smile, and he rolls his eyes so much they almost reach the back of his head. You can’t help but giggle quietly as he grabs the vanilla matcha drink. “Wow I can’t believe the sassy men apocalypse affects angels as well,” you sigh.
“I literally have no idea what half of these words are.”
“What happened to Urban Dictionary?”
“Die.”
“Aww, look at you picking up my slang already,” you coo at him.
It's his turn to fling balled-up napkins at your face. You dodge them perfectly as if in a dance you’ve rehearsed thousands of times before.
“Anyways,” you clap excitedly, “you have five minutes to make me a latte.”
“Me? But I don't know how to.”
You place a recipe book before him, tapping the counter diligently. “I expect the world’s tastiest latte.”
A small smirk draws upon his lips as he shakes his head slightly. The sight of him makes you flustered all of a sudden.
“Anything else, your majesty?”
“No,” you grin. “Have fun!”
You wander through the café, dusting the books on the shelves– your most prized possessions, ones that you bought and others that customers themselves have donated. You return to Yongbok’s side when his voice booms through the place, calling your name.
“Here,” he slings the drink toward you, and your face contorts in shock.
“What the fuck? Since when do you know how to do this?”
“Do what?”
“This intricate latte art?” you point to the foam forming a perfectly drawn white swan.
“Ah, this. One time you were in the kitchen, very frustrated because you couldn’t get this shape right. So, I did it for you.”
“Are all angels as sweet as you?” you grin, taking a sip of the drink and holding his gaze over the rim of the glass. His heart catches in his throat for two reasons—anticipation as he awaits your reaction, and hunger as he aches for you to describe him even more, to dress him in all the adjectives linked to his being so he wouldn’t feel like a stranger, a blank canvas in his own body.
“How is it?” he asks. You remain silent, taking another sip.
“Mm.”
“Mm?” he echoes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It’s opening time!” you sing-song, walking away, and he follows behind you. “Why won’t you tell me? Is it that bad?”
“I don’t want to!” you speed up walking, and so does he. You end up running, skirting around the chairs, your laughter coating the room like golden honey. “Leave me alone!”
“You have to tell me!” he shouts, chasing after you in an impromptu game of catch. He suddenly manages to grab your arm, spinning you around until your back is against the table, his arms on either side of your body. His eyes are suddenly drawn to the languid rise and fall of your chest, and then to the way your tongue slowly swipes across your lips, wetting them.
A sudden warmth pools in his lower stomach, and he lets out a shuddered breath, his heart caught in a web of unknown feelings.
“Am I interrupting?” an unknown voice breaks in, and Yongbok quickly takes three hurried steps away from you, his cheeks ablaze as if flames are latching onto them—he doesn’t know if it’s from his embarrassment or from the golden specks he could decipher in your eyes.
“Mr. Kang!” you shout excitedly, skipping over to stand by the man’s side. He’s shorter than you, his back slightly hunched from time’s morphing hands, and his smile is warm as it lands on you. He reaches out to ruffle your hair in greeting before his gaze lands on Yongbok.
“Is this your friend?” he asks, the same smile still etched into his lips. You nod, and Yongbok bows deeply before straightening up.
“Can he make nice coffee?” Mr. Kang asks, and Yongbok stares at you expectantly.
“The best,” you finally grin, and a worried breath dissipates from his chest.
“I think we’ll get more clients too. He’s very handsome!”
“I know, you should see his freckles,” you giggle, pointing to a lightbulb that needs fixing on the other side of the café. Yongbok stays rooted in place, trying his best to steady his breathing. He is sure his face has turned the shade of the sky after a crimson sunset.
…
“This is Chris,” you say, standing by Yongbok’s side two hours later as he diligently wipes the counter. Yongbok follows your gaze to a young man nodding his head to the rhythm of his headphones. He looks serious, eyebrows furrowed, and his lips pressed into a thin line. His hair is hidden beneath a black cap, but a few strands escape, swooping like a duck’s tail.
“We take a music theory class together. He’s the nicest guy you’ll ever meet, a true social butterfly. I think the term was coined for him,” you explain. As if summoned by your words, Chris looks up, his eyes finding the two of you. He tilts his head in greeting, clicks a few keys on his laptop, then rises to join you.
“Hey, gorgeous,” he grins, and you roll your eyes. “When are you going to drop the cheesy nicknames?”
“Never,” he smiles, dimples deepening. They remain as his gaze shifts to Yongbok.
Yongbok isn’t used to smiles that don’t falter when they land on him.
“Hey, mate,” Chris says, extending his hand. Yongbok nods, shaking it.
“I’m Chris.”
“Yongbok.”
“Are you new here?”
“No, we just found him outside and forced him to make coffee,” you tease. Chris bumps your shoulder playfully. “Shut up. Good luck having to stand her for so long.”
“As if you aren’t obsessed with me,” you scoff, turning to Yongbok. “He refuses to drink coffee anywhere else.”
“Because you give me free sweets.”
“In this economy?” Mr. Kang appears suddenly, and the two of you burst into laughter at his timing. “Did your daughter teach you that?” you giggle, and he nods, almost desolate as if forced to acquire this knowledge.
“Anyway, we should hang out at one of my parties, Yongbok. Let’s catch up,” Chris grins before winking at you— “My usual, please, baby.”
You send him a playful middle finger. He blows you a kiss as he returns to his seat.
“We’ve known each other for three years now. He’s very annoying,” you smile, shaking your head. “But he’s a good friend.”
Yongbok feels something chip away in his heart, as his eyes land on Chan’s figure yet again. A slow ache swirls in his stomach like thorny vines. Time seems different for humans. He has known his fellow angels for much longer yet he doesn't think anyone would ever speak of him with this fond of a tone.
---
“You did well,” you smile, patting Yongbok’s shoulder at the end of the day, the café as empty as it was at 6 a.m.
“Thank you, it was nice,” he replies with a tired, yet genuine smile. You nod, a slight yawn taking over you.
“Will you help me get some flour from the back? Then we can go home.”
Home. A concept that seems less foreign when you are near.
“Sure.”
“It’s there,” you point to a high shelf in the storage room. “We usually use a staircase, but we broke ours last month. I almost fell on my head— “
“But ended up magically walking away unscathed?” he interrupts. “I know.”
You slam a hand over your mouth, staggering back. “How?”
“Y/n... please don’t be surprised when I tell you this,” Yongbok frowns, placing a hand on his heart.
“Tell me,” you whisper.
“When I told you I was your guardian angel, it meant that I actually guarded you from harm’s way.”
“No,” you shake your head.
“I know,” he nods solemnly. “I’ve saved you from many, many clumsy falls.”
“My savior,” you giggle. “Lift me?” you say, and he nods, squatting down until you climb atop his shoulders before rising again.
“Okay, get a bit closer,” you instruct as you grab a packet of flour. “Shit, okay, this is heavy,” you giggle nervously.
“Why are you shaking? I’m the one carrying you,” Yongbok chuckles.
“When have you ever seen me around the vicinity of a gym?”
“Just hang in there, I’ll squat slowly,” he reassures.
Your feet are almost on the ground when the bag slips from your hands, falling with a resounding bang. Clouds of white envelop you both, shrouding your clothes in powder. You freeze, only to erupt into laughter as Yongbok grabs your waist, pulling you down to him.
“My god,” you manage to utter between chuckles, staring at the flour scattered all over the ground. Your laughter intensifies as Yongbok stares at you blankly, his face completely covered in white.
“What should I do?” you giggle, clutching your stomach. Yongbok can’t hold in his laughter much longer at the sight of the tears rolling down your cheeks. His giggles stream through your veins like a cup of hot tea, making your entire being warm up from within.
“I’m sorry,” you laugh, your palms settling atop his cheeks, slightly wiping away the powder.
“It’s okay,” he chuckles still, swiping his knuckles across your cheek to remove the flour, as well. Your hands cease their movements as you take in the fully concentrated look on his face.
“Can I ask you something?” you inquire quietly, and he nods.
“You seemed quiet today,” you note. He stiffens slightly before turning your cheek to the left, wiping the other side of your face. “Or was I wrong?”
“I don’t really know how to talk to other people.”
“Why is that?”
“I’m scared they’ll be able to tell there is something abnormal about me.”
“Yongbok...” you speak his name softly as if it was molded after your voice alone. “That’s nonsense. There is nothing abnormal about you.”
He avoids your gaze, so you place your hand atop his, tilting your face to catch his eyes. “Hm?”
“Just because my wings aren’t here doesn’t mean my past is erased.”
“Who said it should be? No one’s asking you to be perfect. No human is, Yongbok.” He remains silent, so you sigh softly, inching closer to him.
“If a straight line goes on with its path...” your fingertip drags a straight line across his chest, the white shirt he’s wearing suddenly igniting from the warmth of your touch. “It will remain undisturbed for the rest of its life. But what good is that? If a line doesn’t go down,” you trace a curve down his shirt, then one up again, “how will it ever know how sweet a high is, right?” you smile, before bopping your fingertip across the tip of his nose.
“You have pretty freckles, by the way,” you smile, and he clears his throat, nodding furiously. “Thank you.”
“You know, the guy who ordered the matcha latte, he spent his entire time here observing you,” you grin knowingly, and he frowns. “Really? I didn’t notice.”
“Yes, and when you gave him the change, he did the... what was it called again?” you muse for a few seconds before clapping. “Ah, yes, the triangle method.”
“What’s that?”
“He looked into your left eye, then your right one,” you demonstrate with your gaze gliding across his like a skilled ice skater grazing the surface of ice. “Then... his gaze flickered to your lips,” your eyes follow your words, and his breath suddenly catches in his throat, an unknown feeling swelling in the pits of his stomach. Tender and aching all at once.
“Did it work? Did I fluster you?” you giggle, leaning to place your ear atop his heart. Yongbok pushes your head away, grateful for the dim lighting that conceals his blushing face. He doesn’t know what emotion will burst into him if your head rests across his chest.
He doesn’t think his heart could handle it.
“No, you didn’t, um—” he’s flustered. He prays with all his might you can’t tell. “Let’s clean this up, I’m hungry.”
“What should we have for dinner?”
“Sushi?”
“No, let’s have kimbap.”
“Then why did you ask me?”
You shrug happily. “I’m giving you the illusion of choice.”
Your words send a chill running down his spine, his hands freezing in place. Is this what Chris has offered him? An illusion of choice. Of a different ending. Of a fate different from what he has always thought would be his.
No, Christopher can’t be that cruel, right? Yongbok shakes his head, cleaning the entire room with an absentminded swipe of his hand.
A fool made to believe he can change a prophecy.
But Yongbok can’t help the small voice growing in his head, feeding off his worries and anxiety, echoing mindlessly within his mind.
But he can.
He can.
He is.
…
Time passes differently on humans than on angels. It now marks Yongbok in different ways, too.
The hours he spends feeling sad are excruciating, stretching long and long till he starts to question whether the sun does rise at the end of the night. Or if it is a cruel lie recounted by humans to make the sadness less harsh, easier to bear.
But those same hours he spends happily pass within the blink of an eye, their fragments stitching into Yongbok’s memory, a tapestry woven with threads of your silky voice and glimmering eyes. It is those happy moments he lived for the past month that he wishes to remember.
Only those.
He's gotten better at latte art, taking pleasure in drawing different shapes, animals, and even faces into the drinks. It’s less the satisfaction of being good at a task, and more so the smile that blooms on the faces of whichever customer gets their drink. Delighted by something he did, for once.
He’s good at making brownies. And apparently, his brownies are the best you’ve ever had. He’s only ever discovered the joys of baking because you were craving some but were feeling too lazy to make them. It was arguably hard to bake in the dark, as if ashamed of what your reaction would be if you found him struggling with pots and browned butter.
But all of his embarrassment dissipated when you tasted them first thing in the morning, your eyes lingering longer on his figure when you found the plate.
Mr. Kang agrees, too, so much that he’s asked him to put up these brownies for sale. Yongbok spends a lot of time with the kitchen staff, where Mrs. Kang, the head chef, teaches him the intricacies of carrot cake and cinnamon rolls. She calls him “son”, Yongbok doesn’t know why an urge to weep overtakes him each time he hears the nickname.
You took him on picnics across the Han River, bowls of steaming hot ramyeon in your hands as you watched the sunset, sometimes the sunrise too. He reads books lying on the grass field, your shoulder brushing against his own. He doesn’t know why he remembers the swipe of your skin against his, or the specific scent of your perfume as it intermingles with that of the salty river.
Sometimes it is bike rides across the river. You chasing the sun and him chasing something else— was it your smile, your happiness, a glimpse of your face each time you turned back to look at him? He doesn’t know the exact answer, but he knows that when your gaze met his across your shoulder, the wind swaying your hair as if spelling out lullabies for his soul, something excruciatingly tender bloomed within his soul.
Sometimes it is day trips to neighboring cities, where you can see the beach once again. Where he swims and floats atop the water. Where he closes his eyes and feels at peace, where the water chases off images of his pain and leaves only images of you.
He also volunteered at your local food kitchen. The people who eat there have called him kind, too. He feels as if you sat the course of how he would be perceived when you described him as such, the very first night you spoke in. He likes being there. He likes talking to people, he’s gotten better at it, too.
He met Chan, and his two friends, Han and Changbin. He doesn’t remember how he ended up singing ad-libs for their newest mixtape. But they complimented his voice, said it’s perfect for harmonizing. You had simply grinned as if you already knew that from the moment you had first heard him speak. You spent the rest of the night eating grilled meat and playing video games over at their dorm. Yongbok doesn't think he laughed as much as that day.
And each time he thinks the heights of his happiness are attained, that this is as joyful as he can get. That sorrow will undoubtedly follow closely, as it lingers just around the corner, waiting for the cup of his happiness to be filled to the brim. You prove him wrong. You make him laugh harder. You broaden his heart for him to receive even more happiness.
As you are doing now, missing every target to win this pink cat plushie in Lotte World.
“This is embarrassing, how can you miss all of them?” he sighs amusedly and you turn around, pointing a finger at his face.
“Because you are staring at me with your…” you stammer, waving your finger in front of his face, “eyes.”
“How am I supposed to look at you then?”
“Just don't. I don’t do well with scrutinizing.”
“Okay, I’m not looking.” he turns around, closing his eyes for a second, waving his hand discreetly through the air. He knows that your delighted scream will follow.
“Did you get it?” he feigns being surprised as you shake his shoulder, turning him around. “I did!”
Your smile is as wide as an ocean, as beautiful as the sunsets you take him to witness. He’s lost in thought as he takes in your grin.
“You look so pretty, Yn,” he says honestly, earnestly, because it is the only way he has ever known to speak to you. “Pretty like the sun.”
“Oh,” your excitement fizzles out, the plushie growing lump in your hold. “Doesn’t the sun burn the more you look at it?” you giggle nervously, tucking strands of your hair behind your ear. They are rebellious, refusing to stay still, so Yongbok steps forward, gently doing it for you.
“Because the sun shines a bit too brightly to make sure everything else in the universe does.” he pauses, running his tongue across the expanse of his lips. “Just like you, with me and everyone else in your life,” he says. My light is a reflection of yours, is what you hear.
“You are very honest,” you smile softly, bringing a hand to your ablaze cheeks, hoping to cool them down.
“Is it a bad thing?” he asks. Nervous. You quickly shake your head, despising the thought of a negative emotion trapping his heart.
“No, no. It’s a good one. Truly.”
“Okay.”
“Should we go to the ferry wheel?” you suddenly ask, hugging the plushie closely to your body.
“Yeah, sure, let’s go,” he grins.
Yongbok’s limbs are slightly achy from all the rides you went on today, but nothing seems to deter the smile on his face, even as the line stretches for meters ahead. Nothing, except for the discomfort slowly growing on your face, your thumb tearing at the skin near your nails.
“What’s wrong?” he questions, trying his best to catch your fleeting gaze.
“There are too— too many people around, I feel a bit suffocated.”
Yongbok doesn’t think, he simply grabs your hand and you are suddenly on the top of the ferry wheel, humans morphing into tiny ants to you from high above.
“Better?” he asks worriedly, tucking a strand of your hair behind the cuff of your ear.
You’re still slightly dazed, but the wind that slams into your body feels like a gulp of cold water.
“Your hands are shaking,” he notices, entwining your fingers with his, naturally, as if it is second nature for you both. “And they are cold. Are you dying?” he asks and you finally burst into giggles, shaking your head.
“No, I… I sometimes get anxious around people; it usually turns into a panic attack but I think you stopped it.”
“I helped you?” he asks, eyes softening and you nod. “Why are you surprised? you always do.”
Yongbok doesn’t know how to face the gentleness of your tone. It is a much harder opponent than the harshness he was subjected to.
“Do they happen often?”
“It depends. They come and go like the seasons. I actually… I learned how to help you from my mom. Do you remember? back on the rooftop?”
“Really?” he asks, bringing your interlocked hands to his mouth and blowing warm air onto them. His lips almost graze your knuckles in the process.
“Yeah. She got them frequently and she taught me how to ground her. And then I used those techniques on myself. Then on you.” you sigh, closing your eyes and tipping your head back.
“Hers happened because of a past accident. She once got stuck in a mob of people and ended up fainting. it was my dad who pulled her up from the ground, it’s how they met, actually,” you grin slightly, before breathing in slowly.
“You know, I read that you can inherit trauma from your parents, but also from generations past. That it changes the genetic structure of your mind. I wonder if that’s what triggers me.”
“That's fascinating to think about. How emotions and experiences can be inherited.”
“I know,” you smile, “I think it passed.” you gesture to your interlocked hands and he lets go promptly, staring ahead at the twinkling city lights, light pink dusting his cheeks. He’s embarrassed because he enjoyed the feel of your palm against his so much, maybe too much, enough to wish for your line palms to meld into one another. Becoming two indiscernible scriptures to the naked eye.
“Wait. Does this mean we didn't need to wait all day for the rides?” you suddenly ask and he nods.
“Then why didn’t you?”
“I don't… I don't like using my powers a lot around you.”
“Why is that?”
“I'm scared that the more I use them the more you'll realize that I'm a fallen angel and that you have no business talking to someone like me.”
“You are very silly, you know that right?” you sigh, placing your cheek atop his shoulder. Yongbok’s world stops spinning right there and then. “I don't feel as lonely anymore now that you’re here. Angel,, human, or something else entirely… None of that matters to me.
To me, you’re just Yongbok.”
the question trickles suddenly into his being, tiptoes inside him gently like a droplet finding its way back to a waterfall— what is the grandest thing the universe has to offer?
To him you’re it.
“I think I'm happy right now.”
“You think?”
“I don't know how to describe it… But it feels like I have a little sun in my chest. It glows and it’s warm.”
You tilt your head back to look at him, a wide smile on your face. He finds his answer in the sunset that filtrates through the strands of your hair, the last sun rays of the day coating your face in a warm glow, as if it was made to make your features shine the most, to make the shadows in your face look like a sculpture.
“Yeah,” he says after a few silent beats, “I really am happy.”
“Does this mean we are moving?” you giggle, spreading your arms wide as if taking in the entire universe into your chest.
“Yeah, wherever you want us to.” His words are soft, resolute, draped with a gentle discovery— he followed you down to earth, he’d follow you everywhere in it.
…
“I don't know how I'll explain to people how I suddenly afforded this apartment,” you smile, hands on your hips, as you take in your new surroundings.
Yongbok moves to stand directly behind you, his chest almost brushing against yours. you feel your heart palpitate at his proximity— so close yet so out of reach, simultaneously.
“Just say you moved in with me”
“Mm, I’ll say we are childhood friends and you just moved to the city.”
“Friends? Is that what we are now?” he grins, the light from the tinted windows bathing his features in a kaleidoscope of colors. He’s so beautiful, You you suddenly wish for a change to what you are. you don’t know by what exactly. But something, anything that will allow you to appreciate, venerate his beauty fully.
“Well, we aren’t strangers anymore.”
“I think you are my first real friend,” he says, a bit shyly, pink filling up the spaces between his tan freckles.
Yongbok always speaks what’s in his mind, with this air of innocence tainting his words as if he doesn’t know that thoughts can be kept to himself.
You never mind it. Though it churns your insides, makes you experience this particular attachment to him. You want to orbit around him, hear what he thinks of everything, of the colors it seems he experiences for the first time, the food he tastes, and the humans he speaks to.
And most importantly, you.
You yearn to know everything he thinks of you. You don’t allow yourself to decipher where this need is coming from. You don’t think you’d be able to handle its consequences.
“You’re lucky I'm like… The best human to ever walk on this earth,” you grin, throwing your hair over your shoulder and onto his face. He squints his eye to chase away strands of your hair.
“The humblest too,” he says, his eyes drifting across the living room. You chose an apartment on the smaller side, as opposed to his unlimited budget. But he likes what you did to the place. He doesn’t quite understand the intricacies of home decor, but he likes the plants everywhere, the flickering candles, and the fragrant flowers bathed in dim lightning.
And he loves your painting room the most, with a neat library on the side. It feels like taking a walk straight into your heart.
“Who painted that, by the way?” he suddenly asks, pointing to the painting in the middle of the room, right above the beige couch.
“Hwang Hyunjin. It took me four paychecks to be able to afford it, three years ago. His pieces are now much more expensive.”
“Hyunjin…” he repeats, tasting the name on his tongue, it is familiar, and the memory suddenly hits him once again. “Oh, I talked to him before.”
“Did you?!” you ask excitedly, grabbing his arm and shaking it slightly. “Where, when, how?”
“At a bar, before I became... half human?” he says, unsure a bit of what he is now. “He actually invited me to his upcoming exposition. When was it again?”
“Today!” you nearly yell and he flinches.
“Really?”
“Yeah, I've been following his news. He's really my favorite artist.”
“Should we go?”
“Actually?”
“Yeah. you seem to really like him.”
“Oh my god, I’m meeting Hwang Hyunjin. oh my god, I need a dress,” you grab his hand, pulling him away. “We need a dress!”
“We?”
“Let’s go shopping, we need to buy…”
Your words fizzle out in his brain, his whole focus on your entwined fingers as you push him through the room. Your palm feels like a soft petal brushing against his bruised skin.
If he freezes time, just for a bit more, to enjoy the feel of your hand in his, would anyone blame him?
The earth would understand surely— the desperate need to appreciate softness when all he has known is thorns pricking his skin.
...
“Yongbok!” Hyunjin's boisterous voice echoes through the art gallery, drawing every eye to you and Yongbok as you stride inside. Yongbok barely has a moment to take in the lavish surroundings before Hyunjin walks toward you, his polished shoes clicking rhythmically against the white marble.
“I knew you’d come!” he grins, grabbing Yongbok’s hand between his two large palms, shaking it warmly.
“I didn’t think you’d remember me.”
“Of course I'd remember you,” Hyunjin says, his face darkening for a fleeting second, before his eyes rest on you.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Hyunjin,” he smiles, grabbing your hand and shaking it a bit more softly.
“Yn. I’m a big admirer of your work, truly.”
Yongbok’s eyes soften at your excitement— they don’t leave your figure when he tells Hyunjin that you have a piece of his hanging in the living room.
“Really?” Hyunjin’s face brightens up at the news, “which one?”
“The red roses in the vase. It’s one of my favorites.”
“That was in my beginnings,” Hyunjin muses, a hint of nostalgia tinting his words. “I put a lot of love in it.”
“I can tell, the colors especially scream of passion.”
“Are you one for passionate love?”
“Is love truly love if it is devoid of passion?” you ask, tilting your head. Hyunjin’s eyes linger on Yongbok for a moment before turning back to you.
“Excellent! Please choose whichever artwork you prefer; it will be my gift.”
“Really?” you beam, brighter than Yongbok has ever seen you before. The sun suddenly perishes within him.
“Of course. The prettiest artwork for the prettiest girl,” Hyunjin winks smoothly, before patting Yongbok’s shoulder. “Shall I give you a tour?”
Yongbok’s voice is withered as it floods his ears— “Please.”
…
Yongbok’s eyes are fixated on the red liquid swirling around his glass. He fears that if his gaze deserts the wine he’s drinking then it would inevitably drift to you and Hyunjin, giggling together, like long-time friends. Or is it lovers? The lines blur so easily for humans.
He had feigned an ache in his legs, telling you that he’d sit down while you go on with the tour. You had placed a hand on his arm, a worried crease in your eyebrows. “Okay?” you asked. Comforting, warm. It is the adjectives that always come to his mind when he thinks of you with him.
But you aren’t his to describe. His to be kind with. His.
So, he hummed, a tight smile drawn on his face.
It’s not that he despised Hyunjin’s artwork. On the contrary, Hyunjin is a skilled artist, he can see why he’s reaping the fruits he sowed years ago. And yet, what disturbs him is something silly, stupid, too feeble for an angel, a human even, to care for.
He doesn’t like how your laugh travels around the gallery, how you fell so easily into conversation with Hyunjin, talking about your shared interest in art. He won’t ever have a passion of years to talk to you about. How could he when his existence merely spans over three months?
Yongbok is shrinking more and more, till he becomes a single dot of paint on the painting in the very far end of the gallery. Forgotten, dim before all the others. How can he dream to compare if he doesn’t know who he is? If his memories of life don’t even contain the four seasons, pausing in winter, barely brushing against spring.
When his torn skin doesn’t bear blemishes from falls years ago, while riding the bicycle, while playing with other kids, proof of a childhood well spent. No, his scars are that of one stripped from his roots, cast into an unknown world, punished, ridiculed.
He’s unworthy of being an angel, unworthy of being human, unworthy of being in your company. Why are you wasting time with someone like him, who’d only pull you down, someone who needs instructions to understand how to carry his heart?
The thoughts play out in his head, again and again, on your ride back home. You are happy, radiating even at the thought of a painting delivered by Hyunjin himself, your favorite artist, sitting in your home. His skin ricochets off your happiness, morphs it into anger and bitterness, all directed at himself.
He hates Hyunjin. He doesn't. He hates Hyunjin with you. He wants you to be happy with him alone. Isn’t he horrible for wishing to strip you away from happiness?
Horrible.
Horrible.
Abomination.
“Can you help me take off my necklace?” you knock on his bedroom a few minutes after you arrive, walking in to find him sitting on his bed, deep in thought.
He startles at your presence, backing away even more into the wall. You frown at the tumult you perceive in his eyes.
“Get out.”
“What?”
“I said,” he speaks through gritted teeth. “Please, get out.”
He can’t bear looking at you. He can’t bear you looking at him. What will you see? Someone poisoned by jealousy, whose insides are collapsing on themselves, whose body rejects his bruised soul, over and over again.
Where else is he supposed to flee? If he sheds this skin, which one would finally accept him whole?
“What’s wrong? you’ve been quiet all night, avoiding my gaze. Did something happen that upset you?”
He’s panicking, on the verge of combusting into tears. How would he explain this hatred coursing through his veins at the thought of being perceived? By your kind, beautiful beautiful eyes, nonetheless.
“I really–“ a pause, “ I really don’t want to see you right now.”
You falter, your hand curling tighter against the doorknob.
“Because each time I do, I– I see you with Hyunjin, and I feel as if flames are burning inside my lungs, choking me.”
“What?”
“And I hate- hate how I… look how I exist right now. So please, leave, I don't want you to see me.”
You hesitate for a few seconds, rooted in place.
And then you close the door.
You are inside.
“Talk to me, what is it you’re feeling?” you speak softly, your voice cautious, none of the things he’s used to. It angers him all of the sudden.
“This is exactly what I hate. You are wasting your time helping me decipher my feelings, you are pitying me. Can't you see how burdensome I am?”
You shake your head, taking a step forward.
“I don’t, I like it, I… I love helping you, I love seeing the world through your eyes again. It feels like I'm learning new things every day thanks to you and I—“
“I’m an ABOMINATION,” he yells, the walls seem to shake from the voracity of his voice. “From the moment I was created, I have been nothing but anomalous, I… I don't belong anywhere, who was I kidding by coming here?” he tears at his hair slightly, now pacing back and forth in front of you. “Did I really think that feeling would suddenly fix the void within me? that talking to humans would make me normal–“
“Yongbok!” you cut him off, no longer capable of bearing the sound of his shaky voice. “Please you are not listening to me!”
“No, you are not listening to me! Look! Look at how ugly I am, look!” he turns around, taking off his white shirt, exposing his butchered back to you. “Look at everything that haunts me, please look at it, hate me and leave.”
He pleads, naked and vulnerable before your eyes. He waits for you to deliver the killing blow, to cement the horrible thoughts he bears for his body.
If it is your voice speaking of how worthless he is then he’d believe it more.
A pin-drop silence coats the room. Yongbok believes you somewhat vanished from existence.
And then. Your lips on his back, brushing across the plane of his shoulder in the softest, faintest manner. He almost thinks he’s imagining it, imagining you kissing his scarred skin as if it is a delicate petal, worthy of care. Worthy of admiration. Worthy of love.
“Is this what you hate about yourself?” you whisper, your knuckles grazing his scars. “Why are you so mean to your body, Yongbok?” your voice shakes. Hot tears pool in his eyes at the sound of it. “ Didn’t it scab its best to keep you alive?”
“You are such an idiot,” you breathe out quietly, your warm palms settling atop his waist. “I won't hate you for this. How could I hate you for this?”
Yongbok is dizzy, drunk off your voice and the way your touch makes goosebumps ripple across his skin. “How could I hate you when all I see is resilience?” Your lips brush against his back, the faintest kisses peppered down his spine. “When all I see is what kept you alive?”
Yongbok’s blood has spilled into the first snow of Seoul, what feels like a lifetime ago. But somewhat, it is underneath the caress of your hands that he has felt most exposed.
“So, I am thankful for your scars,” another tender kiss, this time to the nape of his neck. “Otherwise, you would have bled on the snow and I wouldn't have known you. And it’s a horrible horrible thing for me to imagine.”
Your chin nestles across the plane of his shoulder, your hands wrap delicately around his chest. Can you feel his heart beating wildly? Can you hear it spelling out your name?
“Don’t be so harsh on yourself, Yongbok. Haven't you been through enough, already?”
It isn’t the thoughts in Yongbok’s head that finally make him breakdown. It is rather the feeling of your chest pressed to his back, your cheek resting across his shoulder, you hugging him for the very first time in existence, you enclosing him in a cocoon of safety the way his wings used to.
“I’m here. you can cry all you want,” you reassure, soft and comforting. His grief for his wings suddenly seem too far out of reach, the safety of his feathers paling before the safety of you.
Yongbok doesn’t think as he spins around, as he buries his head in the crook of your neck. You respond swiftly, bringing his body even closer to yours, running your hand comfortingly along his spine.
He doesn’t mind your fingers grazing his scars, he doesn’t chase off your touch. On the contrary, he craves it, his cells calling out your name, thanking you for all the love you’re giving him. He wishes he could glue himself to you, crawl inside your veins, build himself a nest between the web of your nerves. He doesnt think he could ever survive mourning you.
“Please— please don’t leave me,” he begs, lost in waves of uncertainty, he thinks that if he holds you tightly you won’t ever disappear from his hands, trickling between his fingers like grains of sand.
“Don't be silly,” tears fall down your eyes too, landing on his back like dripping wax. You attempt to steady your voice but it still shakes like rattling branches. “Where would I go?”
“What if they take you away from me?”
A flash of white clouds Yongbok’s vision, the cold returns to his body tenfold. He blinks repeatedly, and then he finds himself atop an abandoned rooftop. The blood runs cold in his veins, his heart pausing in his chest as he hears heavy footsteps approaching. Did he place a curse atop himself? Did his worst fear come true as soon as he spoke of it?
Are you gone?
Oh God, are you gone?
“Yongbok,” a familiar voice speaks, and life resumes its course inside his feeble body.
“Seungmin,” he speaks the name in relief, a breathtaking smile blooming on his face. He sees the scrunch in Seungmin’s eyebrows relax ever so slightly, before a placid look drapes across his face again.
“Why did you do it?” Seungmin asks and Yongbok’s grin falters.
“Did they send you?” he asks, a hint of apprehension filling his words.
“No, I came to bring you back.”
“What?”
“I will fly you back and you will kneel before them and apologize. And you will vow to never speak to humans again, and it will be forgotten.”
“I don't want to.”
“Why are you— “Seungmin pinches the bridge of his nose in annoyance, “they are humans,” he says the words in disdain, as if looking down at them from atop an unreachable altar.
“I know they are.”
“They are weak. Driven by things they cannot touch or see.”
“And I love them for it.”
Seungmin frowns. “You’re defending them.”
“Seungmin,” he sighs tiredly, “why are you doing this?”
“Because I'm trying to help you. This, emotions, feelings, love. It isn't worth the pain they will end up causing you.”
Yongbok scoffs loudly, angrily. “What do you know about love?”
“You think you are special? You think you’re the first angel to go through this? I loved someone too Yongbok!'' Seungmin yells, taking him completely by surprise. “And they had him get in a car accident to punish me for it. I still hear the screeching tires; I still see his skull fracturing against the ground. I had to beg— beg for them to rewind the seconds and bring him back to life. And all for what?” he scoffs, grabbing Yongbok’s shoulders and shaking them. “You are on cloud nine because this is something new for you, you think that those humans would ever accept you? But you are wrong! Tell me, what’s an angel to a human?”
The shout that leaves Yongbok’s throat is a foreign one to his being. “That doesn't matter to me!” he yells, pushing away his hands. “Look me in the eyes, ask me, what’s a human to an angel? I’ll tell you it’s everything. Everything if it’s her.”
“This will ruin you. They will kill you, Yongbok. She will be your demise.”
“I’d rather die by her hands than live by yours.”
“What if she ends up dying by your hands?” Seungmin speaks calmly, coldly. Yongbok feels the ground give up beneath his feet. “What if in the process of hurting you they end up hurting her, what will you do then?”
“I… they won’t.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I don't love her.”
“Who said anything about love?” Seungmin sighs, shaking his head. He looks almost desolate, somewhat that terrifies Yongbok even more. “You have your answer, I fear they have theirs too.”
Seungmin walks away, pauses, before turning back once more. He hesitates to speak, and in the seconds of silence that ensue, Yongbok discovers how terribly heavy fear is to bear.
“I’m sorry, Yongbok.”
His tongue is heavy as it moves to ask— “what for?”
“For the things yet to come.”
More Posts from Valreifang and Others
AWAKEN — [18+!]
AN INTERACTIVE STORY
![AWAKEN — [18+!]](https://64.media.tumblr.com/d0de72555b6754737727559b2728fc2f/261dd1d7ac2a7238-7b/s500x750/60a5bd89c8b240501666e7553a4eee4f06b85b3c.jpg)
![AWAKEN — [18+!]](https://64.media.tumblr.com/d8833eed60c4193f8221c88410b5026e/261dd1d7ac2a7238-61/s500x750/c681bdf7cb32534ff538a314dc714a06122ea399.jpg)
![AWAKEN — [18+!]](https://64.media.tumblr.com/1fb7d49d8230b8abb3e335c738b627bd/261dd1d7ac2a7238-2c/s500x750/96d620dbd56ee5255e8fe88ee974b257c092c447.jpg)
“To make up for the lost hours of sleep, you know, we’d like to treat you. Make you feel good,” he explains with a wink.
![AWAKEN — [18+!]](https://64.media.tumblr.com/dfb2b9502df2690764471b0fa62db4e5/261dd1d7ac2a7238-b5/s500x750/9ea2969acc8a4011f1d342ad2c61b565f0280d88.jpg)
⏱️ No matter if it’s producing music in the middle of the night or having female guests over—your three kind but loud friends that live in the apartment upstairs make you lose lots of sleep these days. But they propose an idea how to solve this issue. A game, if you will, that shall make up for all the endless hours without rest.
❕ [READ CAREFULLY] You, Y/N, are the main character in this interactive story. In order to choose whoever you want to end up with, simply select an option after reading [options will be highlighted and have a link attached to them] and follow the path!
🛋️ CONTENT INFO: 3racha x female reader, neighbours au, acquaintances/friends to lovers (?), smut with the smallest bit of plot [so sorry], this has been chilling in my drafts since August 2022!!! and was announced here on 07/08/22 lmao
📖 WORD COUNT: 5.5K [or 12.8K if you read all the paths]
🩷 AUTHOR’S NOTE: Wow, hi. Guess who's back [Eminem's Without Me starts playing]? I hope you enjoy this silly little and lighthearted story. I'd be very grateful if you told me about your thoughts in the comments or a reblog or an ask, especially with who you ended up with!! I always appreciate any kind feedback and I'm super glad to have you guys. I hope you didn't forget about me and are taking care of yourself. And now enjoy!! 🩷
🎲 CONTENT WARNING: alcohol consumption, explicit sexual content [not too detailed tags to not spoil anything and also depends on the ending you choose! includes betting with sex as win but with consent, dom/sub dynamics, foursome, semi-protected sex, oral (both m and f receiving), praise and degrading]
The characters do not portray any of the skz members in real life, the names are just used for fiction. Minors do not interact, this post contains mature topics. By reading you consent to nsfw content and agree that you have read all the warnings above carefully.
You can hear them again. Those noises that consist of moans, whimpers and the sounds of a creaking bed that’s right above your apartment.
‘You’re ready for me, baby? Biiiig stretch, come on, I know you can do it,’ a male voice says.
Oh, right. And words like that. Coming from one of your neighbours.
He lives upstairs with two other men and they all happen to be around the same age as you. You’ve never had any issues, until they moved in. From one day to another everything has become… louder. In any sense of the word. A total cliche of neighbours living above you and doing only God knows what after 10 in the evening. In the beginning you didn’t give it much thought, trying your best to ignore it when they decided to have another music producing session at midnight.
Then they started bringing women over. Oh, how do you know? Well, it’s hard to ignore when they scream your neighbours’ names at such a high volume. Chan, Changbin and Jisung are super kind guys, you’d even call them your friends considering all the things they do around the house and help you with your apartment. They take packages for you when you’re at work, assemble your furniture because it was too heavy or immediately take care in case there’s some issue with your water pipes or your heater.
So, it’s kind of hard to be mad at any of them. However, it’s like a game of bingo every night. Sometimes Jisung happens to record some songs or play instruments at midnight. On other occasions Changbin decides to do a home workout at 3 in the morning. And tonight it’s the oldest of them, having a guest over once again.
‘Channie, yes, right there. So good.’
The creaking noises of his bed frame and the groans spilling from his lips have been driving you mad. Yes, perhaps you need to get laid. Perhaps, Chan’s nightly encounters have been arousing you. After all, he’s the one who’s getting the most visits and happens to have his bedroom right above yours.
And yes, perhaps you’ve thought about your neighbour in ways that don’t quite fit any platonic criteria.
The worst part is—whenever you manage to witness him talking a bit too loud during these situations, fully understanding the words he uses with these girls, you can’t hold yourself back anymore and let your hand wander inside your pyjama shorts.
‘You’re taking me so fucking well. Like a real good girl. Come on, baby.’
You’re not proud of it. Not at all. But what should you do?
Maybe go upstairs and either ask them to tone it down or have you be a part of their obnoxiously loud parties. But you’re not ready for that yet.
You give in to those pathetic urges, making yourself comfortable in your bed with only a long shirt covering your upper body so it’s easier for your fingers to graze over your wetness. Spreading your pussy lips apart, you keep listening to the words Chan says to the woman he has over, secretly wishing it was you instead, when one of your digits slips inside with no trouble. You continue playing with yourself, pushing two digits inside, your other hand busy rubbing your clit, while you don’t feel any shame to let those whimpers spill from your lips.
After all, Chan is so loud you doubt that anyone can hear your small little noises when he threatens to tear the walls down with his grunts and pounding—the bedframe hitting the edges of his room, while you hear the furniture glide over the floor, echoing through your ceiling.
Until you get interrupted by a vibration from your phone, indicating you received a message. And it’s from none other than Jisung, the youngest one living in the apartment upstairs. He’s the most teasing one—yeah, unbelievably, considering Chan is perhaps having an orgy right above your bedroom—always using any excuse to get your attention. You play along, but not too much. Regarding your issue of seriously needing to get laid any time soon, you are aware you could just ask Jisung but so far you haven’t built up the courage for that yet.
You reach for your device and read the text.
[Jisung, 23:07]: You looked breathtaking in that skirt today, noona.
That menace.
[You, 23:08]: thank you jisung :)
Another message pops up.
[Jisung, 23:08]: I don’t wanna sound disrespectful but… your curves, baby, they’ve been driving me mad…
You roll your eyes and type another reply.
[You, 23:09]: What did we agree on?
It’s entertaining to flirt a bit with him which is why you play along to some level, but you’re also neighbours and don’t want to make things awkward. This is why you told him from the beginning Jisung shouldn’t get his hopes too high and should keep his advances to a minimum.
[Jisung, 23:09]: yeah yeah no flirting but I can’t help myself i’m sorry baby
[Jisung, 23:10]: besides that… you’re the one touching yourself to my roommate fucking some girl
For a second your heart stops.
He’s heard you. Jisung has noticed that you’ve been masturbating whenever his oldest roommate has brought a guest over. Have the other two—most importantly Chan—realised too? And, God, the other neighbours that happen to live inside this building as well?
You type. You stop. You type again.
Half a minute later you send a message, making yourself seem more suspicious than you want to be.
[You, 23:11]: I don’t know what you’re talking about.
You just know he carries the most mischievous smirk on his pretty face right now. But you decide to place your phone away, having enough of his teasing. Besides that, you can’t handle this right now. You’re way too embarrassed while also being distracted by the noises coming from above.
So, the messages Jisung sends a few minutes later won't be read tonight anymore.
[Jisung, 23:13]: Ohhh darling don’t pretend to be innocent now ;) but you know i can keep secrets so don’t worry yeah?
[Jisung, 23:15]: just like that pretty picture you sent to me the other day. it’s locked away so no one except for me can see it 😇
At some point your body just gave out and finally let you sleep. You got woken up a couple of times during the night but this could have also been caused by your bladder announcing itself after you chugged down a litre of water right before falling asleep. One, because you totally didn’t stay hydrated enough during your long work day. Two, because you really needed something to calm you down after you came around your own fingers to the sound of Chan’s moans and dirty words blurting through the ceiling.
Pathetic. Absolutely pathetic. You can’t even talk to your friends that live upstairs about them being inconsiderate but instead you touch yourself to the sounds they make when having some guests over. Ridiculous.
You enter the gym that’s inside your apartment building, hoping this will help you down from all the stress that’s going on. You’ve finally got a very much needed day off from all the shit that your job has been causing lately. This will be your time, your moment, your opportunity to finally calm down. You’re super optimistic.
Until you see one of the three men in question here. Of course. Changbin basically has his second home here, without a doubt. You do a few of your exercises and routines, until an idea strikes you.
Perhaps, you could subtly talk to him about this ongoing issue. Fuck, why are you even making such a big deal out of it? They’re clearly in the wrong and responsible for you not getting enough sleep. Why is this so hard for you?
You’re sure that describing the issue to Changbin has a high chance of succeeding. Because you feel like he would understand.
“Changbin?”
He turns around, wearing gym shorts and a tank top. Fuck. You’ve underestimated this situation so much—the effect of his arms being on full display is insane. You feel like you’re instantly getting dizzy. Okay, calm down.
“Yeah?”
You gulp, taking a deep breath. You can do this, Y/N. You’re not being chased by some deadly animal, you’re just trying to have a conversation about an issue that has been plaguing you for a couple of weeks.
“Uhm.. I hope this doesn’t sound unfriendly or anything but… these past weeks it’s been really hard for me to rest and get some good sleep because you guys are often a bit loud,” you explain with a small voice.
Changbin’s facial expression immediately turns apologetic. “Oh, God. I am so sorry. We truly weren’t aware. This is awful. How about you come to our place tonight for dinner so we can make up for it, hm?”
You’re not sure if you’re in the mood for some extroverted time but you are very grateful that he’s offering it. Plus—free food.
“Uhm, if it’s not too much stress for you,” you reply, entering the end level of people pleasing although he was the one to offer it.
“Please, not at all. Certainly not when it’s about you, okay? Just be there at 7, yeah? No pressure,” he says, making you feel a bit flustered with his words. You truly hope he doesn’t notice how heat rises up to your face.
“Thank you, see you tonight.”
You ring the doorbell upstairs at 7 sharp. Of course, you’re quickly invited inside—Chan having a wide grin on his face, as he takes the bottle of wine you brought with you.
“We’re glad you’re here,” he says and you follow him to their kitchen. The other two greet you, pulling you into tight hugs, while the oldest is busy preparing the food.
“Thanks for the invitation,” you tell them with a smile.
The food is immaculate, almost making up for all the sleepless nights the trio has put you through. You’re glad they invited you over for dinner—after all you haven’t had much time to catch up with your friends in a while with all the additional shifts you’ve been put through these weeks. So, the sole fact that you can enjoy having a meal with them helps you calm down.
“Have you been alright these days?” Changbin asks all of a sudden, filling your glass with more water. They offered you water alongside the wine and you agreed because you know you’ll be immediately tipsy without it after a few sips considering the fact it’s been a while since you had any alcohol.
“Yeah… well, just a lot going on, you know? With work and all. But it’ll pass, it’s alright.”
They see the stress in your eyes and your whole posture, their caring nature being activated at the thought that they have the urge to help you. But they’re sure this little dinner is a start.
However, your friends also know that they’re partly responsible for the state you’re in too—after all, they just added more onto that pile of stress by not really paying attention to their volumes at night. So, a delicious little meal won’t be enough, they know that, which is why they’ve come up with a plan.
It may sound ridiculous. To an outside person it would be. But it’s no secret to them that you may enjoy listening to whatever they’ve been doing when the sun goes down.
Yes, listening to Chan having a guest over isn’t the only forbidden thing you’ve been doing.
Whenever Changbin’s workouts at home and the grunts and moans that echo through his room during a session, you couldn’t think of anything else, using those sounds as a mental memory whenever you needed to get some stress off.
And Jisung has been flirting with you over text for weeks now. That stupid half-nude you sent some time ago is gonna haunt you forever. It was in a moment of weakness, really. You were posing in front of your mirror with your pyjama shirt covering not much of your body—your thighs on full display, while your hand was squeezing one of your tits through the fabric.
They’ve noticed all of the above. Unfortunately, the walls are pretty thin in this building.
So, they came up with a little idea. There’s no pressure but since they know that you reciprocate the feelings or, well, arousal they have for you, this might be the chance.
However, nothing works without an apology and after a long talk they came up with the idea of turning this into a game.
“First of all, we want to apologise to you, Y/N,” Jisung begins, giving you a soft smile. It’s the first time that he sounds serious so you believe him.
“Yeah, we’ve been unreasonably loud these past weeks… no matter if it’s producing, just talking or having some guests over, you know,” Changbin adds. Don’t forget about doing workouts in the middle of the night like a crazy person.
Chan nods, scratching the back of his head, “Oh, I’m especially sorry for being so loud whenever a woman visited me, I’m sorry if you heard anything.”
Oh, God. The images that you’ve been fantasising about instantly shoot up to your head again. Why did he have to mention this? The world was working just fine with no one talking about this.
“It’s… it’s okay.” You could have lied but instead you decided to subtly admit that you heard him. You wonder now if he’s heard you too whenever you have touched yourself to the noises that slipped past his mouth. “Just… it’s just the timing, you know, at night. When most people are trying to sleep and all.”
It’s so awkward. But you’re glad they’re the ones making the move in this conversation. You wouldn’t have been able to bring up the topic.
“Yeah, very unreasonable from us,” Jisung says, nodding.
“We’d like to make an offer, Y/N,” Changbin adds. “As an apology for all the stress we’ve been putting on you.”
“Yeah,” Chan speaks, “we owe you that one. We’re sure you’re gonna enjoy it.”
“You guys speak so vague it’s–“
“Only if you’re up for it. You can always decline. But to make up for the lost hours of sleep, you know, we’d like to treat you. Make you feel good,” Jisung explains with a wink.
“W-What?”
“Hm, it’s nothing complicated. And only if you want to. But I’ve been noticing how you stare at me and start stuttering whenever we meet at the gym,” Changbin continues.
“That’s… t-that’s so n-not true,” you stammer, cursing yourself for the irony.
“It’s fine, baby,” Chan says before he leans towards you to whisper the next words, “I’m also more than sure you liked the little audio performance I’ve been giving you, hm? Because I might have witnessed your very special form of applause, too.”
Goodbye, Y/N. It’s time to die from embarrassment. Holy shit. You’re sure they can see how flustered you are. Heat is rising up to your head and might as well just warm up the whole kitchen.
But on another note…
They…
Did they really just say they want to make you feel good?
Or is this that certain dream again you’ve been having for some time now?
“Chan– I’m–“
“Don’t worry about anything Y/N,” Jisung interrupts, giving you a smirk. “I’ve also noticed you ogling me whenever we see each other in the elevator.”
You’re glad he doesn’t mention the picture you sent him and all the teasing that happened over text. That would have been your downfall.
But now that you think about it… isn’t this what you’ve wanted all along? As needy as it sounds? Would it be too weird to give in? After all, they were the ones to offer it, right?
“Okay—I can’t deny it,” you start, nervously playing with the scrunchie around your wrist. “You three are all hot, okay? What can I say? But that’s not my issue, my issue is that you’ve been crazily loud and I can’t seem to get some rest.”
At least that’s what you’re trying to bring the focus on. No one said you can’t have more than one issue. And they’re here to hopefully solve both of them.
“We promise to tone it down from today on, really. But are you still in for a game?”
Okay, good.
“Sure. What are the rules?”
Now that the cards are on the table—well, literally, Changbin just brought some for the game—you don’t care about anything anymore. If they wanna turn this into a game, you’re gonna play. And win.
“They’re simple. If you win, you have a free wish. Whatever you want or need, we’ll give it to you,” Chan explains.
“One billion won,” you joke.
He rolls his eyes but chuckles, “Something within our possibilities.”
“Yeah, alright. What happens if you guys win?”
Chan smirks, “If one of us wins they get to spend the night with you. Treat you like their queen and make you feel good, make up for all the stress we’ve caused.”
That sounds like a win-win situation and you start wondering if they can read through your expression. You try to keep a poker face, pretending to contemplate your choice although you’re already all in.
“Alright. Let the games begin, then.”
Changbin begins shuffling the playing cards and handing eight of them to each of you.
“The rules are simple,” Jisung says, “whenever it’s your turn, you place a card that’s higher than the one that got placed before that. We agree on a colour first that works as a triumph when playing—so for instance, if I choose a diamond king, you can either place a diamond ace or any type of heart coloured card if we agree that’s the colour we’re playing. If you don’t have anything fitting in your hand, you don’t place anything and draw a new card instead and it’s the next one's turn. The first one without any cards in their hands is the winner. Any more questions?”
It sounds simple and similar to a bunch of other games you’ve played before. It should work.
You nod, “I’ve got it!”
“We need your full consent for what’s to follow after the game if you lose. You can always back out, by the way. The safe word is ‘Awaken’,” Chan adds.
One of your eyebrows rises, “‘Awaken’?”
“Well, we’ve been keeping you up all night for the past weeks so why should we stop now?” he explains with a wink.
Oh, Y/N, you’re in for a night.
“Fine. Let’s start,” you say, trying to keep it cool.
Jisung nods, “Okay. Then you can pick up your cards now and since you’re our guest we’ll have you decide which colours we’re playing.”
You grab the papers and try to bring them in some order in your hand, soon realising you’ve got a mixture of all of the colours, no pattern really visible. Two hearts—ace and queen—two diamonds—ace and ten—two spades—queen and jack—and two clubs—king and jack. You’re unsure if that’s good or not.
“So, Y/N. Have you had a look at what you’ve got? What colour are we playing?”
It’s your time to choose now. Do you want to win this game with playing the clubs, the spades, the heart or the diamond?
© j-One25 2024 | copying, translating or stealing my work is prohibited
URGENT: FUNDRAISING FOR BREAST CANCER TREATMENT
I have tried my absolute best not to seek financial help online, especially when our collective focus should be aimed towards the welfare of our Palestinians, Congolese, and Sudanese brothers and sisters. I truly have considered countless options before resorting to asking for monetary assistance but I no longer have the means to keep myself alive and my little family afloat. Following my father's death almost three years ago due to colorectal cancer, I was diagnosed late last year with Stage 2A breast cancer.
There's an even elaborate explanation on the fundraising page that I will be attaching in this post. Please, take some time to read it. I am our family's breadwinner, and I am only asking for monetary assistance because I no longer have a job/source of income nor is my previous company willing to shoulder my medical expenses. I am left to fend for myself and I have used all of my savings to afford numerous physical/health examinations and the prescribed medication.
I am going to attach photos of how disfigured my right arm now is, the evident lumps/tumors on my armpits and if you want proof of how the cancer affected my breasts, please directly message me. I don't think I can explicitly share the photos here. But to put enough context, my left breast shrunk into at least 1/3 of its original size.
I am sincerely sorry for being a bother, but if you have the means to donate to my fundraising post, please do. I badly needed all the help I can get so I won't be summoned to court and would be able to afford surgery on time. If you cannot donate, please kindly share this post. If you have any other questions, please reach out to me through direct messaging. This is my only account (I will probably reblogged this on my side blog as well) so please, if you see someone using my photos, alert me. Thank you. Please understand, too, that I will take a bit of time to respond because I am struggling to grasp my phone/only typing using my left hand. Thank you, and please consider helping me.
How do you think angry sex with Chris would go? Like, after a fight, maybe a jealousy fit? We all know he is hella respectful, but I truly believe in this case his mouth is spitting fire. The degradation is on another level, he'd say and do the most messed up shit. Of course, afterwards, he would be a puddle to your feet.
Jealous
synopsis: Chan seems to think you and Jisung are a little too close.. and he gets a little jealous…
tags: smut, afab!reader, possessive (lowkey kinda toxic chan i think. idk but he’s very possessive), dacryphilla (? reader cries a bit)
a/n: idk what to think of this? I lowkey hate it lol, but let me know what you think!
You, Jisung, Minho, and Chan are hanging out in Jisung and Minho’s shared dorm. You’re currently curled up on the floor near the coffee table, practically leaning into Jisung as the two of you share a ridiculous story from when you went out to eat earlier that week. His hand brushes your arm while he mimics someone’s voice and you double over laughing.
Across the room, Chan watched. He’s sat on the couch, one ankle resting on his opposite knee, jaw tight, arm sling over the back like he’s comfortable—but he’s not. His eyes flick to you, then to Jisung, then back to you again.
Youre laughter is too.. free. Jisung is sat way too close. And you haven’t looked in Chan’s direction once in the past ten minutes.
He tells himself it’s nothing. You love him, not Jisung. But the way that you tilt your head at him with that soft smile, it stabs at something hot and unsettling in his chest.
You finally—finally—glance over to him. Chan’s gaze doesn’t waver. The look in his eyes is a little darker than usual, hooded and unreadable, but you don’t comment on it. You just offer a soft smile before standing up.
“I’ll be right back,” you say, the words directed more towards Jisung than him, as you head your way down the hall towards the bathroom.
The second the door closes behind you, Chan pushes himself to stand and quietly slips out of the room following right behind you.
You’re halfway though washing your hands when there’s a soft knock on the door. “…It’s me.” comes Chan’s voice.
You blink, staring at the closed door.
“Can you let me in?”
Your stomach flips, you unlock the door and crack it open. Chan doesn’t wait, he pushes inside and shuts in behind him, and it locks with a click.
“What the hell was that?”
You narrow your eyes, “What was what?”
Chan scoffs, “You two were all over eachother. What the fuck was that about?”
You roll your eyes, “He’s just being nice.” Chan stops in his tracks, jaw clenched, eyes dark.
“Don’t play dumb with me. I know what you were trying to do.”
“What are you talking about? I’m not allowed to laugh with our friends? Am I supposed to walk around with my head down so no one gets the wrong idea?”
“I’m not stupid. You were flirting back.” Chan whisper-yells, keeping his voice low so that the two in the living room don’t hear him.
“I wasn’t even flirting. You’re just being insecure,”
In one second he closed the space between you two, hand gripping your jaw firmly, tilting your face so you had no choice but to meet his furious gaze.
“I’m not being insecure, but if that’s what you think, fine. But don’t you dare act like you didn’t know what you were doing in there.”
You inhale sharply as your back hits the counter. “Chan..”
He bites his lip, “I just want you to remember who you belong to.” His mouth crashes onto yours before you can even think of a response, a mix of anger, frustration and desperation. His hands grip your hips, backing you into the counter and lifting you onto the counter like you weigh nothing.
“You want attention so bad?” He hissed against your mouth, “You’re gonna get it. Every. Fucking. Inch of it.”
You gasp gassing his lips as the cool marble meets the backs of your thighs and he swallows it greedily. His hands are already under your shirt, skimming your waist, pressing your bodies closer.
“You think I didn’t notice the way he looked at you?” he mutters against your mouth, dragging your shirt over your head. “The way you leaned into him?”
Your jeans are gone before you even realize he’s unbuttoned them, you tug at his shirt in retaliation, teeth grazing his jaw as he yanks it over his head and throws it somewhere behind him.
One hand slips between your legs as his mouth trails down your neck, teeth grazing your skn. You squirm beneath his hands, heat pooling fast and thick into your stomach.
You whimpering when his hand slips under the elastic of your panties and his fingers rub against you slick folds. He smirks against your neck. “That’s right. Only I get to touch you like this, make you this wet.”
“You like making me jealous, don’t you?” he growls. “You like when I lose control over you.”
You shake your head, breath ragged as you try and grind your hips against his fingers. “I don’t—I wasn’t trying—“ You cut yourself off with a moan as he presses one finger into you. You pull his closer by the front of his hoodie to try and connect you lips again.
Chan groans in response, deep and desperate. “You’re mine,” he grits out, finger quickly thrusting in and out of you, curling every so often to hit that one spot. “Say it.”
His words were filthy and his tone was mean. You let out a strangled moan, “Yours.. I’m yours.” you whisper. But the sudden loss of his fingers as he slides them out of you makes you whine, hips instinctively changing his hand.
You barely have anytime to catch your breath when you feel him slide into you and you grip his shoulder with a loud moan.
“That’s it. Louder.”
You let out chocked moans and whimpers of his name again and again, tears begin to run down your cheeks and your voice cracks as he thrusts into you with a ruthless rhythm. “Look at you,” he groans, lifting a hand to gently wipe your tears away. “So needy for me now.”
You bite your lip when you feel his tip graze onto your sweet spot, tucking your head down to his shoulder. His fingers tangle in your hair to pull your head back up.
“Don’t hide now, baby. You wanted this. Acting like a brat all night so that i’ll fuck you like this, yeah?” You shakily nod against his neck in response.
He gives a sharp tug that pulls a loud moan from your lips. So much for trying to be quiet, there’s no way they didn’t hear that, but at the moment, you couldn’t care less.
He leans in, lips brushing your ear. “Good girl. Let everyone hear you, baby.” His voice send a shiver down your spine. He shifts slightly, adjusting your legs so that your thighs are wrapped tightly around his waist. The new angle has him driving harder and deeper into you, and you can help but grind your hips down against him, desperate to meet every thrust.
His hand grips your hips, holding you in place like he’s afraid you’d disappear. Every thrust is rough, angry, desperate. He makes you feel every word, every breath.
You voice starts to falter a bit and your legs tremble around him. “You gonna cum for me?” he groans into your ear, “Cum on my dick baby, c’mon.”
You let out a moan and your body trembles with your release. Chan keeps thrusting into you as your legs fall slack around him, no longer able to hold themselves up. “Please—too much.” You whine as your nails dig into his arms. “Chan—“
“You can take it. Just a little more.” He grunts. Each snap of his hips sending an overwhelming wave of pleasure coursing through your veins. You feel the pace of his hips falter against you and his voice cracks with each hushed moan that escapes his lips.
“Fuck. I’m so close-“ he breathes. You lean in, pressing your lips to his in a desperate kiss, the two of you swallowing each moan that escapes each others lips.
“Come inside me.. please,” You whimper against his lips. Chan lets out a strained grunt in response, his thrusts growing faster, more desperate as he chases his own pleasure. One hand drops between your bodies, and his fingers rub at your clit in harsh, relentless circles. The overstimulation makes your breath hitch and you cry out as you feel another climax quickly building.
His hips still, and you feel him twitch inside you as spurts of warm cum begin to coat your walls. The sensation of him releasing inside you sends you spiraling all over, your climax crashes over you as your legs tremble against the counter.
There’s a long silence filled with nothing other but the sound of your heavy breathing. Then you feel his arms tighten around your waist, pulling you close.
“I.. You know I didn’t mean that right?” Chan murmurs into your neck, voice hoarse and wrecked with emotion. “I was just…fuck. I was jealous. I’m sorry. I took it out on you, and I shouldn’t have.”
You don’t answer right away, your body still trembling. You finger find their way into his hair, gently threading through the strands. “I know,” you whisper. “But really, I wasn’t trying to do anything.”
He pulls back enough just to look at you, guilt flooding his eyes. “I know, I know. I just.. the thought of anyone even looking at you like that, touching you..” He trails off, jaw clenching as he presses a kiss to your temple.
“It messes with my head.” He admits softly, “But it’s not your fault. I just can’t loose you. And the thought of someone else even trying just—I’m sorry.”
“You’re not gonna loose me.” Your voice is a bit hoarse, but there’s no hesitation in it. The reassurance seems to calm him a bit and he nods. He finally pulls put, breathing still a bit shaky. His fingers lazily trace your thigh as he watches, completely hypnotized as a slow, messy is of both yours and his cum begins to slowly drip out of you and down onto the counter.
“Fuck..” he mutters, low and gravelly, thumb brushing your inner thigh, almost in awe. “Look at that…”
You chest still rises and falls with each shaky breath you take as you glance down than back up to watch as he steps away and grabs some tissue for you (and to clean the counter).
You smirk, “You think Jisung will be mad that we fucker in his bathroom?”
Chan lets out a breathy laugh and his eyes flicker to yours. He leans forward, kissing your collarbone.
“Oops,” he murmurs, voice low and smug and clearly not sorry in the slightest.
“It’s no secret, i’m sure they heard,” His words send a flush down your neck. “I’ll just turn the fan on.”
You laugh, quiet and breathlessly, taking the tissue he offers you to clean yourself up while he cleans the counter.
Taglist:
If you’d like to be put on (or taken off) the taglist, feel free to let me know
@yaorzu-blog | @pixie-felix | @compersian | @tshyn | @kittenchaos2024 | @lze325
![★ ── LE SEXE, JE VEUX DIRE ! [MAKNAE LINE]](https://64.media.tumblr.com/aeb2d64b1fc7cfe4011a01329c547ff4/d4be2d2e807c03da-1f/s500x750/0c68d4ea0d9d4df8c494347c49e66a3277750e75.png)
★ ── LE SEXE, JE VEUX DIRE ! [MAKNAE LINE]
what happens when you give the maknae line an aphrodisiac 。 。 。?
![★ ── LE SEXE, JE VEUX DIRE ! [MAKNAE LINE]](https://64.media.tumblr.com/1fac19e5cf1f83c8c419e5d76d97975d/d4be2d2e807c03da-de/s500x750/d8470667146a73c15f70fbb43e5b9b9df186b709.png)
꒰୨୧ ꒱ pairing。stray kids maknae line x fem!reader genre。 pure smut , pwp warnings。 aphrodisiacs , sex while intoxicated , mutual masturbation , unprotected sex , vaginal fingering , oral (f. and m. rec) , spanking , cowgirl position , face sitting , squirting , overstimulation
a/n ⸝⸝ requested maknae line version of my hyung line drabble! [ 0. 6k words ] ⸝⸝ [ m. list ]
𝓙ISUNG
god, he’s already so needy just as he is… losing all self control instantly, shoving his hand down his sweats to pull out his thick cock before you can even reach for him. masturbating together on either side of the couch, greedy eyes watching eachother get off, jisung’s cock growing harder and harder with every stroke of his hand, every circle of your fingers against your swollen clit. unable to stop yourselves until you’ve both cum, the cushions wet and sticky from your combined releases— jisung doesn’t care as he shreds the clothes off of the both of you, tugs you down to meet him as he guides his already stiffening cock against your drenched hole. you’ll fuck until you can’t anymore, the both of you drained completely dry, embraced in eachothers arms as you lay spent on the ruined couch. “let’s do that again,” jisung giggles into your hair, “that was fun!”
𝓕ELIX
felix is always more of a giver than a receiver, and nothing could be truer than when he’s under the spell of an aphrodisiac. all he wants is to please you, make you feel good, let him give himself entirely to you so you can drown in pleasure. opening you up on his fingers slowly and expertly, making sure you feel every inch of his short fingers inside of you, his rough fingertips pressing just right against your gummy sweet spot as he plays with your clit in his other hand. bringing you to the edge over and over, making you cum until your juices drip down his wrists. it’s like he gets stuck in some kind of trance, unable to pull himself away or stop himself from touching you, kissing you, loving you. finally breaking out of it when you cry out loudly and tug at his hair, his own deep moan intertwining with yours as you sob out for his cock instead. and of course lixxie is going to give it to you, he’d do anything you asked.
𝓢EUNGMIN
you made him this way, seungmin grumbles, when you let out a pathetic hiccup of “t-too much!” , your voice garbled and ruined from his cock in your mouth. it’s your responsibility to fix the mess you made, on your hands and knees swallowing his cock down your throat, little hand stroking what couldn’t fit— seungmin reaches over you to land a harsh slap to your ass, snickering at the way you gag and choke around him. you’re just a toy for his pleasure, a sex doll for him to use to get off; ordering you to serve him and take it all like the good girl he knows you are. his fingers tangling in your hair, his pretty cries he tries to hold in, take it like he knows you love it and he’ll reward you with his hot cum down your throat and his cock speared deep in your pussy. maybe he’ll even give you a creampie, if you beg prettily enough.
𝓙EONGIN
innie gets so thirsty for pussy when he’s given an aphrodisiac, absolutely shameless in rolling over onto his back and begging you to sit on his face. he’ll eat you with your clothes still on, he doesn’t care one bit— pulling your skirt up to your waist and tugging your wet panties to the side with his teeth before diving into your cunt. and he really wants you to sit, put all of your weight on him, don’t worry, he’s strong enough! tugging you down onto his face when you hover over him, too nervous to fully sit down, “c’mon, i said sit!” his big veiny hands constantly wandering all over your body as he eats you out like a starved man, his nose bumping your clit as he gropes at your exposed ass and tits, your little waist, your plush thighs. make him breathless , smother him with your pussy— and watch him cum in his sweatpants as he makes you squirt on his tongue, his pretty whines and whimpers muffled by your thighs.
Love you better- H.JS
So, LATAM Jisung did something to my heart and I had to write something for him 🫠 I was supposed to also post uno and chill part 2 today but I accidentally fell asleep during the afternoon and since it's already late, I won't be able to finish it. Good thing I have a long holiday and only come back to uni on Thursday so wait for a lot of updates during the following days (including an Easter special fic 🤭). Nari, if you see this, please don't freak out 😚
Word count: 1.9k
Warnings: smut, bros code breaking
Alexa, play Friends With Your Ex by Landon Barker
It all started the night you left Chan.
Not in a dramatic, Hollywoodian explosion. No screaming, no shattered plates, just silence. A final, tired “okay”, and the soft click of a door that didn’t reopen.
You didn’t know where to go, so you walked. It didn’t take long for your phone to buzz.
Hannie: you okay?
That was all it took.
He met you at that 24 hour diner which served bad coffee and greasy bacon slices. Han slid the booth across from you like it wasn’t the middle of the night, like you hadn’t just broken up with his best friend.
He didn’t pry, didn’t ask you why it ended, or if you were okay. He just sat there, gave you his hoodie when you started shivering and let you cry into a plate of pancakes.
And since then, he kept showing up.
You’d text each other more. Stupid jokes bloomed into real conversations. He helped you move boxes out of Chan’s place without asking questions. He made you laugh when no one else could. He gave you rides home late at night because ‘it’s not safe for you to walk'. But he never pushed or crossed a line— he just was there for you, in case you needed it.
Until the night everything changed.
You were sitting in his car parked in some random parking lot. Raindrops tapped against the windows, music playing low. You were wearing his hoodie again and this time, your knees were pulled up in the seat, chin resting on top of them.
“I don’t get it”, you murmured, staring at the blur of city lights outside, “How he just… stopped loving me”
Chan had always been a good man. A kind man. But he was never there. Always at the studio, always putting your relationship last. You didn’t break up with him because you stopped loving him— you did it because he forgot how to love you back.
Han exhaled softly, glancing at you from the driver’s seat, “I don’t think he stopped loving you”, he said quietly, “I think… he just didn’t know how to love you the way you needed”.
That made your chest tighten. You turned toward him, realizing there’s something heavy in his gaze— something he’d been trying not to say for weeks.
“Han…”
He leaned in just a little. Not enough to kiss you, just enough for you to feel the heat.
“I shouldn’t want this”, he said quietly, eyes flicking to your mouth.
“Yeah… you shouldn’t”
“But I do”
You don’t remember who leaned in first. Maybe it was him, maybe it was you. But suddenly, your mouths met like you’ve been starving, like every night he held back, rushed to the surface all at once. His hand cupped your jaw, thumb gently brushing your cheek and suddenly you were kissing him hard.
Messy. Desperate. The car windows started to fog with your breath, your bodies twisting in the cramped front seat. Your legs slid over his lap and his hands grabbed your waist as he tried to stop himself— but he couldn't.
“He never touched you like this, did he?”, he murmured against your neck, teeth grazing your sensitive skin.
“That’s so wrong”, you whispered, but you were already pulling his hoodie off.
“Then why does it feel this good? Why aren’t you stopping me, huh?”, he groaned, voice rough as his lips found your collarbone.
Because the truth was— you were not just kissing Han. You were kissing every stolen glance. Every accidental touch. Every night you wished someone saw you the way he always did.
It was messy, forbidden— everything you were not supposed to want.
But in that moment with Han’s hands under your shirt and his voice whispering your name like you owned him— you finally felt wanted again.
“You’re still not stopping me”, Han breathed, voice hoarse against your skin.
He was right, you weren’t. You should. But your fingers were already tangled in the hem of his shirt, already tugging it up, palms sliding over the warm lines of his stomach as you straddled him in the driver’s seat.
Your breath hitched when your hands traced over his inked skin— his tattoos, surprisingly familiar, mapped out across his muscles.
“God”, you whispered, brushing your fingertips over just under his ribs, “These always drove me crazy”.
Han let out a low groan, eyes closing as he leaned into your touch, “You’ve barely seen them” he said, voice rough.
“I saw enough”, you whispered, lips ghosting over his neck, “I just didn’t let myself want to. It had been three long weeks, you know”
His hands found your hips like instinct when you grinded down on his lap, head falling back against the headrest. “Fuck”, he groaned.
You kissed him again, your teeth clashing slightly. He moaned into your mouth like he didn’t care that this was sinful. Bros code? He barely remembered it existed.
His hands were everywhere— trailing up your thighs, gripping your hips, sliding under your shirt until he gripped your bare waist like he needed to hold on or he’d have lost himself completely.
“We can’t do this, Yn… Tell me to stop”, he said suddenly, breath shaking.
But your reply was a soft, “Don’t stop”, whispered into the curve of his neck. You didn’t want him to stop, not when he touched you like that.
You rolled your hips over his lap slowly and he let out the filthiest sound you’ve ever heard from him.
Han’s hands gripped you tighter, his jaw clenched. “Jesus”, he muttered, kissing down your jaw, “You’ve been in my head for weeks. Every time you looked at me like you needed me… I couldn’t think straight”
You whimpered as he slid his hand under your bra, gently, thumbs brushing over your nipples. He pulled your shirt up, just enough to kiss the curve of your chest, hot and desperate, leaving a purple stain there. Even though it was sloppy and frantic, it made you cry out his name.
“Hannie…”
That definitely did something to him. His eyes flicked up, then he pulled you back in for another kiss— this time deeper, filthier, full of tongue and need and everything he’d been holding back.
You could feel how hard he was beneath you, straining in his jeans, as you rocked down again, dragging a soft whine from his throat.
“You keep doing that and I’m not gonna last”, he growled.
“I don’t want you to last”, you whispered, “I just want you to”
He let out a harsh exhale, more like a curse, then leaned forward. “Backseat”, he muttered, eyes dark with lust, “Now”.
You crawled over, and he followed right behind, pulling the door shut with one hand and dragging your hips into his lap again. This time, it was faster, hungrier. He slid your panties down your thighs without fully undressing you, and the thrill of it made your pulse race.
His fingers slid between your legs, and he cursed under his breath. “Damn, you’re soaked”
You arched into his touch, head falling back. “This is so bad”, you pant, “So, so… ah… wrong”
“Then why…”, he murmured, kissing the corner of your lips as he sank two fingers inside you without any warnings, “Does it feel so fucking good?”
You gasped, grinding down against his hand, and he watched you unravel, like he was trying to memorize every twitch, every moan, every part of you.
He fucked you with his fingers slow at first, curling them just right, until your hips were jerking and your nails digging into his shoulders.
“Let me make you forget him”, he whispered.
And god, you did. You fell apart in his lap with his name on your lips, and when you came down, trembling and breathless, he already got his jeans undone, already guiding you on him with a look that said: ‘Please, just this once, let me have you’.
You took him teasingly slow. As you sank down on him, your fingers clutched the back of the seat, lips parted in shock at how good it felt— how right it felt even when it shouldn’t.
His hands held your hips, anchoring you as you started to move.
The car rocked, the windows fogged and the world outside disappeared.
All that was left was Han— his body, his voice, his mouth. The desperate gasps, and whispered curses.
“You feel so fucking good, sweetheart…. better than I ever imagined”, he groaned, head falling back.
That made you pause, “You… imagined this before?”
With eyes closed shut, he nodded, breath shaky, chest rising and falling fast. “Every time something went wrong”, he whispered, voice wrecked. “Every time he ignored your feelings cause he was at the studio. Every time you showed up glowing in a new dress and he barely looked at you before saying you looked pretty cause he had a deadline”
A choked sound escaped him— half groan, half confession— as he thrusted into you again. “Fuck… every time I thought, ‘I could be better for her. I could actually make her happy’ “.
Your eyes stung. From the overwhelming pleasure but also from him. From the way he was baring himself to you in a way no one else ever has.
You blinked, lashes heavy with tears, a lump forming in your throat. And then you kissed him. Hard. Deep. With everything— every buried feeling, every confused moment over the past few weeks.
You kissed him like he was the only thing that made sense in the middle of the wreckage you’d been walking through. And he kissed you back like he’d been waiting years. Like this was a secret he was finally allowed to speak.
His thrusts started to lose rhythm, stuttering, desperate, like he was chasing the edge just as hard as you were. The windows were completely fogged now, your skins slick with sweat, your hands gripping his shoulders like they’re the only solid thing left in the world.
You were so close it hurt, each grind sending heat spiraling low in your belly, pressure curling tight until you gasped, eyes wide and unfocused.
“Fuck, I’m…” you started, but he cut you off.
“I know, me too, just come with me”
And when he reached up to brush a strand of hair from your face, all while looking at you like you were the whole sky, that was what tipped you over. Your body tensed, then unraveled all at once— hot and shuddering, pleasure crashing over you in waves so strong you almost forgot to breathe.
He followed with a low moan of your name, hands gripping your hips as he came, pulling you down hard against him one last time.
Everything went silent, save for the sound of your panting breaths and the soft hum of the car engine.
You were still wrapped around him when he murmured, “I meant it, you know”
You blinked, heart still racing, “What?”
“All of it”, he said, voice low. “I know it is still soon, but I could be better for you. I want to be. I want to make you happy”
Your chest tightened. No one had ever said something like that after sex. Not to you, not like that.
You leaned forward, brushing your nose against his, and whispered, “You already are”
Han smiled, lazily and crooked, and then he added, “Also… you definitely ruined my backseat forever”
You laughed, breathless and full of something bright and warm and real. “Worth it, tho” you say.
“Guess we’ll just have to use the front seat next time”, he grinned.
You laughed harder this time, still tangled together, still flushed and bare and glowing. And then, you realized:
You might be completely fucked up
But maybe… you were exactly where you were supposed to be.
Comment in any post if you want to be added :)
Taglist: @hyyunjinnn , @jehhskz , @mbioooo0000 , @nightmarenyxx , @rozsdascsaptelep , @thatonegirlonhere , @notmedina127, @sweetlifeofjoy , @jeonginsleftcheek , @yelhsaa , @my-neurodivergent-world
If you enjoyed it please consider liking and reblogging. Feedbacks, loves notes and requests are very much appreciated 😊
TWO TRUTHS AND A LIE
Lee Know x reader. (s)
Synopsis: Let's play two truths and a lie, and here goes the first thing about you: You want to fuck your roommate's boyfriend, Minho. (9k words)
Author's note: It's a quick one-shot I made like a year ago but pls enjoy it nonetheless 😊
Content warning: Infidelity.
This is how you play two truths and a lie. You share three statements about you, two being true and one false, and people must determine which is which.
-
So here goes the first statement: You want to fuck your roommate's boyfriend.
A few months ago, you came to the city for your new job and were placed in a housing with a group of unbearable people. Since you've just started working, you tried looking at another option to get a temporary place to stay until you're financially stable enough to rent an apartment.
Long story short, a friend of a friend introduced you to Kim who happened to have an extra room you can rent. She owns the apartment and does not necessarily need the money, she offered her room for the sole reason which is to help you. You're aware that you don't meet this kind of that is to help you. You're aware that you don't meet this kind of person every day and for that, you're grateful for her.
After a week of living as roommates, you learn that Kim is just as graceful as her occupation, a ballet dancer. She's beautiful, kind-hearted, amicable, and ultimately, a very attentive roommate.
The room you're staying in was supposedly her private dance studio but she uses the living room to practice now and you have to adjust yourself to the huge mirror covering one side of the wall in your room.
Not long after that, Minho comes into the picture. A sharp nose, sharp jaws, and feline eyes, a beautiful face that only reminds you that the world is unfair to some people, including you.
"This is Minho," Kim introduces him with a smile
The second your eyes lock in a gaze with him, you feel an instant attraction and it intensifies as he stares back into your eyes.
"My boyfriend," Kim adds a little too late.
It's funny that the word boyfriend doesn't stop you from being attracted to him, if anything, you want him more than before.
Kim and Minho have been together for two years now and they met at the dance academy which explains a lot of things, including Minho's lean and toned body.
How do you know? Because sometimes he stays over and on more than one occasion, you found him walking out of the bathroom with nothing but a white towel hanging lowly around his waist.
That's also when you learn that this attraction is strictly physical, your uterus is acting up when you see him, and lewd thoughts rush through your head. It's all biological. There's no way you want to pursue him romantically, you couldn't even think of a person more deserving to be with him than Kim. They're both beautiful and talented dancers, oftentimes, you get so envious because they have such a lovely relationship.
Like tonight, you hear their laughter the second you step into the apartment, finding Kim and Minho in the kitchen just casually talking to each other while sharing a bowl of fruits. You love how simple yet endearing their interaction is.
"Hey, you're home!" Kim says with a sweet, welcoming smile.
You wave your hand at her and briefly at Minho, "Hi, everyone!" You awkwardly say, feeling like you're interrupting them.
"Have you had dinner?" Kim asks, attentive as always.
"Yeah, I grabbed dinner after work," you lie, but you can always creep your way to the fridge late at night for dinner.
"There's a pie in the fridge. Help yourself to some dessert," she sweetly offers then shoves a piece of blueberry into her mouth.
Without having to look, you can see how Minho looks at you, he has this deep, intense gaze that makes you the slightest bit intimidated.
"I will, thanks," you hurriedly respond, wanting the interaction to end as soon as possible, "I'll just... get into my room."
"Yeah, you should rest," Kim softly mutters.
You hoist your bag higher on your shoulder and head to your room, before you get in, you mutter to them, "Night, guys."
"Night," Kim cheerily says.
You hurriedly get in and catch a glimpse of Minho with his intense stare a second before the door completely closes and clicks in place.
The trick to surviving the night is to wait until they get into the bedroom and put headphones on as you come out of yours, not only to avoid hearing unwanted noises, but you reckon it's only right to take the extra measure to respect their privacy.
As you're listening and catching glimpses of the movie playing on your phone, you walk around the kitchen to prepare your simple, unhealthy dinner: a cup of noodles and a can of soda.
You're quietly eating your dinner by the kitchen counter with the headphones still on and once you finished, you treat yourself to a slice of pie, then put the rest of the pie back into the fridge.
It gets messy as you're munching on the pie while watching the movie on your phone. The cherry filling gets all over your fingers and you hurriedly lick it off before it gets—
"Oh, my God!" You shriek in surprise, seeing someone standing by the fridge. Once you realize it's Minho, you break into laughter.
"I'm just getting a bottle of water," he says, his face illuminated by the glow of the fridge lights.
"I'm sorry," you say while clutching your chest, and a second later, regret for saying it when he should be the one apologizing.
There's something different in the way Minho looks at you, he has one corner of his mouth raised higher than the other, giving you the impression that he's thinking of filthy things when he looks at you like that. He's giving you that look now and it does certain things to you.
He then stops leaning against the fridge, taking the bottle of water as he walks back to the bedroom, leaving his signature faint smirk on the back of your head.
The signals are there, they're subtle yet constantly pinging, asking you to respond. For now, you're going to ignore it like you always do and continue existing like you're not sharing the same space with him.
-
Statement number two: You believe Minho wants to fuck you too.
At first, you thought you imagined it, you want to fuck him so you started being delusional and thinking that he wants to fuck you too. Once you started paying attention though, you realized that what he's been doing to you meant something or some sort of message he tried to deliver.
The first occurrence that came to your realization is when the two of you were in the kitchen, you were enjoying your yoghurt and he suddenly came behind you to get something from the drawer that happened to be blocked by your body. Instead of telling you to step aside, he made you stand there as his hand curved around your waist to get something out of a drawer.
From there, you noticed a lot of things he did, the way he briefly rested his hand on the small of your back as he walked past behind you, his hand that would often brush a part of your body when the two of you are next to each other or the way he would speak close to your ear as if he's seeking to be close to you. Simply put, he always tries to make physical contact with you.
The scariest part of it is not the possibility that the two of you will eventually get caught, but how unfazed he is even when his girlfriend is there. Like that night where the three of you shared the sofa and somehow, his hand found your shoulder and instead of retreating, he continued to caress the nape of your neck with his knuckle.
However, what happens tonight is what makes you believe that he wants the same thing.
After making sure that you're the only one still awake in the vicinity, you make your way to the bathroom to take a nice, hot shower to help you relax and sleep faster. You skip on using the hairdryer since it'll make too much noise and tiptoe your way back to your bedroom.
In the middle of putting on your clothes, you realize that you left the door ajar and you notice Minho is watching through the reflection in the mirror.
Instead of stopping or rushing to close the door, you pretend to not see him there and continue, turning your body to the side, showcasing every curve of your body through the reflection in the mirror.
You arch your back as you put on the night dress over your head and slowly slip yourself in it, shimmying your body as you pull the dress down with your hands. Then you look at him through the reflection in the mirror and make it known that you're aware of his presence.
From the crooked grin on his face, you can tell that Minho is pleased to be caught watching you and you received his signal loud and clear: He wants to fuck you too.
But sadly, tonight's show is over so you walk to the door and close it.
-
Friday afternoon, Kim barges into your room and she rarely comes into your room without knocking on your door. Seeing that she's carrying a dress in her hand, you guess she needs your opinions on her clothing choices.
You sit on the bed and take your headphones off, "What's up, Kim?"
She stands at the end of the bed and lifts the dress with both hands, "What do you think?" She asks.
It's a mini dress with spaghetti straps in a deep purple color and it's a nice dress, you're just not sure if it fits Kim's style that well, she usually opts for dresses with flaring hem and floral prints.
"It's nice, Kim," you say but skip on giving her the detailed explanation.
She puts the dress close to her body and hugs it, "Do you like it?"
"Yeah," you shortly reply, even though it doesn't fit her style well, it certainly will look good on her.
"Good!" She shortly says, handing the dress to you, "Cause you'll be wearing it.
Somehow, you reach for it and awkwardly hold it in front of you, "W-why? Why me?"
Kim goes to your vanity table and flips open your jewelry box, she holds your earrings one by one to find ones that would match the dress.
"You're coming with me to this party," she says, leaving a lot of details in her answer.
"What party?"
"Party at my friend's," she simply answers, deciding on the gold small hoop earrings.
But that's against your plan, you want to steer clear of Minho and party at Kim's friend means that he'd likely be there too.
"Kim, I don't think that's a good idea," you tell her.
She then leans against the desk in your room and crosses her arm together in front of her, "These past few days you refused to hang out with me so you have to hang out with me tonight."
So Kim knows that you've been purposely avoiding her but you need to explain that it's not because of her, "But that's not—"
"Nuh-uh!" She quickly cuts you off again, "Tonight you're going to the party with me," she decides on her own, not accepting any more excuses from you.
"Is it okay though? I mean... it's your friend's party. I don't want to intrude," you meekly say while playing with the strap of the dress.
"Why would it not be okay?" She says, coming to sit on the edge of the bed, "Besides I want to introduce you to Gaspard."
Maybe you owe this one to Kim and hearing a guy's name piques your interest, "And who is Gaspard?"
"A cute guy," she shortly answers with a sly grin on her heart-shaped face, "And you'll like him."
It's not like Minho's presence would bother you that much and Kim needs you, she wants you there, therefore, as a good roommate, you should be there.
"Yeah, okay, I'm in the mood to meet a cute guy tonight," you tell her, not forgetting to show enthusiasm as well.
"That's the spirit!" Kim says with a wide grin dancing on her face.
Well, since you'll be there and possibly meet Minho, Gaspard better be a cute distraction for real.
-
The taxi pulls up in front of a house and you reckon it's where the party at from how many cars are parked outside and the faint thumping of the music playing inside.
The fact that you get here by taxi only means that there's no Minho so you can relax, for now.
Kim excitedly links her arm with you as you both walk into the house and you expect a party with laid-back music and endless glasses of wine but the second you step inside, upbeat music is blasting from around the house and everyone is having beers from red plastic cups.
The party is not what you imagined it would be, but it's what you need.
Kim cranes her neck to find her friends and once she finds them, she raises her hand to signal her arrival to them.
"Come on! Let's meet my friends!" She says.
Please, God, let him be a cute distraction! You repeatedly mutter in your heart as she drags you with her to meet her friends who are gathered in what you guess is a rec room in the house.
When Kim's friends finally come to sight, you put on a smile as you quietly guess which one of them is Gaspard. Kim goes to hug them one by one before introducing you to them.
"This is Ellie, Jena, Paul..." she introduces her friends back to you one by as the mentioned person warmly greets you.
"And Minho," someone adds from behind you.
You immediately look over your shoulder to see Minho standing there, Kim gently slaps his shoulder in response and laughs.
"This is not a roll call, honey," Kim says with a smile and then leans in to give Minho a quick peck on the lips.
Minho is already here and there's no Gaspard yet. No Gaspard means there'll be no distraction. You keep your smile on even though you're slowly descending into distress.
"There he is!" Kim exclaims, pointing at something behind you.
You reflexively turn on your heels and see a tall man with brown hair, striking green eyes, and a scintillating smile. This man will make the perfect distraction.
Please let this man be Gaspard, you deeply wish inside your heart.
Kim comes to your side and puts her arm around you, "This is the man I told you about," she says.
"I hope you only told her nice things about me," Gaspard says with a sly grin that makes his whole face light up.
The universe heard your plea and decided to make it true for you, this is Gaspard, the perfect distraction you want and need.
"Holyfuck..." you lowly mutter in disbelief.
"What's that?" Kim asks, hearing you saying something but doesn't quite catch it.
You've already forgotten where you are and what you're doing. And Minho? Who is Minho? You let out a chuckle and shake these silly thoughts away.
"So this is Gaspard, huh?" You say in all confidence.
"That is me," he answers, returning the confidence with a wide smile, "I'm better than you expected, I guess?"
Gaspard is confident and then gets shy in the next minute which you find charming, you smile at him and say, "I need more time to decide on that."
"That's fair," Gaspard says, offering his hand at you.
You think he's just going to shake your hand but he takes you into the crowd gathered in the middle of the room, dancing.
"A fair warning, I'm a bad dancer," you warn him as he takes your hands in his and makes you stand facing him.
"We still have time to decide on that," he pokes fun at you, taking you by the waist and pulling you close to his front.
Kim is right, Gaspard is cute and you like him already. He has just the right amount of facial hair and it grazes your cheek whenever he leans in to whisper into your ear, giving you a tingling feeling inside and outside.
After a few moments though, you find yourself panting from dancing with him. You should've known this would happen when you're dancing with a real dancer.
Since Gaspard is way taller than you, you have to put your arm around his shoulder and stand on your tiptoe to whisper to his ear, "Hey, how about we get drinks?"
"Drinks?" He asks you in confirmation since the mix of loud music and chatter is filling the room.
"Yeah," you answer while repeatedly nodding your head.
He doesn't say anything but takes your hand and leads the way through the crowd to the kitchen where bottles of liquor are strewn around on the kitchen island.
You intently watch as Gaspard is excitingly making you his special concoction. He finishes it off with a spritz of lemon before handing it to you.
"Thank you," you mutter in gratitude.
"Come on. Taste it!" He encourages you, curious of what you think of his drink-mixing skill.
Well, you've been staring at it long enough to give him the impression that you hesitate to drink it. You hurriedly take a small sip and you don't even have to lie, it's good.
"Wow!" You gasp, impressed with the drink he made.
"I know," he confidently says with a smirk and drinks his drink.
It's so refreshing and sweet like it has no alcohol at all, you hurriedly take another sip.
"It's really good," you tell him.
"Thank you," he says with a grin.
He then offers his hand at you, "Let's find somewhere to talk?"
You take his hand without question, letting him take you wherever he wants because it seems like he knows where he's going. He leads you to the backyard where everyone is hanging out by the pool.
"Hey, you!"
Recognizing the voice, your head snaps toward the source, and see Kim waving her hand at you from the long sofa that curved around a fancy fireplace.
You stop walking on your track and end up leading Gaspard there. You unconsciously let out a sigh of relief after seeing that there's no Minho there.
"Oh, hey," you greet back.
Kim scoots to the side to make space for you on the sofa, "Where have you guys been?"
"Oh, we were just dancing and he made me a drink," you honestly answer, not forgetting to show her the drink in your hand.
"And where were you going to take her, Gaspard?" Kim asks with eyes squinted at him.
"Anywhere but here," he jokingly answers.
"Well, since you guys just got here, it's your turn to play!" Someone says, you can't remember what her name is but she's one of the friends Kim introduced earlier.
"Turn to play? What?" You ask in confusion.
"Two truths and a lie," someone says.
You feel bad for not being able to remember their names, Gaspard's influence is that powerful on you.
"You know how to play, right?" Kim asks.
It's not about whether you know how to play or not, it's just so unexpected that these talented, gorgeous dancers like to play this kind of game at parties.
"Yes, I do," you answer.
Kim turns on the sofa to face you and looks at you in anticipation, "Okay then. Shoot!"
"Right now?"
"Yes," Kim shortly answers with a chuckle.
You admire their eagerness whether for the game or to know something about you, you rake your brain to think of three things about you and one of them should be a lie that would likely fool them good.
"Okay first is uhm... I'm allergic to cats," you share.
There's no response from them but you can see how they're looking at you and probably every detailed facial expression you make that will give away hints about whether you're lying or not.
"Second thing is my mom has a twin," you confidently share with a faint smile.
"Ah," Kim lowly gasps and you guess because you've shared this information with her before.
"Last thing is..." you look around as you think of the last thing to share with them.
You eventually turn to the side and see Gaspard smiling at you, "I think Gaspard is cute," you share the third thing about you.
"That's the one! That's the lie!" Someone excitedly guesses, and you suddenly remember his name as Paul.
You laugh because Gaspard looks so offended by his friend, "No, it's not a lie," you quickly defend him.
Gaspard shoots him a glare and triumphantly laughs, "Just drink, man!"
Paul drinks his beer in defeat.
"I must say the second one is the lie," the girl says again, still can't remember her name though.
"No. Her mom has a fraternal twin," Kim says, learning that information from you on the first day you moved into her apartment.
"Drink up, Jena!" Kim tells her that she guessed wrong and not wasting time but drinks her beer as a punishment.
"Oh, so you're not allergic to cats?" Gaspard asks.
"No, I'm not. I like cats," you answer.
He then sighs in relief, "That's great because I have a cat."
"Oh, wow?!" You utter in disbelief.
Other than being a great distraction, you share a lot in common with Gaspard and that says something.
"I also have cats," someone adds, joining in on the circle.
You can tell by the voice that it's the man you've been trying to avoid seeing tonight. You remain calm and have a sip of your drink.
"Yes, Minho, we all know you're a cat daddy," Jena says, finally knowing her name from Kim.
Kim groans and tosses a cushion at Jena, "Don't say that!"
Minho takes a gulp of Kim's drink and sits with his back reclined and his legs spread open, even his sitting position oozing with confidence and you eat that shit up.
You feel like slapping your face at that thought and have another sip to swallow that thought down.
"Is it my turn to play?" Minho asks around.
Jena shrugs since no one is taking the turn to play, "Yeah, sure, go ahead."
Minho softly scratches his chin before speaking, "I want to kiss someone tonight."
He starts easy but from the faint smirk on his face, you can tell he's brewing something in his mind.
"That someone is not my girlfriend," he calmly says.
Welp, there you go! Minho acts like he didn't just drop a shocking statement while his girlfriend is sitting prettily next to him.
You glance at Kim and she looks calm, but you can see that her jaws are slightly clenched. She's not happy so Minho should stop it.
But instead of calming his girlfriend, Minho looks at you and continues to share the third statement, "The person I want to kiss is one of you."
Your heart skips a beat because he keeps looking right at you and making it obvious for everyone to see who it is. All of a sudden, you feel the urge to exit this scene but walking out only makes it even more obvious.
Minho is sick of doing this to you and Kim, it's like he doesn't even care what it can do to either you or Kim.
"Oh, Minho, that's..." Paul hisses, not able to finish his sentence.
"Why, Paul?" Minho daringly asks him.
"Nothing," Paul says while scratching his head.
Minho leans forward and says, "It's you, Paul. It's you who I want to kiss."
Paul's tense face melts in a second and everyone bursts out laughing, "Fuck you, man!"
"It's you. I want to kiss you," Minho taunts him more, throwing himself at him and jokingly tries to kiss him.
Paul keeps pushing him away, sloshing his drink as he tries to dodge Minho's kiss while everyone else is laughing at them.
Even though it turns out to be a joke, you feel sick in the stomach and feel the need to get out of here.
"I need to go to the restroom," you mutter, getting up from the sofa.
Gaspard puts down his drink, "I can show you—"
"It's okay. I can go by myself," you tell him off, you regret being so crass but you're sure he'll understand.
"Okay," he says, sitting back down on the sofa.
While clutching the hem of your dress, you head back inside the house and find the bathroom to only queue to get inside, you decide to try on the second floor. You can easily find the bathroom as it's wedged between two bedrooms.
It's a party, you're sure the host would be okay with you using their bathroom, you don't even need to pee or something, you just need a space to vent.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," you keep muttering to the reflection in the mirror.
When you touch your neck, you can feel a sheen of sweat there so you run your hands under the cold water and tap it to your neck.
This is the first time you realize what it'll do to you when it comes to following your desire. You'll ruin not only their relationship but also your friendship with Kim and she's been nothing but good to you.
"Fuck!" You mutter once again as you splash cold water on your face like it would help to put some sense into you.
Coming here was a bad idea!
But you're already here so you only need to stick to your plan, staying away from Minho and sticking with Gaspard. You allow yourself to spend a few more minutes just to compose yourself before coming out of the bathroom.
As you're about to climb down the stairs, the plan comes to a failure.
You see Minho is coming up the stairs and he seems to be looking for you as well from the way he stops once he finds you.
Instead of avoiding him as you planned, you feel the need to confront him about what happened a while ago. You grab the front of his shirt and take him into one of the bedrooms. The first one is locked so you try the other one and it's empty.
Once both of you are inside, you slam the door shut and push him against it.
"What the hell are you doing?" You aggressively ask, pushing his chest until his back hits the door.
"What? What am I doing?" He plays innocent but that smirk knows it all.
You slap his chest with both of your hands now but all you can feel is how firm his pecs are.
"You just don't care, do you?"
He puts his hands on each side of your waist and draws you closer, not hesitating to plant his mouth on your jaw.
"Minho!" You whine, ending up getting trapped in his hold with his arms wrapped tightly around you.
He glides his lips up and presses a kiss there on the skin under your ear, sending a tingling down your spine as his warm breath brushes your skin.
You helplessly dodge away from his lips yet somehow, he manages to capture your lips in a kiss and oh, you hate it so much! You hate how you like the way he kisses you, so passionately and hungrily, he makes it known that he wants it so much.
Okay, maybe the kiss is a slip-up and you hurriedly pull yourself out of it. You push him and pull away from the kiss.
"You know we can't do this," you mutter but you're looking at his lips, tempted to kiss him again.
He ignores your words and kisses you again, and you fall into it again. You try harder this time and break the kiss.
"Minho!" You whine, looking away to not let the temptation win again.
Using it as an opportunity, Minho plants his mouth on your ear and nibbles on it, peeling a layer off of your sanity which brings you to slip down the slope again.
Your lips are colliding again, harder and deeper, causing even more damage than the previous one as his hands go all over you and pull the straps of your dress down your shoulders.
The two logics in your head are clashing against each other, the one wants to satisfy this desire and the other wants to get out of this situation altogether. If you follow the former then at least, your curiosity will be fulfilled and if you follow the latter, then you get to keep the peace.
As you are caught in that inner battle, you blank out and stiffen against him.
"We have to stop," you mutter to him.
But is that what you want? To stop when you already have your toes dipped in the water?
Minho also takes a moment to assess the situation, he looks at you with his lips red and wet, "it has to stop," he says in agreement.
You take a step back and feel the sudden detachment as he lets go of you and you can't believe that he agrees right away that this is the better decision. You can't help but think that he doesn't want you enough.
He stays standing there, leaning against the door and looking at you with his eyes dark and wide with lust.
"So what do we do now?"
That's such a wrong thing to ask you because what you want to do now is be selfish for the night, for one fucking night, and if you're going to do it, you may as well go all in, right?
Take the chance or pass? Right or wrong? Continue or stop? Now or never?
"Fuck!" you heavily sigh and take down the straps of your dress, sending your breasts spilling out of the front.
"Suck my tits," you order.
It takes Minho a moment to process it and when he finally catches on that you've made up your mind, he goes for it. He comes at you full speed, hands off the brake and head first.
His mouth lathers at your breasts before sucking at them like you asked, taking them in turns, and leaving them wet with his saliva.
"Nibble on my nipples," you command.
You look down to watch him obeying you, using his tongue to nibble on your blossoming buds and alternating it with his teeth next.
"Oh, fuck," you breathlessly mutter as he sucks hard on your nipple.
While his mouth is busy latching on your breasts, his hands are snaking to the back and kneading at your asscheeks, caressing them with his fingers, and teasing your underwear.
This feels so wrong yet so good, you have your inner battle still but your logic is being defeated by your body's needs. You pull him by the shoulder and make him kiss you again so you'll stop thinking.
The rattles on the door startle you both and Minho immediately pushes the door with his back, then holds the knob to not let anyone in. Whoever tries to get it seems to figure out that the room is occupied.
"Sorry," someone says from behind the door.
Minho immediately locks the door while you take a step back from him, he gives you that look again, the kind of look that sees right through you and knows that you feel conflicted inside.
"Kim is my good friend," you tell him, feeling a pang of sadness in your chest that it aches.
He comes at you again and kisses you in which you're returning with the same eagerness. He seems to know that it's the only way to make you stop talking and thinking altogether. He pulls you closer than before his hands snaking to your rear, cupping the ample flesh in his hand.
"This is terrible," you mutter as you break the kiss so you can take your underwear off.
"This is terrible..." you mutter again, pulling him close by the waistband of his jeans and proceeding to unzip his fly open, "Betraying her like this."
It's like your body has a mind of its own, it's doing the opposite of what you're saying.
You impatiently take his semi-hard out of its confine and stroke it in your hand, "terrible," you emphasize the word and nail it deep into your head.
Minho doesn't say anything but follows what your body wants, he kisses you again, sloppily with his hands mindlessly roaming around your body.
"Touch me there," you whisper into him.
Without looking, his hand knows where to go. It goes to where you want him to be, going to the front to that wetness between your legs.
"Put your fingers in."
Minho runs his fingers down your slit repeatedly before inserting his finger into you. One digit is enough to make you moan in pleasure as he pumps it in and out of you.
"Add one more."
He draws his finger out and brings his index and middle fingers, shoving them into your mouth to wet them with your saliva. He brings them back to your entrance and slowly pushes them inside.
"Fuck, oh..." you moan, burying your head in his neck.
Two fingers are going in and out of you and you're already losing it. You start to think of what his cock would be like inside you as it feels hot and hard in your hand, pulsating with so much desire.
His lips nestle in your neck, kissing and lightly sucking on the skin as your body clings to him for support.
"Curl them— Oh!"
Minho knows what to do, he curls his fingers and carefully finds that spot that makes you whine and moan at the same time, and the lewd noise echoes in the dimly lit room.
You look over your shoulder to locate the bed and start steering his body there, walking backward without having to take hands off of each other.
He slowly pulls out and breaks the kiss only to pull your dress up, making the dress hunched around your waist. You plop down onto the bed and get on, you take a moment to continue undoing his jeans and pull it down enough to let his erection free.
Without thinking, you put his cock into your mouth, take him as much as you can and compensate for the rest you can't take with your hand. You lick and suck, alternating those two as you enjoy every inch of his delicious length with your mouth.
Minho tangles his hand in your hair and gently tugs at it, "I feel so guilty," he says.
Oh, so he's not that selfish after all but the thought of him thinking of his girlfriend with his cock deep in your mouth doesn't make you jealous at all, it makes you feel more aroused than before.
"Oh, so guilty," he says between his hoarse, low moans as he stares back into your eyes.
You slowly pull away and replace your mouth with your hand, restlessly pumping his swollen cock.
"You should be," you tell him, sticking your tongue out of your mouth and swirling it around the pink tip of his cock.
All of a sudden, he grabs your hand and takes it away from his length, he then takes your other hand to pin it against the bed. He hovers above you as he kisses you again, his tongue prying open your mouth to taste more of you.
You can feel him rubbing his length between your folds and you spread your legs open so he can do it more, making you drenched than you already are.
It's obvious to you now that you want him, you want him so bad and what you want is only inches away from you, and you can feel how much he wants you.
"Put it in," you breathlessly say against his lips.
Minho wastes no time to position himself between your legs. He then holds his cock, lubricating it with your essence and giving it a few pumps to finally aims it toward your entrance.
The more time he takes to be inside you, the more impatient you get.
"Put it deep inside me," you demand, opening your legs wider for him.
Yet Minho keeps teasing your entrance, heightening your anticipation and the tension in the room, making you arching your back at him.
When he finally pushes in, he only inserts the tip. It's just the tip but Gosh! It feels good already when he starts thrusting at a slow, steady pace.
"That's it," you say, keeping your waist afloat to take more of him, "all the way in."
Minho is just as impatient. He takes your wish as his command and pushes the rest of his length into you, hitting you deep inside that you blank out and you can't hear your own scream of pleasure.
It only registered to you now that it's all real once you take a look at how his cock is fully buried deep inside you and there's nothing like the feeling of finally having your desire fulfilled. Minho feels so good inside you, every inch of his length fills you perfectly like he was made just for you.
"Oh..." you loudly moan as he starts moving.
You're in and out of you at how hard he's thrusting into you that it reverberates throughout your body and in the middle of it, you manage to look at him, his face is masked with pleasure from the way his eyes are half shut and his lips pressed together.
Maybe the two of you want it so much that the sex feels rushed and a little rough, almost animalistic even. You can feel you're about to cum and so is he.
"Don't cum inside," you warn him before bringing his head close for a sloppy kiss on his lips.
In return, Minho goes sloppy with his thrusts that the bed quakes along with his movements and you're gripping the sheet to hold on to. He's twitching inside you and your legs are shaking. The knot in your stomach keeps tightening and you feel like exploding at any minute now.
He incessantly thrusts into you while you keep gripping the sheet, he probably senses that you're on the brink of climaxing and takes you there, sending you into your release with your eyes screwed shut, seeing white. He cums not long after you and keeps himself deep into you, completely forgetting your warning.
When it occurs to you that he completely forgot about your warning, you slowly push him away and force him to pull out of you.
"I told you not to cum inside," you whine.
Minho's eyes fixated on the way his cum drips out of you, pearly white and glistening wet, inviting him to taste. He finds a way to solve it by settling his head between your legs and licking your mixed juices off of your cunt and not hesitating to swallow it. He sucks on your gushing hole before using his tongue to insert it, he makes sure to not leave any drop of his cum in you.
Watching him eating you and swallowing his own cum is getting you off in the best way, you suddenly don't mind it that much that he cum inside you. If anything, you want him to fill you so you get to watch him do it all over again.
"Stop, Minho! Stop!" You tell him, tugging at his hair to stop him from diving further into your wetness.
He abruptly stops and lifts his head with his mouth and chin glistening wet with your essence. You grab him by the front of his shirt and make him hover above you again. You know you already got what you want and it's time to stop.
What are you going to do now? You ask yourself.
Seize the chance. This is probably the last time you ever had this chance and this could be the one and only chance. You roll him over and straddle him, thinking of having him again for the last time, selfishly.
Taking a moment for this could be the only chance you get to do it, you look at him and his beautiful face, and you allow yourself to kiss his lips. You're running your hands down his clothed chest and patiently unbuttoning his shirt, then part it open to reveal his toned upper half body.
It's only fair if you get to touch him all over too so you do it, using your hands and your lips next, it's just you and miles and miles of his warm, honey skin.
Minho lets you do everything as he lays on his back, watches you kissing every inch of his abdomen, and eventually has him in your mouth again. He props his hands against the bed to see how your lips wrapped around his cock.
After a while, you suddenly pull out and gasp for air, "We have to stop."
He sits up on the bed and puts your hair away from your face, "But I don't want to stop," he says, then continues putting your hair away to the back so he can kiss your neck, chest, and breasts.
They're just words, they've been just words that you say in vain and have no effect to make you stop whatsoever. You only say that just to remind you that this feels so wrong but it feels good to do it.
You sit on his lap and position his cock at your entrance again, slowly, you lower yourself on him. You let out a mewl as you take him in little by little, feeling his girth stretching you out.
"Do you want to stop?" He asks you with his hands cradling your head in between.
"We have to," you sigh with your eyes closed, overwhelmed by his cock that buries deep inside you.
"I don't want to," he breathlessly says, holding you by the waist, guiding you to start moving.
Putting your arms around his shoulders for support, you're switching between pulsating and rolling your hips around him as he latches his lips on your neck and chest.
Somehow, he feels bigger and harder inside you, and he fills you better, therefore, you just want to keep feeling his length around you. However, in the middle of it, your logic fights to come out of you.
"This is wrong," you breathlessly mutter.
"Mmh-hmm," he hums against your lips, mindlessly answering to you.
"This is so wrong, Minho," you say again as you keep moving to chase your high.
If this is wrong then why it feels so good? If this is wrong then you never want to be right. If this is wrong then you want to be a sinner, forever.
"Oh, I can't do this anymore," you cry, it's unclear whether it's the body or your conscience speaking.
"Keep going, keep going," he repeatedly mutters through his gritted teeth, watching you bouncing on his cock.
The sex is more intense and harder than the previous one, you keep holding your breath even though you're running out of air. Your nails dug into his skin, your mouth locked with his lips, and you feel a sheen of sweat forming on your skin.
It all comes down to the one moment when everything hits you all at once. Other than the wave of dopamine and oxytocin that surge through your body, you feel good, you feel light and happy, but underneath that, you feel that bitter feeling, guilt that is gnawing and eating you alive from the inside.
You open your eyes and find Minho looking at you with a soft gaze and it feels tender that you feel like crying, or you're about to as you feel tears forming in the corners of your eyes.
"Oh, God! What have I done?" You roughly brush the hair stuck to your moist forehead.
"It's okay," Minho says, trying to justify this act of betrayal.
"Oh, my God!" You press the heels of your palms to your eyes to stop you from crying.
Minho gently holds your chin and softly presses a kiss on your lips as if he's trying to take the pain away but that's useless because you caused this yourself and he's a part of the problem.
But his kiss no longer holds the same effect, you feel restless the more he kisses you so you slowly pull away and keep a safe space between you and him.
"Let's just stop," you say with a sigh and then rush to get off his lap. You lowly gasp from the sudden emptiness and once your feet touch the floor, you're staggering backward.
Then, you feel it, his hot cum that drips out of you and down your inner thigh.
"I can help you with that," Minho offers.
You immediately hold your hand up at him and firmly say, "Just stop!"
You start fixing your dress, putting your arm in the straps, and pulling them to your shoulders. You look around for your underwear and once you find it, you put it on.
"Kim can't know about this," you meekly say as you pull the hem of your dress and smooth them down.
There's no looking back at it now. You've got what you wanted and now it's time to move on. You turn the door knob and head out without saying anything else.
Rejoining the party downstairs, you immediately head to the kitchen to get a drink but on the way there, someone catches you by the hand.
"Come, dance with me!" Kim says with a grin, pulling you with her to the middle of the room.
"Kim, I–" you can't find anything to say to her without the guilt clogging your throat, "I need a drink."
"Here. Have mine!" She hands you her cup.
"I'll get us drinks and get back to you, okay?" You kindly refuse her but she won't let go of your hand.
"Oh, come on, it's my favorite song!" She pleads with her puppy eyes, making you feel worse than you already are.
Seeing her and how oblivious she is to what you and Minho have done is breaking your heart.
That brings you to the third and last statement: That will be the first and the last time you've had sex with Minho.
-
Things are going back to normal. Or that's what it seems to you.
You're still roommates with Kim and she's still oblivious about what you and Minho did behind her back which means he keeps true to his promise.
And yes, he still comes to the apartment but it doesn't bother you as it used to. You learn that your friendship with Kim is far more valuable than his boyfriend's cock, in fact, you've been taking her kindness for granted.
So for these past few days, you've been trying to avoid them as much as possible. You purposely come home late from work and if you do find them together in the apartment, you make excuses to stay in your bedroom.
Fewer interactions means fewer chances of this guilt from bringing you down further.
The new plan is to get your own place as soon as possible and for that to happen, you have to start looking for it.
Today, Gaspard offers to help you check a few places and it's also the perfect getaway than staying in the apartment. You quietly get dressed and slip out of your bedroom to find Kim catches you while dunking her teabag into her cup.
"Where are you going?" She asks.
You don't want to tell her about it yet that you plan on moving out soon so you make up an excuse on the spot, "Just getting a few things for work, yeah," you lie.
She tosses the teabag into the trash and uses a spoon to stir it, "Just getting a few things for work, huh?"
"Yeah, I need new work shoes," you lie again, seamlessly this time.
"And you think you don't need my help?"
"No, no," you hastily reply, "I just know how much you like staying in on the weekends."
"I would to go out on the weekend too."
Kim keeps misunderstanding you so you decide to tell her, "I'm going out with Gaspard," you admit, but keep the details from her.
Kim lets out a laugh and puts down her cup of tea, "Oh, my God! Why did you lie about it?"
"I don't know. It feels weird," you awkwardly answer.
"Why would it be weird? Cause he's my friend?"
"Yeah..." you meekly say.
She laughs again and comes up to you, "Why would it be weird that my roommate is going out with my good friend?"
That's true, this is nothing compared to fucking your roommate's boyfriend. You swallow the guilt that crawls out of your throat.
"I can lend you my shoes to match it with that cute dress?" She offers, kind as always.
"No, it's fine. It's comfortable this way," you say, opting for the sneakers you're wearing since you're going to do a lot of walking today.
"As long as you're comfortable," she says, fixing your hair as she speaks.
The front door opens and the two of you are turning your heads to see who's coming, it's none other than Minho. You hurriedly sling your purse around your shoulder and ready to leave.
"I'd better get going," you tell Kim, giving her a quick hug.
"You can come home as late as you want," she jokingly says as she hugs you back, "Actually, don't bother coming home tonight."
You laugh it off and pull away while ignoring Minho who walks to the kitchen to get something out of the fridge. You head for the door and wave bye at Kim before getting out.
-
The search for a new place comes to fruition, you have two potential living spaces but the only problem is you can't afford the rent, yet.
You end the day with a hearty dinner also as a treat for Gaspard for being so helpful and patient with you. He's simply a great guy to be with and you wonder why didn't you want to fuck him instead of Minho.
Oh fuck, you think about Minho again and it reminds you that he's in the apartment now so you stay out as late as you can. You consider Gaspard's offer to come and visit his place but you don't want to give him the impression that this is a date.
It's too casual to be counted as a date in the first place but you make sure to promise him a proper one next time.
"Maybe next time when I'm not sweaty and the day is not as humid as today," you kindly refuse the offer.
"I agree," he says as his hair turns a lot curler in this humidity and shyly brushes it to the back.
He walks you to the entrance of your apartment building and you turn on your feet to face him, "Thank you for today," you sincerely say.
"No worries. I had fun today," he coyly says with a smile.
You know he wants to kiss you and you want to kiss him too because he's just so attractive and fun to be with, he's a great guy... you can list so many reasons why you should kiss him so you muster up the courage to do it.
You stand on your tiptoe and press a kiss on his lips, putting your hand on his shoulder for support and Gaspard returns the kiss with so much gentleness with his hand cupping your jaw.
In the middle of it, you come to a realization that you kiss him for so many reasons but not because you like him. You slowly pull away from the kiss and quickly put on a smile for him.
"Goodnight, Gaspard," you mutter.
He allows himself to place a gentle caress on your cheek and smiles back at you as he says back, "Goodnight!"
The walk back to the apartment feels like a punishment. At least, it's late enough that you're sure Kim is already asleep by now so you quietly unlock the door, pushing it open without making any noise, and walk through the living room until you get to the safety of your room.
You kick your shoes off, throw your purse onto the bed, and take off your jacket, just standing there in your dress facing the huge mirror with your reflection staring back at you.
"Do you need help with that?" Minho asks through the cracks of your door.
You hate it that he's still here and you're happy to see him, you're not answering but he comes to your aid anyway. He stands right behind you and slowly unzips your dress for you.
It must be intentional the way his knuckles graze your skin as he pulls the zipper down your back.
The memories from that night come back to you and unlock all the feelings that you try to keep at the bottom of your heart.
Minho then places his hand on your shoulder and looks at you through the mirror, "Do you need help with anything else?" He asks with a voice so low it's almost like a whisper.
You turn your head to the side and meet his gaze, "No."
All sorts of thoughts come rushing through your head but it's the same contradicting questions: Take the chance or pass? Right or wrong? Continue or stop? Now or never?
Those questions going around your head and won't stop bothering you until you make up your mind.
You turn around to face him and notice how close he's standing in front of you, so close that you can feel the heat his body is emitting.
"But I'll help myself," you say and then kiss him.
Well, you guess people can tell which one is the lie now.
-
Support my blog by kindly reblog, comment or tip me on my ko-fi!
@svintsandghosts @abiaswreck @ppiri-bahng @drhsthl @idkluvutellme @biribarabiribbaem @skz-streamer @biancaness @hanjisunginc @elizalabs3 @laylasbunbunny @kpopformylife @caitlyn98s @hann1bee @mamieishere @is2cb97 @marvelous-llama @bluenights1899 @sherryblossom @toplinehyunjin @hanjisbeloved @yourmomscuntis2tighy @sunnyseungup @skz4lifer @stellasays45 @severeanxietyissues @avyskai @imseungminsgf @silentreadersthings @army-stay-noel @rylea08 @simeonswhore @jebetwo @yubinism @devilsmatches @septicrebel @rairacha @cutiespaghetti @ven-fic-recs @hyunjiinnnn @lostgirlinthewoodss @schniti-is-in-the-house
✧ Still Yours | H. Jisung
♡ Pairing: Han Jisung × Chubby!Reader
✧ Word Count: 12,208 words | Reading Time: 45-ish mins
900+ Followers Special ♡
✦ Trope: Second Chance Romance | Ex-Classmates to Lovers | Slow Burn | Popular Jock x Bullied Girl | Non-Idol AU
✧ Warnings: Bullying (verbal abuse, fat-shaming), mentions of physical abuse, toxic family, emotional trauma, drinking, mild suggestiveness, language, angst with comfort, NO PROOF READING WAS DONE
♡ Synopsis: Back in high school, she was the chubby outcast—bullied, bruised, and abandoned—while Han Jisung was the untouchable jock who broke hearts and ignored them all… except hers. When life pulled them apart after a brutal misunderstanding, she vowed never to look back. Now, eight years later, she's a successful engineer—independent and guarded. But when fate throws them back together in the most unexpected boardroom, Jisung sees a second chance. And this time, he’s not letting go without a fight. ♡
✦ Author’s Note: For the ones who loved in silence and healed in shadows. This one’s for you. You are seen, and you are enough. ⋆彡
You were a walking paradox, a vibrant ember struggling to glow beneath a thick layer of societal soot. Chubby, they called you, their voices often laced with a disdain that never seemed to dull, each syllable a tiny pinprick against your already tender skin.
Yet, the softness of your frame held a surprising resilience, your cheeks often flushed with a healthy color that belied their cruel pronouncements, a testament to a spirit that refused to be entirely extinguished. Kindness flowed through you like an unseen current, a gentle offering of smiles even to the very faces that contorted with mockery at your approach, a quiet rebellion against the negativity that surrounded you.
And your mind? It was a sharp, agile thing, devouring knowledge with an insatiable hunger, your intelligence a quiet fire that burned brightly in the hushed corners of the library, a stark contrast to the dim view others seemed to have of you. You found solace in the intricate logic of mathematics, the sprawling narratives of classic literature, worlds where your physical form held no bearing on your worth.
But despite these inherent strengths, an invisible weight clung to you, a suffocating shroud woven from the stinging barbs of your classmates. "Hey, look, it's the walking sofa!" someone would bellow down the hallway, their friends erupting in laughter that felt like a physical shove, each jeer chipping away at the fragile foundation of your self-esteem.
"Bet she uses a GPS to find her own feet," another would sneer, their words echoing the insidious voice of self-doubt that sometimes whispered in your own head, a constant reminder of your perceived inadequacy. You learned to flinch inwardly, to brace yourself for the inevitable sting, to become as small and unobtrusive as possible, a shadow trying desperately to blend into the background noise of the school, your gaze fixed on the worn linoleum floor.
Your world had fractured years ago, the sharp edges never quite fitting back together after the sudden, gaping loss of your father. He had been your anchor, a warm, comforting presence whose booming laughter still echoed faintly in the quiet corners of your memory, a phantom sound that sometimes brought a bittersweet ache to your chest.
Now, he was a faded photograph on your bedside table, a silent observer of your increasingly solitary existence, a bittersweet reminder of a love that felt both impossibly distant and achingly present. Your mother, lost in her own labyrinth of grief, eventually found a fragile sort of peace in the arms of another man.
His arrival brought a polite, almost sterile atmosphere to your home, a subtle distance that grew between you and the woman who had once been your sun and moon. "He's a good man," she'd said once, her voice flat, devoid of the warmth you remembered, her eyes focused on some distant point. "He'll take care of us." But 'us' never truly included you in the same way anymore; you felt like a tolerated guest in a life that had moved on without you.
The real chill, however, the bone-deep, relentless cold, emanated from your aunt. After your mother's remarriage, you were sent to live with her, a woman whose lips seemed permanently pursed in disapproval, whose voice was a constant, low hum of criticism that eroded your spirit.
Her house was a place where joy seemed to wither and die, where every corner held the unspoken accusation of your inadequacy. "Are you going back for seconds?" she'd snap, her eyes narrowing with suspicion as you reached for another small portion of dinner. "Honestly, child, have you no self-control?
You'll never find a nice boy looking like that. You'll be alone forever." Meals were silent, tense affairs, punctuated only by the clinking of silverware and her pointed sighs. Chores were endless, thankless, and any small spark of happiness you managed to ignite was quickly doused by her sharp tongue and colder-than-ice gaze.
"Don't slouch," she'd bark across the living room, her voice like the crack of a whip. "Sit up straight. You look like a sack of potatoes. Honestly, the way you carry yourself…" Your home life became a toxic swamp of neglect and emotional abuse, a secret shame you carried like a lead weight in your stomach, a burden that made your steps heavy and your spirit weary.
"Honestly," she'd mutter under her breath as you did the dishes, the clatter of plates a poor substitute for conversation, "your mother always said you were a clumsy one. Just like her."
Across the bustling, often chaotic landscape of your high school moved Han Jisung. He was a figure carved from a different kind of coldness – a detached, almost arrogant aura that seemed to ripple outwards, creating a respectful distance.
A star athlete, his movements on the basketball court fluid and mesmerizing, he was the undisputed object of countless girls' affections. Their whispered yearnings followed him down the hallways like a persistent, hopeful breeze. "Did you see the way Jisung looked at me during practice?" you'd overhear one girl sigh to her friend, her voice dreamy.
"I swear, he totally wants to ask me to the homecoming dance." Yet, he remained aloof, a polite but firm "I'm not interested" the standard response to any lingering glances or hesitant advances. "Sorry," he'd say, his voice cool but not unkind, his gaze already drifting away, "I'm just really focused on the upcoming tournament. Got to keep my head in the game."
His eyes, sharp and intelligent, often held a distant amusement, a subtle disdain for the petty dramas and hormonal surges that defined the high school experience. "Honestly," he once said to his friend, a slight smirk playing on his lips as a group of girls giggled nearby, their attention clearly fixed on him, "they're all so… transparent." He was a world away from your own, a dazzling supernova you never dared to gaze at directly, knowing you were a mere speck of dust in his radiant orbit.
Yet, unbeknownst to you, in those fleeting moments between classes, or during the forced proximity of shared assemblies, his gaze would sometimes flick towards you. It wasn't a look of mockery or pity, but something… else. A quiet, almost clinical observation.
He noticed the way your shoulders would instinctively hunch when a group of popular kids approached, their laughter echoing in the confined space, the barely perceptible flinch in your eyes when the school bell shrieked through the corridors, the determined set of your jaw as you navigated the crowded lunchroom, your tray held like a fragile shield against the judging eyes.
He saw the way your fingers, often ink-stained from hours spent lost in the pages of a book, your refuge from the harsh realities of your life, would nervously twist the hem of your oversized sweater. Once, during a particularly brutal round of hallway taunts aimed your way, the words like sharp stones thrown with intent, he had paused, his usual easy stride faltering for a split second before he continued on, his expression unreadable, a flicker of something unidentifiable in his dark eyes.
One particularly bleak, rain-swept afternoon, the meager grocery money, carefully counted out and clutched in your sweaty palm, the lifeline that would hopefully stave off your aunt's wrath for another week, was snatched from you just outside the familiar fluorescent glow of the convenience store.
A gaggle of giggling, impeccably dressed girls, their faces bright with a casual cruelty that chilled you to the bone, had surrounded you like a pack of predators. "Well, well, well, look what we have here," the ringleader had sneered, her perfectly manicured nails reaching for your trembling hand.
"Going on a little snack run, tubby? Maybe stocking up for winter hibernation?" "Leave me alone," you managed to whisper, your voice barely audible above the drumming rain, your heart pounding a frantic rhythm against your ribs.
"Oh, are you going to cry?" another one taunted, her eyes glinting with malicious amusement. "Maybe a few tears will wash away some of that… extra baggage." "What's this, enough for a diet soda?" the first girl said, snatching the crumpled bills from your grasp.
"Maybe you should try skipping a few meals, fatty," another added, their laughter echoing the hollowness that had become a constant companion in your stomach. "Yeah," a third chimed in, her voice dripping with false concern, "think of it as us doing you a favor. Helping you reach your… goals."
"Just give it back," you pleaded, tears welling in your eyes, blurring their cruel faces. "It's all I have. My aunt…" They just laughed harder, their cruelty a sharp, physical pain. "Too slow," the ringleader said, tucking the money into her designer bag with a smug smile. "Maybe next time you'll learn to run faster. Or maybe just stay home."
Fear, cold and sharp as shards of glass, pierced through you, rendering your legs heavy and unresponsive. Home, usually a place of quiet dread, now loomed like a monstrous shadow in the downpour. Without the groceries, without the flimsy excuse of running an errand, the prospect of facing your aunt's wrath was unbearable.
"Where have you been?" she'd likely snap, her eyes narrowing with suspicion, her voice laced with impatience. "And where are the groceries I asked for? Don't tell me you've dawdled again." You could already hear the accusations, the bitter recriminations, the inevitable lecture about your worthlessness.
You found yourself huddled beneath the inadequate shelter of a dusty shop awning, the relentless rain plastering strands of hair to your forehead, tears blurring your vision as they mingled with the raindrops tracing paths down your cheeks. "Great," you muttered to yourself, the despair a heavy weight in your chest.
"Just great. Now what?" You were stranded, caught in the cruel intersection of teenage malice and a desolate home life, with nowhere safe to turn. "What am I going to do?" you whispered into the storm, the question a pathetic plea carried away by the wind.
Then, through the grey curtain of rain, a figure emerged. Tall and lean, with the unmistakable swagger of the school's star athlete, Han Jisung paused beside you. His expensive black umbrella, large enough to shelter two, dripped steadily at the edges, a stark contrast to the cheap, flimsy one you usually carried.
He didn't say a word, didn't offer a platitude or a condescending remark. He simply extended the umbrella towards you, the silent gesture a stark contrast to the cacophony of cruel words you had just endured. For a fleeting moment, your fingers brushed against his as you hesitantly took the offered shelter, a surprising jolt of warmth in the pervasive cold.
He turned and walked away, disappearing back into the downpour as quickly and silently as he had appeared. "Hey," you called out after him, a confused question forming on your lips, a desperate need to understand his unexpected kindness, but he was already gone, swallowed by the rain.
Confused, a strange cocktail of gratitude and bewilderment churning within you, you watched his retreating figure. Why would he do that? you wondered, clutching the smooth handle of the umbrella, its expensive fabric a stark contrast to your own worn coat.
Just as you began to think it had been a fleeting act of detached charity, a moment of pity from someone who existed in a completely different stratosphere, he reappeared. This time, he held a small, clear plastic bag clutched in his hand. He stopped directly in front of you.
"Here," he said, his voice surprisingly quiet, almost a murmur, his gaze flicking around as if he didn't want to be seen. He wordlessly pressed the bag into your hand. Inside, nestled against the damp plastic, were crisp twenty-dollar bills.
His expression was unreadable, his dark eyes flickered over your face briefly, a fleeting acknowledgment of your distress. He simply nodded, a curt, almost imperceptible movement of his head. "Take it," he added, his gaze direct for a fleeting second, a hint of something unreadable in their depths. And then he turned and walked away again, melting back into the rainy afternoon, leaving you standing beneath his expensive umbrella, the unexpected kindness a heavy, almost unbelievable weight in your hand.
Your lips parted in stunned silence, a soft, disbelieving "thank you" escaping into the drumming rain, a whisper lost in the downpour. The twenty dollars felt like more than just money; it felt like a lifeline, a tiny, unexpected crack of light in the overwhelming darkness.
"Thank you," you repeated, a little louder this time, clutching the bag tightly, even though he was already gone. The warmth of the unexpected gesture spread through the chill of the rain, a small seed of hope planted in the barren landscape of your day. You wondered, just for a moment, if maybe, just maybe, you weren't entirely invisible after all.
The sleek, black umbrella, a stark contrast to the cheap, floral one you usually carried, became an unspoken, tangible link between your vastly different orbits. It stood sentinel in your locker, a silent testament to an act of unexpected kindness that replayed in your mind like a recurring dream.
The twenty dollars, carefully and sparingly used to replenish your stolen grocery money, felt like more than just currency; it was a symbol of a hand reaching out in the darkness, a small spark of hope in the overwhelming gloom. A hesitant "thank you" the next day in the crowded hallway, your voice barely a rustle of sound, was met with a curt nod from Jisung, his usual guarded expression firmly in place, his gaze already sweeping over the bustling student body. But something had subtly shifted, a nearly imperceptible crack in the icy façade he usually presented to the world.
It began with shared study sessions in the hushed sanctuary of the library. He never explicitly invited you, never uttered a direct request. Instead, he would simply appear at your usual corner table, a formidable stack of advanced calculus textbooks and meticulously organized notes in hand.
You, initially wary of his continued presence, found a surprising, almost unsettling comfort in his focused silence. He possessed an unexpected patience when you wrestled with a particularly convoluted equation, explaining complex concepts with a quiet clarity that your often-impatient teachers lacked.
"Think of it like this," he'd say, his brow furrowed in concentration as he sketched diagrams on scrap paper, his voice a low murmur that barely disturbed the quiet hum of the library. You, in turn, would sometimes help him navigate the labyrinthine prose of English literature, your insightful interpretations of symbolism and theme offering a perspective he, with his more analytical mind, hadn't considered.
"That's… actually a really interesting way to look at it," he'd admit, a flicker of genuine intellectual curiosity in his dark eyes. These sessions were mostly silent, punctuated by the rustling of turning pages and the soft scratching of pens against paper, but a fragile, unspoken camaraderie began to bloom in the shared pursuit of knowledge, a quiet understanding passing between you over highlighted passages and solved problems.
Then came the late-night texts, the glow of your phone screen illuminating your face in the darkness of your small room. It started with a simple, utilitarian "Need help with the assignment?" from his number, a question that sent a jolt of surprised apprehension through you.
Hesitantly, you replied with a terse "Maybe," and soon, short, academic queries about formulas and literary devices morphed into slightly longer exchanges about favorite books (his surprisingly leaning towards classic sci-fi, yours towards poignant coming-of-age stories), obscure indie music, and even, occasionally, fleeting, carefully worded glimpses into the mundane details of your respective days.
His texts were often clipped, punctuated by emojis that seemed oddly out of character for the school's notoriously aloof jock – a surprisingly expressive thumbs-up, a thoughtful pondering face – but there was a consistency to them, a quiet checking-in that you found yourself looking forward to, a small beacon in the often-lonely expanse of your evenings.
He stumbled upon your deep-seated passion for retro video games during one of your brief study breaks in the library, when you were idly scrolling through an old emulator on your battered phone, a nostalgic smile softening your features as pixelated spaceships whizzed across the screen.
To your surprise, a flicker of recognition crossed his usually impassive face. "That's 'Galactic Gladiators', right?" he'd asked, leaning closer, a genuine spark of interest momentarily eclipsing his usual reserve. "My older brother used to be obsessed with that game. I remember watching him play for hours."
This shared, unexpected connection, a bridge built on 8-bit nostalgia, led to clandestine gaming sessions at his sprawling, modern home on weekends. His house, with its sleek furniture and panoramic city views, was a stark, almost intimidating contrast to your cramped, perpetually shadowed one, but in the dimly lit, surprisingly comfortable game room, surrounded by the hypnotic glow of multiple screens and the cheerful cacophony of digital sound effects, you found a strange, unexpected sense of belonging.
He was surprisingly competitive, his fingers flying across the controller with practiced ease, but never condescending, and your laughter, a sound you rarely heard yourself make, would sometimes bubble up and fill the room, a light, joyful sound that felt foreign yet wonderfully liberating. "Nice move!" he'd grudgingly admit after you executed a particularly skillful maneuver, a rare smile gracing his lips.
Throughout these increasingly frequent interactions, Jisung remained a keen, almost unnervingly perceptive, silent observer. He noticed the almost imperceptible tremor in your hands when someone raised their voice, even in a casual classroom discussion.
He saw the fleeting shadow of anxiety that flickered in your eyes when he accidentally brushed your arm in the crowded hallway. He learned your instinctive aversion to sudden loud noises, the way your gaze would dart nervously towards any raised hand in a classroom, as if anticipating a blow.
He pieced together the fragmented clues of your unspoken traumas, the subtle anxieties that clung to you like a second skin, an invisible weight you carried in the slump of your shoulders. He never pried, never asked directly about your strained home life or the cruelties you endured within the school's social hierarchy, but his awareness grew, a quiet understanding that seemed to settle in his dark eyes whenever he looked at you, a silent acknowledgment of the battles you fought unseen.
One particularly unpleasant afternoon, as you were walking home from school, clutching your backpack straps tightly, a group of boisterous guys from the basketball team, emboldened by their perceived social superiority, started making crude, insensitive remarks.
"Hey, look, it's Beauty and the Beast!" one of them jeered, his voice dripping with a nasty sarcasm that made your stomach clench. "Guess who's Beauty?" another one chimed in, eliciting a round of snickers. You froze, your face flushing crimson with shame, your instinct to disappear into the nearest crack in the sidewalk overwhelming.
Before you could shrink away and endure their taunts in silence, Jisung, who had been walking a few discreet steps behind you, his presence unnoticed until that moment, moved with a sudden, terrifying speed. He closed the distance between them in a heartbeat, grabbing the loudest offender by the collar of his expensive sports jacket, his knuckles white with barely suppressed fury.
"Shut your fucking mouth," Jisung growled, his usual cool, detached demeanor replaced by a raw, furious intensity you had never witnessed before, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. The other guys, initially amused, backed away, their laughter dying in their throats, surprised and intimidated by his violent outburst. Jisung shoved the guy away, his eyes blazing with a protective anger.
"Don't you ever talk about her like that again. Do you understand me?" The guy, visibly shaken and surprised by the ferocity of Jisung's reaction, mumbled a hasty apology and hurried away with his equally stunned friends. Jisung turned to you, his chest heaving slightly, his expression softening infinitesimally, a hint of genuine concern in his dark eyes.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice low and surprisingly gentle. You could only nod mutely, your breath caught in your throat, the unexpected, fierce defense leaving you both shaken and strangely… protected, a warmth spreading through the cold knot of shame in your chest.
But the incident, as such things often do in the hothouse environment of high school, had significant repercussions. Whispers followed Jisung down the hallways now, laced with a different, more salacious kind of speculation. "Did you see him go after her like that?" someone murmured, their eyes wide with gossip.
"He's totally obsessed with that… chubby girl. What does he even see in her?" The rumors spread like wildfire, fueled by the public display of Jisung's anger and your continued, albeit still somewhat hesitant, proximity. "Jisung's into fatties," one particularly cruel comment, delivered with a deliberate, cutting edge, reached his ears in the crowded cafeteria during lunch.
The words, meant to be a public humiliation aimed at both of you, hit a raw nerve, igniting a fury within him that you had only glimpsed before. In a flash, Jisung was on his feet, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles were bone-white.
He strode purposefully towards the group of guys who had been snickering, his eyes dark with a barely controlled rage. He grabbed the one who had spoken by the front of his shirt and slammed him against a nearby table, sending trays clattering and food scattering across the linoleum floor.
"Listen here, you piece of shit," Jisung snarled, his voice dangerously low but carrying through the stunned silence of the suddenly hushed cafeteria. "She isn't fat. She is chubby, and being chubby isn't inherently bad. She looks absolutely beautiful.
There is a fundamental difference between ignorance and deliberate malice. Educate yourself, you fucker." He punctuated his furious words with a sharp, brutal punch to the guy's jaw before his stunned friends could react and pull him away. The cafeteria buzzed with shocked whispers and a newfound, albeit grudging and often resentful, respect for Jisung's fierce, albeit violent, defense of you.
The rumors, however, persisted, twisting the narrative into something you increasingly dreaded. "Rich brat Jisung dating the school outcast," they whispered, their voices laced with a mixture of disbelief and disdain. "Probably just a phase. He'll get bored of her eventually and go back to the pretty, skinny girls."
These whispers, amplified by the dramatic incident in the cafeteria, inevitably reached the venomous ears of your aunt. The subtle shift in Jisung's behavior, the undeniable attention he was now paying you, confirmed her worst, most cynical suspicions.
"So," she hissed one evening as you were silently washing dishes after a particularly grueling day at school and an even more grueling dinner with her, her eyes narrowed with a predatory suspicion, "that rich boy has his claws in you now, hasn't he?" You flinched at the venom in her tone, the familiar sting of her judgment.
"He's just… a friend, Aunt," you mumbled, trying to keep your voice steady despite the tremor that ran through you. Her hand shot out with surprising speed, catching you across the face, the sharp crack echoing in the small, cramped kitchen. The physical pain was a familiar ache, but the accusation that followed cut far deeper. "Don't lie to me, you little gold digger!" she spat, her grip tightening on your arm like a vise.
"I knew it. I always knew you were after something. Trying to latch onto his money, aren't you? Just like your good-for-nothing mother!" Her words were like a toxic poison, seeping into the fragile sense of hope that had begun to tentatively bloom within you, twisting the unexpected kindness into something ugly and manipulative. The physical pain was nothing compared to the crushing weight of her accusations, her bitter, distorted perception of your burgeoning connection with Jisung.
The relentless rumors, your aunt's brutal abuse and her vile accusations, the gnawing fear of what others were saying about Jisung because of his association with you – it all became an unbearable weight, crushing the fragile shoots of hope that had dared to emerge.
The unexpected bridge you had started to build with Jisung felt like it was crumbling beneath your feet, the whispers and judgments like relentless waves eroding the foundation. In a desperate, self-preservationist attempt to protect yourself, to retreat back into the familiar, albeit agonizing, solitude, you made a drastic, heart-wrenching decision.
With trembling fingers, tears blurring your vision, you blocked Jisung's number on your old phone, severing the digital lifeline that had offered a sliver of connection. You deleted your text conversations, erasing the late-night exchanges that had brought you a fleeting sense of belonging, the digital echoes of his unexpected kindness now too painful to bear.
You started avoiding the library during your usual study times, the quiet corners now feeling like painful, empty reminders of his focused presence. When he tried to approach you in the crowded hallways, his usual aloofness replaced with a bewildered concern, his brow furrowed with worry and a silent question in his dark eyes, you would turn away, your heart aching with a silent scream of despair trapped in your throat, your gaze fixed resolutely on the opposite wall.
The umbrellas and game nights became distant, bittersweet memories, shrouded in a self-imposed silence, a shield you erected to protect your already battered heart from a world that seemed determined to misunderstand and hurt you.
The fragile connection, barely formed, snapped under the immense weight of fear, misunderstanding, and the crushing reality of your own deeply ingrained insecurities, leaving you alone again in the echoing silence of your own making, the black umbrella a stark, painful reminder of what could have been.
--
Eight years. An epoch in the fleeting landscape of youth, a span long enough for the seasons to cycle countless times, painting the world in vibrant hues of spring and summer, then stripping it bare with the stark beauty of autumn and winter.
Enough time for fledgling cities to evolve into sprawling, gleaming metropolises of steel and glass, their skylines perpetually reaching for the heavens, monuments to human ambition and progress.
And certainly enough time for the tentative bud of a high school connection, once so fragile and fraught with misunderstanding, to wither into a distant, almost dreamlike memory, its sharp edges softened by the relentless passage of time, its significance fading into the hazy recesses of the past, like a forgotten melody played on a broken instrument, its notes barely audible.
You were no longer the shrinking, self-conscious teenager haunted by the cruel whispers that echoed in the crowded hallways and the oppressive silence of a toxic home, a ghost in your own life. You had painstakingly, meticulously built a new life for yourself, brick by emotional brick, each one laid with the mortar of hard work, unwavering determination, and a fierce, almost defiant independence that had blossomed in the fertile ground of necessity, a shield against the vulnerabilities of the past.
The late nights spent poring over textbooks, the quiet dedication to mastering complex algorithms and intricate lines of code, the relentless pursuit of knowledge in the digital realm, had finally translated into a thriving career as a successful IT engineer in your early twenties.
You commanded respect in boardrooms, your innovative solutions were sought after by colleagues and superiors alike, and your code was elegant, efficient, a testament to the sharp, analytical mind that had always been your secret strength, a weapon against the insecurities that once threatened to consume you.
Your personal life, however, remained a carefully constructed fortress, its walls high and its gates firmly locked, guarded by years of ingrained caution and a deep-seated wariness of vulnerability. You lived alone in a sleek, minimalist apartment perched high above the city's relentless pulse, a sanctuary of your own making where silence was a welcome companion and your personal space was your own inviolable domain, a stark contrast to the chaotic, unpredictable environment of your adolescence. The panoramic city views from your floor-to-ceiling windows served as a constant reminder of how far you had come, a testament to your resilience.
Close friends were a concept that felt foreign, almost unnecessary, a potential source of pain you had learned to avoid, the risk of emotional entanglement outweighing the promise of genuine connection. The scars of the past ran deep, invisible but persistent, leaving you emotionally guarded, wary of any hint of intimacy, and proficient at maintaining a polite, professional distance from everyone you encountered. Trust was a precious currency you hoarded carefully, rarely spending it, its value inflated by the painful lessons etched into the fabric of your youth, lessons you had no intention of repeating.
One crisp autumn afternoon, the air carrying the melancholic scent of fallen leaves swirling in the city's canyons and the sharp, invigorating promise of a coming winter, you were hurrying down a busy downtown street during your lunch break. A mental checklist of errands – dry cleaning, a quick stop at the independent bookstore you frequented for its comforting smell of old paper and ink, and perhaps a decent cup of artisanal coffee from that new place around the corner – ran through your mind with the precision of a well-written algorithm, each task prioritized and scheduled.
Lost in the intricate logic of a particularly challenging debugging task you'd been wrestling with all morning, your mind still tracing the elusive error in the cascading lines of code, a phantom bug that seemed to shift and evade your every attempt to squash it, you rounded a sharp corner near a bustling, trendy coffee shop and collided with someone.
The unexpected impact sent a jolt through you and your sleek, state-of-the-art smartphone skittering across the textured pavement, its screen momentarily flashing a distorted image of your focused concentration before going dark, a small tragedy in your otherwise meticulously managed day.
"Oh, excuse me! I am so incredibly sorry," you murmured automatically, bending down to retrieve your device, your initial annoyance momentarily overshadowed by the awkwardness of the unexpected physical contact and the immediate fear of a cracked screen, a costly inconvenience in your otherwise meticulously ordered life.
As you straightened up, your eyes traveled upwards, drawn to the man you had bumped into. He was taller now, the lean frame of his youth filled out with a more mature breadth across his shoulders, the boyish angularity of his face softened by the passage of time into a subtly handsome countenance, etched with the faintest lines of experience around his eyes, lines that hinted at late nights and weighty decisions, a roadmap of the years that had passed.
Wire-framed glasses, a sophisticated touch you wouldn't have pictured on the often casually dressed teenager you remembered, perched on the bridge of his nose, framing intelligent, familiar eyes that widened almost imperceptibly in surprise, a fleeting flicker of recognition dancing within their depths, a spark that ignited a dormant ember within you, sending a surprising warmth through the chill autumn air.
His once meticulously styled, almost severe haircut now fell in a deliberately messy wave across his forehead, giving him a more approachable, less rigidly perfect appearance, a hint of artistic disarray that somehow softened the sharp edges of his undeniable success.
He wore an impeccably tailored wool coat, the dark charcoal fabric hinting at considerable expense and understated power, and held a steaming paper cup in one hand, the rich, dark aroma of freshly brewed, high-end espresso wafting in the cool air, a scent that somehow felt both vaguely familiar and entirely new, a marker of his evolved world.
A jolt of recognition, sharp and unexpected, shot through you, followed by a disorienting wave of a peculiar, almost unsettling familiarity that tugged at the frayed edges of your carefully constructed present, pulling you back to a time you had consciously tried to bury beneath layers of achievement and self-reliance. It couldn't be… could it possibly be? Han Jisung.
Older, undeniably more polished, radiating an aura of quiet confidence and understated power you hadn't witnessed in his teenage years, but the intense gaze that locked with yours, the almost imperceptible quirk of his lips as he registered your presence, was undeniably him.
Your immediate instinct was to disappear, to melt back into the anonymity of the lunchtime crowd, to pretend you hadn't seen him, hadn't felt that disconcerting flicker of recognition that sent a shiver down your spine, a ghost of a past you thought you had outrun finally catching up.
You offered a quick, generic "So sorry," and began to sidestep him, your mind racing, trying to reconcile the aloof, often sharp-edged teenager you remembered with the sophisticated, almost enigmatic man standing before you, a man who exuded an air of quiet authority and effortless charm.
"[Your Name]?" His voice, deeper now, a smooth baritone that resonated in a way the adolescent timbre never had, cutting through the surrounding cacophony of city noise like a familiar melody played on a new instrument, a familiar cadence that pulled at the frayed edges of a long-dormant memory. He said your full name, the way he used to all those years ago during those stolen, quiet moments in the library, a sound that sent a faint, unexpected tremor through you, a vibration that stirred something long dormant within your carefully guarded heart.
You froze, your carefully constructed composure momentarily faltering, the practiced indifference you wore like armor cracking under the unexpected weight of the encounter. You reluctantly met his gaze, a knot of unease tightening in your stomach, a strange mix of apprehension and a hesitant flicker of something akin to… curiosity? "Jisung?" you replied, the name feeling foreign and yet strangely resonant on your tongue after so many years of deliberate disuse, a whisper from a life you thought you had left behind.
A hesitant, almost shy smile touched his lips, a far cry from the cool detachment and occasional sardonic smirk you remembered from high school. "It's been a while," he said, his eyes studying you with an intensity that made you feel strangely exposed, as if he could see past the carefully constructed walls you had built around yourself, peering into the guarded spaces you rarely allowed anyone to glimpse. "You look… well. Successful."
Before you could formulate a polite refusal or an awkward attempt at small talk about the unpredictable autumn weather or the latest traffic snarl that had plagued your morning commute, he gestured vaguely towards the curb with his free hand. "My car's just around the corner. I'm actually heading in your general direction, I think, towards the financial district. Let me give you a ride back to your office. Save you the walk."
Suspicion, a familiar and unwelcome companion, immediately flared within you, its icy tendrils wrapping around your apprehension. Why? After all this time, after the abrupt and painful way your fragile connection had ended, leaving you feeling abandoned and misunderstood? What could he possibly want after eight long years of silence, years you had spent meticulously rebuilding your life without him, brick by painstaking brick?
You hesitated, weighing the awkwardness of accepting his unexpected offer against the even greater awkwardness of a prolonged conversation on a busy street, the risk of dredging up memories you had worked so diligently to bury beneath layers of professional success and emotional detachment.
There was a strange pull, however, an undeniable flicker of curiosity that you couldn't entirely ignore, a nagging question about the man he had become, the path his life had taken in the years since you last saw him. Against your better judgment, a small, almost imperceptible nod escaped you. "Okay," you said, your voice betraying a hint of your inner turmoil, the single word hanging in the air between you, heavy with unspoken history.
He led you not to a typical, anonymous sedan, but to a breathtakingly beautiful Pagani, its sleek, aerodynamic lines a testament to both artistry and engineering prowess, its low, guttural growl a subtle promise of immense power that vibrated through the very pavement beneath your feet.
The car turned heads as you approached, its presence a silent statement of wealth and refined taste, a world away from the battered jalopies that cluttered the high school parking lot of your memory. The passenger door swung open with a soft, almost theatrical whir, revealing luxurious leather seats that enveloped you in their rich embrace as you hesitantly settled inside, the scent of supple leather and something subtly, intoxicatingly expensive filling your senses, a stark contrast to the worn fabric of your old school backpack and the faint scent of your aunt's harsh cleaning supplies that still sometimes clung to your clothes.
The drive was short, punctuated by a strained, polite conversation about the unseasonably warm autumn weather and the general state of the city's ever-congested traffic, the mundane topics a flimsy shield against the unspoken questions that hung heavy in the air between you.
As he smoothly pulled up to your modern office building, its glass façade reflecting the crisp blue sky and the bustling energy of the city, a monument to your hard-won success, he mentioned the name of his investment firm, a brief, almost casual remark dropped into the otherwise stilted conversation as if discussing the morning's headlines. "Stratagem Capital," he said as you reached for the cool, brushed metal of the door handle, your fingers hesitating for a fraction of a second, a sudden premonition settling in your stomach.
"We're actually scheduled to have a rather important meeting with your company next week. Regarding a potential significant investment opportunity."
A sudden, chilling realization washed over you, cold and sharp as glacial ice, stealing your breath and sending a tremor of disbelief through you. "Stratagem Capital?" you repeated, your voice barely a whisper, the name echoing in the sudden silence of the car, a sound that resonated with an unexpected, almost ominous significance.
Your company, a promising tech startup you had poured your heart and soul into for the past few years, a testament to your resilience and your brilliance, had been working tirelessly for months, preparing meticulously crafted presentations, crunching complex financial projections that represented your team's collective hopes and dreams, pouring every ounce of energy and fragile optimism into securing a crucial investment that could catapult your small firm to the next level, finally allowing your innovative ideas to truly take flight and disrupt the industry.
The lead investor's name had been circulated amongst the senior staff, a prominent and highly respected figure in the tech industry, a name that carried significant weight, but in the whirlwind of deadlines and preparations, you hadn't paid it much attention beyond the professional implications, the potential for growth and validation.
You looked at Jisung, really looked at him, the tailored coat that spoke of power, the air of quiet confidence that radiated from him, the casual mention of multi-million dollar investments as if it were everyday conversation. The aloof, sometimes volatile jock of your past had metamorphosed into a powerful, influential man, a titan in the very industry you were striving to conquer.
And he was the investor. The key to your company's future, the man whose decision could make or break everything you had worked so hard to achieve, the man who now held your professional destiny in his hands. The unexpected, almost cruelly ironic twist hung in the air between you, thick with unspoken history, unresolved emotions, and the immense weight of a potentially very complicated, and possibly very high-stakes, future.
The past and the present had collided with a force that left you reeling, the comfortable distance you had cultivated shattered by the unexpected reappearance of a ghost from your past, a ghost who now held the keys to your future.
--
The meeting with Stratagem Capital the following week proceeded with an almost unnerving smoothness. You, as the lead engineer on the project, presented your team's innovative work with a calm professionalism that belied the turmoil churning within you. You fielded questions with clarity and precision, your deep understanding of the technology shining through.
Jisung, seated at the head of the table, listened intently, his gaze steady and focused, occasionally interjecting with insightful queries that demonstrated a genuine interest in your company's vision. There was a detached air to his professionalism, a stark contrast to the unexpected ride you had shared, making it almost seem like that encounter had been a figment of your imagination.
Yet, the occasional flicker of something familiar in his eyes, a brief, almost imperceptible softening of his expression when your gazes met, hinted at the complicated history that lay beneath the surface.
Weeks drifted by in a strange state of limbo. The investment from Stratagem Capital was still under consideration, a looming decision that hung over your company like a delicate balance. In the meantime, you found yourself running into Jisung with surprising frequency.
A silent acknowledgment in the building lobby, a shared elevator ride where neither of you spoke, the air thick with unspoken words and the weight of the past. Occasionally, their paths would cross outside the office, and he would offer you a ride home, a proposition you initially met with hesitant suspicion.
The first few times, the drives were stiff and awkward. Polite inquiries about work and the city filled the silence, careful conversations that skirted around the eight years of absence and the abrupt end of your high school connection.
You remained guarded, observing him with a cautious eye, trying to decipher his intentions. Was this mere politeness, a byproduct of your professional entanglement? Or was there something more beneath the surface?
Slowly, almost imperceptibly, a fragile sense of familiarity began to seep back into your interactions. The silences during the car rides became less strained, occasionally punctuated by a shared observation about a news report or a wry comment about the city's unpredictable traffic.
You found yourself, on a couple of particularly late nights at the office, accepting his offer of a ride without the initial surge of suspicion. There was a strange comfort in the shared journey, a sense of unexpected ease that surprised you.
Unbeknownst to you, Jisung had been meticulously piecing together the fragments of the past, recalling details from your brief time in high school. He remembered your quiet enthusiasm for a particular indie game, the way your eyes lit up when discussing a certain author, and, most surprisingly, he remembered your birthday.
A date that had somehow lodged itself in the recesses of his memory, a small, insignificant detail from a lifetime ago. As your birthday approached, he found himself making plans, a quiet dinner at a restaurant with a discreet, elegant ambiance, the perfect setting to finally ask you out, to see if the fragile connection rekindled by chance could blossom into something more.
Then, one afternoon, as you were leaving the office, he saw you standing outside, laughing with a male coworker. Your head was thrown back, your face radiant with genuine amusement, a carefree expression he hadn't witnessed on you in all the years he had known you, even in your brief moments of joy in high school.
A sharp, unexpected pang of jealousy, unfamiliar and unwelcome, clenched in his chest. The easy camaraderie you shared with this colleague, the effortless joy in your expression, stirred something possessive within him, a feeling he hadn't anticipated.
That evening, as you were packing up your things, preparing for the quiet solitude of your apartment, Jisung was waiting for you in the lobby. Instead of his usual quiet offer of a ride, he stood near the reception desk, his presence drawing the attention of several of your colleagues who were also leaving for the day.
He waited until your eyes met his across the bustling space, and then, his voice carrying with a newfound confidence that echoed through the lobby, he addressed you publicly. "Ms. [Your Last Name]," he said, a hint of a smile playing on his lips, his gaze holding yours. "Would you do me the honor of having dinner with me tomorrow night?"
All eyes in the lobby turned to you, a mixture of curiosity and speculation in their gazes. Caught completely off guard by the public invitation, a blush creeping up your neck, you felt a wave of awkwardness wash over you. The memories of the high school rumors, the sting of your aunt's accusations, flashed through your mind.
Yet, there was also a strange pull, a reluctant curiosity to see where this unexpected turn of events might lead. Under the scrutiny of your colleagues, their hushed whispers filling the sudden silence, you managed a hesitant, "Yes, Mr. Han. I would." The agreement felt both inevitable and incredibly awkward, a step back into a past you had tried so hard to leave behind, under the watchful eyes of your present.
-
A nervous energy, a fluttering anticipation you hadn't permitted yourself to feel in years, stirred within the carefully guarded chambers of your heart as you prepared for the unexpected dinner. You stood before your closet, a meticulously curated collection of professional attire in understated hues that spoke of competence and control, and sought something that felt both comfortable and hinted at the special occasion, a subtle rebellion against your usual reserved style, a quiet acknowledgment of the significance of the evening.
Your gaze finally settled on a cherry red top, a vibrant splash of color that always seemed to inject a bit of defiant joy into your spirit, a bold statement against the muted tones that often mirrored your inner landscape. You paired it with a denim skort, a touch of casual familiarity amidst the potential formality of the evening, a grounding element that reminded you of the woman you were beneath the polished exterior you presented to the world.
To elevate the look, you chose a pair of sleek cherry red heels, adding a confident lift to your stride and a subtle statement of intent, a silent assertion of your own worth. Finally, you adorned yourself with delicate gold jewelry – a slender necklace that rested at your collarbone, catching the light with a subtle shimmer that drew attention to the graceful curve of your neck, and elegant stud earrings that framed your face with a touch of understated grace, adding a hint of warmth to your otherwise cool demeanor.
The reflection staring back was a woman you had painstakingly built, piece by painstaking piece, strong and independent, a far cry from the invisible, shrinking girl of your past, a testament to your resilience and unwavering spirit.
A sharp, insistent knock echoed through the quiet of your apartment, a sound that both quickened your pulse and filled you with a sense of nervous anticipation. Taking a deep breath, a silent promise to yourself to simply relax and enjoy the evening, regardless of where it might lead, you opened the door to find Jisung standing there.
The black satin shirt he wore accentuated the broad expanse of his shoulders, the fabric catching the soft hallway light with a subtle, almost liquid sheen that hinted at a quiet luxury. The wire-framed glasses added an unexpected intellectual air to his already handsome features, making his sharp, intelligent eyes seem even more thoughtful and perceptive, and you couldn't help but notice how undeniably fine he looked, a refined elegance that was both familiar, a ghost of the intense, sometimes volatile boy you once knew, and entirely new, a testament to the years that had sculpted him into this composed, intriguing man.
The ride to the restaurant was initially filled with a nervous tension, a subtle undercurrent of awkwardness that mirrored your earlier encounters, the silence punctuated by the gentle hum of the Pagani's engine.
Polite conversation filled the gaps, careful inquiries about the day's events and the surprisingly mild autumn weather, neither of you quite venturing into the deeper, more turbulent waters of your shared history or the uncertain territory of the present.
You found yourself stealing glances at him, trying to reconcile the composed man beside you, radiating an air of quiet confidence, with the memory of the intense, sometimes volatile teenager who had defended you in the crowded school cafeteria.
The restaurant was perched on a rooftop, offering a breathtaking panorama of the city lights twinkling below like a million scattered diamonds on a velvet cloth. The ambiance was sophisticated and intimate, soft jazz music drifting through the air, the murmur of hushed conversations a gentle hum that created a sense of secluded elegance, a world away from the noisy chaos of your high school days.
The initial awkwardness during dinner slowly began to dissipate as the conversation drifted towards lighter topics – shared observations about the dazzling city skyline, a brief, surprisingly engaging discussion about a thought-provoking documentary you had both recently watched, revealing unexpected common interests that bridged the years.
Then, as the dessert arrived, a delicate chocolate torte adorned with a single, flickering candle, casting a warm glow on his face, Jisung's eyes met yours with a soft intensity that made your heart skip a beat. "Happy birthday, [Your Name]," he said, his voice a low, warm murmur that sent an unexpected shiver down your spine, a simple acknowledgment that held a weight of unspoken understanding.
He then presented you with a small, exquisitely wrapped box, the paper a deep, rich burgundy tied with a silver ribbon, the weight of it surprisingly substantial in your hand. Inside, nestled in soft, black velvet, was a heavy crystal perfume bottle, its facets catching the candlelight.
You lifted it, your breath catching in your throat. The delicate, floral and slightly musky scent that wafted upwards was instantly, achingly familiar, a nostalgic echo of your high school days, a fragrance you hadn't encountered in years, a scent that held within it the ghost of a younger, more vulnerable you.
And then you saw it – your name, [Your Name], elegantly and intricately carved into the smooth, cool glass of the bottle, a personal touch that resonated with a profound intimacy. A wave of emotion washed over you, a poignant mix of profound surprise and an unexpected tenderness that resonated deep within your carefully guarded heart.
He remembered. He remembered the small, seemingly insignificant detail of your favorite scent from a lifetime ago, a scent that evoked bittersweet memories of a time when simple pleasures held a greater significance, a time before the weight of the world had settled so heavily on your shoulders.
Tears welled in your eyes as you looked at him, a raw vulnerability exposed that you rarely allowed anyone to witness, a crack in the carefully constructed facade of your independence.
"Jisung," you began, your voice trembling slightly, the carefully constructed walls around your heart momentarily crumbling under the weight of his unexpected thoughtfulness and the poignant memories the perfume evoked. "This is… this is incredibly thoughtful. More than I could have ever expected. Thank you."
You paused, gathering your courage to voice the deeper turmoil that had plagued you for so long, the insecurities that still whispered in the quiet corners of your mind. "But… I need to be honest with you. I… I don't love myself. Not really. Not in the way someone should. And if I don't love myself, how can I possibly let anyone else truly love me? I'm… I'm afraid of that. Afraid of being hurt again, afraid of not being enough."
The confession hung in the air between you, heavy with years of unspoken pain, ingrained insecurity, and the deep-seated fear of repeating the hurts of the past, a truth you had carried like a secret burden.
He reached across the table, his larger hand gently covering yours, his touch warm and grounding, a silent reassurance that transcended words.
His gaze was earnest, unwavering, filled with a quiet understanding that surprised you with its depth, a knowing look that seemed to see past your carefully constructed defenses. "Then I'll wait," he said softly, his thumb gently stroking the back of your hand, his eyes conveying a patience you hadn't anticipated, a steadfastness that offered a glimmer of hope.
"I'll wait until you do, [Your Name]. Because I know, deep down, the incredible woman you are, the strength and resilience you possess. And I believe you'll see it too, eventually. And when you do, whenever that may be, I'll still be here." His words were a balm to your wounded spirit, an unexpected promise of unwavering support and a profound belief in you that resonated deep within your heart, planting a tiny seed of hope in the barren landscape of your self-doubt, a fragile promise of a future you hadn't dared to imagine.
--
The rooftop dinner, bathed in the soft glow of city lights and punctuated by the raw vulnerability you had dared to share, marked a subtle but significant shift in the long, unspoken narrative between you and Jisung. The confession, the hesitant unveiling of your deepest insecurities, hung in the air not as a source of awkwardness or a point of retreat, but as a fragile, newly forged bridge spanning the chasm of years and misunderstandings.
In the weeks that followed, slow, deliberate progress began, like the tentative unfurling of a tightly closed bloom. A simple goodnight text evolved into a brief, thoughtful exchange the next day. A casual inquiry about the challenges of your workday led to a late-night phone call, the comfortable silence that occasionally fell between you gradually replacing the nervous tension and unspoken anxieties of the past.
He didn't push, didn't make demands or issue expectations. He simply offered his quiet, unwavering presence, a steady anchor in the sometimes-turbulent waters of your emotions, a silent reassurance that he wasn't going anywhere.
He would text a simple "How was your day?" or share an interesting article he thought you might find engaging, a small gesture that spoke volumes about his attentiveness. Occasionally, he would suggest a late-night study session, the pretense of academic pursuit now a comfortable backdrop for shared interests – a complex documentary that sparked a fascinating debate, a classic novel you had always intended to read but never found the time for, its pages becoming a shared landscape of discovery.
Slowly, tentatively, you began to lower the carefully constructed walls around your heart, brick by painstaking brick. You found a surprising comfort in his quiet understanding, the way he listened without judgment, his responses thoughtful and genuine, reflecting a depth of empathy you hadn't encountered before.
He learned your rhythms, the days you needed space to navigate the lingering shadows of your past, the evenings you might welcome a gentle distraction, a shared meal, or a quiet conversation. He even started suggesting you cook together at his spacious, modern apartment, his sleek kitchen a stark and welcoming contrast to the cramped, often tense atmosphere of the kitchen of your childhood.
These evenings were filled with a comfortable domesticity, the shared task of preparing a meal, the rhythmic chopping of vegetables, the simmering of sauces, becoming a silent language of growing intimacy and trust.
A year spun by, marked by the subtle shifts in the seasons and the more profound shifts within yourself. Jisung's unwavering patience and quiet, steadfast support had become an integral and comforting presence in your life, a constant source of gentle encouragement.
You found yourself laughing more freely, the sound echoing in your apartment without the familiar tinge of self-consciousness. Your steps felt lighter, your shoulders less burdened. The sharp edges of your emotional guardedness began to soften, replaced by a tentative sense of self-acceptance, a growing understanding of your own inherent worth.
You started looking at your reflection with a kinder, more forgiving eye, the critical voice within slowly quieting its relentless judgment. While the journey to fully loving yourself was an ongoing process, a path you were still navigating, you were undeniably more confident, more emotionally stable, the foundations of your well-being feeling stronger and more resilient than they ever had before.
Then, finally, came the day of the project launch, the culmination of months of intense work, sleepless nights, and unwavering dedication, the very project upon which Stratagem Capital's significant investment hinged. The atmosphere in the office was electric with a palpable mixture of nervous anticipation and focused energy, the air thick with the unspoken hopes and fears of your entire team.
You, as the lead engineer and the driving force behind the innovation, presented the final product with a quiet confidence that belied the subtle tremor of excitement within you, your voice steady and clear as you navigated the intricate technical details, your passion for the project shining through.
Everything went smoothly, the system performing flawlessly, its elegant functionality and groundbreaking capabilities impressing the stakeholders. A collective sigh of relief and a wave of triumphant exhaustion washed over your team as the launch was officially declared a resounding success, a testament to your collective hard work and vision.
That evening, a simple text message from Jisung arrived on your phone, the familiar name on the screen sending a warmth spreading through you: "Stratagem party tonight. Nexus. Consider it a celebration of a job well done."
It was a casual invitation, understated in its wording, but the underlying warmth and a hint of personal invitation were unmistakable, a quiet acknowledgment of your shared journey and your individual triumph. Hesitantly, a sense of nervous excitement fluttering in your stomach, you decided to go.
-
The invitation to Nexus arrived with a subtly possessive addendum from Jisung, delivered via a late-night text that vibrated with an unspoken intimacy: "Wear black. It suits you, highlights the fire in your eyes, and makes those cherry lips look like they're begging for a taste."
Trusting his quiet confidence and the undeniably suggestive compliment, you chose a sleek black dress. Its simple elegance skimmed your curves like a whispered promise, a silent statement of newfound comfort and a daring hint of burgeoning sensuality in your own skin.
The fabric flowed around you like liquid night, a stark contrast to the vibrant, almost defiant red of your birthday dinner, yet equally, if not more, captivating, a subtle promise of the woman you were slowly, deliberately unleashing.
At the club, "Nexus," Jisung's sleek and exclusive domain, the celebratory atmosphere was thick with the intoxicating blend of pulsating music, unrestrained laughter, and the expensive, heady aroma of designer perfume and celebratory spirits.
Your colleagues, flushed with the heady success of the project launch, their usual professional reserve dissolving with each shared bottle of champagne, were in high spirits, their inhibitions lowered to a dangerous degree. You found yourself drawn into their revelry, the offered glasses of the effervescent liquid, each accompanied by increasingly suggestive toasts to your team's brilliance and your own pivotal role, proving utterly irresistible in the face of their insistent camaraderie and playful shoves.
Your notoriously low tolerance for alcohol, a delicate secret you rarely shared, meant the celebratory drinks went to your head with thrilling speed, the edges of the room beginning to soften and sway, the bass of the music vibrating deep within your core, a physical manifestation of the delicious unraveling of your carefully controlled senses, igniting a reckless, intoxicating warmth that spread through your veins.
Soon, a giddy laughter, a sound that had been long suppressed beneath layers of self-consciousness and ingrained caution, bubbled up from within you, a lightness you hadn't experienced with such uninhibited abandon in years.
Encouraged by your tipsy colleagues, their cheers and suggestive winks egging you on, you found yourself on the dance floor, moving with a fluid, uninhibited grace that surprised even yourself, a joyous, almost primal release of pent-up tension and newfound confidence.
Through the shimmering haze of alcohol and flashing lights, your gaze locked with Jisung's across the crowded room.
He was watching you from the edge of the dance floor, leaning against a polished chrome pillar, a soft, almost possessive smile playing on his lips, his gaze dark, intense, and utterly unwavering, a silent observer who seemed to find a quiet amusement and a palpable, smoldering desire in your uncharacteristic abandon.
His eyes held a dark, knowing gleam that sent a shiver of raw anticipation dancing down your spine.
A sudden, deliciously wicked impulse, fueled by the alcohol's intoxicating loosening grip on your inhibitions and a burgeoning, undeniable, almost desperate affection for the man who watched you with such quiet intensity, overtook you with a thrilling recklessness.
With a playful shout that was almost a husky invitation, you weaved through the dancing crowd, a black-clad siren navigating the throng with an unexpected agility, reached Jisung, and, with a boldness that made your own heart pound, yanked him down by the collar of his dark, subtly shimmering silk shirt.
Your cherry-red lips crashed onto his in a kiss that was anything but demure, a rush of giddy affection, uninhibited desire, and a playful, teasing exploration of the boundaries that had long separated you. Your hands tangled in the soft fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer until your bodies were pressed together, the kiss a heady mix of champagne-fueled impulsiveness and a genuine longing that had been slowly simmering beneath the surface for months, now boiling over.
You nipped playfully at his lower lip before deepening the kiss, your tongue darting out to tease his, a silent, brazen dare in your slightly inebriated state that made his breath hitch and a low groan rumble in his chest.
You punctuated the bold move by gently biting down on his lower lip, a playful yet possessive gesture, before tugging lightly, drawing a surprised, yet undeniably pleased, sound from him.
He recoiled slightly, a flicker of surprise widening his dark eyes before a gentle, yet firm, hand cupped your cheek, stilling your impulsive actions, his thumb stroking the soft skin beneath your ear with a tender possessiveness that sent a delicious thrill spiraling through you.
"Hey," he murmured, his voice a low rumble against your swollen lips, a note of amused concern and a definite, husky undercurrent of arousal lacing his tone.
"Easy there, Ms. Y/L/N. Those cherry lips are getting a little… demanding, and you're swaying like a particularly lovely willow tree in a strong breeze. Though, I must admit," his gaze dropped to your lips, a dark heat flickering in his eyes, a predatory gleam that made your pulse quicken, "it's a rather… persuasive argument."
He carefully, yet reluctantly, disentangled himself, his arm remaining possessively around your waist, his touch a steady anchor in your suddenly unsteady world.
Gently but firmly, he steered you away from the pulsating crowd, his concern evident in his steady, unwavering gaze, though a hint of reluctant longing and a definite spark of desire still lingered in their depths.
He helped you into the cool, luxurious embrace of his Pagani, the soft leather a welcome contrast to the sudden heat that flushed your skin.
The ride back to your apartment was quiet, punctuated only by your occasional giggles and his soft, reassuring murmurs, his hand resting lightly on your thigh, his fingers occasionally flexing as if fighting a fierce internal battle against the urge to explore further.
As you fumbled with your door, the city lights blurring through the alcohol-induced haze, Jisung patiently guided your unsteady hand to the keypad.
You punched in the code '14092000', the familiar sequence a jumbled mess in your slightly inebriated mind, the numbers swimming before your eyes. Then, as the lock clicked open, the realization hit you with the force of a sudden downpour, a wave of unexpected warmth flooding through the alcoholic haze.
The numbers… they were his birthday. A small, intimate detail he had entrusted to you, a silent gesture of trust that spoke volumes about the depth of his feelings and the quiet intimacy you now shared, a secret language whispered in digits that now felt like a key to something much deeper.
Once inside your apartment, the lingering effects of the alcohol made you clumsy and endearingly unsteady, your movements a little too dramatic, your laughter a little too loud, each step a playful sway that threatened to send you tumbling.
As Jisung guided you towards your bedroom, his hand a firm, reassuring presence on your back, a wave of affection, amplified by the alcohol and the heady emotions of the evening, washed over you with an almost overwhelming intensity.
You turned to him, your movements slightly exaggerated, a playful glint in your eyes that hinted at mischief and a burgeoning, almost desperate desire. Reaching out, you tugged gently on his hand, pulling him down onto the edge of your bed with a soft giggle that bordered on a husky sigh.
You then proceeded to crawl onto the mattress, straddling his lap, your black dress riding up your thighs with a scandalous disregard for propriety, snuggling on top of him, your head resting comfortably against his chest, the steady, reassuring beat of his heart a comforting rhythm beneath your ear.
You wrapped your arms around his neck, your fingers tangling in the soft strands of his hair, pulling him closer until your lips were mere inches apart, your breath mingling. "Jisung," you mumbled, your words slightly slurred but filled with a genuine warmth that radiated through you, "I think… no, I know… I love you. You're… you're so good to me. And you smell absolutely intoxicating," you added with a tipsy giggle, nuzzling closer and pressing a lingering, deliberately provocative kiss to the sensitive skin of his neck, your cherry-red lips leaving a faint, fleeting imprint.
You then repeated the playful bite on his lower lip, tugging gently and watching his eyes darken with a mixture of amusement and something far more primal.
A soft chuckle rumbled deep in his chest, vibrating against your ear, a sound filled with a tender amusement and a palpable, tightly leashed desire that made his muscles tense beneath you. He gently stroked your hair, his fingers tangling in the soft strands, his voice a heart-fluttering whisper against your temple, filled with a tender amusement and a quiet longing that mirrored your own, tinged with a hint of reluctant control.
"And I, [Your Name]," he murmured, his breath warm against your skin, his arms tightening around your waist for a fleeting, possessive moment before relaxing, his gaze dark and intense as he looked down at you, his eyes lingering on your parted lips, then drifting down to where your hips subtly pressed against his.
"Am willing to wait until those beautiful, slightly tipsy words hold the same crystal clarity as the stars we saw painting the night sky. But darling," his voice dropped to a husky whisper that sent a shiver down your spine, his fingers tracing the line of your jaw with a feather-light touch that hinted at a barely suppressed hunger, "the waiting is becoming… an exquisite form of torture, especially with those tempting little nibbles."
He held you close, a silent battle raging within him, resisting the undeniable pull of the moment, respecting the vulnerability of your inebriated state, his own desire held firmly in check by a deeper, more profound affection and a gentlemanly restraint that spoke volumes about the depth of his character, even as his body betrayed a different, urgent story.
-- Next Morning
Sunlight stabbed at your eyelids, a brutal assault after the night's champagne-fueled escapades. A dull throb hammered behind your eyes, each pulse echoing the questionable decisions of the previous evening. You groaned, turning your face into the pillow, the lingering scent of expensive cologne a faint, comforting anchor in the sea of your queasy stomach. Slowly, reluctantly, you pried your eyes open, the unfamiliar surroundings of your bedroom coming into focus.
Then, the tantalizing aroma of sizzling bacon and something sweet, like pancakes, wafted from the kitchen, cutting through the fog of your hangover. You pushed yourself up, the black dress from the night before a crumpled heap on the floor. Padding barefoot towards the source of the enticing smell, you found Jisung standing at your stove, effortlessly flipping pancakes, a comfortable domesticity radiating from him that made your heart do a little flip of its own, despite your pounding head.
He turned as you entered, a knowing smirk playing on his lips, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Morning, sleepyhead," he greeted, his voice a low, teasing drawl. "Slept well? You were quite… enthusiastic last night. Though, I must say," he leaned against the counter, crossing his arms, his gaze lingering on your slightly disheveled state, "you have a surprising stamina for someone who claims a low tolerance. You seemed to enjoy our… deep and slow… activities. And if I recall correctly, there were some rather insistent requests for… more."
Panic flared in your chest, hot and sharp. Had you? The memories of last night were fragmented, a blurry montage of laughter, flashing lights, and a reckless boldness you barely recognized. Your cheeks flushed crimson. "We… we didn't… have… sex?" you stammered, your voice thick with sleep and dawning horror.
His smirk widened, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Relax, agassi," he chuckled, the sound warm and reassuring. "Just teasing. Though your attempts to straddle me were… memorable. And your whispered demands were… certainly noted. I got you safely tucked in. All innocent, I assure you. Mostly."
Relief washed over you in a dizzying wave, leaving you slightly breathless and acutely aware of the lingering heat in your cheeks. He moved towards you, his hands reaching out to frame your face, his thumbs gently stroking your temples. "Though," he murmured, his gaze dropping to your lips, a familiar heat returning to his eyes, "that kiss in the club… and those little nibbles… those were definitely real. And rather… persuasive. You seemed to have a particular fondness for my lower lip."
Your brow furrowed, a wave of mortification washing over you. "I… I don't really remember…" you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper, your cheeks burning hotter.
He closed the distance between you, his gaze intense. He reached out, gently taking your hand, and walked you backwards until your spine met the cool surface of the wall. He placed a hand on either side of your head, effectively pinning you, a playful dominance in his stance. Leaning in close, his breath ghosting over your lips, he teased, "Those kisses were quite something, my tipsy darling. And those little bites… rather… possessive. Should I show you how you did it?"
To his surprise, instead of a denial, a hesitant nod escaped you, a flicker of curiosity overriding your embarrassment.
His eyes darkened, a spark of something primal igniting within them. He lowered his head, his lips brushing against yours, a tantalizing prelude. Then, you surged forward, your hands tangling in his hair, your mouth crashing onto his with a desperate, sober longing. This kiss was different, grounded in a clarity that the previous night lacked, a heartfelt confession in every touch. When you finally broke apart, your breath catching in your throat, you looked into his eyes, the hangover momentarily forgotten. "Jisung," you said, your voice clear and steady, the words carrying the weight of a year of quiet understanding and burgeoning love. "I do love you. I really do."
His gaze softened, a profound tenderness replacing the teasing glint. Without a word, he swept you off your feet, your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist, and carried you to the kitchen counter, gently placing you on the cool surface amidst the tantalizing aroma of breakfast. His lips found yours again, this time with a fierce tenderness, a claiming kiss that spoke of shared desire and a love that had been patiently waiting. Hands explored, soft moans escaped your lips, the scent of bacon and pancakes mingling with the raw heat of your bodies. Finally, breathless and flushed, you broke apart, foreheads touching.
Han's voice, a low, husky whisper against your ear, sent a shiver down your spine. "I love you more, my love."
-- The End
they call you clingy.
ot8 x gn!reader
warning: really angsty, feeling insecure/unworthy, no happy endings. (sorry)
wc: 8708
bang chan
You and Chan had been together for a while, and things were generally great between you two. You had your own lives, your own routines, but there was always a sense of closeness between you that you both cherished. Lately, though, you’d found yourself tagging along with him more often, especially when he had dinner plans with the members.
At first, he didn’t mind. In fact, he enjoyed having you around, and the other members seemed to appreciate it too. Some of their girlfriends were there as well, so it felt natural, like a group gathering. But after a while, you started coming along more frequently, not wanting to spend evenings apart. You thought it was a way to spend more time with him, but you could tell it was starting to weigh on Chan, though you weren’t sure why.
Chan said nothing at first, but you could tell he became quieter and more distant throughout these dinners. He looked at his phone more frequently, and his smile seemed forced when you spoke with him or the others. Still, you tried to ignore it, telling yourself it was just your imagination. You weren't doing anything wrong by wanting to be with him, right? You had every right to join him on nights when he was with the other members. But you couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.
One evening, as you all gathered for a casual dinner at a restaurant, the atmosphere was different. You were laughing, eating, and talking with some of the other girls when you realized Chan was particularly quiet. He was nibbling at his food and not really participating in the conversation. You leaned over to him, laying your hand on his arm, attempting to draw him into the moment.
"Chan, is everything okay?" You asked, your voice gentle and anxious.
He shuddered slightly at the contact and gave you a fake smile. "Yeah, everything's fine," he said, but the tiredness in his voice was clear. The others didn’t seem to notice, but you did. It felt like he was pushing away from you just a little. Your stomach twisted as you tried to ignore the unease creeping in. Then, the conversation shifted. As the dinner continued, someone brought up how often you came along with Chan to these meals. You didn’t think much of it at first, but you could feel his discomfort growing.
“Honestly, though,” Chan suddenly chimed in, his voice a little more sharp than usual, “it’s getting a bit much. She’s always tagging along. It’s like she can’t ever be away from me. It's kind of suffocating.”
The words hit you like a smack in the face. You froze, your heart sinking to the bottom of your stomach. The table fell silent for a moment, the tension in the air evident. You could feel everyone's gaze on you, and your cheeks reddened with shame. You tried to shrug it off, believing it was a joke, but the expression in Chan's eyes revealed his disinterest. He was not joking. Time seemed to slow down, and you could feel the sting of his words settling deep within you. Without thinking, you excused yourself from the table and went to the restroom, your chest tight and your eyes welling with tears. You locked yourself in a stall and tried to calm your pounding heart, but the words replayed in your mind over and over again. “Clingy,” “suffocating.” You felt small, insignificant, and utterly hurt.
Meanwhile, at the table, the other members exchanged glances, seemingly uneasy about what had just happened. After a minute, Hyunjin spoke up, his tone surprisingly soft. "Chan, that wasn't cool, man. Why would you say anything like that? She isn't clinging at all. She's just trying to spend time with you."
Felix nodded in line, his tone quiet yet forceful. "Yeah, we really like having her around. She makes things more fun, you know? I don't understand why you'd say something like that.”
Chan wasn't sure how to answer. He had meant it as a joke, something to relieve the stress he'd been experiencing lately, but now that he'd heard the other responses from the others, a rush of shame swept over him. He felt he'd crossed a boundary, but it wasn't until they spoke out that he recognized how serious the situation was. "I didn't mean it like that," he whispered, but his apologies seemed hollow even for him.
His thoughts was muddled by remorse, and for the first time in a long time, he felt completely embarrassed. "I think you should go talk to her," Minho said softly. "She is probably really hurt right now. You have to make it right."
Chan’s stomach churned. He didn’t want to think about how badly he’d hurt you. His usual confident self was gone, replaced by a knot of regret.
lee know
It was one of those days. The sort where everything you touched seemed to fall apart, and every corner you turned revealed another disaster ready to happen. The day began with your boss screaming at you for something you didn't even do, his anger pouring out on you as if it were your responsibility that the world was collapsing. You hardly had time to calm yourself before spilling your coffee all over your blouse at lunch. The entire day had been an upsurge of humiliating incidents, missed deadlines, and biting your tongue to resist snapping at everyone who gave you the wrong look.
You were physically and emotionally drained when you arrived home. You just wanted the day to end, to close your eyes and forget everything. However, when you walked through the door, you were welcomed by a familiar, comfortable smell.
Minho was in the kitchen, wearing an apron and humming softly to himself while making something. Your heart lifted a little because he was here, cooking for you. The simple gesture of kindness was a welcome breath of fresh air after a long day of drowning.
You stood by the door, hesitant whether to interrupt, but then he turned toward you with a gentle smile. "Hey, how was your day?"
You forced a smile, despite the weight of the day pressing on you. “It was... fine. I’m just glad to be home.”
He noticed the weariness in your eyes and walked over to you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders in a gentle embrace. It was the kind of comfort you needed, even if you didn’t know it until he offered it. “Relax. I’ve got dinner covered. Why don’t you just sit down and take it easy?”
You nodded, thankful for his concern, but something inside you refused to just sit back and do nothing. It felt awful to be passive while he was so busy. "Let me help," you volunteered, heading near the counter, attempting to gather yourself after a stressful day. Minho gently shook his head, a teasing gleam in his eyes. "There's no need. "Please relax, okay?" You couldn't help but feel a sense of dissatisfaction. He was always so selfless and compassionate, and you didn't want to be someone who just sat by. Instead of disputing, you nodded and gave in to his desire. He was right, after all; you could use a break. “Alright. But give me something small to do.”
Minho paused for a moment to contemplate, then assigned you a tiny task. "Okay, could you please tidy up a little while I finish the soup? Just wipe down the countertops." It seemed simple enough.
You took a rag and followed his instructions while he worked on the soup. The house was peaceful, almost serene, and you hadn't felt that type of peace all day. It was good to be here with him and feel like you weren't confronting the world alone.
But in the middle of cleaning, your eyes darted to the pot of soup on the stove. It smelled incredible like something he had poured his heart into. You felt a surge of gratitude, the kind that made you want to help him, to show him how much you appreciated everything he did for you.
Without thinking, you decided to move the pot, to give him a little more space so he could focus on finishing everything. You gently lifted the heavy pot, but as you tried to shift it, your grip faltered. The edge of the pot slipped from your hand, and in an instant, it tilted, the boiling liquid splashing violently all over the kitchen floor and onto your leg.
You screamed out in shock, the searing heat of the soup burning into your skin, but the pain on your leg was nothing compared to the way everything seemed to shatter around you. The kitchen became chaos. The pot had fallen, splattered everywhere, and the delicious smell was suddenly replaced with the pungent scent of spilled soup. You tried to gather yourself, but the kitchen was now a disaster, and so were you on the verge of tears, overwhelmed, hurt, and defeated.
Minho turned when he heard the accident. His expression shifted from worry to annoyance in an instant. You looked up, and his eyes were filled with anger. The following words he said struck you harder than the burn on your leg. "Why are you always so clingy? I spent hours making that! "If you had just stayed out of the way for once, this could have been avoided!" His voice was harsh and slashed through the air like a razor. You stared at him, frozen in shock.
Was this actually happening?
His words felt like a punch to your chest. They were not what you expected, not from him, not when you were already dealing with the weight of the world. Your mind scrambled to make sense of it. How had it come to this? How had you gone from being the person he always tried to comfort to someone he now seemed to resent?
He stayed there, hands clenched at his sides. "God, I can't believe this," he said quietly, shaking his head. You always do this. You always get in the way. "Why can't you just relax and let me do it?"
You couldn't react because your heart was hammering painfully in your chest. You had spilled more than simply the soup. It was not only the mess. It was the sting of being accused of something you never wanted to do, like being too much. You did not want to be a burden for him. You never intended to make things more difficult, yet everything you did seemed to make things worse.
Minho sighed, looking at the mess with frustration. “Just… go to the room or something,” he snapped, turning away from you.
You stood there, unsure of what to do, feeling smaller than you ever had before. You knew he was angry, but the way he dismissed you, the way he acted like you were just an inconvenience, was something you hadn’t expected from him. He wasn’t usually like this. But right now, it felt like you had done something unforgivable. It felt like everything you had ever tried to do for him had been wrong, every gesture of kindness or help misplaced.
Your legs gave way, and you sank to the floor, trying to steady yourself, but your hands trembled with the weight of his words. Hot tears welled up in your eyes, and you didn’t bother wiping them away. The physical pain in your leg from the burns was nothing compared to the ache in your chest. You had wanted to help, to make things better for him. But now, all you could do was try to tend to your own wounds both physical and emotional alone.
You pulled yourself up slowly, wiping away the tears you hadn’t realized were falling, trying to find the strength to move. Minho was still in the kitchen, silent now, cleaning up the mess you had made, but his anger still hung in the air, thick and suffocating.
You left him there, retreating to your bedroom, feeling more isolated than you had in a long time. The night was quiet, but the silence between you and Minho felt louder than ever. And in that silence, you couldn’t help but wonder how long you could keep trying to be the person he wanted you to be when everything you did seemed to push him further away.
changbin
The evening started out like any other. You and Changbin were going to go to the gym together after a long day. You were excited to spend more time with him, especially since you had been trying to join him at the gym more often recently. At first, it seemed like a fun bonding activity. You'd go to encourage him, attempt to keep up with some of the exercises, and simply enjoy being with him. Changbin had always been a bit of a lone wolf, preferring his own time to recuperate, but he'd been nice enough to let you tag along at first.
You didn’t realize that things had slowly started to change. What had initially felt like an innocent way to spend more time together had started to weigh on him. Maybe it was because you’d started following him around everywhere always just a few steps behind, trying to do what he was doing, lingering around him during his sets. Maybe it was because he didn’t have his usual space anymore. But whatever the reason, Changbin was beginning to feel the pressure, and he didn’t know how to tell you.
You had no idea how much your presence at the gym was bothering him. He wasn't trying to hurt you or make you feel bad about wanting to spend time with him, but tonight was different. He could feel his patience fading and his irritation growing the more you wanted to incorporate yourself into his routine. It was supposed to be his time to escape. He needed the gym to be his sanctuary, a place to unwind and clear his mind. But tonight, as you followed him from machine to machine, everything came to a head.
The air in the gym seemed heavier than usual. Changbin could feel his patience fraying as you followed him for what seemed like the umpteenth time. You weren't doing anything wrong, yet he couldn't shake the overwhelming sense that you were constantly present. His gaze shifted to the clock on the wall; he'd been here for nearly an hour. And it wasn't that you were clingy in an obnoxious way; it was simply that you were always with him, which was enough to frustrate him.
He couldn't concentrate, couldn't clear his mind as he used to. You were always there, following his every move, asking questions about his setups, and attempting to get in the way of his routine. His thoughts were clouded, his mind no longer able to concentrate on the iron and his own movements. He couldn’t unwind. He couldn’t breathe.
When you followed him to the weights area once again, his frustration bubbled over.
“Y/N, can you just stop?” he snapped, his voice harsh and sharp, completely different from the usual warmth you were used to. His words cut through the air like a slap. “Can you just let me have this one thing? The gym isn’t supposed to be some place where you follow me around all the time. I need it to be my own. I need my space. You’re always here, and it’s... it’s too much.”
You froze, a cold shiver of confusion running through your body. Your eyes flickered from his irritated face to the ground, unsure of what to say. You had always been so excited to share things with him, and this was the last place you thought something like this would happen.
“B-Bin... I didn’t—" you started, your voice faltering, but he cut you off, his frustration spilling over.
“You’re always clinging to me, Y/N. And at first, I thought it was cute. But now? It’s just too much. The gym is supposed to be my alone time, somewhere I can relax, somewhere I can focus. But you’re here, and I can’t even do that anymore,” he said, each word feeling like a weight crashing down on you.
Your chest tightened and you found yourself unable to breathe for a little while. It felt as if the world had stopped moving around you, and all you could hear was the flow of blood in your ears. You weren't expecting to hear those words from him. Changbin had always been supportive and loving, even if he was a little protective of his space. What about now? Now it felt like he was pushing you away. And the way he avoided your gaze while he spoke, as if he couldn't stand to witness the pain he was causing, you could feel your heart breaking piece by piece.
You bit your lip, trying to hold back the tears threatening to spill, but it didn’t help. The lump in your throat was too big, and the pain was too overwhelming. You weren’t clingy. You just wanted to be close to him. You didn’t realize that your presence, something you thought was innocent, had been smothering him. But hearing it from him so bluntly… it felt like a punch to the gut.
You said nothing at first. Your body was stiff, your eyes filled with unshed tears. You wanted to say something, but the words would not come out. Instead, you simply turned slowly and began to walk away. "I'll go," you said softly, your voice barely audible. Your steps were wobbly as you approached the exit. Changbin turned around, his heart sinking into his chest. It hit him, followed by the look in your eyes. Your lips quivered. He realized what he had just said. The frustration and fury had been misplaced. He didn't mean to hurt you. He wasn't trying to make you feel unwanted. But it was too late now. The damage was done.
“Y/N—wait!” he called after you, but it was no use. You didn’t even turn around. You just kept walking, your back stiff, your steps hurried.
hyunjin
(a/n: you and hyunjin aren’t a couple here, you’re childhood best friends)
The after-party had been buzzing with energy all night, full of celebration and the kind of chaotic, joyful atmosphere that followed every successful concert. It was supposed to be a moment of relief, a chance to let go of the weight of the stage and just relax with friends. You, however, couldn’t seem to shake off the knot of tension that had been growing inside you for weeks.
It hadn’t been an abrupt change, not really. Hyunjin, your best friend, had slowly started to become distant. At first, it was subtle, a shift in the way he looked at you, the way he barely seemed to notice when you were around. But now, it had become glaringly obvious, especially in moments like this, when you found yourself desperately trying to keep the connection you two had built over the years.
You’d always been there for him, supporting him through everything the highs and the lows. But lately, whenever you tried to lean on him, he pulled away. The distance between you had begun to feel insurmountable, and tonight, surrounded by the group at the after-party, it felt like the final straw.
You felt an odd, uncomfortable pull as soon as you walked inside the party. The sight of Hyunjin laughing with the rest of the group should have made you happy, but instead it made your chest tighten with anxiety. He looked... unusual. His eyes, the way they avoided yours, made it clear that something had changed between you two. You despised the sense of being on the outside, like you didn't belong anymore.
You had tried to give him his space during the last few weeks, respecting the growing distance between you. But tonight, you were determined to be present. To pretend as if everything was still fine.
After all, you were his best friend, right?
You moved over to where he was sitting, talking with Seungmin and Jeongin. When they saw you approaching, Jeongin's face lit up with that warm, welcome smile that always put you at at ease. He gave you a warm nod and motioned for you to join them, which you immediately did, thinking that the familiarity of the situation could help the uneasiness that had begun to settle over you. But once you sat down, Hyunjin's tone changed. His eyes flicked across to you for a quick, unreadable look before returning to the others. You tried not to take it personally, but it hurt. Jeongin was chatting animatedly about something, but you couldn't pay attention. All you could think about was how Hyunjin had practically turned his back on you.
After a few moments, you couldn’t hold it in anymore. You leaned closer to Hyunjin, trying to keep your tone light, as if everything were normal. “Hey, Hyunjin... you good? You’ve seemed off lately.”
He looked at you, his expression suddenly sharp. “I’m fine,” he replied quickly, and there was a coldness to his voice that cut through you like ice.
You didn’t know what to say. You had always been able to talk through things before, but now it seemed like he didn’t even want to acknowledge you. You tried again, your voice trembling just slightly, “I’m just checking in... I’ve noticed you’ve been a little distant.
Hyunjin rolled his eyes, as if he were irritated with you asking. “You’re always around,” he said, his voice laced with annoyance. “I don’t need you following me everywhere. It’s annoying.”
The words hit you like a slap. You froze, the weight of his comment sinking deep into your chest. You had no idea where this was coming from. You had always been there for him, not because you needed to be, but because you cared about him. You wanted to be there. But now, suddenly, it felt like you were an inconvenience.
The room felt suffocating, the noise of the party growing distant as you tried to process what he had just said. You had always been careful not to smother him, always tried to give him space. But now he was telling you that your presence, your very existence, was too much for him.
It was too much.
The lump in your throat grew, but you weren’t going to let him see you falter. You tried to hold back the tears that threatened to spill over, but you couldn’t stop the rush of emotions that came flooding to the surface. You had tried so hard to be understanding, to be patient, but this was too much to handle.
Before you could say anything more, you snapped. “You know what, Hyunjin? I’m not following you around,” your voice trembling with a mix of hurt and frustration. “I’m only here because Felix invited me. As his date.”
The words hung in the air, sharper than you intended, but you didn’t care. You could feel the sting of betrayal, the way Hyunjin had made you feel small, and the anger bubbled up inside you. The room grew quiet for a moment, everyone’s attention now focused on the exchange.
You didn’t look at Hyunjin. You couldn’t. Instead, you turned on your heel, your pulse pounding in your ears, and walked straight to Felix, who was standing nearby. He gave you a surprised glance, but he didn’t ask questions. He simply wrapped an arm around you as you sat next to him, offering you a comforting presence in the midst of your emotional storm.
You didn't speak for a time, your thoughts racing from the argument, but Felix didn't press you to explain. He just let you sit there in peace, his arm resting comfortably on your shoulder. You leaned into him, attempting to center yourself and escape the overpowering pain that threatened to consume you whole. Felix did not deserve to bear the burden of your wounded heart, but in that time, his comfort was the only thing that made sense.
Hyunjin's gaze stayed fixed on you as the party went on. But you refused to look his direction. He'd already made it apparent that your presence no longer mattered to him. He had driven you away with his hurtful words, and as much as it pained you to admit it, you knew deep down that it was too late to fix things.
The rest of the night was a blur. You couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened, about how he had made you feel so small, so insignificant. The person who had once been your best friend, who had always been there for you, was now the one who had cast you aside. And the worst part was that you didn’t even know why.
As the party wound down and everyone began to leave, you stayed close to Felix, not looking back, not wanting to face Hyunjin. You didn’t know what had changed between you two, or why he had suddenly decided that your friendship wasn’t worth his time. All you knew was that the person who had once been your closest confidant, the one who knew all your secrets and fears, had just torn your heart apart.
And you didn’t know how to fix it.
HAN
The evening began like any other, or so it was supposed to be. But Jisung felt as if the world was pushing down on him with every step he made into the apartment. The intensity of the day still clung to him, like a physical weight of frustration, disappointment, and tiredness. He had spent hours in the meeting with the company staff, only to hear criticism for the smallest mistakes and missteps. It wasn't the first time, but it always hurt. This time, however, it seemed different; he couldn't shake the nagging sense of inadequacy.
The door clicked behind him, and the familiar aroma of home didn't bring much comfort. Instead, it was almost smothering. His limbs ached, his mind raced, and all he needed was peace, time to unwind.
But you were there.
You always were.
As soon as he walked through the door, your eyes searched his face, and he could see the concern etched over your features. He could tell you'd sensed something was wrong. He attempted to disguise it when he saw you earlier that day, brushing off your "are you okay?" with a quick "yeah, I'm fine," but now, as you stood there with that sweet look in your eyes, he couldn't help but see it. You could look right through him, like glass.
"Jisung," you said quietly, your voice carrying the gentle tone you always used when you knew he was struggling, "are you sure you're okay? You don’t look okay."
It wasn’t the first time you’d asked. You'd been asking since the moment he came home, like you always did when you saw him worn down, like you always did when he looked like he was holding a little too much in. But no matter how well you meant it, no matter how much you truly cared about him, he just didn’t want to talk about it. Not today. Not tonight.
"I’m fine," he muttered, his tone dismissive, but you could hear the edge in his voice.
You hesitated, eyes scanning him again, sensing the distance between his words and the tension in his body.
"Jisung… I know you’re not fine," you said softly, a frown pulling at your lips. You reached toward him, wanting to bridge the gap that was widening between you, but he stepped back before you could touch him.
"I’m fine," he repeated, louder this time, irritation lacing his voice. "Just stop asking."
Your heart twisted, but you tried to swallow the hurt, not wanting to push him further. But you couldn’t stop yourself from trying again, desperate to get him to open up. "Please, I can tell something’s wrong. If you need to talk, I’m here."
He froze at that, hands clenched at his sides, jaw clenched. His frustration, the irritation that had been building inside him all day, finally cracked open.
"I said I'm fine!" He snapped, his voice sharp, his eyes burning with anger, not at you, but at the world that had worn him down. "Why are you always so clingy? It's annoying. I do not need you hovering over me like this. I don't need you constantly keeping tabs on me!" The words were biting and nasty. You trembled, a flood of hurt smashing over you, but you tried to stay calm.
You couldn't help but feel the sting of dismissal and the weight of his harshness. "I'm just trying to help you," you said softly, your voice quivering slightly. "I just want to make sure that you're okay. Why don't you let me help?"
He glanced at you, the spark of guilt in his eyes swiftly drowned out by the a flood of frustration within him. He opened his mouth and nothing came out. He wanted to apologize. He knew he hurt you. But the words did not come, and he had no idea how to make it right. He didn't know how to ask for what he wanted when everything inside him felt like it was about to come apart.
You did not wait for him to say anything. The anger, bewilderment, and hurt welled up in your chest, and before you could stop yourself, you turned on your heel and marched out, your footsteps loud and strong as you made your way to the bedroom.
The door slammed behind you, and for a moment, there was nothing but silence. You sank onto the bed, feeling the weight of the frustration both his and yours press down on your chest like a suffocating blanket.
You didn’t want to cry. You didn’t want to feel this way. You had only wanted to help him. To be there for him when he was struggling. But all he had done was push you away.
You heard no footsteps, no soft knock on the door. Normally, when something like this happened, he would come after you. He would apologize, his voice soft and regretful, and you’d make up. He’d say something about how it wasn’t you, how he was just having a hard time. But this time, the silence stretched on. The door stayed closed.
It wasn’t long before you realized he wasn’t coming.
The silence felt so loud, so suffocating, and it only made everything hurt more. He wasn’t here to apologize. He wasn’t here to soothe you like he always did.
And maybe this time it wasn't all about him. Maybe it was more than simply his tiredness and irritation. Maybe it was about something deeper, something more than just a bad day at work. Your heart broke at the thought that he might have pushed you away because he didn't know how to accept you. Maybe he'd been hiding his pain for so long because he was frightened to show you the parts of himself he thought were too shattered. Maybe he was just too stressed to recognize that you weren't a burden, but rather someone who wanted to help him shoulder the weight.
But right now, none of that mattered. What mattered was that he had called you clingy, had pushed you away when all you wanted was to hold him close.
You curled up in bed, hugging your knees to your chest, and tried not to cry.
You didn’t hear him come in, but you felt the weight of the bed shift beside you. Jisung’s presence was always so familiar, so warm, but tonight it felt distant. He didn’t touch you. He didn’t say anything. He just sat there, in the darkness, as the minutes dragged on.
And you, as much as it hurt, didn’t know if you could ask him again if he was okay. Not yet. Not until he was ready to admit that he wasn’t.
felix
It had been one of those days where everything seemed strange, as if a thin film of tension had been applied to the edges of everything you did. The kind of day where even the most basic tasks felt significant, and no matter how hard you tried to make things feel normal, you couldn't escape the growing distance. Maybe you chalked it up to stress. Maybe it was just a phase. Everyone goes through a hard stretch, right? But when you woke in the middle of the night, your hand instinctively going for the warm spot beside you, only to find it empty, that emotion became too strong to ignore. Felix had always been the one to stay close, even in sleep. He was always so attentive to your needs, so present. But now, the space between you was cold, and the bed felt too large without him there.
You sat up, the quiet of the room pressing in on you, your heartbeat loud in your ears as you swung your legs off the side of the bed. The soft glow of the TV in the living room flickered across the hallway, casting long shadows.
As you made your way down the hall, you saw him there, slumped on the couch, his eyes fixed on the screen but unseeing, staring at it like it held some answer that he couldn’t quite grasp. You could see the strain in his posture, the weight of something pressing on him, but he didn't acknowledge you as you approached.
You stopped a few feet away, unsure what to say. The silence between you two felt like a wall, immovable and unbreakable. This wasn't the Felix you knew, the one who would always offer a comforting smile or an encouraging word when you needed it. This version of him was remote and frigid, as if he built a fortress and did not plan to let anyone in.
"Felix," you whispered slowly, trying not to shock him, your voice trembling with emotion. "What's wrong?"
He didn’t respond at first, as if he hadn’t heard you, or maybe he just didn’t want to answer. The minutes dragged on, each second feeling like it added more distance between you two. Finally, when he spoke, his voice was low and strained, and it hit you in a way you hadn’t expected.
“Nothing,” he muttered, though it was clear that wasn’t true. His words didn’t match the heaviness in the air, the emptiness that had settled between you two. “Just… leave me alone, okay?”
The words hit you like a punch to the gut. Leave him alone? You didn’t understand. Since when had he ever asked you for space, especially like this? Felix had always been the one to reach out, to comfort you, to be the one you could lean on when things got tough. But now, he was shutting you out, pushing you away.
You stood there, paralyzed, staring at the back of his head as the emptiness in the room seemed to swallow you whole. His posture was stiff, almost defensive, like he was trying to make himself smaller, trying to hide from you, and it hurt more than you ever expected.
"You don't have to be so clingy all the time," he said, his voice more clipped and distant than you'd ever heard. It was as if the words were spoken by someone else, a stranger in the body of the person you loved.
Clingy? The word resonated in your thoughts, sending you reeling. You'd never considered yourself clingy. Have you really gotten so annoying? Was your affection and presence too much for him? You couldn't understand it. The connection, the intimacy that had once been so natural between you two now seemed so far away, as if it were a dream you couldn't fathom.
“I just…” Your voice faltered, and you took a shaky breath, willing yourself not to cry, not to show him just how much his words had wounded you. “I just wanted to know what’s wrong. You’re… you’re not like this, Felix. Not with me.”
You took a tentative step forward, hoping that your proximity would reach him, that your presence would somehow break through the wall he had built around himself. But he didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge you, and that hurt more than anything else. It was the silence, the refusal to face you, that felt like a betrayal.
"Please talk to me," you whispered, your heart breaking as you watched him remain motionless on the couch, his eyes still fixed on the television, as though he could pretend you weren’t even there.
But Felix didn’t respond. Instead, he kept his focus on the screen, the distant expression on his face more painful than any argument. You could feel the distance between you growing, spreading like a chasm, and it felt like you were standing at the edge, about to fall into the void.
It wasn't always this way, you thought, recalling times when simply being in the same room was enough to make you feel connected. It seemed as if you blinked and everything had changed. He wasn't the same Felix who would stay up with you when you were feeling sad, holding you and whispering comfort in the darkness. The man who had once looked at you with warmth and love now seemed so distant, like a stranger you didn't recognize.
Your heart ached; the anguish of losing him, feeling him slide through your fingers, was almost excruciating. You could not tolerate the deafening stillness between you any longer.
With a last, desperate glance at him, you whispered, “I’m here, Felix. I’m always here for you. If you need space, if you need time, I’ll give it to you. But I just… I just need to know you’re okay.”
But he didn't respond and didn't move. His silence hurt worse than words could, and you realized, with a sickening feeling, that you had no idea where you stood in his life. The Felix you knew, the Felix who would always reach out to you, seemed like a memory you could no longer grasp onto. You turned away, your feet feeling heavy as you walked back to the bedroom, the distance between you two becoming more than just physical.
The weight of his disinterest crushed against your chest, smothering you, and you wondered whether things would ever be the same again. Will he come to you eventually? Would he tell you about what was bothering him, or had you already lost him in ways you couldn’t fix?
You climbed back into bed, the sheets cold where he should have been beside you. And as the night stretched on in silence, you tried not to feel the unbearable emptiness that had settled in your heart, wondering if Felix would ever look at you the same way again.
seungmin
The front door creaked open, and you could hear Seungmin's footsteps in the hallway, dragging slightly, indicating how exhausted he must have been after a long day of practice and vocal lessons. You'd been waiting for him, possibly too eagerly, though you tried not to admit it. You had planned to talk, the conversation you'd been putting off for days because the silence had gotten unbearable. The subtle shift in his demeanor, the way he became more distant and engaged in his own world, weighed heavy on your chest.
You knew how busy he was, how much work he put into his training and craft. But it didn't take away the sting of feeling like an afterthought, as if you were no longer a part of his life. You had tried to keep it together, to give him his space when he needed it, but the continual feeling of being neglected was gradually pulling you apart. You needed him to see you. You needed him to care the way he used to, to put forth the same effort that you did.
So, as the door clicked shut and you heard him move toward the kitchen, you braced yourself and entered the hallway to greet him.
"Seungmin," you called softly, but there was no immediate response. He didn’t even look up, didn’t even glance in your direction.
You took a breath, trying to keep the anxiety from choking you. "Can we talk?" Your voice was steady, though you could feel the tremor beneath it. "It feels like we’re not the same anymore."
His footsteps faltered for half a second, and you thought maybe you had caught his attention. But instead of stopping, he just continued walking past you, brushing past your shoulder so closely you could feel the coldness radiating off him. He didn’t even spare you a glance.
"Seungmin," you said again, but this time there was a little crack in your voice, a vulnerability you didn't want to express. You needed him to hear and see you, even if just for a moment. But he did not stop. Finally, he gave a low, exasperated groan that hung between you like a wall. He turned halfway, his eyes flickering to you with an enigmatic expression. "Why do you always make things so dramatic?" His comments were harsh, cutting through the silence and making you flinch. "You're really clingy. Just leave me alone for once."
The words were like a punch to the gut. The force of them knocked the wind out of you, and your heart seemed to stop for just a moment, trapped somewhere in the space between your chest and throat. You hadn’t expected this. You hadn’t expected him to say something so cold, so dismissive. All you had wanted was to talk, to bridge the distance that had formed between you, but now it felt like you were drowning in it.
Your body went still. You opened your mouth to respond, to explain how unfair that was, but no words came. How could you even argue against that? How could you explain that all you wanted was his attention, his care? You weren’t clingy you were hurt.
"Seungmin, I’m not—" The words tumbled out weakly, but they didn’t seem to matter.
"You are," he interrupted, his tone now flat, distant. "I don’t have the energy for this right now."
He turned away from you, heading toward the kitchen without another glance, leaving you standing in the hallway, shattered.
You stood there for a long moment, frozen in the aftermath of his words. Everything you had been holding back, all the frustration, the confusion, the loneliness that had built up over the last few weeks, was suddenly crashing down on you like a wave. Was that it? Was that all you were to him now? Someone who was too much to deal with?
You had never felt so small. So invisible.
You had tried to keep it together. You had told yourself it wasn’t a big deal, that he was just stressed, that he didn’t mean it. But now, standing there in the hallway with nothing but the echo of his dismissal ringing in your ears, you realized that maybe this was the problem the distance. The lack of communication. The feeling that no matter how hard you tried, you could never reach him, never get him to understand what you needed, what you were hurting from.
You wanted to chase after him, to try again, to make him see how much his words had stung. But something inside of you had broken. There was a voice inside you now that said, "It’s too late. You’ve tried. He doesn’t want to listen." And that was more painful than anything else knowing that, deep down, he didn’t even want to meet you halfway anymore.
You had hoped, and even prayed, that things would return to normal, that the love you once shared would reemerge. But standing there, you couldn't help but feel as if you were fighting a losing war. You didn't ask for much: simply his time, presence, and devotion. You never expected this level of coldness in return.
The silence in the home became intolerable, and each second felt like a weight on your chest. You wanted to yell at him and urge him to care, but all you could do was stand there, feeling the barriers between you two grow higher and higher.
You turned away slowly, your legs heavy, your head spinning with everything you had just heard. You didn’t know what hurt more: his words or the fact that he had walked past you like you were nothing.
You needed him to care, but right now, it felt like the person you needed was already gone.
I.N
The evening had been everything you hoped it would be: thrilling, warm, and full of laughing. You'd been dating Jeongin for about a year, and he was finally introducing you to his members. It seemed like an important milestone in your relationship. You'd heard so much about them, and now you'd get to meet the people he cared about the most. The anticipation had you beaming all evening as you helped Jeongin in cooking dinner, your heart filled with delight at the prospect of cooking together and spending time with the people who were such an important part of his life.
The dinner had gone smoothly. The atmosphere was cozy, filled with the sound of happy chatter and the clinking of silverware. The members were friendly, teasing each other and joking around. You could see why Jeongin was so close with them they were like brothers, comfortable and at ease with each other. You had felt so welcomed by them, their laughter contagious, and the food you had helped prepare had been met with praises.
As the night wore on, everyone settled into the living room, enjoying sweet treats and wine. It was the perfect end to a perfect evening, or so you had thought.
But as the evening wore on, you noticed something that made your stomach churn. Jeongin was distant. He had been quieter than normal, with his focus wandering. Normally, he would be the first to steal a kiss from you or press his hand on yours if you were close. But tonight? Tonight, it felt as if he was purposefully keeping distance between the two of you.
You brushed it off at first, believing he was just weary or stressed after introducing you to everyone. After all, meeting his members was a major step, and maybe he was just concerned with making sure things went smoothly.
But it wasn’t just that.
When you leaned in to rest your head on his shoulder, like you had done numerous times before without thinking twice, he pulled away almost immediately. The action was swift and sharp, as if you had done something wrong. You blinked in surprise, a frown tugging on your lips, but before you could ask what was wrong, he mumbled under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear, "Stop being so clingy." The words struck you like a physical punch. You froze, the warmth of your feelings for him vanished, replaced by a frigid knot of perplexity and embarrassment. Did he mean it? You could feel the weight of the members' gazes as you looked around the room, though no one said anything. But you could tell they had heard, the awkward silence that followed making it painfully clear.
You felt heat rising up your cheeks, humiliated. Had you overstepped? You had never been clingy before and had never thought of yourself in that way. But his comments, which were cutting and contemptuous, hurt more than you wanted to acknowledge. The casual tenderness you had always shared seemed like a distant memory today, a bitter reminder of how things had changed without warning.
Jeongin had always been so warm and tactile with you. Kisses on your cheek while cooking, his arm slung over your shoulder while watching TV, all the little things that made you feel safe and cherished. But tonight? Tonight he was a different person.
You tried to ignore it, thinking maybe it was a bad moment. Perhaps he was just tired, or maybe something had happened at work or with the members that was weighing on him. But as the night continued, the distance between you only seemed to grow. When you tried to brush your hand against his, he pulled it away, a small frown on his face. When you tried to rest your head on his shoulder again, he shifted uncomfortably, avoiding your touch with a small sigh.
It was as if you were a stranger to him, someone he couldn’t stand to be close to.
Your heart dropped. It was a feeling you never expected to have with him, the type of coldness that made you question everything, including the entire foundation of your relationship. You had no idea what was going on in his mind, but the way he was treating you now felt so different from the Jeongin you had fell for.
You excused yourself to the restroom, needing a moment to collect your thoughts and prevent yourself from entirely disintegrating. The quiet hum of the talk in the living room followed you as you walked back, the members' voices merging into the background as your thoughts occupied you.
Was he angry with you? Had you done something wrong? Maybe he was embarrassed by you, by your clinginess. Maybe he didn’t want to be seen as the guy who couldn’t control his girlfriend. Maybe you were being too needy, too dependent, and he just couldn’t handle it anymore. Maybe he had changed, and you were the one who had failed to notice.
You stared at your reflection in the bathroom mirror, taking a few deep breaths, trying to calm the tightness in your chest. When you returned to the living room, you tried to smile, to pretend like everything was fine. But the look on Jeongin’s face when you came back made your stomach twist even further. He didn’t smile at you like he usually did. He didn’t reach for you. He just sat there, a distance between you that felt like an ocean.
You sat down again, feeling smaller than you had with him before. You did not want to confront him in front of the other members. Not when things were going so well. You didn't want to ruin the evening or make things uncomfortable for everyone. But the awkwardness was already there. It seemed like a thick cloud suffocating you, and you knew he felt the same way.
Eventually, the evening came to an end. The group began saying their goodbyes, laughing and conversing, although their voices were scarcely audible. You were too consumed by the subtle tension between you and Jeongin, who hadn't spoken anything to you since your previous conversation. You gently grabbed your stuff, not quite meeting his eyes.
When you reached the door, Jeongin still hadn’t moved. He was standing by the couch, talking to one of the members, completely ignoring you. It wasn’t how you thought it would go. This wasn’t how you imagined the night would end.
It wasn’t until you were halfway out the door that he finally spoke, his voice distant, flat. "You okay?" he asked, as if the tension between you hadn’t been there all evening.
You stood frozen, looking back at him, your chest tight. You wanted to say so many things. You wanted to ask why he was acting this way, to demand an explanation, to tell him how hurt you were by the way he had dismissed you. But you didn’t. Instead, you forced a small smile, though it didn’t reach your eyes.
"Yeah," you replied softly, your voice quiet, strained. "I’m fine."
And then you stepped out, leaving the apartment behind, the discomfort and uncertainty lingering in the air like a thick cloud. You had no idea what had happened or what had caused this abrupt change, but you couldn't shake the feeling that something in your relationship had just broken. Something that might not be fixable.
And as the door clicked shut behind you, you weren't sure if Jeongin noticed.
//
(proofread ❌)
masterlist
𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚♡ 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧 𝐃𝐨 𝐈𝐭 𝐑𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 - Seungmin x FEM!Reader
cw: some cunty and kinky shit, very hard sex, best friends to lovers, very possessive and hard dom seungmin with a sweet trait (im sorry i love my minnie), bratty reader, you are really a whore, stripper reader, mention of alchool and jealousy, handcuff
sw: hair pulling, pinv, cunnilingus, oral (M! receving), orgasm denial, multiple orgasm, scratching, biting, marking, bit of blood cuz seungmin is very kinky bastard MDNI!
wc: 7k
synopsis: Financially, you are not doing well. In addition to your part-time job, you attend some clubs in the evenings in order to earn a little more money. You do not mind showing off, as you love receiving compliments from men and finding new partners with whom to engage in sexual intercourse in order to satisfy your sexual frustrations. Your closest friend, Seungmin, is unaware of these circumstances. Given his protective nature, it is likely that he would take extreme measures to protect you. One unexpected outcome of the situation is that the individual in question has become a possessive dominant. He unintentionally discovers the extent of your job. This results in a particularly harsh fuck between the two, during which he is merciless. Your initial perception of him was that of a kind and gentle individual. However, upon further reflection, it becomes evident that he is, in fact, a complex and intriguing character. His actions and demeanor often elicit a strong emotional response, including feelings of intense arousal and even physical sensations such as bleeding.
a/n: hiii, I'm writing this since the chanel event! I'm sorry if i take request so sloowly but it's exam ses. now! Hope you will like this, i had fun writing it 🫶🏻🩷 made especially for this cutie @chrizzztopherbang
[ SMUT ]
Another day at one of your many jobs. Lately you have been having financial problems. These included paying for university fees, rent, food, bills and other necessities. To supplement your income, you have been working four different jobs: bartending, librarian, after-school care every other day, and nightclub work every night. Your friends were unaware of this aspect of your life, as it caused you considerable embarrassment to discuss it. However, you did not feel uncomfortable about it. The practice of tipping for extra services was beneficial, although not all men were comfortable with it. Some men were able to satisfy the sexual frustrations of the women with whom they engaged in such activities. At this point, you were in the midst of a professional endeavour, helping high school students to improve their GPAs. It is remarkable that these students held you in such high esteem. Despite the exhaustion that inevitably accompanied the work, you found great satisfaction in your role. As you corrected the maths exercises of the esteemed Hana, an Anglo-Korean girl whom you held in high esteem and who always presented you with exquisite drawings, you contemplated the future once you had completed your current task.
At nine o'clock in the evening you were expected at one of the clubs in the city centre for your usual performance. In addition to the attractive salary, this job had another important advantage: you had always been passionate about dancing, and this was the closest thing you had to it. However, you had been forced to give up dancing for lack of time and money. After finishing the boys' homework and explaining some philosophical concepts and mathematical formulas, you retired to bed to get some rest. Fortunately, it was still six o'clock, allowing you to rest after an already exhausting day. You had studied in the morning, worked in the afternoon and now, in a few hours, you would resume your night work. The strange absence of your best friend's usual appearance or phone call had not yet occurred. At least he was fine. Seungmin was your best friend. He had two different personalities: during the day he was a polite and wealthy individual who showed considerable intelligence and respect; at night, when he was with his friends, he became a kind of Don Giovanni heartthrob. There is no denying that he had a certain appeal.
He was very protective of you and never allowed other men to interfere in your romantic life. As a result, he was the first to not know of your secret occupation. It is difficult to predict how he might have reacted, and it may have been for the best that he was not informed. If he ever discovered your secret, he would hunt down the men you were with one by one, and the outcome of that hunt was uncertain. He would then turn his attention to you, giving you a good-natured lecture and possibly resorting to other forms of intimidation. Your best friend was able to make him feel afraid, although you had learned this not from him but from Jisung, Seungmin's best friend, who had been caught having sex with his professor in Seungmin's car. You still remember his displeased behaviour and you were reluctant to provoke him further.
However, your premature declaration of triumph was premature, for he had not telephoned, but had arrived at your home just as you were about to fall into a deep sleep. The most disturbing aspect of the situation was the fact that you had given him the keys to your home, as he had been your closest friend for several years. So there was no need for you to get up and open the door for him, as he suddenly walked into your room in his gym clothes. This was somewhat unexpected, as he had previously expressed no interest in going to the gym. He himself noticed your puzzled expression at his unusual post-gym attire and appearance. "Good afternoon! Don't look at me with such disdain, Changbin Hyung is forcing Jisung, Felix and me to work out with him because he says we're too skinny," and you were overcome with laughter. The aforementioned were remarkably thin, consisting of two adorable little men with minimal musculature. They looked like little fairies, including Changbin, who seemed to have exaggerated musculature. Seungmin was considerably taller than the others and had broad shoulders. The image of him working out with them was quite funny.
"It's funny to consider the prospect of you working out with them. It is equally amusing to consider the prospect of you doing any kind of training at all, considering your past dislike of training," you concluded, making yourself comfortable and making room for your friend to sit next to you on the bed. He gave you a friendly pat on the arm and pouted in a way that was both endearing and characteristic of him. You had coined the term "Seungballons" to describe this particular pout, as it resembled a balloon. Furthermore, the addition of a pout in the form of a kiss would invariably render one unconscious. You found this behaviour endearing, and it prompted you to engage in a reciprocal act of affection by kissing him on the cheeks. "Ugh, in the end I have to admit that it is not without merit. It is a long-standing affair that is difficult to notice because of my tendency to wear baggy clothes. However, I have gained a considerable amount of muscle mass. Look." He said as he lifted the shirts he was wearing, causing you to be quite shocked because, yes, your friend had two pecs and a well-developed six-pack. His physical appearance provoked a strong emotional response, but he was your closest friend and you were unable to entertain such thoughts.
"You must tell Changbin that he has done an excellent job with you," you swallowed, made a feigned smile and drank some water, trying to erase the image of your best friend's partially naked body from your mind - although you did not mind. "I will, and I am grateful to you, my dear . Although we're going to a club tomorrow night; would you like to come?" he asked. You froze, considering the possibility of being caught. However, they did not usually frequent such places, so you had some protection if your luck did not turn against you. "I would like to tell you that I am unable to attend. I have a full day's work and then I have to prepare for an upcoming exam. Nevertheless, I would be interested to know where you are going, if I may ask." "I am not sure. Binnie Hyung informed us that he had discovered a new place and we were curious to know more about it," Seungmin said thoughtfully, and you felt a sense of relief that you still had the opportunity to withdraw.
But you were not convinced by your friend's desperate expression; you suspected he was hiding something. "Are you okay, Min?" you asked as you adjusted his bangs. "Yes, and I am worried about the taste of some of my hyungs, to be honest," he replied, leading you onto the bed and initiating a bout of tickling. That afternoon, your thoughts were not on the information your friend had given you. Instead, you found yourself contemplating his toned, naked chest. You had not anticipated his physical attractiveness, especially given his previous behaviour. You had grown accustomed to his puppy-dog appearance, with its endearingly youthful features.
So you did not consider the possibility that he might have been working out.
It was obvious that the ensemble suited him. Seungmin already had broad shoulders and one of your vices was to lean on them when watching a film or going out. It was a habit you had developed, but it was not a common occurrence. "Please don't change the subject. I'm curious about Changbin's tastes."
You giggled and pulled yourself together again. Seungmin was no innocent, so he blushed slightly.
His former partners had confirmed this to you, as they had discussed his sexual performance in great detail. However, he was ashamed to discuss certain topics in public or with you, as you were his best friend. He saw you as an innocent girl, which you were not. "Let's say he has a taste for strippers and nightclubs. That is all I am saying, and I am aware that it is a rather embarrassing subject".
He finished by running his hand over his face, making you chuckle.
"As if you had never seen a woman without her clothes on." You made the claim. In fact, he had observed numerous instances of female nudity, including those of his romantic partners.
"Yes, but I was with them. I am not like Hyung who has adventures with women who lap dance for him in night clubs". Had he been aware of this, he would have realised that this is exactly what you do for a living. "You have never considered fucking a woman you are not romantically involved with and who is not your girlfriend?" you inquired as you began to manipulate the fabric of his suit. "No, I'm... shy," he replied, biting his lip. He was looked at with a certain amount of disbelief.
" You! are shy?" you asked, looking at him with an expression that even he, as your closest friend, could not interpret. "Yes, I am," he replied, grimacing and then playfully pushing you. "You're really weird, Kim Seungmin," you pushed him back and then initiated a tickling session, blushing as you felt how well trained and sculpted he was under your touch. It was not the first time you had touched a well-trained chest, but Seungmin's did something to you. Maybe it was because he was your closest friend, or maybe it was because he was different from the others you had met, or maybe it was because you were used to seeing him consistently and exclusively as a thin individual with broad shoulders.
It can be argued that, without meaning to, you became preoccupied with fantasies about Seungmin to an extent that was inappropriate. Not only had you been friends for years, but he was one of your closest friends. Although you found it difficult to erase certain images of him from your mind, you felt guilty about thinking about him in a certain way. It is also worth noting that your nighttime occupation presented certain challenges. It would be highly undesirable for any of your friends, especially Seungmin, to become aware of your nighttime activities. On reflection, Seungmin had mentioned visiting a nightclub. If he were to find you on duty at one of the clubs where you were a regular, your situation would be untenable. It is unclear how Seungmin perceived you, but it is unlikely that he saw you as a dancer in one of the clubs that your best friend's best friend appreciated.
He suddenly asked what he should wear, causing you to look at him with a certain amount of concern. Your best friend was known for his occasional eccentricities. "Excuse me, but do I look like an expert on nightclubs to you?" you inquired, your tone betraying a certain concern. "No, but as a woman you might have the knowledge to dress me in a manner that would impress," he replied, almost shyly, though his demeanour betrayed his true feelings. "So my dear Min wants to impress a girl?" you inquired, playfully pinching his cheek as you laughed. He looked at you with a look of displeasure. "I am a man and I have not fucked for several months. I have certain... needs. By the way, it is undoubtedly a challenge for me to refrain from emotional connection during fucks. However, I cannot resist certain urges. Perhaps at the end of the night I can get a positive response from someone," he said in a low voice, his hands covering his face. "Are you really saying that you want to fuck while being all shy, Kim Seungmin?" You laughed in his face for the umpteenth time. "What do you want? It seems like you haven't fucked for a long time." He tousled your hair, but watching your expression closely, he returned it with a confused one, to say the least.
The problem was that you lacked the ability to lie effectively, especially in the context of deceiving him. As a result, you often displayed peculiar facial expressions that he was able to read with remarkable clarity. "Oh my God, fuck! You fucked with someone and didn't tell me?" he asked, his expression showing more anger than offence. "That is not true. You are imagining these events," you replied, trying to maintain a neutral expression. "Yes, you did. You fucked and did not tell me about it. You know you cannot lie to me, Y/N," he said, biting his lip with an expression that was both serious and intense. The atmosphere had become noticeably more intense, with a palpable sense of unease and tension. You were in a compromising situation and had placed yourself in a vulnerable position. You could have been sure that you felt the first drops of perspiration forming on your face. However, you were forced to end the discussion before it got to the heart of the matter. The most expedient course of action was to acknowledge that it had happened, even if in a limited way. "It happened on a few occasions when I was drunk, but it was not a regular occurrence," you said, trying to give a concise account. Nevertheless, he was not inclined to inquire about the incident in question.
"Only a few times when you were drunk? Are you crazy? What if something had happened to you?" There was the protective Seungmin you wanted to avoid. You were grateful for his concern and lack of complaints, but sometimes it became unbearable. "Still, it didn't happen. I am mature enough to understand the consequences of my actions, Seungmin," you said, pointing at him with your finger as if to admonish him. "Yes, I am aware of that, but I am concerned for your well-being," he said, grabbing your arm and then taking a bite. It could be described as a unique form of affection with which he expressed his apology to you. "I am aware, Seung, but don't worry, I am fully aware of my actions," you smiled at him, taking his face in your hand and planting a kiss on his forehead. "You should return home, as you are in a rather foul state, Mr Gym," you playfully admonished him, giving him a light tap on the shoulder before he left your domicile.
The working day was going to be quite long.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁
You were deeply distressed and felt considerable discomfort throughout your body. At work the night before, you were forced to work an extended overtime shift (for which you were paid only half the normal rate). This resulted in a complex set of experiences, including physical pain and a significant financial reward. You were required to have sexual intercourse with two people, a task which you found unpleasant, particularly given the lack of arousal involved. However, the remuneration was satisfactory and you did not express any significant dissatisfaction. You were aware that the nature of the work was inequitable, but you found it necessary and occasionally used it as a means of satisfying certain desires. Fortunately, you had acquired the ability to fake an orgasm, which you used on some occasions, such as yesterday. At that time you were lying in bed, surrounded by books for your upcoming exam, and in a few hours you would have to go to work in the morning.
That night, despite your best efforts, you had to go to a club in the city centre. You had completely forgotten that Changbin was going to take Seungmin and the others to a club in the city centre, which could very well have been the one you were on duty at that night. However, you had not considered this possibility and your mind was so preoccupied that it kept slipping away. So you prepared discreetly for your exam, unaware that that night was the perfect opportunity for you to meet your closest friend, who was likely to be visibly distressed. You were due to perform your duties that afternoon and hoped that the number of customers would be relatively small, given your limited mobility.
The mere anticipation of returning to work that night caused a deep sense of anxiety. You hoped that no one would ask for private shows or other activities that you sometimes found unpleasant. The only desire was to rest and wake in a pool of wealth. You rose listlessly to prepare your lunch. It was not possible to combine work and rest in this way, so you had to take painkillers and vitamins.
You then found yourself preparing and serving smoothies and ice creams in your favourite café. Your day went on as usual. What you did not anticipate was the presence of your closest friend at the table you were to serve. One might ask whether you should not have been preparing for your evening activities. One is tempted to inquire about the nature of their joint venture in a café a few hours before their nightclubbing. They expressed their displeasure at the proprietor's suggestion that they should hurry to serve the aforementioned table, and furthermore, they could not avoid the situation, as Seungmin was aware that this was a table assigned to you, and sat there consistently with the intention of being served.
After a long period of contemplation, you approached them. "Good evening, shouldn't you be getting ready for your clubbing night?" you said, your tone sarcastic. Your friend smiled at you and pinched your side. You wanted to run away. "Jisung is unable to consume alcohol unless he has had a meal or smoothie beforehand," Felix informed him, drawing a scornful look from him. "It is not recommended to consume alcohol on an empty stomach." The boy explained that alcohol is absorbed more quickly into the bloodstream and the effects of intoxication are more pronounced. "Isn't that the point of going to nightclubs? And who told you this? Your respected professor?" the older boy asked jokingly. They looked at each other with a strange expression and Seungmin continued to explain the matter: Jisung had a somewhat unconventional relationship with one of his university professors, characterised by frequent flirting. "I have to respectfully disagree. Minho is a very good professor," he replied, blushing. Her expression was unmistakable. "You're calling him by his first name now, too," he observed, causing a general outburst of mirth, especially the adorable blush on Jisung's chubby cheeks.
"So what can I get for you?" you inquired, interrupting the conversation to take their orders and get out of your friend's company. You were particularly keen to avoid the question from your friend, who would undoubtedly invite you to the evening's event.
You had only been there a few minutes when you noticed Seungmin casting furtive glances in your direction and his friends teasing him about something you did not understand. Unbeknownst to you, they were teasing him about the fleeting glances he was sending your way. "Seungmin, did you notice that you are eating her with your eyes?" inquired Felix, appropriating the cherry from his milkshake. "That's not right," he replied, taking a sip from his glass. "Indeed it is. One might suggest that you ask her out," the blonde continued. "That would be an unusual and somewhat awkward situation, and then I believe she might be involved in a nocturnal affair, or perhaps even a series of them," he said, lowering his head. "And you are jealous! "Which leads to the question if this is what you want to do tonight," Changbin inquired. "Be silent. It is possible that I am indeed jealous. "
The observed behaviour was merely the incessant movement of lips in an attempt to escape the source of discomfort as quickly as possible. Fortunately, twenty minutes later the group left and Seungmin offered you a quick kiss on the cheek. This sparked further merriment among his small group of friends, causing you to become increasingly suspicious. Your only concern was to avoid running into them at the nightclub where you were working that night. This had been your intention since yesterday, since your closest friend had informed you of it. Your anxiety about this matter was greater than your concern about your inability to dance effectively due to the discomfort of the previous night.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁
In the midst of your preparations for the upcoming show, you were forced to change your clothes in a hurry. Fortunately, you had already finished your make-up. The evening dress was of a revealing nature and the dancing was expected to be energetic. It was hoped that the wearer would not feel uncomfortable. Your colleague entered your dressing room and informed you that you were about to perform, so you began your usual stage performance for adolescent and middle-aged males.
The only people missing were those you expected to see at the club. The only discernible difference was that they were watching you, watching you with particular interest, especially your closest friend, who opened his eyes wide as he consumed no less than two shots in the space of three minutes. "What is she doing there?" he asked, clenching his fists as he fixed his gaze on you. "I'm sure there must be an explanation, and maybe she didn't tell you because she didn't want you to worry," Jisung said, grabbing his shoulders behind Changbin as Seungmin seemed on the verge of exploding. "She's undeniably attractive," the shorter one remarked, drawing a withering look from the younger one. "Hyung, I strongly recommend you not to make any advances towards her. It is already difficult enough for me not to pick her up from the stage, but I assure you that as soon as she goes to the dressing room, I will not let her get away from me." He downed another shot of vodka.
It is unfortunate that at the end of your nightly performance, another person followed you into the dressing room and you failed to notice the presence of Seungmin, who was standing directly behind you and had suddenly issued a silent threat. The incident was so severe that when you turned around you suffered a stroke and lost the ability to speak. Your situation was indeed very screwed up. "Seungmin, I can..." you were abruptly interrupted and led to your dressing room where he sat you down at your personal table. His gaze was one of intense desire, imbued with the combined effects of alcohol and rage. You had never seen him in such a state. "Explain? What exactly do you want to explain to me? Explain how you sold your body without ever telling me?" He said, grabbing your waist. That should not have aroused you.
"I have economic problems and this is the only job that offers a satisfactory salary," you said in your defence. "I am indifferent to the matter. I could have helped". You are my property, OK? No one is allowed to touch you, Y/N". He then kissed you with considerable passion and force. This was a source of considerable distress for you, as it was different from your expectations of the situation. Although you experienced a degree of pleasure, the situation remained somewhat unusual. His hands were of considerable size and appeared to be a suitable instrument for caressing. "Why not? Who decided that I belong to you?" you inquired in a teasing manner. At this point the situation became increasingly amusing for you as well. "I must now erase the memory of this unclean contact before I had the opportunity to do so," he whispered into your ear before reaching down into the hollow of your neck and allowing you to ingest the substance. "Seungmin, my legs are tired. I am unable to walk," you informed him, indicating your own limitations. "There are numerous other ways to satisfy our mutual desires, and we will address this particular issue at a later time." Furthermore, I am. While I wish to destroy you, I would never take advantage of a woman in this state. Remarkably, he remained in character as the usual Seungmin knight.
"What are you going to do in my dressing room?" you asked, watching as he bent down between your thighs and pulled off the suit you had worn for the evening. "I am not sure. I have a craving, if I may be so bold as to say." He smiled. This young man you had previously considered a potential threat to your sanity. He found your body aesthetically pleasing. He began another insatiable and passionate kiss. His hands descended in a sweeping motion, tracing a path down your body, cupping your thighs and gradually rising to your buttocks, which he gripped firmly in a vice-like grip. "Your beauty is such that it is unconscionable to wait any longer. I want you and I want to play a little," Seungmin said with a sneer in his voice. Then he moved you to the small sofa with the instruction to straddle his body. He proceeded to kiss your neck, leaving a series of marks. It was inevitable that he would bite you, it was apparently a habit of his. You had learnt it from his exes. He would bite you to let you know he owned you, bite you until you bled, and lick the mess he made. This aroused you considerably. He smiled, indicating that he understood. You were in a state where he could do as he pleased. No other person had ever made you feel such intense arousal.
"Look at you, you are ready for me to do anything I want to you." He was not aware of this either.
The young man moved closer to you, initiating another passionate kiss as he cupped your neck with one hand and used the other to caress your intimacy. The movements were slow at first, but soon accelerated as your best friend removed your panties and quickly stroked your clit. When he became tired, he began a long series of kisses on your inner thighs. He then grabbed your thighs and brought them up to his shoulders. He then began to leave kisses on your vagina. "Please don't wait any longer," you said and Seungmin laughed and then began to lick your cunt in a long slow motion. He cupped your ass as he massaged it. You had been waiting for this moment ever since he had put his thin, large hands on your waist the day before.
"Seungmin, please..." you almost begged him before arching your back in a series of involuntary gasps, clinging to the back of the sofa as best you could. You looked at him, pressing harder against his face, wanting more and more. He laughed as he watched the reactions he was provoking in you with each touch, which only served to increase his desire to possess you. He grinned as he continued what he had begun. His hands were firmly harpooned in your bottom and thanks to the pleasure you were experiencing, you had thrown your head back. He laughed again as his tongue continued its work. He found the taste of you on his taste buds particularly delicious, sending him into a state of intense pleasure. He was deeply and passionately in love with you, with every aspect of your being. His nose came into contact with your pubic hair as a result of the depth of penetration achieved with his tongue. He was enjoying himself to a considerable degree, as evidenced by your moans and the pulling of strands of his hair. Seungmin was not uncomfortable with this aspect of your behaviour, in fact he found it erotic in a special way. He smiled as his tongue explored your orifice in slow, circular movements designed to bring you to a state of ecstasy. Seungmin silently enjoyed the experience. His only goal was to ensure your pleasure. His hands moved to the sides of your thighs, which he slapped hard. He took pleasure in leaving his marks, but he would never do anything to harm you; he worshipped you.
Then his hands moved in a circular motion, grasping your thighs and placing them on your shoulders. His mouth, which had previously been in contact with your clit, moved to sink his teeth into your inner thigh. He took pleasure in leaving his marks on you. No one was allowed to touch his woman; you were his and his alone. You were his. A pocket knife emerged from his boot, the purpose of which was unclear. However, before this could be determined, he took your labia majora between his teeth and pulled them towards him, pressing them against his mouth in order to suck your clitoris. This was done in a manner reminiscent of sucking a straw. He then drew a thin line with the blade of the penknife, leaving a streak of blood, all the way to your mound. This brought you to a state of considerable arousal. He withdrew from your vulva, reached up to begin his work, and began to lick the warm, crimson liquid that was slowly oozing from the wound. In addition, the moans of pain and pleasure you gave him drove him to a state of unprecedented ecstasy. The sensation of your mouth alone was more fulfilling than any other experience. He continued to suck on the blood dripping from the wound, causing further lesions on his breasts, around his nipples, in his groin and near his navel. This only accelerated his orgasm. Furthermore, when he inserted two fingers into your mouth, which was already open, he continued to stimulate your tongue. "Look at you... my submissive slut," he said, smiling.
He sneered as he took your face between his fingers. The picture showed you in a blood-soaked state. After a short interval, he withdrew his fingers and proceeded to stimulate your orifice by alternately inserting and withdrawing his digit. This was done in such a way as to create a deep sense of arousal. Seungmin was fascinated by the prospect of fucking you at that moment. "What is your desire, my princess?" "Not that you can do much in this state," he said, laughing, referring to his fingers inside you. "I want to touch you," you whispered, your voice hoarse from the constant moaning. "You can do better than that," he winked, then pulled away and sat you down on your side, then stood up, took off his trousers and sat down beside you. You stood frozen for a moment at the sight of his length; he was tall and compact. You had never seen one like it before.
"I see you are happy with it, Princess," he said, bringing your face close to his. You had fully perceived what he was trying to achieve. You were fully aware of his intentions. You were incapable of uttering any further words, as if his imposing stature had put you in a state of trance. He then proceeded to rub the head of his member against your lips in what appeared to be a teasing manner. It was not difficult for you to open your lips and make contact with the glans. You then proceeded to suck on the tip and then ran your tongue along the entire circumference and veins. You stimulated the testicles with your hands, causing him to moan hoarsely. As you continued to insert him fully into your mouth until you reached the uvula, you let out a moan that caused his member to tremble. This elicited a high-pitched moan from him.
"Fuck, baby like that." He explained that by grabbing your hair and then fucking your mouth, you were sure that you would come again if he continued.Indeed, your assumption proved to be correct.
That is exactly what happened.
"Fuck Y/N, I'm coming, take it off," he said, removing his hand from your hair. But you had no intention of removing your mouth. You grabbed his thighs and thrust his member deep into your throat, causing him to release inside you with a long, audible moan. You swallowed, licked your lips and looked at him. "You are incomprehensibly unaware of the effect you have on me," he winked. "I can, however, inform you of the effect you have on me." You giggled, then reached up to his ear and planted a kiss beneath it. "You have brought me to another orgasm," you said with a hint of mockery.
"Now, if it pleases you, I would be grateful for a date and to clean you up," he smiled as he led you to your private bathroom. "I would be most honoured, sir," you replied, laughing. It was not the ending you had expected.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁
The experience of being discovered by Seungmin during a night shift would not be on any normal person's bucket list. However, the incident led to a change in your life. Seungmin had persuaded you to quit your job at a nightclub because he was concerned about your welfare and did not want you to be used as a mere object by men. Among other things, he had offered to support you financially until you found suitable alternative employment. He helped you to find a job that offered a comparable income and was adamant that it did not involve the exploitation of your body for sexual gratification. Although you were initially reluctant, given your long-standing opposition to his financial support, you eventually agreed.
The unexpected meeting also took place. He had invited you shortly after your encounter in the dressing room while he was discreetly cleaning up the mess. To be honest, you had never considered Seungmin as a potential romantic partner. However, your perspective had gradually changed over time. Back then, his friends, who were also your friends, had informed you that he had been casting furtive glances at you and had developed an interest in you. This confused you at first, but you eventually got used to it. You also had to prepare mentally for the meeting.
You did not deny that you were a little apprehensive; you were unsure of the destination he had in mind for this evening. He had instructed you to dress in a way that was both comfortable and tasteful, but your anxiety was growing. After a long shower, you began to look through your wardrobe, but it was difficult to choose an outfit without knowing where you were going. In the end, however, you chose a relatively simple ensemble consisting of a black ruffled skirt, not too short, and a top of the same colour that left your shoulders bare and had a boat neckline. You wore your beloved wedges. If you had to choose between them and heels, based on what Seungmin had told you about elegance and comfort, you would have chosen the latter. Your make-up was minimal, your hair was wavy and fell to your shoulders, your necklace was tightly fastened around your neck and all your jewellery was in its proper place. You completed your ensemble with a fruity and very sugary perfume before heading into the living room to wait for your no longer best friend.
Seungmin arrived shortly afterwards with a large bouquet of roses, in keeping with his reputation as a gallant man. You smiled as you remembered that he had not been in bed with you, especially after the knife performance. He said, "For you, my princess," and then kissed you on the lips. The anticipation of the evening's events had been palpable, yet the simplicity of the act itself evoked a deep sense of emotional resonance. The culmination of this experience was the tender kiss beneath the earlobe, accompanied by the words, "I hope you are well prepared as we have a long night ahead of us".
It was your firm belief that if he had continued to talk to you like this throughout the evening, you would have been so aroused that you would have removed your underwear, even if there had been no physical contact. In fact, you sighed before placing the roses in a vase of water and accompanying him to the car. It was a revelation to you that the vehicle in question was of considerable size. It was also admitted that Seungmin looked particularly handsome that night. He was wearing a black tank top and loose black trousers. His appearance was complemented by a leather jacket and jewellery. His footwear consisted of half-heeled ankle boots, which were as black as the rest of his outfit. His hair was lightly gelled and curly. He was a man of considerable qualities and attributes. You licked your lips and he watched, giving you the opportunity to do so. It was inevitable that he would drive you out of your mind as soon as he could.
There was no denying that the car ride had contributed to the evening's events. He held your thigh firmly in his hand and massaged your skin, occasionally reaching under the fabric of your skirt. He was aware that this was having a positive effect on you and you were similarly pleased by the experience. He felt a sense of predatory intent, like a predator with a vulnerable prey in his grasp.
The evening was going well. He had taken you to a modest restaurant at an elevated location, and you had enjoyed a sumptuous meat dish accompanied by an excellent wine. It was obvious that he had not missed the opportunity to cast certain glances at you as he sipped the vin rouge in his glass. He continued to look at you in an increasingly intimidating manner. The conversation went well and you had always enjoyed his company. The topics were varied and engaging, even when a situation had developed between you that couldn't be defined with a specific term. However, it seemed that Seungmin had anticipated your thoughts, as he initiated a discussion on the matter. "Considering that this is a full-fledged date, I would like to suggest that we raise the status of our relationship to boyfriend and girlfriend. I don't think there's any need for a proper dating, as I'm aware of your preferences," he said, raising his eyebrows as he took another sip of wine. "I agree, except for one thing: you do not know me well enough to have discovered my clandestine activities." You provoked him, knowing how the subject would arouse his jealousy. "I did not expect you to go so far." "I have always thought of you as my princess and hoped that you would eventually ask for my help." He wrinkled his nose. "Minie, it is important for me to be able to support myself. I am grateful for your help, but once I have secured employment, I would prefer you to stop helping me, okay?" you smiled with a pout in response.
Perhaps I should pay and we could go to my place?" he asked, smiling, before wiping his lips and getting to his feet. You did the same, but were stopped by him. He took your hand and kissed it before leading you to the exit. "This dinner is a date, and I am paying as usual. You are my friend and I will treat you properly," he said, making you blush. The gentleman in question displayed admirable behaviour and etiquette when dealing with women. He knew how to treat women with the respect and consideration they deserved. It is worth noting that in addition to the bedroom activities mentioned above, you had also gained an understanding of his somewhat eccentric behaviour outside the bedroom. You then waited outside the restaurant for him to return. He reappeared shortly afterwards, accompanied by a second bottle of red wine. "It was an excellent meal, and I have a plan for tonight. You'll see what I'm capable of, my dear," he said with a chuckle, then led you to the car and drove you both to his home.
To say that he did not even allow you the opportunity to survey the surroundings, despite your intimate familiarity with the house, was an understatement.
He immediately picked you up and carried you to his bed.
He then disappeared, returning with two goblets of wine.That night will remain indelibly etched in your memory.You watched as Seungmin took off his jacket and black shirt, leaving the vision to his well defined abs and the glittering necklace he was wearing.As you watched him take a sip of wine after almost completely undressing, you had to admit that his actions made your entire body tremble. Your panties were now soaked. "Now, Princess, undress for me," he said, grinning and licking his lips.He then lay on the bed with one hand behind his head and the other holding the goblet.
By this time the positions had been reversed, with the man on the bed watching your every move while you knelt in front of him, removing each piece of clothing until you were completely naked in front of him.
"How beautiful, come closer," he murmured. You approached him on all fours, the naked intimacy of your body matching his, still fully clothed. He watched you for a long time, as if to etch your image into his memory. You smiled and shivered as he began a gentle caress of your form. He caressed your cheek, shoulder and breasts in that order. He then moved to the other breast with his free hand, having previously placed the cup on the table. He began to massage it at a slow and deliberate pace, appreciating the texture of your skin. He then teased your nipple with his fingers, before pouncing on it with his lips and doing the same to the other. One hand, which had previously been at the back of your neck, now moved to your waist, where it began to caress it. His touch was so seductively overpowering that it left you breathless. He applied pressure to your hip as his lips played with your breasts. He then moved to your shoulders, biting and branding them. Your hands were clenched in his shoulders, scratching them lightly as you rubbed your vulva against the covered flap of his trousers. "Wait a moment, I want to feel you on me," he whispered in your ear.
He separated your bodies for a brief moment, then proceeded to undress you completely, allowing your intimacies to collide. "How about riding me?" he asked, smiling and winking. Your lips parted in surprise at the mere suggestion. It was highly unlikely that you would have survived the night. Seungmin was like a mermaid whose enchanting song was meant to captivate and enchant. You swallowed and then nodded in agreement. You applied gentle pressure to the head of his penis between your labia, causing you to pant and eliciting a moan from the Major. He had brought one arm back behind your head while the other held you tightly against him, increasing the contact. You lowered yourself completely onto him, allowing him to enter and fuck you completely, which he did with considerable force. Your moans mingled, accompanied by a soft exclamation of "Fuck!" from him. "Your cunt is both tight and warm, which feels very good. You should start to move," he instructed, and you complied. Normally such an act would have been abhorrent to you, but with him it was all so natural.
As he stroked your hips, you had begun to move at a slower pace. It was a sensation you had never experienced with any other partner. It was as if Seungmin had an innate understanding of the exact places and techniques needed to touch you. Your movements became faster and faster and your nails were driven into his back. "Min, I'm coming. I can feel it. My thighs are burning. Please, speed up!" You were on the verge. "No, not yet," you grunted, then changed positions. You vocalised your displeasure as he withdrew from your embrace, feeling a sense of emptiness. At this point you were positioned beneath him as he continued to penetrate you, his imposing frame towering over you.
You were sure that an orgasm was imminent, given his position on top of you as he thrust vigorously into you. However, he seemed to disagree, indicating that he was not interested in facilitating an orgasm. He claimed that it was too early for such a reaction. So he withdrew from you, leaving you with an empty feeling. "Please, Seung, I can no longer stand it," you begged him. Only after he had pushed you with an animal force did he give you permission to come. "Your warmth and tightness are so arousing...come for me," he whispered, allowing you to release yourself around him. He informed you that they had not yet reached the end of the act. He then turned you over on your stomach and began to leave bites and marks on your back, tracing a trail of them all over your ass. He continued to lick and slap the area between your buttocks, causing you to moan. Despite this, you still had some residual sensitivity from the previous orgasm.
You were unable to speak as he sank back into you, twisting your hair in his grip and pulling it towards him as he thrust violently, abusing your cunt. You arched your back and rolled your eyes, no one had ever given you such intense pleasure. "Ah... Seungmin... please..." you moaned one last time before you came again. "Who gave you permission?" he demanded, thrusting at a surprisingly fast pace. It was relatively easy for you to reach your third orgasm in a row that night. "Seungmin, I'm about to..." The words were barely audible.
"Come with me," he groaned and then proceeded to ejaculate into you and you after him, now exhausted. "I will get you the necessary cleaning supplies," he murmured, then stroked your side and got a cloth soaked in warm, damp water to clean you. He then tied your hair into a braid and made you a cup of hot tea after dressing you in a pair of clean briefs and one of his shirts. "You look so lovely," you murmured, trying to relax on his chest. "It's the least I can do after making you come how many times?" he said, laughing as he pinched your side. "Three, but don't boast, sir," you gave him a tongue-lashing. "Do all gentlemen do it rough?" you burst out laughing.
TAGLIST 🎀 : @yongbokkiesworld @gloomy-k @raindropsondragons @linocvp1d @iiamthedramaa @snowyquokka @pynchkilledme @y4kie @ihrtlix @hyunjinnnsgirl @sugarsweetsugarsweet @reader1221 @bubblebisk @chrizzztopherbang @skzooluvr @yoontaethings @ovr9000
(❤︎) ── “ i couldn’t help myself ”
its not seungmins’ fault he finds you so attractive, its also not his fault that you promised him you would let him do this. and it’s especially not his fault you turned him on right before he was gonna start a match.
𐀔𓂃 kais note: hi! this can totally be read as a stand alone or if you have prior knowledge to CAL ! heres that extra i promised you!
warnings : fingering, cockwarming, unprotected sex, and anything else i missed. not proof read… 1.5k words
back to library | control alt + love masterlist
‘ill be home in 30 minutes, hyunjin had to use the bathroom’
you stared down at your phone replying back a quick ‘ok’ to jeongin, walking down the stairs hoping to find your boyfriend, since he wasn't in his room. seungmin was sitting in his gaming chair, staring at the loading screen. seungmin must've heard you walking behind him as he slowly turns his body smiling at you.
“well don’t you look pretty. are you still hanging out with hyunjin and jeongin?” seungmin leans on his arm rest taking in the cute top and skirt combo you were in.
“yes, hyunjin wants to go to this galla and he has extra tickets, though i'm third wheeling. unless you wanna come with us.” you put on your best puppy eyes in hope that you can convince him, stepping in between his legs.
“cant today baby. i'm teaming up with atz today. we wanted to try out that new support character.” he places the palm of his hands on the back of your thighs, rubbing them softly. he leans forward placing a kiss on the small sliver of skin peeking from under your shirt.
you place one of your hands on his shoulder as the other wraps around to the back of his head, softly playing with his hair.
“do you wanna help me?” he mummers against your skin, as his hands travel up your thighs landing on your ass, giving it a squeeze.
“i don’t really want to play, plus jeongin is gonna be here in thirty and i dont wanna afk.” seungmin wasn't really paying attention after he asked that question. he was more focused on how pretty you looked in this skirt, so much so that he started to feel his dick harden in his sweats. you slightly jump when you feel his fingers reach out and rub against your slit over your panties.
“seungmin, we can’t.” you grip tighter at the back of his hair, as you feel his fingers dip in your panties lightly playing with your clit. you softly moan as you feel him entering his finger in you. your head falls back when he slowly drags it against your walls, inserting another one.
as we start rocking your hips in the rhythm of his finger thrust seungmin leans back pulling his fingers out of you.
“oh my game is starting.” he gives a smirk at the face you are giving him, in absolute disbelief. “come here baby.” seungmin quickly pulls his sweats down letting his hard cock spring free, slapping against his shirt. you start to go down when he stops you, shaking his head with a soft smile. “no baby, i need to be in you. right now. this instant.” he helps you slide your panties to the side, and helps you slowly sit down.
you slowly make your way down his dick, completely filling you up, both of you letting out a moan when you sink all the way to the bottom. you slowly start to grind against him, when you see his hands reach around you grabbing his headset and putting it on.
“you arent seriously gonna game right now with your dick in me?” you stop your hips, turning back to see his beautiful smile looking at you. he places a quick kiss on your nose, “you promised me remember?” he then kissed you on your lips.
“promised what?” feeling the ache in between your legs from the lack of movement. which only makes you grind against him more.
“i just need you to sit here and look pretty, my love. don't move, it defeats the purpose.”
“what purpose?” you were starting to get irritated with this little game he was playing.
“cockwarming baby, now don’t make any noise you know these mics pick everything.” was all seungmin says before he reaches around you, his hands on his keyboard already talking to one of the guys in the party.
you hold in your voice from the small movements seungmin is unintentionally doing mind completely on the game in front of him. but as for you, you felt like your skin was on fire. you felt extremely turned on with seungmins dick in you, you could feel it twitch every now and then. beckoning you to bounce on it. you lay your hands on the edge of the desk in front of you, letting its cold touch try to get your mind off the need to move.
seungmin thrust his hips up, loving the way your hands completely flew up over your mouth to stop you from being heard. seungmin turns off his mic, “you okay baby?” he places kisses on the inside of your neck, his eyes and hands never leaving the game.
“baby please, i can't.” you pant out, losing every strand of self control. you needed him to fuck you, and you need it bad.
“just a few more minutes baby, seonghwa just has to level up and then i can fuck you my love.” you moan at his voice gently rubs your ear. you could feel the heat rushing to your cheeks, you continued to sit on him scared to move, because you knew if you did he wasn't gonna be happy.
your eyes were shut completely, focusing on your breathing you feel seungmin pull you up, bending you down over the desk careful to not ruin the setup.
“since you have been such a good girl for me, let me give you a treat. especially since hyunjin and jeongin should be here any minute.” with the thought of your friend walking in on you, you moan out.
“oh does my pretty baby want to be seen taking my cock like the little whore she is?” seungmin was giving you a chance to reply as he pounds into you from the back. pushing up your skirt to get a better view of his dick getting lost in you. seungmin was in pure bliss letting the moans and noises coming out of his mouth. you loved when seungmin was vocal, it always made your heart swell knowing he was getting off to this as much as you were.
“fuckkk.. baby.. you feel so good. god..” he pants in between, you turn your head to glance at him from behind. to see his head leaned back, eyes screwed shut taking in the way you are so warm and wet for him.
you feel seungmin softly rub the top of your ass before he lets out a loud smack right on it, forcing out a moan from you. seungmin leans over right in your ear. “i feel you baby, i feel you about to cum.” you whimper out, turning to capture his lips on yours. seungmin pulls back, kissing your cheek, before going back to his original position and plowing straight into you.
“god , if you keep squeezing me like that, i might just cum in you.” you couldn’t help but feel yourself squeezing even hard on him, in hopes he got the idea to actually do it.
you could feel your legs getting numb and your high getting higher, seungmin could feel it too as he started to pull you back into him.
“min.. im .. gonna. i'm gonna cum.”
“do it baby. let's cum together.”
it didn't take much after that, you could feel seungmin releasing into you. while he could feel you fluttering around him. seungmin pulls you down to sit back on top of him, kissing at shoulder and whatever he could get his lips on. “i love you min.”
“i love you too baby.” he wraps his arms around your waist basking in your warmth not ready to pull out yet.
the swinging of the door pulled you both back to reality. “yo yo yo! dude sorry we took forever, jeongin drives like a grandma.” hyunjin's voice echoed across the room. you quickly jump off of seungmin as he lets out a hiss from his dick being so sensitive. you pull your panties back to where they were, slowly feeling seungmins and your cum pool at your panties making you cross your legs to try to stop it from leaking . seungmin wasn't in any rush to put himself back in his sweats until he started to hear jeongin's voice ring out.
“sorry i abide by the traffic rules, you know every 3,700 people die everyday due to road accidents?”
“when the fuck did i start dating google? you ready babes? oh your blush looks so good, new placement?” hyunjin looks at you as seungmin smirks, going back to his game.
“yeah.. new placement. let's go!” you place a kiss on seungmin saying a quick i love you, walk out the doors before hyunjin and jeongin could gather what just went down a few minutes ago.
“the communal space is for the community, captain. not for you to practice exhibitionism with her.” jeongin groans, turning back from your disappearing figure to see seungmin laughing.
“shes just so pretty i couldn't help myself.”
hyunjin gags and jeongin groans as they follow after you unknowingly about to get teased like no tomorrow.
© strrykais ⋅
cal tags: @onlyhyunjin @chenlesfavorite @hippopotamusdreamer @vegetablesarefuntables @soondoongdoriii @jeonginplsholdmyhand @nappynapnaps @sincerely-sun @staytinyluv @kimseungminpabo @seungzsmin @sweetasmarie @hinanitiram @tricky-ritz @ayyonoona @hanniemylovelyquokka @toplinehyunjin @missystay @binniesbabe @tirena1 @jihoons-kitten @skz-ot8-stay @darlingz99 @khandzilla @icouldntcareless22 @rihaee @thatshroomiegirl @sillyhal @livixcore @dazzlingjade @h0rnyp0t @drewsandsebastianswife @jabmastersupriseee @flaminghotyourmom @velvetmoonlght @mihoonz @jazziwritesthings @thisrandombitch @vixensss @galbiirocher @skzstannie @babrieeee @ladybeautiful18 @hyeon-yi @lknosemole @night-storm7 @spearbinnie0327 @goldenmellow @jisungs-iced-americano @charlieg1rl @seungminsteddybear @sskzlover @abbiestearsricochet @isaenme @dreamerwasfound @ihrtlix
reblogs, likes and replies are appreciated! feel free to send constructive feedback/thoughts in my asks!
-
vtmonsm liked this · 1 month ago -
myriltp liked this · 1 month ago -
wtfigo5383628 liked this · 2 months ago -
zsxphiiq liked this · 2 months ago -
euphioria-blog liked this · 3 months ago -
geezyie liked this · 3 months ago -
monniemons liked this · 3 months ago -
needyxpuppy liked this · 3 months ago -
minniebbang liked this · 3 months ago -
sofia0209 liked this · 3 months ago -
beetrootlovesyou liked this · 3 months ago -
msgumi liked this · 3 months ago -
em-2004 liked this · 3 months ago -
enjoy-the-little-things-in-life liked this · 3 months ago -
hellok9000 liked this · 3 months ago -
0bunnyia liked this · 4 months ago -
ntcc2605 reblogged this · 4 months ago -
squ1dsquirt liked this · 4 months ago -
headfirstfortoro liked this · 4 months ago -
whoisparksunghoon liked this · 4 months ago -
yeorns liked this · 4 months ago -
segagenesis143 reblogged this · 4 months ago -
segagenesis143 liked this · 4 months ago
-
tsukirecs reblogged this · 4 months ago -
aehanjiz liked this · 4 months ago -
cant-see-sam liked this · 4 months ago -
st4rv3lly liked this · 4 months ago -
lili-of-the-dream reblogged this · 4 months ago -
lili-of-the-dream liked this · 4 months ago
-
beeboowoop liked this · 4 months ago -
kookiemonsterss-blog liked this · 5 months ago -
v1ctor1a124 liked this · 5 months ago -
crying-ghost65656 liked this · 5 months ago -
fey3heuei liked this · 5 months ago -
certainpizzahoagiefarm liked this · 5 months ago -
ificouldhelpyouforget reblogged this · 5 months ago -
ificouldhelpyouforget liked this · 5 months ago
-
som1ig reblogged this · 5 months ago -
som1ig liked this · 5 months ago
-
fuckthinking liked this · 5 months ago -
rovhagar reblogged this · 5 months ago -
rovhagar liked this · 5 months ago
-
carstairs-rune liked this · 5 months ago -
diyaasr liked this · 5 months ago -
sungie-stay liked this · 5 months ago -
poetiquess liked this · 5 months ago -
inejghafawifesblog liked this · 5 months ago
