#Bibimbap(ish) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

igbylicious · 3 months ago

Text

whichever way [woosan x reader] pt13

pairing: woosan x f reader

rating: 18+

genre: smut, fluff-ish, neighbours au, FWB to QPR

ch. summary: San goes on a little journey of self-discovery with you.

wc: 14k

ch. warnings: sub San, switch / dom reader & Wooyoung, like 5 sec of manhandling & dryhumping, shibari / bondage, praise kink, body worship, cock-warming, orgasm denial, finger sucking, oral, dacryphilia, DVP (fingers & cock), creampie, cum play, Wooyoung fucks San’s tiddies, cum shot (on those same tiddies), multiple orgasms, condomless sex w/ an IUD, San is called ‘good boy’, reader is called ‘baby’ & ‘good girl’, one encounter of amatonormativity from a well-intentioned neighbour, potential second-hand embarrassment

a/n: features a soft-bodied, aromantic reader who uses she/her pronouns.

masterlist. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, epilogue

“Pick me, I’m tasty!” the little raccoon dog mascot on the instant noodles package says to you, in an adorably pitchy sing-song voice. San pokes his face out from behind the package, his open-mouthed smile so wide and bright he almost looks like a cartoon character himself.

You giggle at San’s antics, though you ignore the packet in his hands and reach for a different flavour from the store’s shelves. “Cute! But no; Wooyoung asked for this one,” you say, holding up the extra spicy variant.

“That’s what Wooyoung asked for, yes,” San pouts, reverting back to his normal voice, “but he always steals mine and leaves the hot ones for me. He can buy them himself if he wants them, I’m not doing this anymore! My mouth has burned enough.”

“Fine fine, this is a lovers’ quarrel I’m not getting involved in,” you laugh at San’s impassioned speech. “If he complains, I’m telling him it’s your fault!”

And so only the mildest of instant noodles end up in your cart before you go through the rest of the store. The separation between your groceries and those of San and Wooyoung grows blurrier with every trip; Wooyoung didn’t even ask if you were joining them for dinner, only how you felt about beef bibimbap for tonight.

It’s busy at the store today, meaning there’s a bit of a line for the cash registry. Bored by the wait, San toys with the strings of his hoodie. He fiddles with them for a while, then pulls the strings taut until the hoodie hides all but a glimpse of his face, his nose peeking out along with a tiny feline grin on his lips.

At first you just fondly watched him — but now you can’t resist temptation. You steal the strings away from San to tie them into a tight knot, trapping him in his hoodie.

“Ack!” San yelps, startled and pawing at your hands to get back control of the strings.

Giggling, you take mercy on him and undo the knot again. “Sorry, guess I’m in the mood to practice a little more ropework today,” you joke, taking off San’s hood and fixing a few upright tufts of his hair.

“Oh, are you now?” he says, his indignant sulk only tempting you to do it again. “Starting to regret I taught you anything at all. You have way too much power now.”

“The power of tying a simple knot?!” you laugh. “Don’t take too much credit, mister, I didn’t need you to teach me that one!”

But San has been teaching you. Eagerly, even.

From the moment you expressed an interest, San happily jumped on the chance to pass on his knowledge of bondage. He does teach for a living, after all; and though ropework is obviously a far cry from taekwondo, he instructed you with the same enthusiasm that he has for his students.

Meanwhile, Wooyoung happily volunteered himself as a practice subject. Sometimes he’d nag at you, so used to San’s skilful fingers that yours set off his impatience — but for the most part, Wooyoung proved unexpectedly useful, his candid feedback making it easier to get a feel for judging rope tension.

And although you’d first meant it as a joke to tease San, now you do actually feel an itch in your fingers.“So… could we? Practise some more today?” you ask, lowering your voice, keeping your words vague on purpose, although none of the staff or other customers are paying you any mind.

“Today?” San says, lines crinkling between his brows. “Ah, I don’t know, Wooyoung will be out to the movies with Yeosang later…”

“He’s going without you?” you ask, distracted by the new piece of information. “What, have you been hoarding Sangie too much to yourself again?”

San’s bottom lip juts into a pout. “I don’t hoard him, I’m just not into the movie!” he protests, so earnestly that you wonder if he really believes it, or if he’s forgotten about the time you saw him clinging onto Wooyoung’s childhood friend for an entire game night, stubborn in his attempts to lay a smooch on Yeosang’s cheek.

(Yeosang’s dramatic aversion to his friends’ kisses always gets a giggle out of you. He can’t fool you; you know from experience that San and Wooyoung would cut it out if he really minded it that much.)

“Though I guess we don’t need Woo,” San muses, smoothly turning the subject away from the Yeosang-hoarding allegations. “You could try some stuff on yourself, feel first-hand what you’re doing.”

“…Or I could practice on you…?” you suggest, half playful, half probing.

San blinks in surprise, like the thought had not occurred to him — but the conversation is put on a temporary halt when it’s your turn to check out your groceries. He frowns while packing everything up, thoughtful but also tentative, like it’s the first time he’s ever even considered to let someone tie him up.

San’s frown has faded by the time you step out of the store, but he still has a quiet, contemplative look on his face.

“No pressure, obviously,” you say, nudging his arm with your elbow. “About the practice thing. It was just a thought.”

“No no! It’s…” San shakes his head and gives you a small grin. “You know what? Let’s try it. Put your knowledge to the test!”

“Right,” you grin back at him, a little spring in your step as you walk back home together. There’s a gleam in San’s eyes too, growing brighter as he gets more and more used to the idea of trying something new with you.

It’s just a short walk back to the apartment building, where you come across your downstairs neighbour at the elevator; Mrs Yoon, a tiny old lady carrying a package that looks far too big and heavy for her.

San, ever the gentleman, immediately passes one of his grocery bags over to you and takes the box from Mrs Yoon.

“Always such a nice, helpful boy,” she coos over San, tip-toeing to reach and pinch his cheek. Mrs Yoon somewhat resembles a shrivelled apple, small and round and wrinkled — but any conversation proves that she’s still got plenty of juice left in her.

“Does he take such good care of you too?” she asks you, a playful glint in her eyes. “I’m sure he does, I can tell he’s great… ‘Boyfriend material’, that’s the word you young folk use nowadays, isn’t it?”

You flinch briefly, but recover fast. It’s not like this is the first time people have made assumptions about you and San, or you and Wooyoung. Hell, you and Hongjoong used to deal with this too. Through necessity you have cultivated a certain degree of resigned patience for these situations.

Still, it was long enough that San beats you to the punch, shaking his head at Mrs Yoon with a friendly smile. “No, Mrs Yoon, I’m—” he starts, but hesitates when a clear alternative fails to present itself.

It doesn’t matter anyway; she easily breezes past San’s protest. “And the other handsome young man, of course! I had not forgotten, don’t worry,” she says with a cheeky grin of joyful wrinkles, her giggle like a reedy cackle. “I heard the three of you spending your time together well.”

San’s cheeks go completely beet red, for a split-second you’re confused by his embarrassment — but then it sinks in what Mrs Yoon meant by having ‘heard’ you.

She heard you, just like you used to hear San and Wooyoung.

You stammer an apology, but she waves it off. “Oh hush,” she says firmly. “I was young once too, I know what it’s like. Good on you kids, you need to enjoy it while you can! It’s alright to have a little extra fun.”

The elevator dings as it reaches Mrs Yoon’s floor, and San almost trips over his feet as he walks her to her apartment to take the heavy package inside. You awkwardly wait for him to get back, embarrassment still flowing hotly in your veins. San does not look much better off when he shuffles back into the elevator, wordlessly taking back the grocery bag he passed over to you earlier so he could help your old, lively neighbour.

He clears his throat, trying for an easygoing grin. “For the record, I have been informed that Mrs Yoon very much enjoys the silence when she turns her hearing aid off, and doesn’t mind doing so at all.”

“Oh god,” you groan, wanting nothing more than to hide your face in your hands — except maybe sink through the elevator floor, letting yourself plummet straight to the bottom and down into the very core of the earth.

“At least she’s cool about non-monogamy?” San tries for a crooked smile, though redness still blooms across his cheeks. “Though I guess she only has half the right idea of us.”

“Yeah, I guess…” you say, still mulling on San’s earlier moment of speechlessness.

San frowns, concern gleaming in his eyes at your timid response. “You okay?” he asks; San is not unbothered by assumptions about the three of you either, but he knows they hit a little differently for you.

“Oh, yeah, yes I’m okay. I’m used to this stuff,” you say, and part of you hates how true that is. “It just kinda hit me that I don’t know what the ‘right’ idea about us is. Or how to put it into words, at least. We never really bothered to define much, did we?”

“No, we didn’t,” he says, opening the door to his apartment. “…I thought you preferred it that way? Not trying too hard to fit ourselves into a label?”

“True, true,” you admit, stepping inside. (You faintly hear Wooyoung’s voice from the living area.) “And I still don’t want to force anything. It’s just… inconvenient sometimes, you know.”

How would you describe San and Wooyoung? Your friends? Well, yes, but you don’t feel like that covers the full scope of things in this context. Partners? Too… formal. Definitely not your boyfriends. No matter what word pops up in your head, it chafes; nothing fits as smoothly as a simple ‘your San’ and ‘your Wooyoung’.

San glances over his shoulder as he hauls the grocery bags into the living area, raising an eyebrow at you. “Inconvenient for us, or inconvenient for other people?” he asks pointedly. “If we’re happy with how we do things, or what we call them, it’s not our problem if others get confused.”

You blink at San. “…Damn. Good point.”

“I make those sometimes!”

“Of course, some people try their damn best to turn it into our problem.”

“Shush. Don’t take this away from me,” San chides, but he quiets when he realises Wooyoung is talking to someone on video call. Wooyoung gives you a distracted wave, but stays focused on his conversation. Something about his most recent crafts project, customising an old jacket.

“Yeah, I saw the pictures, it looks good, I like how you placed the lettering,” the voice from Wooyoung’s phone says — and you break out into a smile when you recognise that voice, all else forgotten.

“Joong!” you say, wrapping a loose arm around Wooyoung’s shoulders as you slide up behind him, stoked to see your oldest friend on the screen. He’s currently rocking cranberry red hair, matched with a grungy blazer, and grins when he sees you.

You embrace this chance for a brief but lively surprise meeting, always missing Hongjoong; even if he did come over for a visit just a few weeks ago.

During that time, he and Wooyoung rapidly developed the type of friendship where you’re not always sure if Hongjoong adores Wooyoung to absolute bits, or if he wants to stick him behind the wallpaper. (Though today clearly is an adoration day.) San is still a little quiet around Hongjoong, anxious for approval from your best friend, so he shyly hangs around in the back while you and Wooyoung chat/bicker with Hongjoong.

It’s not too long before the call ends, some work schedule thing forcing Hongjoong to leave. Work has kept him real busy lately, and you quietly resolve to send him a little care package this week.

Once Hongjoong disappears from his phone’s screen, Wooyoung turns to you.

“What was that talk earlier when you guys came back? Sounded kinda serious. Were you overthinking again?”

“I wasn’t overthi—! …Okay, yeah fine maybe I was,” you admit.

“About what?”

“Labels,” San pipes up from the kitchenette. “Hey, you gonna help me out here?”

“Sorry, yeah!” You join San to properly finish up the chore of grocery shopping together, and smile when you find one packet of spicy noodles between the milder ones as you put them away.

Wooyoung’s face wrinkles up. “You were overthinking labels? I thought you were on my side about those.”

(Like you, Wooyoung also does not feel a strong need to confine your relationship within strict definitions. San is the most traditional-minded out of your trio when it comes to these things; but he values happiness over conformity a million times over, content to let the issue rest for your and Wooyoung’s comfort.)

“I am, I am!” you say. “Mrs Yoon just punted me into a five-second long spiral when she pretty much called San my boyfriend and we didn’t know how to correct her. I’ve unspiralled already, I swear! Crisis over before it even started.”

“No, fair enough,” Wooyoung allows. “‘My non-romantic life partner who I fuck on the regular’ just doesn’t roll off the tongue, does it?”

“Nope. But…” You trail off, recognising an opportunity to smoothly slide into a topic that crossed your mind recently. “‘My neighbour’ is also technically correct, I suppose,” you say cheekily, smiling when San instantly grouses at the distant, casual term, “but who’s to say we’ll be neighbours forever? I mean, it’d be cool to at least upgrade to ‘roommates’ someday, right?”

For a split moment, the guys are struck silent by the suggestion. Not that long ago, it would’ve been enough to punt you into another five-second spiral, fretting whether you massively misjudged the situation — but it’s not enough anymore. You’re steadier than that by now, secure in your place within this barely-defined relationship.

And surely a gradual smile breaks out on Wooyoung’s face like in slow-motion, his eyes shining in delight. You let out an ‘umph’ when two strong arms suddenly wrap around you from behind, San’s reassuring weight settling against you.

“Yeah. That’d be cool,” San murmurs as he pulls you firmly into him, pressing his cheek against the side of your head.

“Hadn’t expected you to be the one to bring that up,” Wooyoung says, his teasing grin undermined by the softness drawn into his face.

You lean back into San with a little scoff, rolling your eyes half-playfully, half-serious. “Hey c’mon, stop acting like I’ll bolt at the tiniest whiff of commitment! I’ve proven enough by now that you guys are stuck with me, right?”

“Okay okay,” San says with a laugh, “we’ll try to stop treating you like a flight risk! It’s just— Me and Woo talked about this like, a few days ago.”

“Pff, ‘talked’?” Wooyoung huffs, coming over to put an arm around San, who still has his arms around you. “What San means is he picked a fight with me about it.”

“A fight?!” You turn your head to look back at them, blinking in confusion.

“A real stupid one too!”

“Hey, don’t say it like that, she’s gonna get the wrong idea!” San protests. “It was just a misunderstanding is all!”

“Guys…”

“All I said was that the apartment is feeling a bit small these days, that next time we should look for something bigger, a better fit for us!” Wooyoung sighs. “There I was, trying to throw you a hint, but you just started sulking and grumbling at me like I’d already packed my bags to move out and abandon her the next day!”

“Really?” you ask, a smile breaking out on your face at San’s abashed disgruntlement.

Wooyoung rolls his eyes. “He got so cross at the idea of not being neighbours that he didn’t even bother to actually listen to what I was saying. Why do you think the apartment felt too damn small, you idiot?”

“Just didn’t sit right with me,” San mumbles. “The idea of not living next to each other. Or with each other. Not being close.”

“Which is why I brought it up,” Wooyoung says, poking at San’s cheek. “I thought we should talk about it before becomes a thing.” His eyes flicker to you, seriousness smoothing over his face. “So yeah, you beat us to the punch. It’s not like I’m in a rush or got it all planned out or anything, I mean I just moved here, but… I don’t know, did we get lazy? About us, about figuring stuff out?”

Warmth spreads through your chest as you listen to them, but Wooyoung’s question brings you a little closer back down to earth.

“Maybe? Yeah, maybe we did get complacent,” you admit. Nothing wrong with not labelling things but… “We never really bothered to sit down and talk things through after the whole ‘hey, let’s stick together for a long time’ talk, yeah. Never talked about what that actually looks like.”

“We were too busy enjoying the moment to think ahead, yeah,” San says with a breathy chuckle, clutching a little tighter onto you.

“To be fair,” Wooyoung says, a grin returning to his lips, “the moments have been pretty damn great. So… does that settle it? Next place we move into, we move in together? Something nice and a little bigger, with an extra bedroom so you got your own space?”

“For someone who doesn’t have it all planned out, you sure put a lot of thought into it,” you giggle, reaching a hand to find Wooyoung’s. “Yeah. That settles it.”

“So. You got upset at the thought of not living next to me, huh?” You give San a cheeky grin, unable to resist teasing him about earlier. “That’s cute.”

You’re both kneeling on his bed, some soft music playing in the background. Dressed for comfort, San is wearing his grey sweatpants and a fitted t-shirt — and you just finished tying a rope around his wrists, after he took you through a refresher of some basics. San was in the middle of diligently inspecting your work, but your teasing has knocked him straight out of teacher mode, into pouty mode.

“Shut up, Wooyoung wasn’t as obvious about his ‘hints’ as he made it sound,” he sulks. He looks back down on the rope, then gives you a heavy side-eye. “…Did you wait on purpose to make fun of me until I was tied up?”

“No way, I’d never make fun of you for being cute,” you say matter-of-factly.

San squints suspiciously at your tone, trying to figure out if you are, in fact, making fun of him again.

“Okay but seriously, does this feel alright?” you ask, squeezing his bound hands. San had stayed mostly quiet when you tied him up; you don’t need much instruction anymore for basic knots — but you did catch a few steadying breaths from him, the bondage clearly having some effect on San.

“It’s… different,” he says hesitantly.

“Need me to take them off?” you ask at once, ready to pry the knot loose, but San shakes his head.

“No, no, they can stay on. It just—” San frowns, struggling for words. “It’s just not my usual thing,” he eventually settles on. “Letting go of control… It’s not exactly my strong point.”

“Ah, so this is not just practice for me, but for you too!” you tease, but you rub a reassuring thumb over his knuckles as you do so. Curiosity nags at you, and you finally ask the question that’s been on your mind ever since you first suggested using him as your guinea pig. “…Is this your first time getting tied up?”

“I used to practice on myself, way back, but other than that? Yeah, first time.” San chuckles at your contemplative expression. “What’s with that face? It can’t be a surprise that a dom doesn’t get tied up on the regular, can it?”

You shrug. “I mean, you’re usually in charge, yeah; being submissive is clearly not your go-to. But never? I don’t know, the few times we mixed things up… you enjoyed it, right? Like the morning after I stayed over? You can’t tell me you weren’t into getting spoiled like that!”

San gives a little head-tilt, as if to say ‘fair enough’. “I was,” he allows with a tiny smile, bursting with memories. “It… it’s nice when I really need it, I guess.”

His answer churns inside you for a moment, and you mislike the way it settles in your stomach. It’s true; San rarely is submissive unless stress or exhaustion has gotten to him.

“Um, San? Listen, I won’t push anything on you,” you say, carefully, feeling especially cognisant of the fact you have him tied up with nowhere to go. “But… you know you don’t have to need it, right? I’m more than happy to switch things up when you want to. Same for Wooyoung, I’m sure!”

San goes quiet, looking down at his bound wrists like he’s searching for some epiphany in the place where rope presses against his skin.

You smile faintly, and raise a soft hand to cup his cheek. “Just think about it, alright? No wrong answers.”

San’s eyes flutter shut as he nuzzles into your palm. He sighs, something releasing inside him. Letting go of just a tiny scrap of control, maybe.

“Want to take it off now?” you ask, and untie the knot when San nods quietly.

“…I did like the feel of the rope,” San admits after you finish, a hesitant smile tugging at his lips. “I… I liked how it felt to have someone else put it on me.”

A sweet, gentle bloom swells up inside you. “I’m glad,” you smile back at San. “I liked practising on you.”

“Maybe,” he starts slowly, giving you a bashful look like he’s embarrassed by what he is about to say next, “maybe we don’t need to be done practising? Do you want to try something else?”

Now there’s an offer you can hardly refuse.

San’s suggestion is a little more complex than a simple restriction of the wrists, so you go and grab him some water while he pulls up a few visual references on his phone to show you what the end-goal looks like. When you step back into the bedroom, San has pulled off his t-shirt, waiting for you with a dimpled smile and his bare upper body at your disposal.

There is always something magnetic about San’s impressive physique; but now the musculature draws you in more than ever, knowing you’ll be working so closely to it, demanding your full attention.

“Show-off,” you mumble, rolling your eyes like you aren’t fighting off heat rising to your cheeks.

“What, want me to put my shirt back on?” San asks, his smile curving into a cocky grin.

“…No.”

With the matter of San’s shirt settled, you sink back into the ropework together.

You get why San likes it. The shared intimacy, drawing closer to one another with every hitch or knot. The focused methodology behind it, how the world seems to disappear into nothing but the rope in your hands and the person you use it on, allowing all else to fade from your mind. You’ve always felt there is something meditative about the act of being tied up, but now you realise the reversal is also true.

After all your previous practising, you start to fall into a trained rhythm; you used to get frustrated with your own clumsiness, but now your fingers mostly remember what they are supposed to do.

Still, this new endeavour is a little trickier than a simple cuff around the wrists and so San speaks up more often, guiding you through the steps;

“Careful with placement, we don’t want to pinch anything here. Yes, yes that’s good, Pull the pressure down, we’re always going down the arm. That’s it, you got it. Little tighter. Yep, little more. Don’t be scared the cinch is too much, I’ll tell you if there’s a problem.”

A few simple lines of rope are laid around the width of San’s upper torso, hugging his pecs and providing a basis for you to work a ladder tie down the length of his arm. As you relax into the looping pattern, so does San. He falls quiet again, drawing deep, slow breaths as he intently follows the movement of your hands, his eyes gleaming with cat-like curiosity.

When you finish the first of San’s arms, tying the last hitch above his wrist and locking off the rope, you draw back a little to fully take in the result.

It’s interesting; bondage often has a way of making Wooyoung look smaller than he is, like all his boundless energy is snugly contained within the corded restraints. But for San, it’s the polar opposite.

The shibari accentuates the broadness of his chest and shoulders; his muscles bulge under the looping pattern whenever he moves, like he is bursting at the seams. Heated pressure builds in your abdomen at the sight of him, then your eyes wander down to San’s wrist.

There’s a fair bit of tail end to the rope, dangling down his wrist as leftover after that last hitch — and you’d worried it would take away from the aesthetics of the shibari, but instead the length of rope lures you in, whispering for you to grab the end and pull, tugging San closer to you. To test the power he emits; whether he would submit regardless of physical strength.

“Still got another arm to go,” San reminds you, a teasing glint in his eyes at how distracted you are by his appearance. But his voice is low and husky, your distracted state also causing a sharp heat to coil tightly inside him.

Though you still make sure to be safe and precise, the brush of your fingers over San’s other arm is not as relaxed this time around.

The heat radiating from his skin somehow feels warmer than before, his gaze burning into your hands as you work. San’s breaths grow heavier with every corded loop around his arm, and he is visibly antsy by the time you finish up at his wrist — and now you don’t resist your earlier urges. With a playful grin, you take both ends of the rope in your hands and give them a soft tug, just to tease.

San grunts as you pull him in closer, fiery intensity crackling around him, and the grin is wiped right off your face when he bites his lip, hooded eyes piercing straight through you.

“Fuck,” you breathe, shifting your thighs and all too aware of the wetness gathering between them, “Wooyoung’d go crazy if he saw you right now.”

(You distantly wonder what time it is; how much longer until Wooyoung steps back out that cinema. There’s decent odds he’ll head straight home, knowing you and San are practising without him.)

San’s lips curve sharply. “Yeah? I look hot like this?” he baits.

“Ugh, you are so needy,” you say, but the flustered laugh in your voice belies the reprimand. “Yes, you look good. Wooyoung would fold within the blink of an eye.” (You would fold even faster.) “He better get home soon, he’s gonna be so fucking upset if he misses out on this.”

“Serves him right for being such a damn brat lately,” San huffs, though there is an eager twinkle in his eyes.

“Don’t be like that!” You shake your head with another laugh, then move off the bed and beckon San onto his feet. “Come, see for yourself how hot you look.”

Still holding onto the rope-ends at San’s wrists, you lead him towards the mirror, and San follows with a slow smile. He barely even spares his own reflection a glance, too distracted by your hands, the subtle control emitted by your loose grip on the rope.

His fingers twitch, and then San catches you by surprise by yanking his own hands back, throwing you off balance. You release the rope with a squeak and stumble forward — but before you can bump into San, his hands find your hips and you let out a soft ‘umph’ as he pins you against the wall, the mirror now completely ignored.

“Don’t need to see,” San breathes, his chest pressing up against yours. “Can tell plain as day from your reaction.” Even through your clothes you can feel the press of rope and warmth radiating off of him. It’s like you’re caged in by a wall of heat, his fingers solidly pressing into your waist. San leans in, the tip of his nose brushing against yours as his gaze flutters down to your lips, his head tilting ever so slightly. The intent to kiss is more than obvious, but San waits, leaving that final step to you.

Your head is in a daze, still a little stunned from the sudden switch-up. Then again, it’s not like you didn’t notice how worked up San got from this little experiment — hell, the dampness already soaking through your panties is proof you’ve gotten plenty worked up yourself.

“Yes,” you gasp in answer to his silent question. You can’t remember raising your hand, but suddenly your fingers are tangled into San’s hair and you pull him forward, bridging that tiny gap between your mouths.

He groans lowly, his tongue instantly probing to tease your lips apart into a messy, urgent kiss. You hang onto San for dear life as he kisses you senseless against the wall, every ounce of pent up energy released all at once. He whines into your mouth when you grab onto his ass, at which he roughly grinds into you, guiding you to hook a leg around his waist. The growing hardness of his cock sends sparks through your clothed cunt, and you rut back into him in equal measure, encouraging more whines past his lips.

San’s hands slip underneath your shirt, only breaking the kiss to quickly discard it, and then he is back on you. He is everywhere it feels like, his touch roaming over your heated body, the cords across his arms and torso grazing over your bra and bare skin. You palm at his chest, at the swell of his tits emphasised by the rope you laid there yourself, thumbing at his dark nipples and delighting in the small, desperate noises San makes against your mouth.

“Can you—?” he groans, plying your neck with wet kisses. “Fuck, please— I— I want—”

“S-slow down, Sannie,” you gasp, putting your hands on his waist to steady the roll of his hips. “What is it? Tell me, tell me what you want.”

He whines into your neck, teeth catching against skin, but the desirous fog lifts slightly from San when you cup his cheek and lift him to meet your gaze. He smiles faintly at the eye-contact, fondness melting into his features. His cheeks are flushed — and you are startled to realise it’s not just from arousal. San is self-conscious.

“Want you to tie me up,” he mutters, his eyes breaking away from yours as he presses a tiny kiss on the corner of your mouth. “Wanna try it again.”

You blink in surprise, backing away from his lips. “Wait, like tied up tied up? San, are you sure?”

San slowly catches his breath, forcing himself to look you in the eye again. “So fucking sure,” he says, his thumbs drawing slow circles into your waist. “Let’s try it, I trust you. …Besides, it’ll keep us busy until Wooyoung gets back, right?”

“God, you are such a softie,” you laugh breathlessly, amused at how quickly he changed his tune about Wooyoung. “What happened to ‘serves him right’? No conviction whatsoever.”

“Yeah,” he grins, giving a slow roll of his hips. “What are you gonna do about it? Teach me some?”

Fuck. Inviting San to take on a more submissive role had not been entirely selfless on your part — you can’t deny your own excitement over this turn of events — but you had offered it with zero pressure; and definitely no expectation that San might take you up on it the very same evening.

“Hang on, Sannie,” you slow him down again, tempering the heat of the moment. You don’t want him barging face-first into something like this without thinking it through. “You really are sure?”

San’s grin fades into something more serious, giving you the distinct impression he started thinking this through ever since you suggested practising on him back at the grocery store. “Yeah. I’m sure if you’re sure,” he says, looking over you for signs of hesitation on your side.

“Oh, I’m sure!” (In your case, you know for a fact you’ve thought this through ever since that conversation.)

“Good,” he says, cheeks dimpling. “I want this. I want to try this with you.”

The persuasive power of San’s dimples is the final nudge that seals the deal. San brightens with delight when you grab his hand and pull him back to the bed, ushering him to lay down. You have a brief talk about the exact whats and hows; but it’s immediately obvious that you’re on the same wavelength.

(But first you send Wooyoung a vague text, implying it’d be better he doesn’t bring Yeosang over to the apartment for drinks after the movie showing, just in case. He replies quickly, leading you to suspect the movie has already finished, and you answer his 👀 with a short but simple “it’s a secret 🤭”. It’s a lot more civilised than the way you and Wooyoung had clued San in a while back, which San points out with a huff, but you gently shush him and set to work.)

San’s breath shallows as you push him flat down on his back, then spread his arms to tie him to the bedposts. His voice slightly hoarse, San talks you through adjusting the ladder-ties over the length of his arms, making sure they’re still comfortable in the changed position, while he follows your every move with soulful eyes, trying not to fidget.

“Relax,” you murmur after you’re finished, stroking San’s cheek to smooth away his jittery energy. “I got you. Gonna take care of you.”

There is a strange hush in the room as San nods quietly in response, his Adam’s apple bobbing when he swallows in anticipation. “I know. I’m not nervous,” he says, sighing when you softly kiss his forehead. “I’m just a bit… nervous. But not like that, you know? Like—”

“You know what you are? Rambling,” you laugh fondly, and leave another soft kiss on his lips.

He chuckles back at you, his eyes crinkling. “Sorry.”

“Hm-hm,” you hum, shaking your head. “Don’t be. You’re just really cute today.”

The rosy flush across San’s cheeks intensifies, proving your point.

“And also,” you say, straddling San so you can drape yourself over his prone, helpless body, “hot as fuck.”

He groans when you press your lips against his, tongues intertwining messily as you deepen the kiss. You’re both still partially clothed, but you will rectify that later. Just want to take your time easing San into it first.

Shudders run through him at even the lightest touch, your fingers teasing along the lengths of rope across his torso, delighting in how he arches up to chase you. Soon any remnants of San’s tension have melted away, pleasure rippling through him wherever your hands go.

San whines when your mouth breaks away from his, kiss-swollen lips pouting up at you, but the sound turns into ragged gasps when you suck a wet path down the freckles on his neck. You briefly nip at the mole on his collarbone, then trail further downward.

He hisses a quiet curse as your tongue flicks over a pebbled nipple, your hands grazing so lightly over his stomach that he twitches underneath. The distinct definition of his abs has faded, ever since he switched up his gym routine a while back.

Honestly, you like it this way. You like feeling the softness of him underneath your palms, and what it signifies.

San might be one of those rare types who genuinely enjoys a rigorous workout — but he has complained his fair share about the strife of maintaining a sixpack. Now it’s like he has relaxed a little, prioritising his own preferences over any attempts to impress you or Wooyoung. Trusting that he impresses just by being himself, following his own way.

Small sighs and moans are steadily escaping past San’s lips, his hands clenching and releasing uselessly as he itches to reach out and touch you back. Clearly his nervous-not-nerves have settled… which means you can start teasing him.

“Let’s get these off, shall we,” you demand, tugging at the waistband of his sweats.

San eagerly lifts his hips to help you, exposing his half-hard dick to your touch. Even after all this time, you bite your lip in appreciation at the sight of him, thick and slightly curved, warm but dry in your palm. You lean down, working your jaw for a thick globule of spit to fix that problem. San groans lowly when your fingers curl around the base of his cock and your tongue darts out, slathering him with slow, messy strokes until he is glistening and hard.

You relish San’s hitched breaths, the tilt of his hips as he arches into you. ��Ahh fuck, feels good…” he gasps when you lap at his slit, shifting restlessly at your languid pace. He rocks up against your mouth lavishing his hardening cock, trying to convince you to take him inside — but you are in control today, and you have other plans.

San’s hips jerk when your mouth abandons his cock to press a kiss on his thigh, the moan escaping past his lips loud.

“Hm, n-no c’mon, baby—” he whines, hips bucking up as his eyes squeeze shut, a tear clinging to his lashes.

Your eyes widen at the intensity of his response, sending a searing pulse straight down your abdomen. You run a soothing hand over his leg, but the light touch only makes him antsier, body contorting in a desperate attempt to get you back where he needs you. “Fuck, just look at you…” you say in a quiet hush, your thumb rubbing circles over a trio of moles on his inner thigh. “Still doing okay, Sannie?”

The question sobers him up, but only a little, his eyes still dazed with need. “Y-yeah, sorry,” he mumbles, abashed, like he too is surprised by his own intensity.

“Fuck no, don’t be,” you assure him with a breathy chuckle, rubbing your thighs together restlessly in an attempt to relieve your own tension. “I like seeing you like this. Fucking gorgeous.”

The beautiful flush on his face has crept down his neck and chest, giving him a feverish glow. Muscles ripple underneath the rope harness as he squirms against his bound wrists; all his strength rendered useless, caged underneath you.

San groans at the praise, his head falling back against the pillow, eyes squeezing shut like he can’t withstand the force of your reverent gaze — but it doesn’t help him to escape your touch, gentle fingers also expressing their reverence of him as they wrap around his leaking cock again.

Hunger gnaws at you, craving to ravish San until he can’t take it anymore, until he has nothing left to give, every last ounce of pleasure wrested from his body. The glide of your palm over his thick length is easy now, but you keep a deliberate, unhurried pace to slowly drive San up the wall. His small moans and hiccuped breaths send sparks of heat through you. Arousal joined by awe and gratitude; that San lets you see him, have him, like this.

It’s when a lone tear finally escapes San’s lashes that you can’t stand it anymore, breaking away to haphazardly shuck off your clothes. San watches the uncovering of bare skin in a haze, eyes heavy-lidded and his tongue darting out to wet his lips when you smoothly unclip your bra and throw it aside. His hands flex instinctively as you take a moment to knead at your breasts, reminding him of what he can’t touch.

“Please…” San begs, and his eyes glimmer so sweetly that your resolve to tease him crumbles. There is no denying that soft expression.

San lets out a groan of excitement when you shift forward and lean down. Eagerly he latches onto your chest, suckling and nipping at the soft flesh with noisy enthusiasm, lips smacking wetly as he cranes his neck to smother himself between your breasts. You shudder at his fervour, shakily carding your fingers through his hair in encouragement.

“That’s it, there’s a good boy,” you moan. “Making me feel so good, fuck.” You kiss the top of his head, gasping when he mouths harshly at your nipple, growing rough in his sweet worship. It’s a limited window of opportunity you have given him and San uses it with purpose, devouring as much of you as he can.

You indulge him for a moment longer, indulge yourself, until it is time to remind San who is in charge. He whines when you pull away, trying to follow after the softness of your chest — but the ropes binding him to the bedposts pull taut. San groans in exasperation, like he had forgotten his current predicament entirely, too lost in the pleasure of pleasing you.

“N-no, wanna—” he starts, you put a silencing finger on his lips.

“Behave for me, hm? Can you do that?”

San whines, shifting restlessly underneath you, but he slowly quiets down. “I— I’ll behave,” he says, desperation glittering in his gaze as he looks up at you.

“Good,” you hum, pecking his nose before you rise up and settle back down on his thighs.

Already he looks half-way wrecked, his damp hair mussed up and a sheen of sweat gathered on his skin. His cock is flushed a deep, dark red, resting in a wet patch on his stomach where precum oozes from the tip. Just a light touch of your hand is enough to make San hiss sharply, and the tremors through his body are a clear warning sign of how close he is already. Slowly you push him further, pumping him with firm strokes.

San’s hips jerk up before he can catch himself, his resolve to behave immediately tested. He swears under his breath, pitiful moans spilling past his lips as he manages to regain himself — moans that turn absolutely wretched when he sees how your free hand dips down between your thighs.

You sigh blissfully as you push two fingers inside. They’re sucked in so very easily, your cunt sopping wet without a single touch; to play with San like this is already enough. His breath picks up fast, eyes rolling back at the squelching noises from your hands working in tandem. Every heave of his chest is laboured, his back arching up prettily for you as his moans grow in pitch.

“Fuck, baby, I can’t— M-more, need more,” he whines, futilely tugging at the ropes.

“So greedy,” you say, a slow grin on your lips. “Is my hand not enough for you? You need my cunt too?”

San groans, frustrated and desperate. He’s truly feeling that lack of control by now, unable to reach out and grab your waist. Any other day he would bounce you helplessly on his cock or to flip you over entirely, fucking you so deep and hard you feel him for days after.

But right now? San can’t do any of those things. Instead he’s reduced to a powerless sulk, his thighs twitching underneath you. “Unfair,” he mumbles weakly, his bottom lip sticking out petulantly at your refusal to just give him what he wants.

“Unfair? Are you saying I’m a mean dom?” You gasp in faux-affront, releasing his cock to raise your fingers to your lips, smearing them accidentally-on-purpose with the salty glisten of precum.

He whines at the loss of your hand, trying to buck his hips. “J-just wanna be inside you…”

“Ahh… Well, if that is what you want…” you hum, and languidly slide forward to reposition yourself. San chokes on a moan when you hold onto the base of his cock, find the right angle, and then sink down. You suck in a sharp breath at the sudden pressure on your walls, stretching you open; two of your fingers are not quite enough to properly loosen yourself up for the girth of San’s thick length — but you welcome the burn, savour how your body is forced to adjust itself to San, gradually accommodating to the shape of him inside your cunt.

“F-fuck, so tight, so fucking—” San rasps, his hands clenching into fists so tight the knuckles whiten. He twitches inside you, tension pulled so taut that for a moment you think he’s going to cum on the spot, but somehow San pulls himself back from the brink.

“Good boy,” you purr, bracing one hand on San’s flushed, heaving chest so you can use the other to wipe his sweat-matted hair out of his eyes. “Doing so well for me.”

Your fingers trail down the side of his face and to your surprise, San turns his head to suck them into his mouth. He noisily slurps around them with teary eyes, his pleading look shooting straight down to your stuffed cunt. You swallow hard as San’s tongue laves your fingers in wet heat, a messy trail of spittle trickling down his chin when you pull your hand away.

Glistening with San’s saliva, your fingers slide easily through your folds to find your clit. You sigh in bliss as you leisurely rub at the sensitive nub, drinking how San squirms and gasps with every clench around his throbbing cock. His watery eyes are transfixed by the slippery swirl of your fingerpads, unable to look away.

However, even in his hazy state, San quickly realises you’re not actually moving. “H-hey—”

“Uh-uh,” you hum in warning when his hips buck, lightly pinching his nipple. “No rushing things today, Sannie. Thought you wanted me to keep you busy until Wooyoung gets back.”

San groans as he tries to buck again, but unable to get proper leverage. “Baby, we don’t even know when he’s coming home to us,” he whines.

“True, true,” you admit, though your earlier text probably did plenty to sway Wooyoung towards a quick return. “But there’s an easy way to check that.”

You’re careful not to let San slip out of your wet cunt while you reach for your phone, inspired by your recent shenanigans with Wooyoung. But despite being the one who is in the room with you this time, somehow San plays the part of your victim yet again.

San seems to realise the same thing. “You are a mean dom,” he says, an admonishing look on his flushed face. “You better give Woo a hard time, you owe me that mu—”

“You better stay quiet,” you interrupt him with a grin. “What if Yeosang is still there, hm? Wouldn’t want him to overhear anything… untoward.”

He whines again, pulling against his bindings. “Why am I always the one getting bullied?” he protests, like he never bullies you (and especially Wooyoung) when he’s in charge. “You really enjoy tormenting me that much?”

“What I enjoy, is seeing you pout,” you tease him, truthfully, and unlock your phone to call Wooyoung.

San sighs in exasperation, biting his lip to try and rob you of that beloved pout; but he only manages for a split-second before it’s right back on his face. The endearing sight bubbles warmly in your chest, yet the futility of his protest sparks heat between your thighs. As much as you’re trying to draw this all out, you’re slowly losing the battle to sit still on his cock — and the excitement that crackles through you as you wait for Wooyoung to answer his phone doesn’t help.

Wooyoung picks up, and immediately gets down to business. “What’s the secret?” he demands impatiently.

You giggle at his eagerness, deliberately keeping the call off speaker so San only hears your side of the conversation. “Telling you would kinda defeat the point, wouldn’t it? Where are you?”

There’s barely any background noise, leaving you confused over his current location. Wooyoung wouldn’t have picked up this quick if he was still with Yeosang, but clearly he isn’t out on the streets or riding public transportation either.

Wooyoung chuckles. “Where am I? Hmm… it’s a secret.”

He says it with such an air of mystery that you blink and look over your shoulder, half-expecting to see him standing in the doorway — and immediately feel silly when no one’s there, obviously. You would’ve heard Wooyoung’s voice if he was already in the room with you.

“Funny. Is that a ‘I’m five minutes away’ secret or a ‘go to bed without me, we’ll see each other in the morning’ secret?” you ask, squeezing around San just to be a menace. He visibly strains to keep quiet, face contorted as he bites down a whine.

“Oh, we’ll see each other soon I think,” Wooyoung hums, and you faintly hear what sounds like his footsteps through the phone. “So, spill. What is it? Did you finally get a strap?”

“Fuck.” This time, the squeeze of your walls around San’s is entirely involuntary, and a tiny whimper finds its way past his lips.

“Gonna take that as a ‘no’. Also… speaking of where people are, how about Sannie?” Wooyoung asks. (You wonder if he heard the noise.) “Is this secret a solo endeavour or is he around somewhere?”

“He’s… busy,” you grin. You draw a teasing finger over San’s chest, parallel to the lines of his harness. Another whine spills over as he twitches under your touch, like the press of the rope against his skin has made him even more sensitive than usual.

“Even more secrets. Interesting,” Wooyoung muses to himself; but one particular secret is solved when you distantly hear the front door of the apartment open. He giggles when your breath catches, knowing he gave himself away. “See you soon, alright?” he says, and loudly slams the door shut on purpose.

San jerks at the sound, his eyes widening with realisation. He breaths hard underneath you, his cock giving a violent twitch.

“Over here!” you call out to Wooyoung, and San makes a strangled noise. His tearful eyes gleam with anticipation, excitement — and just a hint of those not-nerves again. “Hey,” you say gently and massage his shoulder in reassurance, drawing his attention back to you. “Wooyoung’s gonna lose his mind, seeing you like this. We’re gonna take such good care of you, of our Sannie.”

San nods, managing a few steadying breaths. “Yeah,” he says softly, his smile almost shy. “All yours.”

It’s then, as warmth glows inside your chest at San’s renewed submission, that Wooyoung opens the bedroom door, looking around in search of your ‘secret’. “Okay, so what’s all the fuss abou—” he starts, but then he lays eyes on San, silenced at once.

All words are stolen from Wooyoung’s tongue, unable to do anything but stare at San’s tied up figure. His mouth has gone slack, eyes unblinking as they take in every inch of rope laid across San’s flushed, sweaty skin, emphasising the wideness of his chest and shoulders, and how it tapers down to his narrow waist — down to where you’re settled in San’s lap, keeping his dick warm.

“See,” you grin at San, lightly rocking your hips into him, “told you he’d like it.”

Even the slight motion is enough to make San whimper and arch, biting at his swollen lips. The stretch around his thick cock is so easy and satisfying now, buried snugly inside your cunt like he was made for you, just to stuff you full. The fevered flush on San’s cheeks deepens as he stares right back at Wooyoung, helplessly waiting for his next move.

“I… I knew you guys talked about practising, I didn’t think… Fuck.”

Wooyoung curses lowly, hands shaky as he shrugs off his jacket and lets it drop onto the floor, leaving him in just a loose-fitting tanktop and trousers. He drinks in the sight of you and San as he shifts onto the bed, darkened eyes briefly lingering on the bite-marks San left on your breasts before Wooyoung’s attention flickers back to San himself.

He brushes his hand over the length of San’s arm, his fingertips catching against the ladder-tie fixed around tensed muscles. “Never seen you like this before,” Wooyoung murmurs in quiet wonderment, wetting his lips. “How is it, Sannie? Is she treating you real nice? Are you having fun?”

“She’s mean,” San pouts, but there is a fond gleam hidden in his eyes as he glances at you. “Wouldn’t let me cum until you got here.”

Wooyoung groans deeply at that, clenching his hand around San’s forearm as though to steady himself. He catches you off guard when he suddenly turns his head to capture you in a hard kiss.

You moan in surprise at Wooyoung’s roughness, his self-control already tattered and hanging on by a single frayed thread. It makes your hips roll against San on pure instinct, drawing a broken whine as he clumsily humps upward to meet your slow grind.

“Fuck, that is real nice of you,” Wooyoung grunts against your lips. “Waiting just for me? Don’t know I could’ve been that patient.”

“You definitely couldn’t have,” you giggle, and reluctantly push him away. “But you don’t have to be patient, not today. Go on, give Sannie a kiss too. Enjoy.”

“Oh I will,” Wooyoung says, his voice raspy with excitement.

San makes a noise, muscles tensing as he yanks uselessly at his bound wrists. He looks nothing short of depraved, hair matted with sweat and eyes glassy, chest heaving with laboured breaths. Delectable, served up to Wooyoung on a platter — and Wooyoung is starved.

Obediently he follows your instruction, descending on San’s mouth in a frenzy.

You sigh in satisfaction as San twitches inside your stuffed cunt, your hand returning to your clit. Even just a light graze of your fingers burns through your core while you revel in the sight in front of you, of San keening pitifully as Wooyoung ravishes him.

Both of them are just as needy and desperate as the other; Wooyoung lost in his aggressive greed, San whimpering as he surrenders himself to it. Your breath hitches at the liberal peeks of tongue as their jaws shift, a sloppy tangle that has San panting, drool spilling over onto his chin. Wooyoung laps it all up before sucking San’s tongue into his mouth, his hands starting to wander.

Wooyoung’s fixation on San’s chest is instantly obvious — and all too understandable. He appreciatively tracks his fingers over the lines of rope, then kneads at the firm pecs trapped between them. His trimmed nails dig into San’s skin ever so slightly, only spurred on when San’s gasps into his mouth, writhing against the dual sensations of his throbbing cock engulfed by your wet heat and Wooyoung’s unbridled attentions.

“What do you think, Wooyoungie? Beautiful like this, isn’t he?” you ask, voice a little shaky, but still allowing yourself a moment of pride in your work.

Wooyoung breaks away from San’s lips, a thin thread of spittle briefly connecting them before it snaps.

“Beautiful doesn’t begin to cover it,” he grunts hoarsely. He bends down to suck at San’s tits with the same frenetic fervour he used on San’s mouth; and now San’s unmuffled cries spill freely, every pitched moan searing through your abdomen. San looks on the brink — and honestly, you’re not sure how much longer you can hold off yourself either.

“Fuck, Sannie, I don’t— Fuck—” Wooyoung babbles between sucking marks on San’s chest, just as overwhelmed by the unexpected reversal. “Is— is this okay? W-what can I—?”

You run a soothing hand through Wooyoung’s hair to ground him, massaging the scruff of his neck. “It’s okay, Wooyoungie, just talk to me. What do you want?”

Wooyoung sighs and relaxes at you kneading his tense muscles, taking a few steadying breaths. He then plucks at the rope laid over San’s sternum with a longing glance, playing with how the cord fills the divot between San’s pecs.

“Looks so good like this. K-kinda wish it was me here…” he rasps, stroking his fingers almost in a thrusting motion along the length of rope, “…me fucking these pretty tits.”

You never even get the chance to check in with San, or to consider the logistics of removing this part of the harness without needing to dismantle the entire thing. No, San is way ahead of you on both counts.

“Cut it. Cut away the rope,” he blurts out immediately, jutting his chin at the safety shears lying on the nightstand.

Wooyoung giggles at San’s urgency, reaching for the scissors. “So generous. I’ll buy you some new rope then,” he coos, wiggling two fingers under the cord to lift it up. “Fuck, but aren’t you eager to get used today, all of a sudden. What brought this on, hm?”

The concern behind Wooyoung’s question is subtle, hidden under a thick fog of arousal, but neither you nor San miss it. San lets out a breathy, self-conscious laugh at Wooyoung’s valid assumption that San might be less than alright if he is willing to submit.

“Nothing,” he says, shuddering as the blunt side of the shears brushes over his skin. “Nothing happened. I… I just wanted this.”

His chest puffs up a little, like he’s proud of himself for the admission. (You definitely are.)

“We talked,” you add, toying with the wide strap of Wooyoung’s tanktop, half-distracted by a glimpse of his collarbone, “and San decided he wanted to try something new.”

The tension on the harness loosens as Wooyoung frees up the space for him to use, causing a slight slack to the ladder pattern on San’s arms; but they stay in place. “Hm, so I have you to thank for this little surprise? You talked Sannie into this?”

“Don’t give me too much credit,” you grin, patting San’s side. “Didn’t take much convincing.”

“N-no, you can take a little credit,” San mumbles, almost a little drunkenly as he strains to stay still, slowly looking back-and-forth between you and Wooyoung.

Something passes over Wooyoung’s face as the sharp heat in his gaze momentarily softens. He turns to you and brushes his knuckles over your cheek, then presses a deceptively chaste kiss on the corner of your mouth. “Thank you,” he says quietly, before a teasing glint returns to his eyes. “I’ll make good use of it.”

“You better, yeah,” you tease, ignoring how Wooyoung’s sudden moment of softness threatens to throw you off balance. “Sannie was real excited for you to join us.”

Wooyoung hums in acknowledgement, discarding the remainder of his clothes. As he does so, he intently eyes the rise and fall of San’s chest at first, but then his eyes wander back between your thighs, where San’s dick disappears inside your sopping cunt.

“Can I?” Wooyoung asks, but doesn’t wait for answer before he runs two fingers through your drenched folds, holding the digits in a v-shape to press around the base of San’s cock. He grins at the way you and San both jerk at his touch, drinking in every moan as he leisurely swipes at your slick.

“F-fuck, Wooyoungie—” you whine, your hand clamping around his shoulder.

His eyes widen when he realises just how close you are, lips spreading into a filthy grin. “Yeah? Gonna give me a little more? Give me enough to lube up Sannie’s fat tits?” he rasps, stroking his fingers with more purpose. “C’mon baby, get it real nice and sloppy for me.”

You hiss another curse, your hips picking up speed when Wooyoung’s thumb finds your clit, right as he lazily mouths at your neck. You’re losing yourself in a clouded frenzy, wantonly gyrating against Wooyoung’s fingers and San’s cock; no longer satisfied with San just filling up your cunt, but finally using him to fuck yourself in earnest.

You’ve held back for so long, but now pure desperation hits you all at once. You have to cum, to find a release to the pressure that’s been building all night from the very moment you and San started your innocuous ‘practice’ session, like neither of you had been fantasising about this very scenario. Your breathless moans mingle with San’s choked gasp as your reckless chase for relief inadvertently sends sends him down a delirious spiral.

San’s head falls back against the pillow as he cries out, struggling against the ropes and bucking clumsily up into your cunt, sliding against Wooyoung’s fingers. Tears mingle with sweat on San’s cheeks, his whines catching in his throat when you clench around him tighter than ever before.

You can’t help it, not when Wooyoung bites and sucks at your neck, every nerve ending in your body going haywire as his thumb never lets up on your clit no matter how you twist and squirm.

“P-please,” San gasps, trembling helplessly. “Please, I- I—”

“What is it, Sannie? Too much? Not enough?” Wooyoung grins when San whimpers at the latter question, bucking his hips again. “So greedy. How about you, baby?” he asks you, licking his lips. “Want more too?”

You groan when Wooyoung stops moving his fingers, instinctively burrowing a hand in his hair, tugging impatiently at the long dark strands. “Fuck, don’t stop now, close, so close, Woo,” you babble mindlessly. “Yes yes want more, fuck—!”

Your throat closes up with a high-pitched keen when Wooyoung does exactly what you asked for; giving you more.

Just like that, his index finger slides into your cunt, snugly pressed between your walls and San’s cock. You mewl at the added stretch, a not completely unfamiliar burn but still overwhelming as you rush towards the precipice at break-neck speed. Your vision whites out as you convulse, struggling to stay upright as electrified pleasure surges through you in waves. It’s not until the first wave passes that you realise Wooyoung has worked a second finger in there, snapping his wrist and dragging San right down with you.

“Feels good, Sannie?” Wooyoung asks, grinning as your slick gushes over his fingers. “Is that what you wanted? Me next to you in that tight pussy, fucking our good girl together?”

San sobs brokenly, beautifully, powerless as he becomes undone underneath you, painting your fluttering walls with thick, heavy spurts of hot seed. His bottom lip is raw from his teeth, but still he bites down another whimper when your cunt clamps so tightly from an intense aftershock that you can’t help but push him out no matter how you try to keep him inside.

Wooyoung groans in delight at the view of San’s cum leaking out of your weeping hole, right on his fingers. He gathers as much as he can while you slump off on the side, trying and failing to catch your breath.

“Yeah, I think this will do just fine,” he chuckles darkly, and smears his slicked-up fingers between San’s pecs. He even works up some saliva to crudely spit onto San’s glistening skin, all shiny and slippery.

Antsy from waiting, Wooyoung straddles San and roughly grabs two handfuls of his tits to press together, creating a nice crevice for Wooyoung to fuck into. You kneel next to San, giving yourself a perfect view of what’s about to happen. One of your hands trails back between your legs, while the other rests on San’s thigh to ground him, your nails gently grazing over the sensitive muscle.

San whines, arching his back to meet Wooyoung’s flushed cock, its darkened tip leaking precum already. It only adds to the easy slide; an obscene mixture of fluids pooling in the shallow valley between San’s firm, pillowy pecs, causing a wet smacking sound with every snap of Wooyoung’s hips.

“Oh fuck, that feels good,” Wooyoung groans, his eyes fluttering shut. He sinks into the rhythm, soaking up the lewd squelches and San’s soft moans.

Your fingers slowly circle around your swollen, tender clit while you watch in a daze how Wooyoung’s dick slides between San’s cleavage with fluid strokes. Wooyoung draws deep, raspy breaths as he tries to stop himself from unravelling too fast, desperate to savour this moment. San’s chest heaves against the weight of Wooyoung’s cock, sweat dripping down his forehead and tongue lolling out of his mouth.

San whimpers when you reach behind Wooyoung to wrap a hand around his softening cock. The touch is gentle at first, almost absentminded while you watch them intently, but your hand gradually picks up speed as San’s moans get louder, needier. Pleasure buzzes through your worn-out body while San’s dick plumps back up in your palm.

San is totally gone at this point, using his last shreds of cognition to crane his neck, trying to catch his tongue against the tip of Wooyoung’s cock with every thrust. Wooyoung lets out a strained giggle of delight at San’s mindless instinct to please, and he pushes forward with deeper strokes to give San a taste of salty precum, mingled with the other bodily fluids gathered on San’s chest.

Wooyoung readjusts his grip so he can thumb at San’s nipples, grinning fiendishly when San whines loudly, fresh tears welling up in his eyes. “So you enjoy this sort of thing, huh?” Wooyoung teases, grunting between thrusts as his pace picks up. The air is filled with the heady, lewd squelch of his cock pushing air between San’s cleavage. “Didn’t expect to ever see you tied up like this. Do you like it, Sannie? Us having our way with you, and nothing you can do about it. Just have to lie there and take it.”

“Y-yeah,” San hiccups, struggling for words while your fist twists around his cockhead with every pass of your hand over his length. “F-fuck, I do, I like it Youngie…”

San’s meek submission flares through your aching cunt — and for Wooyoung, it proves too much to handle. His voice cracks as he doubles over with high-pitched gasps, hips stuttering as he spills on San’s chest, some splatters reaching up to his neck and face.

Wooyoung barely gives himself a chance to catch his breath before he’s bent over San, his tongue laving over the sticky mess on San’s defiled chest.

San lets out a weak moan at Wooyoung’s greedy, suckling mouth, his own tongue darting out to catch a drop of cum on the corner of his lips. It’s decadent, filthy, and you’re drawn closer into their orbit of debauchery with every wet smack of Wooyoung’s mouth, every moan wrested from San’s lips.

Finally you can’t stand it anymore, abandoning your clit to lay on your side. Half-draped over San, you suck at the splatters of cum covering his freckled neck, pumping his cock quicker. The motion catches Wooyoung’s attention and he glances up at your hand around San’s dick, his dark eyes clouded over, mouth and chin shiny with fluids.

“F-fuck, please I can’t—” San whines, trembling uncontrollably. “Baby, I-I’m gonna—”

“Give it to me,” Wooyoung cuts through San’s babbling, his voice hoarse. He rests his cheek on San’s saliva-glistening chest, tongue resting on his bottom lip in invitation.

San’s moans go up in pitch, fighting for breath as you twist and squeeze at his cock with confident familiarity, knowing exactly what he needs to fall apart. He does just so, whining, spilling his load messily over Wooyoung’s face; not as much as the first time, but enough to paint Wooyoung’s tongue white, even with the stray splatters that get on his face and in his hair.

Wooyoung closes his lips with a mischievous grin, but he does not swallow. Instead he turns to you with a dark look, half-crawling over San to grab at the soft meat of your thigh.

Impatiently he pushes you onto your back and spreads your legs, then latches onto you. You cry out, yanking at Wooyoung’s hair as he crudely tongue-fucks your cunt, pushing San’s cum inside you. His fingers dig into your hips, encouraging you to grind freely against his face.

Already close from earlier, it does not take much for the orgasm lurking in the shadows to coil around you with hot tendrils, tightly until finally the pressure snaps. You spasm and mewl, desperately grabbing onto San’s arm as you clamp around Wooyoung’s tongue with a throttled moan.

Wooyoung makes a pleased noise, nudging his nose against your clit while you ride it out; chasing every spark jolting through your core. Weakly you run a hand through Wooyoung’s hair, holding him close as he gently sucks at your folds, drawing out the aftermath until finally you slump down.

As your hold on him loosens, Wooyoung presses a final, tender kiss on your soft thigh. Slowly he withdraws, then sits up and to face San, who lays on the bed worn-out and wrecked in all the best ways.

“That was… different,” Wooyoung says with a faint grin, cupping San’s puffy cheeks to brush away a few lingering tears with his thumbs. “You okay, Sannie? Fuck, you did amazing.”

San answers with a soft hum, tiredly grinning back at Wooyoung. “Different, yeah. Good different. I’m good,” he sighs, glancing at you with a tender gleam in his eyes.

You fondly run a hand through his hair. “I’m glad,” you say in a quiet hush, feeling an odd relief at San’s words. Like a preemptive strike at any uncertainties that could have nagged at you later.

Carefully, you undo the knot around one of his wrists and Wooyoung takes your cue, reaching for San’s other arm. Together you release him from the bindings and the remainder of the cut harness. San is content to just let it happen, to let your care wash over him as you check him for abrasions and massage any stiffness out of his arms.

“How about you?” Wooyoung asks you, squeezing at your waist while San munches on an energy bar. “You okay?”

His concern seeps warmly through the exhaustion that’s settling in your bones. “Hm. Tired,” you mumble, though you manage a smile. It’s not bad, just more than you expected.

San immediately stretches his arms out to you. “Cuddle,” he pouts bossily; a mutually beneficial demand.

You give into his demand without second thought, happy to snuggle up against his chest (which is no longer stained with bodily fluids after Wooyoung cleaned him with some wet-wipes).

“Better?” San asks, rubbing his nose into your hair.

You giggle at the way San can’t help but take charge again, even if it’s just during the aftercare. “Yeah,” you sigh contently, and give Wooyoung a thankful look when he drapes a blanket over you before joining the cuddle himself.

You drift into a cosy bubble of entangled bodies and lazy chatter, a fuzzy warmth settling in, like you could doze off into sleep any moment. You're tempted to let it take you, to at least get a little nap in before you return to the comfort of your own bed — and really, you can find no reason not to.

Wrapped up in the safety of San and Wooyoung, you let your eyes flutter shut for a while, accompanied by their hushed voices and laughs.

Their voices are still there when you wake again later, along with two hands softly grazing over your arm and waist. You join their talk for a while, sleep-drunk from the nap, but then decide to go sleep for real before your brain wakes up too much. San gives you another pout as you untangle from his hold, while Wooyoung jokingly suggests they come with you, but both are placated when you promise to join them for breakfast tomorrow.

You stick by your promise, padding over to San and Wooyoung’s the next morning in slippers and a comfy bathrobe. It’s just one door away but you still can’t help thinking back on yesterday’s conversation; no longer having to shuffle through the apartment building’s hallway would definitely be an added benefit to a shared home.

Wooyoung is meandering in the kitchen by himself when you come in, no San in sight. You rub your eyes groggily as you look around for him, while joining Wooyoung by the stove. You give him a half back-hug, peeking over his shoulder to identify the origin of tasty smells drifting through their apartment. (Kimchi pancakes and egg dumplings, as it turns out.)

“Hmm, has San left already?” you mumble against Wooyoung’s shoulder. You’ had hoped to see San before work, just to ease that tiny twinge of protectiveness in your chest, to confirm he still felt good after yesterday. “Did he have a good sleep?”

Wooyoung opens his mouth — but before he can get a sound out, you hear the muted sound of the shower turning on from the bathroom.

“He’s here,” Wooyoung says with a sleepy grin, flipping over the pancake effortlessly. He’s wearing an apron, his hair is messily tied up into a half-bun, face slightly puffy from sleep. It’s utterly endearing. He looks away from the pan to glance at you, chuckling when he realises what your question was really about. “San’s doing great,” he assures you. “Way too chipper for this early in the morning, honestly.”

“Good, good,” you hum absentmindedly, nuzzling into Wooyoung’s shoulder. “And you? How are you doing? After last night?”

He blinks in surprise at the question. “Yeah? Yeah,” he says. “Of course.”

You raise an eyebrow, unsatisfied with his vague answer. “…Yeah? We didn’t ambush you too much with the whole thing?”

“Oh, no no!” He quickly shakes his head, but then slows down and sinks into a pensive expression. “Well… No, not an ambush.”

“…But?” you ask, starting to feel uneasy.

Wooyoung chuckles, pinching your cheek. “Hey — don’t stress out, okay? Last night was fucking amazing. I only—”

He sighs and awkwardly rubs the back of his head, before seeming to come to a decision. He slides the crispy pancake onto a preheated plate before turning down the stove, taking a break from cooking. He turns around to lean back against the counter, giving you and the conversation his full attention. You lean next to him, gently bumping your shoulders together.

“In the heat of the moment? No problems. But afterwards, I… I started feeling a little jealous,” Wooyoung says, his face scrunching up as he painstakingly works the admission past his lips. “That you got to tie San up. That he let you tie him up. Not that I ever bothered to ask but…” Wooyoung shrugs, like he’s trying to minimise the emotions behind his words. “…But I never got the feeling San would’ve tried that with just me.

“And I mean, there’s a reason I never asked; it’s not like this is some big secret fantasy I’ve been dying to play out so the whole thing is just stupid to get jealous over, but… yeah. That.”

His ramble trails off awkwardly, but you listened intently to every word, despite struggling a little to take it all in. You did just wake up after all, still shaking off sleep’s lingering hold on your brain. “Wooyoung… It’s not stupid. Not at all,” you say, your hand finding his.

“Sorry,” Wooyoung says with a wry smile, “didn’t mean to dump all that on you before I even got some food in your stomach.”

“It’s fine. I’m glad you told me,” you reassure him, squeezing his hand. “Did you talk to San about this?”

“Oh yeah, Sannie got the late night edition,” Wooyoung chuckles faintly. “But— but the thing is; it was also… nice? Does that even make sense? Like, I loved seeing you two like that together.”

Your brow softens, a pop of warmth bursting in your chest. “You did?”

Wooyoung nods, struggling to meet your eyes. “Yeah. Loved it. I—”

He hesitates again, and you have a sudden suspicion of what sentence he’s hiding behind his lips.

“I love how you took care of him, I love that he let you. Even if it felt complicated. You and San are different than me and San, but… that’s okay, you know? You and me are different too, and I love how we are together,” Wooyoung says, his waterfall of words inching closer and closer to the exact phrasing he is trying to reach.

You swallow thickly, realising what is about to come… and hold tighter onto Wooyoung’s hand, quietly encouraging him.

He glances up tentatively, finally meeting your eyes again — and relaxes into a smile at what he finds there. “Listen,” he continues, a little more confident, “it’s not like I’m interested in what adjective goes before the word. Romantic, platonic, whatever. Who cares. But— but I do love you.”

Wooyoung takes a deep breath, exhaling with audible relief.

“And I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he says, searching your face for any signs of it, “but I also don’t want to lie about this stuff. So… is this okay? Is it okay if I say that? You don’t have to say anything back,” Wooyoung rushes to add. “I know you might not feel the same way. But I’m good with that. I’m good with you liking me in your own way.”

There’s a stubborn lump in your throat that refuses to go away.

You did think those words would make you uncomfortable. You were convinced they would, given your past experiences. You just thought that for Wooyoung, you could sit with that discomfort and let it pass through you. At least this once. But there is no discomfort itching under your skin, no distress pounding in your chest.

Only warmth.

Down to the very core of your being, you know there are no ultimatums hidden behind Wooyoung’s confession. No threat to end things if your response does not meet his expectations, if what you can give him in return isn’t enough. Whatever you’ll say, he has already decided that it is. That you are enough. Just as you are.

“Well… I did tell you to stop assuming I’ll bolt at the tiniest hint of commitment,” you tease, though your voice is a little thick. (Somewhere in the background, you vaguely register that the shower in the bathroom has turned off.)

“You did, yeah,” Wooyoung giggles, lightly elbowing you in the side. His shoulders look much lighter now. “No take backsies.”

You shake your head. “Wasn’t planning on it. Yeah,” you hum. “Yeah, it’s okay if you say that. More than okay. I… I’m happy.”

Wooyoung’s eyes scrunch up as his smile widens. The force of it is breathtaking.

“Is— is this something recent? You haven’t been stressing out about this talk, have you?” you ask, fidgeting a little. You hate the idea that he might’ve been sitting with this for who knows how long.

Wooyoung scoffs a laugh. “What? No way. You know me, right? Bottling up feelings is not my style. I leave that up to you and Sannie.”

You snort at the lighthearted dig, whapping Wooyoung on the arm. “Hey, that’s slander! Blatant character assassination! Who is the one who brought up moving in together?”

“Okay fine, fine, I’ll let you have that one,” he sighs dramatically. “But you gotta admit I’m the load-bearing pillar in this trio. It’s a fate I’ve accepted long ago.”

His dramatics make you laugh, but honestly? There is truth in it. Wooyoung has always been the most pro-active between the three of you, the most forthright about his wants and needs. Hell, Wooyoung might’ve been jealous, but without him, you and San probably wouldn’t have gotten to a place for him to be jealous of.

You’ve always liked San, ever since he moved in next to you, but it was Wooyoung who forcibly dragged you two closer into each others’ orbit. With no Wooyoung, you’d have lived complacently as neighbours, your friendship superficial, until one of you moved out again, never to see each other again. Never sticking your head out to explore what else there could be between you.

The morning hush settles back into the kitchen as you lean against Wooyoung, loosely wrapping your arms around his. “Thank you,” you murmur, rubbing your cheek against his shoulder. “I’ll try to carry my weight more often.”

Wooyoung blinks, a little surprised at your sincere reaction to his joke, but then he softens into a smile and leans back into you. “You’re welcome,” he murmurs back. “But don’t go carrying too much, alright? Can’t have me becoming redundant.”

“Pff, never. Idiot.”

That’s how San walks in to find you and Wooyoung, just living in a moment of quiet. His hair is still damp from the shower, a towel around his shoulders to catch the last few drops clinging to wet tendrils.

San’s eyes lightens up when he sees you’re here, quickly walking over joining you. He briefly raises an eyebrow when he notes the one singular pancake that’s getting cold, but decides to ignore it, leaning against the kitchen counter next to Wooyoung instead. He drapes an arm over Wooyoung’s shoulder, his warm hand coming to rest high between your shoulder-blades.

“So,” San says, a cute little smile tugging on his lips as he looks at Wooyoung. “You talked to her? Said what you wanted to say?”

Wooyoung grins back at him. “Yeah. We talked.”

“Good,” San says softly, his fingers trailing up to knead the nape of your neck. “That’s really good.”

Wooyoung lets out a loud sigh, shaking his head. “You know what isn’t good?” he says, looking from you to San. “That we’re all standing around here getting hungry. C’mon, get off me, let me get to it. Someone has to keep you two fed.”

He abruptly shakes himself loose and turns back to his pancake better, causing you and San to make noises of surprise — but then you grin mischievously at the sight of him diligently making breakfast for three. “See? That’s why you’ll never be redundant. Indispensable, that’s what you are.”

Wooyoung rolls his eyes. “Helpless without me, that’s what you are,” he shoots back, but the corners of his mouth are fighting a losing battle against the wide, shy smile creeping up his lips.

You catch San’s eye while Wooyoung continues his cooking, suddenly feeling oddly shy. “You had a good sleep?”

“Yeah,” he says quietly, struck by the same shyness. “Really good.”

A faint heat creeps under your skin as you reminisce on last night’s events; the trust San showed in you, the sight of him tied up on the bed, helpless while you and Wooyoung ravished him, how noisy he’d gotten—

Oh. Noise.

A whole other sort of heat flushes through you when a different memory of yesterday floods through your system. “D-do you think we ought to send Mrs Yoon flowers or something?” you say, grimacing at San. “Fruit basket? Chocolates?”

San’s drowsy smile is knocked right off his face as he freezes, cheeks going crimson with embarrassment. “Oh god,” he groans, hiding his face behind his hand. “Y-yeah. Maybe we should.”

Wooyoung takes his attention off the pan, blinking at you and San in confusion. “Hm? Mrs Yoon? What about her?” he says, blissfully oblivious. “Is she sick? I can get her some flowers from work, sure. Do we need to write her a card too?”

#igby’s writing #ateez smut #ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez imagines #ateez fic #woosan smut #woosan x reader #san smut #san x reader #wooyoung smut #wooyoung x reader #ateez hard hours #kpop smut #ateez scenarios #san imagines #wooyoung imagines #san scenarios #wooyoung scenarios

492 notes · View notes

punkbakerchristine · 10 months ago

Text

i made bippity-boppity-bibimbap again, as a last send-off for the next couple of weeks (my mom being in the hospital for a few days and out of work since the 26th put a dent in our money; hopefully, we can see things come back to some level of normalcy by tuesday-ish). i really love to cook (and bake), and i absolutely love these kits: i love the flavors they use, they get me acquainted with the kitchen, and the fresh ingredients are so good for my weight and my delicate stomach.

the flavors in this little flavor bomb here? zucchini, carrots, pork, soy sauce, sugar, sriracha sauce, sesame oil, fresh ginger, fresh garlic, salt, pepper, pickled scallions (in white vinegar), green scallions, and jasmine rice—phew boy 🤰🏻

#bibimbap #korean food #vegetables #asian food #hello fresh #amateur cooking #mine

0 notes

eggallthethings · 2 years ago

Photo

Bibimbap (ish)

#eggallthethings #putaneggonit

3 notes · View notes

jkbabiey · 4 years ago

Text

𝚂𝚎𝚕𝚏𝚒𝚜𝚑 ⤇ 𝙹𝙹𝙺

Words: 4.7K

Genre: angst; fluff; it's a sad ending y'all

Synopsis: “I'm in love with you and it scares me to death."

Song Rec: 2 kids - Taemin ; to die for - Sam Smith ; r u ok - Tate McRae ; Emotional bruises - Madison Beer ; Selfish - Madison Beer ; i love you - Billie Eilish ; when the party's over - Billie Eilish

Oh, he was so perfect! So freaking flawless you couldn’t take your eyes off him for a second!

You had just got to Hoseok’s party with Yuta, but it seemed, to Jungkook, like he had been staring at you for hours. You hadn’t spared him a look yet, and if he hadn’t stood up from his seat on the couch to greet you, you probably wouldn’t have even known he was there too. You were too busy looking at your boyfriend, all wide-eyed and agape lips, to notice his presence behind you. But then Yuta’s eyes hardened as he crossed eyes with your best friend, and you, of course, noticed his change of behaviour and looked over your shoulder.

“Oh! Hi Kook!” you squealed and immediately threw your arms around his neck. Jungkook quickly enveloped your waist in his muscular arms, lifting you from the floor. “God, I missed you so much these last days! Where have you been?” you asked against the skin of his neck. And Jungkook smiled, discretely taking a sniff from your hair.

“I’ve been where I always am. You’re the one who disappeared,” he said, humorously - but not so much, because he actually meant to throw that in your face, but he wouldn’t stand the idea of making you feel bad over anything, ever.

“Oh God, blame Yuta here!” you said, raising your eyebrows and chuckling softly as he let you back on the floor. “Yuta, this is Jungkook, my best friend.” You presented him, and he held out his hand in Yuta’s direction, out of pure courtesy.

“Hey man,” Yuta muttered and shook his hand, a bit too boldly for Jungkook’s liking. Jungkook smiled at the guy - a very small and not-genuine smile. Any other time, you would have noticed how fake his smile was, but right now, your eyes were on Yuta. None of your attention was aimed at Jungkook.

Before Jungkook noticed, you two were already too immersed in how amazing these last days - without him - had been, he turned around and walked out of the toxic, smoke-ish and noisy environment that had taken over Hoseok’s whole place, betting his ass that you wouldn't notice his absence until the end of the night.

His hands were buried in his pockets and his head hung low. He was praying not to bump into Jin, Taehyung or any other of his closest friends that had also attended the party. His lips were currently being intensely wounded by his front teeth. His eyes stung and he didn’t know why. Then he got to his car, sitting down and letting go a deep breath that he didn’t know he was holding in. Then the tears he also hadn’t noticed to be sheltering in his eyes started to run down his cheeks.

He didn't quite know why he was crying. The only thing he knew was that you were taken. You were completely smitten to some other guy, that wasn’t him and that bothered him in measures he couldn’t have imagined. You were absolutely smitten to someone, who wasn't him.

He had lost his chance. That's why he was crying.

He was a goner.

You were standing there, messy hair, deep dark circles, bare face, large grey sweatpants- that seemed oddly familiar to him, but he decided to ignore that - and a black sweatshirt, in front of him, asking to come in. He stepped away and you came in. Not wasting any time after he closed the door, you grabbed his neck and buried your face on it. He felt the wet patches you were leaving in his thin dark green t-shirt. He held you tight against his body and you sobbed fully. Your cries only intensified when he placed one of his big hands on your head and took his soft lips to your forehead, pecking it.

Then he picked you up, your legs around his waist and your face, still buried in his neck. He took you to his living room, taking a chair and placing it in front of his warm fireplace. He sat on it, you on his lap, holding onto his shoulders. There was nothing better than this spot to calm you down on a cold day. He knew it but he doubted Yuta made any idea of it.

“Have you ever been afraid of losing the love of your life?”

His heart shattered. He could hear it shatter, like a very fragile glass piece. Yuta was the love of your life. What had he to do with that, why were you even here, if your problem was with Yuta?

“You and Yuta argued?”

You hummed, a bit hesitant - the reason unknown to him. He didn’t say anything else. He couldn’t. It was not his place. You just needed a friendly lap to seat on, a couple of warm arms to hold you and a gentle voice to tell you it was alright.

“It’s alright... It’s alright baby...”

That’s exactly what he did.

“This is Soojin, my girlfriend.”

Your eyes widened and a small, surprised smile played on your lips. He hesitated for your answer.

“Hi!” after greeting the beautiful girl that stood next to him holding his hand tight, you moved forward to briefly hug her. “Jungkook, never mentioned you before!”.

Snarky.

Soojin looked at Jungkook, her shy eyes now displayed a small discreet amount of anger.

“Oh... This is pretty recent. That’s why,” Soojin blurted, a nervous laugh erupting right away.

Soojin was a girl he had met about a month ago and she was amazing. Incredibly breathtaking and Jungkook couldn’t adore her more. His crush on you had been long forgotten - or at least he thought it had.

Jungkook thought the dinner was delicious, but still, when you asked what he thought of the dinner he answered ‘it’s good, but yesterday Soojin made some amazing bibimbap, I should have asked her to do it for tonight instead’. And you smiled bitterly and him. No one else noticed the bitterness in your smile, but he did.

Why was he acting this way? Because since he and his new girlfriend got in your apartment, you had established this dumb discreet competition between you and Soojin, making passive-aggressive comments and the poor girl beside him was so notoriously uncomfortable, he felt sorry for bringing her here.

“Soojin, maybe you should visit my hairdresser”

“I know you probably don’t understand since you’ve never been to college, but I’ve been so happy with my grades recently”

“How have you managed to attract someone like Jungkook, I mean... You know what I mean, right?”

So when the dinner was over, he pulled you away by the arm, bringing you to the kitchen and leaving Yuta and Soojin on the balcony, enjoying the view and hopefully sparing Soojin some minutes of your annoyingly mean comments.

“Why are you being such a bitch to Soojin?” he asked, hands on his hips and his eyes raging.

“I’m not,” you furrowed your eyebrows and he laughed ironically.

“Don’t play dumb with me, Y/N.”

“You had never mentioned her before. Who do you think I am, for you to present me some temporary fling you’re having. I’m more important than that! If you want to present me to someone, I want her to be at least stable. Not someone you’ve been dating for 2 weeks!”

“What has time to do with it? I like her, I think she’s worthy enough for you to meet her!”

“C’mon, look at her. She sports the slutty look.” you deadpanned and Jungkook’s eyes widened.

“You’re going too far! Look at Yuta! He’s the typical high school fuckboy!” he whisper-screamed. “You have no moral to talk about Soojin like that!”

“Oh, now he’s defending her!” you ironized and he rubbed his forehead, trying to look for just a little bit more patience. “You didn’t even tell me she was coming! And plus, I don’t have to mandatorily like her!”

“I don’t like Yuta and you don’t hear me talking to him like he's trash, right?”

“Yeah, that’s because he’s not trash, but we can’t say the same for Soojin, can we?”

That was enough. He turned his back on you, going to the balcony in quick steps and grabbing Soojin’s hand in his. He dragged her across your apartment as you stared at him piercingly.

“Babe, what’s going on?” Soojin asked, completely adrift.

“We’re leaving.”

“I haven’t said goodbye yet, kook”

“You don’t need to, we’re not coming back anyway,” he stated as his eyes locked on yours.

Jungkook really didn’t plan on coming back but Soojin broke up with him about a month later, claiming that he was in love with someone else and not bothering to explain further. Needless to say, Jungkook had never been as bewildered and nauseated in his life. He had argued with you, his best friend, to protect Soojin’s dignity, and she dared to say he didn’t love her?!

The only one he could think of to help him figure out what the heck Soojin was referring to with such barbarities, was you. You were the most intelligent and astute person Jungkook had ever met. He was sure you were the only one who could possible help him.

When he showed up at your door, you opened it. No sign of shock or surprise evident on your face in seeing him after your huge argument, because you both knew you two would never be able to stay mad a each other for too long. A month of not talking was a new record.

When he blurted out the reason Soojin had used to break up with him, after sitting down next to you on your couch, your mouth fell agape and your eyes widened.

“What?” you exclaimed as Jungkook shook his head, showing his bewilderment.

“That’s what I said!” he exclaimed back and you looked at the floor, completely confused by what your best friend was telling you. The boy had almost finished his 7-year friendship to defend his new girlfriend. How could she even question his feelings?!

“She’s probably just overthinking something... Maybe she saw you hugging another girl... Or maybe a text on your phone...”

“I didn’t text anyone other than her! Not even you!” he screeched and you scratched your ear, trying to think of some logical reason behind the sudden breakup.

“... Probably, it’s really her overthinking something... Girls do that! I do that, all the time!” you looked at him doubtfully, as he stared back in the same way. “SHE’S INSECURE!” you shouted as the sudden realization, that seemed to be the most logical out of every single theory you had already come up with, came to your mind.

Jungkook widened his eyes, straightening his back as your speculation didn’t seem as automatically disposable as all the others that had come to his mind.

“That’s it!” you continued. “Probably, she’s in one of those times where she doubts every single thing in her body, and she thinks she’s not enough for you! I feel that way too often!”

Jungkook’s expression got serious as he heard the last portion of your speech. “You do?”

It took you a moment to understand what he was asking, but as you saw the worry behind his eyes you quickly figured the context of the question. “Oh... Yeah, I guess it’s pretty normal...”

“You shouldn’t feel that way, you’re pretty amazing...”

You smiled shyly and sent him a sweet gaze, as he quickly returned it. “With Yuta, it’s pretty hard not to doubt me at times. Have you seen the guy? Seems like he came straight out a freaking novel...” you chuckled playfully and Jungkook pushed your shoulder with his.

“And so do you.” And there was Jungkook in his natural element.

“Jungkook! Stop flirting!” you screeched, shyly as your cheeks turned into a dark shade of pink. Jungkook laughed, cringing internally at how cute he found you in that exact moment. He embraced your shoulders in his muscular arms, and you finally looked into his eyes. His face was awfully close and you could feel his breath on your face as a soft smile lingered on his lips.

“Missed you,” he whispered so that only the two of you could hear it, even though no one else was around.

“Missed you,” you whispered back, leaning your forehead to his.

Soojin had taken him back.

She had her reasons to break up with him in the first place, but she couldn’t deny the guy a second chance as he stood by her door, a bouquet of red roses, that you had recommended, in his hand, puppy eyes and pouted lips.

You had found out in the worst of ways.

Crying your heart out, you stood in the elevator, waiting for it to finally come to your destination, your best friend’s apartment floor. When it did, you got out of it, your face smudged with your -supposedly, waterproof - mascara. You knocked and were received by Soojin, in all her beauty, messy hair and no make-up features, wearing Jungkook’s shirt. She was probably busy with something else. She still managed to look extremely gorgeous, and there were you, looking like you had just been run over by a bus.

“Y/N! Are you alright! That’s dumb, of course not! Do you want to come in? Wait a second, I’ll go call Jungkook,” she stated with a genuine expression of worry on her face and a hand on your shoulder.

“No! No, leave it. I’m fine!” you said, grabbing her hand before she could go and call Jungkook. “I’ll just go home. Sorry for interrupting you two!” you smiled, even with your smudged make-up face. “Don’t worry, I’ll just call him later!”

And so you turned your back on her, as you felt her worried look on your back.

“Oh! And I’m sorry about how I treated you last time...” You turned back to her, sending an apologetic smile her way.

“Don’t worry about that...” she muttered and smiled back.

It was obvious why Jungkook liked her so much.

“What happened yesterday?!” Jungkook shouted as soon as you opened the door, exactly 7:54 AM and the guy was already standing by your door.

“You didn’t tell me you and Soojin were back together...”

“Not what I asked,” he said back, impatient.

“I wasn’t answering you either,” you mocked and he sent you an annoyed look. “Don’t worry about last night. I’m fine now.”

“I just want to know what happened. Not even worried...” he said and you laughed at how sarcastic he could be at times.

“Yuta and I broke up,” you said and Jungkook’s eyes widened. “He cheated. A drunk night out.”

“Son of a bitch...” he muttered and you quickly enveloped his face with your hands, bringing his eyes to yours.

“I’m fine, really. No need to get mad” you chuckled a bit. Jungkook stared at you for a while, before holding your hands and kissing both of them.

“You deserve so much better. Please don’t settle for someone like him.”

“I won’t,” you smiled and he smiled back.

He spent the rest of the day with you. Both laying on the sofa, holding onto each other, and watching movies, with a huge bowl of the sweetest popcorn you could have managed.

“I’m 25...” you muttered out of nowhere and Jungkook hummed back, his face snuggled by the side of your neck, his arms around your waist and his chest against your back.

“And?”

“I want to get married someday and now I don't have a boyfriend,” you muttered once again.

“Were you really planning on marrying that piece of shit?”

“I didn’t know he was a piece of shit.”

“You don’t need to get married now. You’re still young. You’ll find a great guy, who knows how to truly value you as the woman you are,” he said, before softly kissing the skin of your neck, where his cheek was previously resting on.

"Soojin’s a lucky girl,” you said, smiling, after few silent moments.

She really was a lucky girl.

A few years later

“Would you marry me?”

Your eyes widened, quickly averting to your best friend, kneeled down in front of his 3-year girlfriend. He was glowing. A wide perfectly white smile played on his lips as he stared up at Soojin with eyes that shone brighter than ever. She was speechless - very much like you. Her hands covered her mouth and her eyes were starting to get wet with tears. The answer that followed was obvious.

“Yes!”

There it was. She threw her arms around Jungkook’s neck, as he stood up and enveloped her slim waist in his embrace. She was crying already and he chuckled lightly at the emotional mess his girlfriend was.

You weren't expecting this. But you should have. Jungkook hadn't talked to you about this or left you any clue about it, but still, he was 28 years old. You could see the shine of his eyes getting brighter each time he looked at her, every passing day. They were in love and their relationship was stronger each day.

Your whole group of friends manifested their happiness. Jimin had tears in his eyes from how happy he was seeing that the youngest of the group was finally settling down for life. Namjoon clapped his hands, smirking proudly at the youngest. You could swear you’d seen Jin, that stood next to Namjoon also clapping his hands, winking to his friend when their eyes crossed. Yeri whistled loudly along with Taehyung, while Irene laughed at her friends’ foolishness.

Mingyu, quite unaware of the mess the living room held, kept his eyes secured on you, smiling. When you caught his gaze, you sent him a tiny smile back - the first since the heartfelt proposal. You averted your eyes back to the couple holding each other in the middle of the room and when they parted their embrace, Jungkook’s eyes locked on yours. You weren’t smiling as he expected you to be. You didn’t even seem to be happy for him. He smiled anyway, and you, in all your effort, winked playfully at him, as you turned your back on him. You grabbed a cup of champagne and walked towards the balcony, being interrupted by the male hand that suddenly grabbed your waist.

“We’re next,” you heard Mingyu whisper in your ear. You looked back, grabbing his hand and lightly squeezing it.

“You bet,” you answered playfully and smiled brightly at him.

Mingyu was your boyfriend. You had been dating him for 2 years now and he was great. Jungkook had presented him to you at a home party. You still remember complaining to him about having to watch him and Soojin being all couply while you still spent the night laying in bed and watching romances. The week after your complaints he took you to a party and introduced you to this really nice and good-looking guy, which happened to be his friend, named Mingyu. Mingyu was a few months older than you and he had just started to work as a lawyer. He was already introduced to your family and they all loved him, dismissing your sister's daily comments that claimed her disappointment because she thought you 'would end u with your Jungkook'.

When Mingyu let go of you to go hang out with the rest of your friends, you reached the balcony, closing the door behind you, leaning on the glass balcony and gazing at the amazing view your friend Irene had got when she bought this new apartment with Jin, her boyfriend. Your hair, being wildly swept by the wind, was a mess, but you could care less. Your eyes were teary, you didn't really know why though. Something about Jungkook getting married left a huge ball of emotions sitting on your chest. What bothered you is that even knowing Soojin was an amazing girl and Jungkook would be happy with her, you weren't particularly happy with the news. You knew this could as well turn you into a very shitty best friend, and that's why you thought you wouldn't really be able to talk to Jungkook without catching a breath of fresh air first. Without noticing the tears you had been previously sheltering in your eyes, were now running down your cheeks.

You sobbed and quickly wiped the tears away when you heard the balcony doors opening and closing again. It was Jungkook, you knew it when you felt the warm presence you'd gotten used to after 9 years.

"Hey," he muttered.

You didn't answer, afraid your voice would fail you and just kept staring forwards, feeling Jungkook's gaze on you. You knew he knew you had been crying. He was a master when it came to figuring it out.

"So... you're getting married now hum?" you commented, once your vocal cords seemed stable enough.

"Right," he answered, and you looked at your side, not bothering to hide your puffy eyes. "What do you think of that?" he asked you and you looked down at your hands.

"You know... If you're happy, I'm happy," you said and he chuckled.

"Of course," Jungkook mimicked your actions, looking down as well. You two stayed quiet for some time, as the starry night sky shined down on you.

"You look amazing tonight, by the way," he remarked. "Didn't get the chance to te-"

"You didn't tell me you were going to propose," you interrupted him, looking back at him. There wasn't a shy smile on your lips or a polite gaze on your eyes. All Jungkook could see in your expression was hurt.

"I don't have to tell you every little thing going on in my life," he answered, putting up his defensive side.

"This is not little! This is marriage," you exclaimed and stared at him. He stared down and stayed quiet.

"Mingyu told me he's going to propose too," he announced and you widened your eyes. Not that you hadn't thought about it. Mingyu had commented a lot of times he wanted to make you his wife and build a family with you. But still, it was big news for you.

"I'm sure you weren't supposed to tell me that."

"Are you going to say yes?" he asked and stared at you.

You stared back at him and for once in that night, your eyes met for more than a minute. There was a silent plead present in his eyes that you couldn't really figure out. He sighed and got closer to you, your arms rubbing against each other. You lay your head down on his shoulder and he shortly kissed your forehead.

"Y/n..." he whispered, and you hummed back, still not answering his previous question. "I can... go back. If you... want me to."

"If you love her, then you should marry her," you answered right away, not wanting to hold your best friend back from marrying the girl he loves.

He kept quiet and so did you.

"Are you going to say yes?" he repeated his previous question and you shot your head up, looking straight in his eyes.

"You know... I've always thought of you as the love of my life."

Jungkook's eyes widened as you chuckled. That's when it came to him. That night, you were afraid of losing him, not Yuta.

"I've always been told I should marry the love of my life. But I don't think I can marry you now that you're already married," you stated playfully, but Jungkook's stare was serious. "Mingyu is amazing, really. I worship him. But how do I know if I love him enough to marry him?" you asked, looking up to find Jungkook already staring at you, a mix of different emotions present in his eyes. "How did you know you loved Soojin enough to marry her?" you asked again and Jungkook looked down.

"Well... I like her almost as much as I love you," he whispered loud enough for only you to listen. "And I think that's a whole lot."

"Do you love her, though?" you asked, absolutely perplexed at his answer.

He smiled lightly and sighted.

"You just don't get it, do you?" he whispered.

He stood up straight, turning his back on you and walking back towards the door.

"Why don't you just tell me then?" you said a bit louder than you had talked the whole night.

He looked back at you, over his shoulder, his hand already on the door handle. He chuckled lowly, what sounded like a sarcastic chuckle, before turning back to you and taking two steps forward. Somehow, his expression had changed and you weren't sure how to read it now. He was bitter.

"You want me to tell you? I just proposed and you have the guts to get sad because I'm marrying Soojin??

"I'm not s-"

"Shut up! Just... Shut up." he begged ironically and you stood quiet, he sighed angrily and looked to his left, avoiding looking at you.

"Maybe you should step away... At least for a while."

"What the hell is wrong with you? Jungkook you're getting married. I can't miss that. I won't miss that!"

"Exactly!" he screamed suddenly and walked quickly towards you. He had never been this angry in front of you and it scared you that you were the reason for his anger. His face was inches away from yours and you could feel his quick breath fanning over your lips. "I'm getting married to Soojin but all I can think about is if I should have proposed to you!" he whispered in your face and you could see his eyes watering, very much like you could feel yours do the same. “You know why I proposed so suddenly? Because Mingyu told me he was going to propose to you and I didn’t want to be the only one feeling miserable!”

"J-Jungkook..." you sighed and Jungkook let his tears fall, furrowing his eyebrows in pure anguish, as he nestled his face on your neck, crying silently. He enveloped your body in his arms and you quickly did the same.

"I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I-I'm in love with you and it scares me to death," he sobbed and your grip on him tightened.

"It's alright... I'm right here..."

You two stayed in that same position for a while, until he calmed down and his sobs stopped.

"What do I do now?" he asked, still laying his head on your chest.

"You do whatever makes you happy," you answered and he kissed your neck, and action that, from him, was already usual.

"Hubby! Can we go home?" Soojin opened the balcony's door, chuckling at the new nickname. Jungkook quickly stepped back and wiped the stray tears on his cheeks away. Sensing your stare on him, he sent you a tiny smile.

Soojin caught your gaze from behind Jungkook's shoulder and sent you a smile, which you retributed.

"Yes babe, let's go..." Jungkook answered after a while. He looked at you, the deepest look in his eyes that you had ever seen. He cupped your cheek as you two heard Soojin walking back inside, to say her goodbyes. “I’ll go now.”

“Please, don’t do this. If you don’t want to marry her, you don’t have to.”

“What do you want?”

You didn’t answer, opting to roll your arms tightly around his neck, as he held your waist, bringing your body impossibly closer to his.

“I love you, Jungkook,” you whispered. “, but this is a decision you have to make.”

And he wasn’t ready. He wasn’t ready to break all the promises he had made to Soojin this past three years. He wasn’t ready to admit that all she was was a way to get to you. He wasn’t ready to admit that at some point in his life he had become a worthless and selfish jerk and that his life had been diminished to you. He wasn’t ready to break every single ethical moral and principle that he had been trying to live by all his life. This decision didn’t come to him, and only him. It came to you, to Soojin, to Mingyu and to everyone surrounding the four of you. It wasn’t his right to break his friends’ hearts and he wouldn’t do it. He couldn’t do it.

“I’m sorry.”

And he walked away.

#jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook scenarios #scenario #best friends #best friends to lovers #au #best friend!jungkook #they don't get to be overs #lovers #i means #jungkook au #jungkook imagine #jungkook one-shot

124 notes · View notes

linklinkmore22 · 3 years ago

Photo

Bibimbap(ish) [homemade]

#food

4 notes · View notes

brokeandbrown · 2 years ago

Text

Chihayafuru is Masterful!

Well I recently got myself to watch Chihayafuru. It had been on my radar for a long time and someone close to me nagged me about it because I love sports anime but to be honest, it didn’t catch my eye because I wasn’t sure if I could relate to the sport of Karuta. I had heard of the amazing reviews but to be honest, it was hard for me to bring myself to watch it. Also the fact that it was so revered in the anime community also made me hesitant to watch it until I could be full appreciative of it by being in the correct mindset. In hindsight, this was not as big a deal as I made it out to be. For example, I enjoyed several baseball anime before I even properly understood the rule of baseball. In fact, I came to appreciate baseball because I enjoyed baseball anime and the suspense and variety of plays in the depiction of the game. But still, baseball was still closer to other sports I played and watched for years so I am sure some of my caution was warranted. Nonetheless, it is funny how perfect of a time I chanced upon to pick up Chihayafuru. I was doing my gazillionth rewatch of the Adachi classic “Cross game” and was out of ideas as to what to watch next. I was in the mood of sports anime but didn’t want to watch some shonen-ish super intense sports anime. Also character work ftw. And while browsing and looking for something to watch, I chanced upon it and I was like sure, I can watch a couple of episodes and delve into it while eating my bibimbap before I continue with my all nighter to finish up some pending work. And so began a series of unfortunate events, in the sense that I wouldn’t be able to begin my planned work on my pending project until three days later. The timing was impeccable, almost like providence, in that the manga had just finished a week ago, something I had no awareness off. And so I binged through 2.5 seasons of 62 episodes in less than 13 hours (if you don’t know - I watch anime at 1.8x) which is one of my fastest binge runs in the recent time. And finishing up the three seasons, I immediately jumped into the manga, continued my speed-run until I was at the last page of chapter 247. What a ride. I would probably do a couple of posts on the thematic nuances, character-work and just the literary brilliance of the series, since it is impossible to cover the vast depth that this series has in one post. However, one aspect of the series that I would cover here, to some degree, is the Hyakunin Isshu - the 100 poems, historically compiled and preserved through Nippon history. Think of it like Heike monogatari which was one of the oldest monogataris that still continues to inspire media tremendously; a new anime adaptation came out in fall 2021, which was also very grandiose with beautiful animation. Nonetheless, it is just amazing how 4 line poems written a millenium ago can hit deeply into your emotional psyche.

kaze wo itami, iwa utsu nami no, onore nomi, kudakete mono wo, omou koro kana" - Loosely translates to "As the wind is strong, waves hit the rocks, yet only I am shattered when I think of you." While Karuta is the central plot device to move the story, the Hyakunin Isshu - the 100 poems are subtly the main drivers of the story. This becomes much more apparent when each of the poems wonderfully encompasses the story of each of the characters and their struggles. Minamoto No Shigeyuki's poem above is a wonderful demonstration to juxtapose the development of one of the best-written characters, Mashima Taichi. The similarity to Rei Kiriyama is frighteningly heavy. Both Mashima and Rei hate their respective fields but feel that they have to play on as it is the only thing they do have. Nonetheless the difference here is that while Rei Kiriyama is relatively a genius like Arata in the story, Taichi isn't unless he is. He is not born with the game sense to play the game and just hangs on with his meticulous hard work. He is a jack of all trades but doesn't have something he is really good at. The imposter syndrome is real and very relatable. And so he expresses all his feelings through Karuta, something he doesn't enjoy (or does he). As Chihaya herself realizes, he is like the waves that hit the rocks in vain, "Tare o ka mo, Shiru hito ni sen, Takasago no, Matsu mo mukashi no, Tomo nara naku ni" - loosely translating to "GONE are my old familiar friends, The men I used to know; Yet still on Takasago beach,The same old pine trees-grow, That I knew long ago." The story is a development of childhood friends who grew together, grew apart, grew separate, yet were still connected by the thread of Karuta. They get seaparated by distance, separated in Karuta, separated by their love for themselves, separated by their love for Karuta, but as long as they keep playing Karuta, they find their way to each other. The old familiar self they knew are gone, yet the same old pine trees grow that they have known all this time, ever since. "Tachiwakare inaba, Inaba no yama no mine ni ouru matsu; matsu to shi kikaba ima kaerikon" translating to "We separate if I leave, just like the name of the pine trees that grow on the peak of Mt Inaba, if I hear that you are waiting for me, I will return to you". Would anyone believe that this poem and the previous one were written in different times by different people? Well the human emotions and depth of conversation with oneself has probably been the same throughout history. You can grow apart from people, by fate or by choice but truthfully if the bond you had with someone was special to you, even if you can't be true to yourself, somewhere deep inside you know that if they call out for you, you will always reach out to them. This beautifully complements both the overall narrative and final act of the story which I would leave the reader to figure out the connection without spoiling. This poem called Tachi, alluding to Mashima Taichi's name cleverly complements the Tare poem above. However, despite the connection between Tare and Tachi, the true literary complement for Tachi is another unrelated poem from the Hyakanin Isshu. "Chihayaburu, kami-yo mo kikazu, Tatsuta-gawa, kara-kurenai ni, mizu kukuru to wa" - translating to "Even in the age of almighty gods unheard of, − the waters of Tatsuta are tie-dyed in crimson.". The poem is named Chihayaburu, or alternatively read as "Chihayafuru". Coincidence much? P.S. The last line of Chihayaburu's original reading is mizu kukuru to wa which refers to a beautiful autumn scenery like the gale in Chihaya. However, Fujiwara No Teika, the original compiler of the Hyakunin Isshu read it as mizu kuguru to wa changing the meaning of the poem ever so slightly "Even in the age of almighty gods unheard of, − the waters of Tatsuta are flowing under layers of crimson." making it a well-disguised love poem, referencing undying passionate love, which is always concealed, providing a beautiful thematic background to the story in question.

1 note · View note

sooibian · 4 years ago

Text

Flambé - I

poster and edits/collage credits to @is-that-baekhyuns-shirt !

chapter two | moodboard by the lovely @pororodks

🍜 pairing: kyungsoo x fem!reader ft. baekhyun, mark lee

🍜 description: pull up a chair. take a taste. come join us. life is so endlessly delicious. - ruth reichl

🍜 themes: fluff, crack (ish), slight angst, a lil bit of spice (in the future), rivals to lovers au

🍜 word count: ~ 9.7k

🍜 a/n: writing this makes me feel lonely and hungry and that, my friends, is a deadly concoction of emotions so while i wallow in my misery, i dearly hope you’ll enjoy this creation. i'd love to hear from you <3<br>

🍜 reference notes: yt channels: maangchi, one meal a day, bore.d; netflix shows: midnight diner, street food: asia, chef’s table

🍜 tag list: @changshapatrol @j-pping @kyungseokie @exosmuttytalk @his-mochi-cheeks @littleflowercrown13 pls lmk if you’d like to be added/removed from the tag list!

Water bobs in frenetic bubbles in a massive ancient stone pot perched atop a fort of raging wood. Amidst brutal peals of thunder, a gushing stream rises from a nearby hill, obscuring the shrill cries of the sacrificial crab.

Chanting a spell, you lift the enormous crustacean by its pincers and lower it into the growling, pitch black utensil. Blubbering helplessly, it lodges its claws at the rim of the pot in desperation, seeking escape. The sound of your maniacal laughter reverberates through the cave as you thrust it back into the violent undulation with a heavy-handed flick of the bladed-spatula.

All of a sudden, you’re swept over with a wave of unconsciousness, your skin tingles, and boiling water begins to fill up your lungs.

You are alone at the bottom of the very same utensil.

“Help!” frantic, you stagger up, gasping for air. But the bladed-spatula wielding crab, now untied and hovering over you, roars jubilantly at your defenseless form.

Maybe the spell didn’t land, you think.

“Please, Chef!” you whimper as a last ditch attempt.

In one swift motion, it swooshes down to your eye level.

Bushy black brows sprout on its forehead, just a little over a pair of big brown circles for eyes. Then comes the nose, followed by a bloody red mouth that snarls at you.

zzzz…

“Late again?”

zzzz…

4:00 a.m., your phone blinks.

In a sleep befuddled state, you reach out for the wailing device. ‘Late again?’ Chef’s cold, deep voice sounds in your consciousness as you wipe the droplets of sweat off of your forehead.

Chef.

Doh Kyungsoo had insisted on the title and you’d boldly refused to call him that. What business does a man working at a Kalguksu stand in Gwangjang Market have, being called Chef. You’d seeked redressal with the higher ups. The owner.

Your aunt.

“Aegiya, he has something that you don’t.”

“A dick?”

“YAH! A degree in culinary arts.”

“Imo, haven’t you watched Parasite? Anyone can forge documents these days and if so then why is he here? He could very well land a job at Four Seasons like Hyunjin. Think, Imo. Think!”

“Exactly! With forged documents, he could be anywhere. But he’s here, no?”

“Maybe you’re just easier to manipulate.”

Finally, she said in her no-nonsense, stern voice. "Chef. You’re calling him Chef.”

Every time the egotistical madman opens that darned mouth of his, it makes you want to knock him down with a roundhouse and beat the living daylights out of him.

But, counting to five, you always resist the temptation.

Because one day, one glorious day, you’d take over your aunt’s business and the very first item on your agenda would be….well, the obvious. With a glimmer of hope, you flounder out of your comforter, muttering every cuss word you’d learnt…and crafted in the course of working with the devil himself.

“Ah 3000 is a bit too much for cucumbers", he says to the middle aged vendor, flashing a boyish grin.

The face of sourcing has drastically changed in the last six months since Kyungsoo’s arrival. Prior to his dictatorship, Imo had tie-ups with vendors who’d hand deliver the produce every single day, without fail. Guess Kyungsoo didn’t fully comprehend the benefits of customer loyalty. ‘There could be better quality ingredients out there, Sajangnim…economically priced, I might add’, he’d convinced your aunt using his military corporal voice. No matter if it meant awkward break-ups with the vegetables ahjumma or the prawns ahjussi: you were left to do the dirty work.

And required to tag along for the routine 5 a.m sourcing runs. Every morning, he’d greet you with an accusatory ‘you killed my cat’ expression.

Groaning, you shift your weight from side to side. If only he’d quit flirting with every woman in the market and hurry up! The purchases have long exceeded the capacity of your humble cart. Flailing your numb arms awake, you urge him to speed up with a nudge of the knee but he glares at you like you’d asked him for a kidney.

Kyungsoo has a tendency to overbuy but never does he help with a single bag. ‘I don’t like to sweat’ is his excuse. Which is pretty ridiculous considering he spends over ten hours a day overseeing a scorching frying pan at the stall.

But you know better than to argue.

Because as much as you loathe every fibre of his existence, he terrifies you a little. The man possesses the duality of a psychopath. As fierce as he is in the Market, ruthlessly competitive even, he’s quite the sweet talker. Incredibly charming. And you can bet your life on the fact that every ahjumma - whether or not a rival - would take a bullet for him.

“Ahdeul-ah”, the woman coos at him, making your insides violently contort, “you know how tight the market is these days. But I’ll throw in some more only for you.”

The additional weight of three kilos on your right arm ends your sourcing run for the day.

***

“Chef”, huffing, you say to him on your way out, “I had a late night last night.”

“And I need to be privy to this little nugget of unwarranted information because?” He paces ahead of you at his usual lightning speed.

“No, I meant, could we stop”, panting you continue, “could we stop for a quick cup of coffee.”

Halting abruptly, he turns around to look you square in the eyes, “No.”

“Asshole!” You murmur under your breath.

“I heard that.”

Monday at Choi Yoonsun’s Kalguksu stall was busier than usual.

It went by in a daze amidst the cacophony of a sizzling girdle, clanging of pots and pans and Imo’s relentless vocalization inviting guests to the stall. Having served thousands of bowls of Kalguksu and Kimchi Mandu, you rely heavily on muscle memory to get you through a workday’s demands.

Despite its massive chaos and commotion, you quite enjoyed working in the Market.

Not being particularly skilled at much and having nearly flunked out of high school, cooking was the one thing that defined you. It was your safe harbour. You’d lost your father in an accident at the tender age of ten and your mother was forced to work long hours to put food on the table. So you honed your culinary skills, little by little, because you thought it vital for your own well-being as well as your mother’s.

One cannot think well, love well, sleep well, if one has not dined well.

At the end of yet another rewarding day, you leave a wet towel soaking in vinegar for Kyungsoo to clean the iron girdle and proceed to tend to the dirty dishes yourself.

“Yahh!” Imo calls out for Kyungsoo and you, thumping her hand on the table, gesturing for you to join her.

“Ahh! Imo, there’s a huge pile of dirty dishes!” You cry out in response, only to turn around to find that ass-kisser already at the table, schmoozing with your aunt. Hastily taking off your grubby apron, you wash your hands and wipe them clean with a rag cloth. Straightening your black shirt, flattening unruly flyaways, you rush toward the table but she’s already up and ready to leave, “We’ll have dinner together tonight. I want to have a word with both of you.”

“But -”

“Sajangnim”, Kyungsoo interrupts, wagging a finger in your direction, face scrunched up in mock concern, “this one’s had a late night last night -”

“Chef! So I guess I’ll be seeing you tonight. As if seeing you every day of every week wasn’t enough already!”

An overtly saccharine smile spreads across your face and his jaw hardens in response.

“Aish….you two…I’m leaving now”, shaking her head, she sighs, “see you both in two hours.”

Kimchi jjigae, Pajeon, Tteokbokki, Jajangmyeon, some leftover Bibimbap with sides galore from Hong Lim Banchan Stall. Imo clearly has something important on her mind.

But the vibe at the dinner table just doesn’t sit right with you.

The reason for that could be the bespectacled black hole of negativity that’s seated besides you in all black clothing but there’s something off about Imo.

She’s being a little too nice.

Fear gradually starts to settle in your bones. Is she finally closing down? Is this delectable fare an attempt at softening the blow? After all, she’d settled her husband’s debts over five years ago and her sons were doing well for themselves. Quite well, in fact. The elder one, Hyunwoo, is an investment banker and the younger one Hyunjin went to culinary school and is working as a chef at Four Seasons’ Chinese restaurant. It only makes sense for her to trade the Market’s gruelling ways for some much deserved peace and quiet.

“We’re closing down the stall”, she says coolly.

It’s like a punch in the gut.

“Imo -”

“Aegiya”, she rests her chin on her hand, face clouded over with serenity, “the Market’s given me everything. It’s given me a sense of independence…a sense of pride. It put my family back together. I used to think that I’m nothing without my husband and my sons…but the Market gave me an identity. I continued to work even after my husband’s passing not because I needed the money but because this is something that I’ve created and I’m mighty proud of what’s become of it today. My name is a brand in itself. And a decade ago I couldn’t have imagined this even in the wildest of my dreams.”

A million scenarios cascading through your head drown out Imo’s voice.

Would you now have to go back to Bucheon? Or invest in a stall of your own at the traditional Gwangjang that would never accept your big and bold ways with cooking? And to start from scratch? With a new recipe? Kalguksu with a twist, perhaps? But you had no insight into your aunt’s special broth. She’d never let you or even Kyungsoo for that matter whip up the hand-cut noodles. The two of you only ever helped with the ancillary tasks.

You soon come to the realization of not being the only one caught in the eye of the storm. Kyungsoo’s unwavering gaze is scarily fixated on the bowl of jajangmyeon before him. His miserable state gives you a fleeting sense of relief and it’s in that exact moment that he chooses to say something unpalatable.

“Sajangnim, you’ve worked too hard. It’s time for you to reap the fruits of your labour. We’ll be fine, you don’t have to worry about us.”

Of course he’ll be fine.

Nearly all food stall owners in Gwangjang have been vying for him ever since the day he set foot into Choi Yoonsun’s with his phlegmatic personality. Whereas you had nowhere to go. The world conveniently assumes Imo hired you only because you were her poor sister’s daughter who she sought to help financially. Not because you had what it took to be there and survive.

“Did I say I was ready to retire?” She laughs, eyeing Kyungsoo quizzically.

“Here’s the thing..I met up with a friend last month. She was looking for a buyer for her little family run restaurant in Gangnam. So I took out a loan, made her an offer”, balling her hands into fists she sighs, “put in the deposit…and the place is pretty much mine now!”

“IMO”, you yell, “you didn’t have to scare me with that long winded speech! God, you’re so dramatic!”

“Well, it is a big move. I’m not sure either of you are ready to take the leap. It requires a tonne of work and I may not be able to pay half of what you earned at the Market for at least two months until we open. It’ll take the restaurant two years or so to break even and only then will I be able to afford scaling your salaries. On the other hand, what I can do is, help you secure a job at the banchan stall since you love seasoned spinach so much and Kyungsoo even stands a chance at managing one of the Pakgane stalls!”

Pakgane is the mung bean pancake stall that had gotten so popular that the owner managed to branch out of Gwangjang. So even your beloved Imo believes that you’d make for a better “help” and Kyungsoo, a Manager.

Ugh!

“I’m coming with you”, you say firmly, “I’ve saved up a little and Eomma will gladly pitch in, if need be…”

At this point, you’d expected Kyungsoo to be ready with his luggage considering the little sycophant he is but his expression is stoic, eyes still glued to the jajangmyeon bowl, filling you with insane hope.

He was going to jump ship…finally!

“Chef…”, you couldn’t resist, “you don’t have to worry about us…I’m more than enough for Imo. You may…”

He shoots you an angry glare making you chew on your unsaid words. But wanting to rile him just a little more, you excuse yourself and bring out a bottle of ketchup. Squeezing it generously atop the stack of pajeon, you snicker maliciously.

Ketchup.

The tangy, unassuming condiment is the sole reason Kyungsoo abhors your very existence. But as this dinner marks the end of his torturous regime, you celebrate with ketchup - lots of it - right in front of his nasty eyes.

Steam swirls in different directions and at every twenty metres a contrastive redolence tickles your olfactory senses. Experiencing Gwangjang as a guest is clearly a far richer experience compared to the donkeywork involved in life as a vendor.

A proper send-off is essential lest Kyungsoo decides to stay, even if it means creating a huge dent in your pocket. You plan on giving him a final tour of the Market where you could both say your goodbyes while receiving a premium fuel of vitamins, minerals and carbs.

Lots of carbs.

“Let’s start with Pakgane”, says Kyungsoo, with a skewered sausage in one hand.

Wanting to start with nothing less than the best in order to create a lasting impression, you shake your head in response. This was supposed to be a farewell he’d never forget.

With every step, the aroma of scallops drizzled with butter and cheese grows stronger. You start your tour by ordering two portions of the delectable street food which sets you back considerably but you’re far too elated to care, even refusing Kyungsoo’s offer to pay as the woman sets the scallops ablaze with a blow torch.

“Do you know what this technique is called?” Kyungsoo gives a little nod in the direction of the flaming food.

A teachable moment. How does his own personality not wear him off?

You’d made a firm resolve to not let any of his condescension bog you down so with a sweet smile, you reply, “No, Chef. I do not.”

“Flambé, minus the alcohol. Do you know how they manage that?”

The ahjumma calls out for you and you nearly jump to collect the order, the slight upward curl of his lips coming into your peripheral vision.

***

The Market supposedly looks the same as it did fifty years ago and you quite enjoy eating your way through it. The tour makes your heart grapple with nostalgia even though your partner’s vibe is akin to a mug of insipid coffee.

Although you’d spent only a little over a year at Choi Yoonsun’s, the goodbyes were long and hard. Some of the vendors squeeze you and Kyungsoo in heart wrenching hugs, the others give you a little cash to help you through the transition and for some of the food, you pay only with smiles and thank yous.

After a gastronomic fiesta entailing tteokbokki, pajeon (minus the ketchup - you did it Kyungsoo’s way), sashimi, kimbap, different types of banchan, a thousand more teachable moments, the both of you end the day on a sweet note with hotteok.

The ahjussi wishes you both luck, making you choke back tears.

Your moist eyes don’t escape Kyungsoo’s attention.

“Are you…. Is the hotteok spicy? No, I mean it’s obviously not…erm”

The dam of your tears explodes.

You were going to miss this place. Even the less appealing aspects of it. You were going to miss the kimbap unnie who greeted you with a hug everyday, also the snooty mandu ahjumma who could hardly stand the sight of Choi Yoonsun’s crew. You were going to miss washing dishes in the winters with water that was supposed to be ice and the sweltering summers that had you sweating through every layer of clothing.

Hell, you were even going to miss Kyungsoo.

“No”, you sniffle, “No, no Chef, it’s nothing. Take care of yourself. As much as I’m glad that our fateful working relationship has met its rightful end, I truly, genuinely, wish you luck. And learn to smile a little more, yeah?”

“Are you dying?” Eyes glinting, mouth agape, he chuckles.

“What? NO! What? You’re leaving. What is wrong with you?”

“Who says I’m leaving?”

“You! You’re not coming with us to Gangnam!”

“Says who?”

“Your stupid face that looked like it was hit by a freight train when Imo broke the news last week!”

“I’m not leaving?” He draws his words out in a question.

“This is no time to joke, Chef. You are leaving!”

“Says who!”

“Your stu-”

“Stupid face? I wasn’t planning on leaving at all. I’ve even found myself a place close to the restaurant. Oh yeah, sorry for having misled you. It was really just - my stupid face.”

A month from Grand Opening

It’s not just about food.

Food only makes for a fifth of a restaurant’s success equation. Management and promotional skills are essential because a restaurant is, first and foremost, a business.

Mark Lee, the young consultant from PCY Associates had imparted this crucial business knowledge to your compact team of three aspiring restaurateurs in exchange for an egg sandwich and watermelon juice. The enthu-cutlet has been overseeing the legal set-up of your humble restaurant for a month now.

However, according to Mark, the crème de la crème of the success equation is customer service.

Customer service.

Here’s where the crusty Chef was supposed to take a backseat and you - a real people person, a socially adept charmer - were to sashay in and shine.

These ideas were a bit too much for that thick, globular skull of his so you tried to educate him with a practical example.

He’d added a rule to the first draft of the menu - a shared document for brainstorming purposes. It read ‘No ketchup for you.’ This rule (or insolence as you called it) went against your belief system as the restaurant’s to-be-anointed Manager (a girl can always hope). ‘Never say no to a customer’ being the foundation of customer service, you slashed the rule with a strikethrough.

But the next time you tried to log in, you found yourself locked out of the document.

“Chef, why can’t I find the draft menu anymore?”

He’s aggressively julienning leeks, pretending to not have heard you.

“CHEF!”

“What?” Finally, he looks up. The skin between his eyebrows pinched and his arm raised to level his brand new 1-piece chef’s knife (initials etched into the blade) with his profile.

“Why-why did you lock me out of the draft menu?”, you stammer, gaze trained on the cutting edge glistening with tears of The Leeks.

Kyungsoo’s been visibly getting jittery by the day as opening day approaches.

He deliberately places the knife to the side of the board and you take a gutsy step forward. He uses a cold, serial-killer voice to ask, “What makes you think that I locked you out?”

You lean over from the other side of the granite counter, face barely an inch from his, “Who else could’ve? Imo is technologically challenged.”

“Fine”, he sighs, “I locked you out.” His lips curl up in a menacing smirk, “What are you gonna do about it?”

Grinning, you stare right into his dark eyes and let out a shrill, high-pitched scream, “IMO!”

This throws him back a few steps and he’s rubbing and pulling at his right ear when Imo walks into the kitchen.

“Yah! Am I your babysitter? Whatever it is, I don’t want to hear about it. I am asking you”, she looks at you before spinning her head in Kyungsoo’s direction, “and you, to sort this amongst yourselves. For once!”

“But-but Imo!”, you protest.

“Aegiya, I really don’t want to ship you back to Bucheon.”

***

“Here’s your tax ID, liquor license… okay so this was a touch-and-go because the officer is transferring to another Department and the one that’s supposed to be coming in is a real piece of work….”

Mark Lee is here with the final set of documents.

Imo’s eyes are gleaming with excitement and sheer joy but she’s held a businesswoman-like composure. On the other hand, Kyungsoo looks very much like himself - like someone’s sucked the life out of him.

You bring Mark his usual egg sandwich and watermelon juice because there’s only so much your restaurant can offer at this point in time, feeling brutally overwhelmed with the volume of pending tasks until opening.

After practically inhaling his mini-meal, Mark dabs his mouth clean and says, “My work here is done. If you need anything you know where to find me. And good luck. Trust me, you’ll need it.”

Imo looks worriedly at Kyungsoo and then at Mark and at Kyungsoo again which prompts him to ask rather uncomfortably, “What do you mean ‘you’ll need it’?”

Mark’s dramatically long sigh is an indication of a sermon to follow. As he leans back into his chair, Imo and Kyungsoo instinctively cower like an invisible weight has been plopped onto their shoulders. The sight is beyond pathetic: they are like peasants before a feudal lord. It makes you want to smash the know-it-all smirk off of Mark’s face.

What comes after, though, isn’t a sermon but a sentence and a half that leaves the three of you shaken.

“The dining business here in Gangnam is hyper-competitive and most restaurants fold in six months. And if that sandwich is any indication…”

Kyungsoo valiantly advances to rescue your team out of the dark bubble of Mark Lee’s words with, “What’s wrong with the sandwich? She makes a perfectly good sandwich!”

What was supposed to be a compliment somehow sounds very wrong in your head, but before you could give him the death stare he leaps to damage control, “What I mean is, we all ate the very same sandwich for breakfast. I don’t usually dissect food for novices but the egg was perfectly cooked, mayonnaise was just the right amount and the seasoning was balanced, too. So I’m not sure what you’re trying to say. We’re serving perfectly good food here.”

“The thing is, this is something even my mother could make and dude, believe me, she’s terri…her culinary abilities are highly questionable. Also, do you think your friend would’ve sold you this place if it were thriving, Mrs. Choi? She’d inherited it from her grandfather and she sold it to you at a dirt cheap price because she was neck deep in debt. I’m sure you know, real estate here is three and a half times the country’s average. So not only do you have significant funds locked into a possibly deadweight property but also your plan clearly lacks vision. Gwangjang’s Choi Yoonsun can keep you afloat for four…maybe six months but Gangnam’s Choi Yoonsun has to create an identity for herself. Look around you, everyone’s serving good food”, Mark tilts his head in Kyungsoo’s direction, “Here, people eat with their eyes first. Now, I’m not saying family-run restaurants serving traditional cuisines don’t do well. A lot of them have been passed down for generations. What I’m saying is…..find your USP.”

Mark squints, looks into the distance, and pinches the air a lot during this damp squib speech of his.

So the menu isn’t very different from what Choi Yoonsun served in Gwangjang. Her USP has always been homestyle cooking with a twist. But that was the demand of a Market that upheld traditionalism and Gangnam, being precipitously everchanging, would be quite something to keep up with.

The weight of Mark’s words manifests on Kyungsoo’s shoulders. He lets out a sharp exhale and starts to clear the table, giving him plenty non-verbal cues to leave. You rush to help him out and meet his defeated form (crouched over the sink) in the kitchen.

The shuffling sound of your footsteps reaches his ears and he pivots to face you.

“We’ll be okay”, your voice is but a calm whisper prompting his creased forehead to slowly smoothen.

“We’ll be okay”, he forcefully echoes.

Grand Opening Day

A frisson of fear laced with excitement descends your spine.

Choi Yoonsun’s is enveloped in a pin drop silence save for the sound of Kyungsoo’s pacing. It’s grating on your nerves but Kyungsoo pacing is far better than Kyungsoo “going over the plan” for the umpteenth time.

The kitchen’s prepped for battle so you’re seated at the cash counter, cuddled close with Imo, placated by her soothing, motherly presence. The three of you are like ticking time bombs, ready to go off at any minute.

This, right here, is the perfect example of a pinch-me-it-doesn’t-feel-real moment. You allow yourself to feel the forces at play as your eyes take in every nook and cranny of the restaurant. The place is agreeably well lit and the ventilation hoods aren’t an eyesore either. The decor’s minimalistic with a sand and stone colour scheme and the floor’s been scrubbed spotless. Eight sturdy wooden tables, tactically placed, allow for movement and privacy yet the area has been optimally utilized.

Fifteen minutes for the ‘Open’ sign to light up.

Kyungsoo and you proceed to help each other out with crisp bright yellow aprons affixed with red name tags (handpicked by Imo, the aprons made you both look like dumpy chicks) and clear plastic masks and wish each other luck with curt nods.

***

Imo’s sons are the first to arrive with some friends in tow. They are served with Kyungsoo’s Yachae Twigim and Budae Jjigae, your Gyeran-mari and Kimchi Bokkeum-bap and of course, Imo’s famous Kalguksu and Kimchi Mandu. Makes you wonder if they’ve had enough of it but they seem to be greatly enjoying themselves. Some of Hyunjin’s friends from Four Seasons are here too, their mighty presence driving Kyungsoo to the edge.

But a few compliments from them are enough to soothe his nerves.

Among the flurry of patrons through the day were vendors and stall owners from Gwangjang along with their family and friends, Kyungsoo’s acquaintances who you knew nothing about and neither did you care enough to ask, Mark Lee with his very handsome boss Park Chanyeol also dropped by sometime around noon.

Your mother couldn’t make it to the opening. It stung a little but as usual, you sucked it up and went on with the highly stimulating day that anyway left you with very little time to mull over any unpleasantness.

***

By the end of it, you were pretty sure you’d wake up with blistered feet the next morning.

It’d been a splendid opening with sales tallying up to KRW 2500,000: nearly two and a half times the estimate. Imo breaks into a dance at the figure, even Kyungsoo lips stretch into a reluctant grin.

You intensely wish Mark Lee were here to witness this euphoric win.

Six months later

Mark Lee had been right.

Choi Yoonsun was miles from creating an identity in Gangnam. Regulars from Gwangjang could make it to the restaurant only twice or thrice a week, support from acquaintances had been gradually trickling, and some negative reviews floating around the internet about poor table turnover had also been driving potential guests away.

You tried to mitigate this by hiring part timers at minimum wage but for several reasons, none of them managed to stay: anti-social hours and Kyungsoo’s hostility being two of the key causes.

On your best days, the sales would total up to KRW 1500,000 and the weekday numbers had been dismal.

***

“Dooly-dooly!”

Your eyes light up at the familiarity of that voice. Mirroring its excitement, you run into the arms of its owner.

“Baekhyunnie!”

Kyungsoo peers over his glasses while scrubbing the iron girdle, studying the floppy haired, cheerful man with a wide grin plastered across his face that’s pranced into the kitchen at closing time.

Byun Baekhyun has been your best friend since time immemorial. Growing up in Bucheon, he’d been the only family you’d known besides your parents and Imo’s family. You weren’t even as close with Hyunwon and Hyunjin as you were with Baekhyun. Since work always kept your mother busy, his parents had practically been the ones to raise you and not once did they make you feel like an outsider.

“Yah! Quit calling me Dooly we’re not kids anymore! Have you eaten? Let me whip you up something real quick. Look at youuuu, when did you get this skinny! How long are -”

“Not to interrupt, but you’ve left the water running”, Kyungsoo drones, lazily pointing in the direction of the sink.

You clearly remember turning it off before darting to greet Baekhyun.

‘Sonofa-’ exasperated, you mouth to Baekhyun, whose eyebrows have shot up to his hairline out of vicarious embarrassment, before turning around to face Kyungsoo who seems to be scrubbing the iron girdle to gold. “Chef, you’re closer to the sink.”

“Reiterating. You’ve left the water running. If you wanna go on tittle-tattling, by all means….this wastage is on you.”

“Make yourself comfortable”, too exhausted to pick a fight, you whisper to Baekhyun, gesturing towards the closest table, “I’ll be with you soon.”

***

“It’s bad”, Imo sighs, burying her face in her hands.

11 P.M., two hours past closing time.

The sparse lighting in the restaurant is causing you an eyestrain to look at the scribblings on the register. Your neck and shoulder muscles are tense from all the chopping, stirring, and scrubbing: a slow day does not translate to an easy day. You notice that Kyungsoo is growing weary, too.

Or maybe discouraged.

You communicate with each other in evasive glances as if the restaurant not doing well is, somehow, on the two of you.

“Imo”, Baekhyun speaks first so as to allay the looming dread, “I’ve been reading the online reviews and those who’ve visited here have been raving about the food - especially the Kalguksu. They say you’ve brought the flavours of Gwangjang to Gangnam. There’s this one thing, though - ”

“Sajangnim”, Kyungsoo interrupts a zealous Baekhyun’s pitch, “I don’t think this is any of his business. We’ve been keeping track of reviews and such - ”

“Let the boy speak. He’s family.” She says softly, pressing her fingers to her temples, clearly clutching at straws now.

Kyungsoo clenches his jaw and nods in Baekhyun’s direction, indicating him to continue.

“There-there”, Baekhyun stutters, eyes fixed on Kyungsoo who’s vaguely fascinated with his cuticles, “are some complaints about slow service. Particularly between starters and mains.”

After an uncomfortably rich pause, Imo gently rests her hand atop Baekhyun’s “Baekhyunah, how long are you here for?”

“For as long as you need”, the apples of his cheeks rise as his eyes crinkle into a gleeful smile.

***

“Somebody is early. Also, the cart looks different…it’s..?”

Dressed in his usual black athleisure, round eyes framed with chunky glasses, Kyungsoo jogs lightly to match your out-of-character sprightly pace into the market.

“Bigger. I bought a new one.” You chirp, shooting him an out-of-character smile.

Even the dreary weather isn’t a buzzkill because today is supposed to be Baekhyun’s first day at work.

“How did you get Sajangnim to agree? She can be -”

“Miserly? Stingy? Close-fisted? Also, when will you stop calling her Sajangnim?”

“Just so that you can stop addressing me appropriately? Dream on. And I meant economical. Sajangnim is economical.”

“Chef, do you even listen? I bought it. With my own money. I figured since we’d need more ingredients now, we could use a bigger one.”

“And how did you come to that conclusion?” Impervious to his smug tone, you step away to pick up a one kg bulk pack of dried shiitake mushrooms while he’s examining a small batch of zucchini.

“Because Baekhyun’s gonna be working with us now.”

“Temporarily. And we’re suddenly going to start doing better because of an inexperienced, unemployed -”

The wheels of the cart hit his ankle when you swivel it, making him wince in pain.

“Oops! Sorry.”

“You did that on purpose!” He chides.

Half-shrugging, you say nonchalantly, “Serves you right. Baekhyun may be inexperienced but he isn’t unemployed. If anything, he’s doing us a favour. He’s whimsical like that.”

“I know”, he states, forcefully taking control of the cart, “I know he isn’t unemployed. He owns a Hapkido training academy for elementary school children and is on a break these days. I looked him up. I, personally, wouldn’t have hired him if it were my restaurant but I’m sure Sajangnim -”

“Chef?” You stop dead in your tracks.

“What?”

“You’re on…” you wanted to say ‘social media’ but the words sounded almost blasphemous to be used in front of a very uptight Doh Kyungsoo: a man with absolutely no online presence.

“What is it?” His eyebrows knit together in annoyance.

“Nothing, let’s go.”

“You know what else is different today?” He says on your way out, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips.

“Hmm?”

“You. You’ve showered.” He chortles, thinking he’s being funny.

But with a hardened expression, you let him know that he’s crossed a line.

“Too far?”

“A tad.”

“Let’s get you some coffee.”

“No.” You smile inwardly, relishing his apologetic tone.

“No?”

“We have to pick up Baekhyun’s apron and nametag.”

At first you thought you were imagining this.

A group of high school girls frequenting Choi Yoonsun’s must obviously be because they want to get healthy, homely meals instead of the trash served at fast food chains or the uneconomical subsistence of instagrammable cafes. They’re obviously not here for the charming server with an athlete’s body and a boyish grin.

“He should wear respectable clothing”, says Kyungsoo, indicating at Baekhyun’s skinny jeans and fitted black tee, hiss sharper than the sizzle of minced garlic in butter.

“Why, I don’t think his cleavage is showing”, you retort, scooping out a serving of rice from the cooker.

“You have absolutely no shame”, he states matter-of-factly, stirring the soup pot.

“What? Is my cleavage showing, too?” You ask in mock-surprise, fixing your apron theatrically.

“Forget I said anything.”

The aroma of Kimchi Jjigae had you salivating and you couldn’t wait to taste it for seasoning. Kyungsoo’s cooking amply made up for his drab, lacklustre personality.

“Chef, lighten up. Any publicity is good publicity.”

“You sound like a tabloid journalist”, leaving the soup to simmer, he turns around to face you, “What’s wrong with your hair?”

“I got a haircut”, scrunching your face you respond suspiciously, the fact that he noticed it despite the hair cover makes your heart palpitate.

Taking the unwarranted attention away from your hair, you ask hastily, “You think they’re here for Baekhyun and not your food, right?”

“Ye-yes”, he stutters, looking away.

“These people wouldn’t be here time and again if it weren’t for the food, Chef. You should know that.”

Moving closer to him, you lightly dust flour off of his shoulders.

“How did you get flour on your shoulders?”

His ears go scarlet.

Imo comes into the kitchen while Kyungsoo and you are preparing for the day ahead. Baekhyun has gone down to Bucheon to oversee the affairs of his training academy.

“There’s this new officer who’s reviewing all liquor permits issued this year. Be careful and make sure to check all IDs twice. I’m taking the day off. Will you two be okay by yourselves?” She swooshes out of the kitchen, not bothering with your incoherent replies.

“Can’t believe they’ve ditched us on a Friday.” You grumble, soaking clams in fresh water.

“We’ll be fine.” Kyungsoo reassures you.

***

It had been quite the day and nearing closing time, your feet were going sore. Baekhyun taking on the toughest role in the restaurant made you greatly appreciate his efforts. While most guests are civil, he’s experienced his fair share of rowdy ones firsthand and his ability to deal with them is unparalleled. He’s never, ever let any matter escalate to a point of embarrassment and has demonstrated the maturity to overcome every crisis situation with a smile on his face.

The fact that he’s only temporarily here suddenly starts to wear you out.

Kyungsoo sticks a handwritten note on the steel holder which reads - Yangnyeom - 2. It’s only been a little over eight months since the restaurant’s been fully functional yet the holder’s worn out more because of use and less because of time.

“About time we advanced to kitchen order tickets, right? Saves Baekhyun…or either of us unnecessary excursions to the kitchen. Also, billing will be simpler that way.” You offer while straightening your apron and getting ingredients ready for Kyungsoo to prepare the sauce.

“Yeah, it does”, he seems really out of it as he’s getting chunks of juicy chicken ready for the fryer. He’s moving around the kitchen rather clumsily, nearly tipping over the bottle of corn syrup.

“Wah, Chef, are you alright? Would you like me to do this?”

Resting his back against the wall, he slowly sinks to the floor, face buried in hands. “Yes, please.”

While you’re preparing a sauce the recipe for which you know like the back of your hand, his instructions don’t cease. The only thing you’ve ever liked about working with this man is that contrary to Imo, he does not believe in micromanaging. But right now it feels like you’re in the kitchen with her and not with Kyungsoo.

The tension causes you to lower the chicken into the fryer hastily resulting in specks of flaming oil to splatter onto your arm.

He’s quick to rush to your aid with a cold towel.

“Yah, Chef, you’re making me nervous, what’s with all this nitpicking?” You almost yell at him as he’s gingerly dabbing the towel on the affected area.

“I’m sorry, I am so sorry. It’s just”, he pauses briefly, worrying at his lower lip, questioning eyes peering into yours, before helping you with the chicken - slightly more confident in his movements now, “whatever you do, don’t get out of the kitchen. Table number four, those guys there, are weird.”

“Weird, how?”

“Rowdy, mannerless and drunk. Really, really drunk. Steamrolled by the ‘Friday happy’.”

“Ah, Baekhyun’s well-versed with their kind. Don’t worry, just be polite. Are you sure you don’t want me to intervene?”

“Positive and whatever happens?”

“Stay put. Chef?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s only thirty minutes to closing. We can get through this, okay? And don’t accept further orders!”

***

Twenty minutes after, you’re aimlessly scrolling through your phone to take your mind off the stabbing pain in your lower abdomen. Simultaneously playing a little game of inventing the kind of content Kyungsoo would upload if he were a user on these sites only to be jolted with the realization as to how little you know about the man.

As the restaurant’s occupied with boisterous conversations and raucous laughter, you’re counting seconds to closing. Multiplying three hundred with every bracket of five on the clock.

The din comes to an abrupt halt when you hear a middle aged man bellow, “Yah, punk, do you have a death wish?!”

Gradually moving closer to the door, you try to get a view of the scene outside.

You see a polite but firm Kyungsoo bow before the man, “We can’t serve you any more alcohol, sorry, we’ll be closing now.”

The other two men along with the nasty vermin have long passed out. You quickly call for a cab, subconsciously grabbing a hold of Kyungsoo’s knife in the process.

“DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHO YOU’RE TALKING TO RIGHT NOW?” He thunders.

Kyungsoo recoils as the man grows louder by the second. “We cannot serve you anymore alcohol, sir.”

It happens in a flash.

So fast you almost feel like you’re astral projecting.

One moment, the man raises a hand to strike Kyungsoo. Kyungsoo swerves. You dash out of the kitchen with the knife in your hand. Face to face with the man, you scream until your lungs hurt, “GET OUT! I SAID GET OUT OF MY RESTAURANT!”

The vermin’s companions stir at the sound.

With frightened eyes they take in the scene as their drowsy brain is still trying to assess the situation for action. They soon pull the man by his shoulders while Kyungsoo’s tugging at your knife bearing arm that’s still raised in combat mode, simultaneously apologising to the rowdy guest.

Wagging his sausage like finger at the both of you he warns menacingly, “You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into.”

Slapping the tab on their table, you proceed to threaten him, “Settle this and get - the fuck - out of my restaurant before I call the cops.”

Throwing a couple of bills on the table, he staggers out, grumbling, “You just wait”, still wagging his finger and reeking of stale alcohol.

It was only then that your grip on the knife eases as Kyungsoo carefully draws it out of your hand and you see, just like you, he’s shaking too.

“What just happened?” He’s the first to speak as you sit across the table from him, dark orbs glinting in the dim light, forehead beaded with sweat. His hands are tightly wound together as he places them on the table. One day without Baekhyun and Imo and Kyungsoo and you had messed up real bad. By the looks of it, neither of you were ready to accept this fact.

“We did exactly what we were supposed to do. Stop worrying!” You say more to yourself.

He’s not convinced.

“Chef, that man’s reaction wasn’t something that you could’ve preempted or….controlled in any way.” Finding yourself getting mildly annoyed, you try your best to lay the edge off of your voice. All you wanted was for him to be alright because, technically, none of this was his fault.

“Would you have allowed him to take a swing at you?”

“He was far too drunk for that”, he exhales heavily and you notice his stance relax before clamping up again, “but you-you came out with a knife!”

His tone isn’t accusatory. He’s simply baffled.

“Fight or flight…”

“It’s my knife.”

“I’ll be sure to hide the murder weapon.”

He nods slowly.

“Do you need some water? Tea? A hug?”

You half expect him to scowl or groan or whatever it is that he usually does but he seems to be actually evaluating his options.

“A beer?”

“Down for Chimaek?”

Stood up to go into the kitchen, you awkwardly, and very, very slowly put an arm around his shoulders and give him a tight squeeze.

***

This was your first time having fried chicken and beer in complete silence - a few minutes felt like hours with the incident still hovering over both of you.

“Chef, you know we haven’t murdered anyone right?”

“The restaurant feels like a scene of crime to me. Also, what did he mean by ‘you just wait’?”

“Eh. Empty threats. Testosterone poisoning. Do you think they’ll throw me into prison for threatening him with a knife?”

“You should be sent in for pilfering stock”, he says gesturing at the tray between you, taking a chunky bite of the chicken, “you were going to take this home, weren’t you? It’s good, by the way.”

“Ah, this makes me happy”, you lean back into your chair, smiling discreetly at Kyungsoo’s messy fingers and mouth.

“A compliment from me makes you happy?” His eyebrows shoot up as he takes a swig of beer.

“Testosterone poisoning”, you say pointing an accusatory finger at him, “I couldn’t care less what you think. I’m pretty confident in my skills.”

“As you should be. Then what ‘makes you happy’? The thought of going to prison?”

“Yes”, you lie, “you think I’ll have a prison bitch?”

“I think you’ll be the prison bitch.”

You open your mouth to protest but what escapes is a mortifying burp.

Uncomfortable silence.

Meeting his eyes, you purse your lips, feeling your face flame. He smiles at you and says, ‘wait for it’, before belching. Loudly. Sending you both into fits of laughter.

“What happened here last week?”

Kyungsoo and you are seated opposite Imo like criminals before a cop in an interrogation room. Baekhyun is holed up in the kitchen, cleaning. For the most part, he avoids conflicts like these where Imo’s red hot beam of anger could be misdirected at him.

She’s glaring at the responsible child, Kyungsoo, to break first but since it was your idea to keep the incident from her you start to explain. By the time you’re done she seems angrier, but not at the two of you. Only after a tiny lecture on how you should learn to be more tactful in such situations does she spell out her real concern.

Turns out the man the both of you had a scuffle with last week is the new officer’s brother-in-law. Now, the restaurant’s received a notice from the liquor permit’s office for an “inspection” in the coming week. Although aware that this situation isn’t either of your fault, Imo is far from pleased with this development.

“Fix this”, she orders and disappears into the kitchen.

There’s only one person who can help you out of this mess, but neither Kyungsoo nor you possess the emotional capacity to deal with him.

“He’s our only option”, you deadpan.

With a heavy sigh, Kyungsoo dials Mark Lee.

***

Mouth stuffed with egg sandwich, Mark Lee garbles, “What do you want from me? It’s an inspection so let them come and - inspect.”

Imo’s taken off for the day and it’s just you and Kyungsoo trying to sort out the mess you weren’t entirely responsible for.

“You said we could call you if we needed help with anything”, Kyungsoo reasons with Mark who’s now ogling at him as if he just got spoken to in an alien language.

“Yes, but I don’t see how I can be of help here?”

“Tell us anything you know about this new officer. Don’t leave anything out.” You’re nearly begging at this point and Mark Lee, as always, is reveling in your misery.

He relaxes in his seat, swirling the glass of watermelon juice, “You know you can’t buy your way out of this right? He’s an uptight bugger and you screwed up! Big time! All you had to do was give his brother-in-law a bottle of beer.”

“Oh, we’re sorry we didn’t have his family tree handy”, Kyungsoo rolls his eyes, “Besides, were just trying to abide by the rules - ”

The helplessness in Kyungsoo’s voice causes you to lose your cool at Mark. “Yah! Quit being cocky and just tell us everything you know!”

“Oh-oh feisty”, his mouth spreads into an annoying grin, “okay so he loves his wife, obviously, it’s why he’s doing this. Has an eleven year old daughter who is the apple of his eye. Erm, let’s see, he’s spent his teenage years in Japan and the country is all he’ll ever talk about. Piss him off and this inspection turns into a review and if things continue to spiral you’ll have your permit revoked. So be careful.” His eyes lock with yours making you shift uncomfortably in your seat.

“What are you planning to do with this information, anyway?”

“We don’t know just yet”, Kyungsoo starts clearing up the table, as usual, and Mark knows that his time is up.

“Dude”, he leans towards you, whisper-chortling, as Kyungsoo retires into the kitchen, “did you drive him out with a knife?”

Nodding, you grin gleefully.

“Fiery! You’re totally my boss’ type.”

***

“So what are we going to do?” Rubbing your eyes and stifling a yawn, you ask Kyungsoo.

While the world sleeps, the market is awake. Buzzing with a contagious energy. Although you hate having to wake up this early, the moment you step into this space, you’re completely taken by its vigour and gusto for life.

It’s nothing short of a celebration.

Chefs, big and small, passionately scour every nook and corner for the perfect herbs, veggies, and meats. You may not know each other closely or even by name but you feel part of a community - part of a family. True to character, you won’t ever stop whining about this routine with friends and family and occasionally with Kyungsoo, Baekhyun, and Imo but you know it in your heart of hearts, you wouldn’t skip sourcing for the world.

“So he’s spent his teenage years in Japan right?” Kyungsoo muses, lowering a crate of mudfish in the cart for today’s special, Chueotang.

“Let’s recreate his teenage years for him. Japanese dorm meals?”

Kyungsoo stops abruptly, “That’s a thought!”

“We can set the menu today after closing.”

“How about a coffee now?” He asks, averting your gaze as a slight smile forms on his lips.

On the morning of the inspection, Kyungsoo sneezed. Once. Twice. And on the third strike he was sent home by Imo because “this is not a good look”. Or forced out of the restaurant - depends on who you ask. He whined a little, even shed a few tears but Imo steeled herself and drew him out, anyway.

Although the menu is simple, the concept is layered and robust. The exercise is, after all, being undertaken merely to impress the officer in question. Well equipped for the inspection, the restaurant’s closed for the day.

This is nothing Baekhyun and you can’t manage but, obviously, Kyungsoo feels otherwise. He’s been calling to check in in intervals of five but seems like the medication’s finally kicked in and put him in a state of deep slumber. Good for him. And for you.

Two hours until showtime.

Under your close supervision, Baekhyun is labouring over the fairly straightforward stuff: tako sausages, potato and macaroni salad and egg sandwiches while you’ve kicked off the recipe for rolled omelettes.

Egg mixture aside, you start the rice cooker, leave green tea to boil for salmon ochazuke while the frying pan’s heating up for yaki udon.

***

Once you’d gotten all the dishes down, done exactly the way instructed by Kyungsoo: rolled omelettes, yaki udon, tako sausage, potato and macaroni salad, egg sandwiches and salmon ochazuke, it was time for you to take on the simplest but the most provoking dish on the menu.

Neko Manma. Or, cat rice.

“Ah, Dooly, shall I bring out the jar of bonito flakes?” Baekhyun prompts.

“The one Chef brought us this morning?”

He hums in response.

“I think we should use the store bought one instead.”

“But he’s worked on this recipe all week. You sure you wanna do that?”

“Positive.”

“He’ll flip out.”

“I’ll deal with it. We’re altering the recipe for Neko Manma, this ones too pretentious. Doesn’t sit right with me.”

“So, what do you want to do with it?” Baekhyun’s tone is wary and questioning.

“Rice, soy sauce, store bought bonito flakes and just a faint drizzle of butter. Nice and clean.” You respond confidently.

“Are you really sure?”

***

“Why are you here?” You hiss at Kyungsoo while Imo is outside, busy greeting the motley of high-headed officials, giving them a brief of the restaurant, herself, her team, and going over the licenses and documentation.

Face flushed, Kyungsoo’s lips are swollen and his eyes are runny, puffy, and bloodshot. He’s clearly in the need for some rest.

“To see if everything’s in order.” His voice is hoarse.

He starts to closely examine the entrees laid out, a smile of approval gracing his lips until he stops short of cat rice.

“These bonito flakes -”

“I didn’t use the fresh ones. I thought -”

“There’s no miso soup?”

“No, Chef, I reckoned -”

“No grilled fish? Are you being lazy?”

“Chef, no, I am not being lazy. The original recipe just didn’t feel right. So i changed it up a little -”

“Changed it up? That decision was not yours to make!”

“It’s just a side, it’s not going to matter so much!”

Absolutely livid, he runs a hand through his hair and laments. “If we weren’t this close to serving i would’ve dumped this into the bin because that’s where it belongs.”

“Chef, please”, your voice quivers, “let me explain! This was supposed to be the lightest dish on the menu. We ended up styling it with… overwhelming ingredients, so I -”

“I’m utterly confused! What on earth led you to believe you’re qualified enough to teach me? I’ve trained at a diner in Tokyo for two whole years. I know exactly what I’m doing here!”

Eyes brimming with tears, you glance over and Baekhyun who has ‘I told you so’ written all over his face.

"Kyungsooyah? When did you come in? What’s going on here?”

Imo’s bewilderment cuts through the tension.

“Sajangnim, I was feeling slightly better so I thought of dropping by to wish you luck."

Courtesying, he quickly dashes out through the back door.

***

The inspection has been revoked. Unofficially, atleast. The restaurant is to receive a written order in a week’s time.

The officer was impressed to the extent of apologising for his brother-in-law’s behaviour. He even lauded Imo on teaching her staff to stick to the establishment’s principles which made you wonder if he was fully aware of the facts of the case: knife and all.

He also mentioned how, as a student, he’d eat a bowl of Neko Manma before every exam because at the time, to him, anything else was unpalatable.

And that, this was what he considered to be the perfect recipe.

You go through the rest of the day as if sleepwalking. How stupid could you have been believe you were “on good terms” with Kyungsoo or that this was an equal and productive partnership. The fact remained that he still thought of you as someone frivolous: some air-headed moron who has no idea what she’s doing.

Someone beneath him.

You made an effort to appreciate this victory but the day had only left you with a bitter taste. Your mother had been right. You’ve always been too soft. Too trusting. Letting people in too easily and allowing them to walk all over you.

Now, Kyungsoo’s always been like this: controlling, stubborn, absolutely thorough. He never deviates from his well laid out plans. But today was different. Today, you expected something out of him. You expected him to trust you. You expected him to understand your reasoning, to give you a chance. To comprehend the fact that you could have a mind of your own and that not everything has to be exactly by the book.

You loathe yourself for expecting this out of him.

Sailing rough seas together doesn’t bloom friendships. You were stupid to think of him as a friend while, in all these months, his opinion of you had remained the same.

Contrary to the Gwangjang days, you’d long stopped wishing him gone. In some farthest corner of your heart you were even grateful that he chose to say.

You’ve been so stupid.

Two months later

The kitchen has been fervent but hushed.

After all this time, Baekhyun, Kyungsoo and you seem to have found a rhythm. You don’t need to verbally communicate to get through a workday.

But, you used to.

Sometimes unnecessarily even. Kyungsoo and you hardly saw eye to eye on most things but there would be some semblance of friendly workplace banter. He’d say a little something about a perfectly done piece of meat or a well seasoned soup. Baekhyun would take wickedly funny pot shots at some of the customers (to the utmost horror of Imo). Imo would sporadically push morsels of whatever was being prepared into your mouths.

Baekhyun receiving feedback in the form of grunts has shut him up altogether. And the busyness of the restaurant has seemed to have blinkered Imo into not being able to perceive the tension between Kyungsoo and you.

It’s a dance to no music.

Furtive glances. Measured smiles. Curt nods. Exceptional dishes. Decent earnings.

That’s it.

Maybe that’s how it should’ve always been.

“Ready to go?” Baekhyun asks, dressed in a well fitted black shirt and slacks.

You’re mopping the floor. Clearly not ready to go.

When you make this known with a sharp glare, Baekhyun giggles.

Nothing good can come out of that impish smile of his. But before you can sink your claws into him and drag him back, he’s already chatting up Kyungsoo who’s fixing the chairs.

“Kyungsoo, you coming?” He says a little too loudly and you groan. But you know Kyungsoo all too well. He’s one to decline offers involving socialising with you (unless of course, the offer is put forth by his dearest Sajangnim).

’You can do better than that’, you mouth to Baekhyun.

Incurious about Kyungsoo’s answer, you’re fully prepared to chomp Baekhyun’s ear off for inviting him.

“Sure”, Kyungsoo says plainly.

Sure?

Without taking the where-what-why route like normal people do? Just..sure?

“Great! We’re going out for drinks since it’s Dooly’s birthday today.”

“Oh. Happy birthday.”

“Thanks. But, Chef, you can’t come. I don’t want you there. I’m sor-”

Swallowing the apology crackling at the tip of your tongue, you dash into the kitchen, your periphery catching his lowered gaze and tight smile.

Regularising the erratic thrumming of your heart with deep breaths, you shove the mop into the storage area, take off your apron and throw it in the laundry bag (which you were to deal with the next morning), straighten your outfit, fix your hair, dab some rosy tint onto your lips, throw your tote bag over your shoulder, run back out, grab Baekhyun by purposefully lodging your nails into his arms, and take off.

200 notes · View notes