Chapter Text
Junha couldn't have asked for a better roommate.
No, truly.
Seungjoo has always been the obvious choice. She's not only her childhood friend, but also her best friend, and the most important person in Junha's life. It's not like being roommates is all that different from what they're used to. Seungjoo has always spent more time at Junha's house than her own, they've basically been living together for years already. The only difference is that they're grown now, entering college, and it's just them in the apartment.
So far it's been great, wonderful, really. Junha loves their routine. Seungjoo is awake earlier than her most days, because Junha is a pretty heavy sleeper. Been like that since they were kids. Seungjoo has always been impressed at her ability to sleep through almost everything, she’s made jokes about Junha being able to sleep even through the apocalypse. It’s not too far off; once, the smoke detectors had gone off in the middle of the night, and Junha hadn’t even stirred.
She's also made new friends in her classes, which is nice, she likes them. They share the same interests, there's none of the social hierarchy that was here in high school, where Junha survived because Seungjoo made sure that no one was allowed to bother her, unless they wanted to suffer the consequences.
The only point of conflict they have is Seungjoo.
It's only been two months but her friends won't stop pestering her about Seungjoo's place in her life.
“Junha-yah.”
Junha blinks, lips wrapped around her straw as she looks around the table. Her friends, Yejun, Daeun, and Jisung, look back at her with varying levels of exasperation. “What?”
“Are you even listening to us?” Yejun, who had called her name, says.
In complete honesty, not really, no. Junha hadn’t been listening. Not to be rude, but she already knows the words coming out of her friends’ mouths, has already heard them at least three times this week only. She gives a sheepish smile and straightens up. “Sorry, I was thinking about something.”
“Yeah, I wonder what,” Daeun mutters to Jisung who nods sombrely.
Junha rolls her eyes. “You guys are ridiculous. How many times do I have to say that Seungjoo and I are best friends? We’ve always been like that.”
“Yeah, and that doesn’t mean there’s nothing weird about it,” Daeun shoots back, arms crossed. “You guys are…intense.”
“Especially her,” Jisung adds.
Junha almost bristles. Jisung is a shy, awkward guy 94% of the time, but somehow he always finds his voice and courage when it means getting on her nerves.
“She’s not weird,” she snaps, sharper than she means to. She doesn’t deny the ‘intense’ part, because it’s true. Seungjoo is intense, but that’s not a flaw nor a sin. Junha likes how intense she is. Her friends look a bit surprised at her outburst, and she takes a deep breath to calm down and soften her tone. “We’re just close, alright? It’s not a crime.”
Her friends don’t answer but she knows they don’t think any less, knows it’s going to come up again. She looks down, fingers tightening around the plastic cup in her hand. Murmurs start anew among her friends, along with movement she can see out of the corner of her vision.
Then, she feels it before she sees her. Catches the familiar scent of Seungjoo’s perfume before she’s even near their table. Feels her fingers brushing her nape before Junha leans her head back a little to stare at Seungjoo upside down.
Seungjoo still has her helmet tucked under one arm, and she grins at Junha with that familiar spark in her eyes, like she’s happy just seeing her. It makes her grin back, just as happy. “Ready to head back?”
Junha nods, already standing up. “Yeah. Sorry guys, I’ll see you later.”
She doesn’t turn around and barely hears their responding goodbyes, already engaged in a conversation about Seungjoo’s day.
The café door chimes as they step outside, the late afternoon air bringing shivers to Junha’s skin. Without missing a beat, Seungjoo wordlessly presses the helmet in Junha’s hands before taking off her leather jacket to drape it over her shoulders. It leaves her in a red, cropped tank top, displaying wide expanses of inked skin, and the glinting jewel at her navel, that draw the attention of several people around them.
Junha glares at some of them, their lecherous gaze irking her. Just because Seungjoo looks—well—like that doesn’t give them the right to look at her like a piece of meat on display. She can’t give back the jacket because there isn’t a world where Seungjoo will take it back. She’ll wrestle Junha into the sleeves in full view of everyone, if she has to. So she opts for walking a little closer to her.
Seungjoo, for her part, doesn’t give a shit, as always. She keeps talking and walking like she owns the street, her hand naturally finding Junha’s nape. “—and that jerk tried to tell me women only get tattoos like that for male attention.” She fakes a gag, reaching into her pocket to take out a cigarette.
“How many is that today?” She raises an eyebrow at Seungjoo but her hand is already slipping into Seungjoo’s jacket pocket, fingers curling around the familiar shape of her lighter. She flicks it open and holds the flame to the end of Seungjoo’s cigarette.
Seungjoo thanks her with a gentle squeeze to her nape, thumb brushing the skin briefly. “I don’t know, petal.”
“You shouldn’t be smoking so much. And you should keep count.”
“Well, you’re already doing that for me, aren’t you?” Seungjoo’s voice is low and amused, as she exhales smoke into the cool air.
Junha rolls her eyes, looking away from the smug curve of Seungjoo’s grin around her cigarette.
Her cigarette is almost done by the time they reach her motorcycle, but instead of finishing it entirely, she flicks it away with a practiced hand. She takes back her helmet, only to slip it over Junha’s head, as she’d expected. She swings a leg over her bike, spine curving with the movement, and Junha clears her throat before climbing on behind her.
The ride home is, as always, fast. Seungjoo thrives on speed, likes the rush of air in her ears. Junha doesn’t enjoy it as much, but she doesn’t mind going fast when it makes Seungjoo this thrilled. It’s also a bit exhilarating—the wind whipping past them, the familiar streets blurring. She gets why it makes Seungjoo feel alive. Sometimes, Seungjoo hollers and accelerates, just a bit, and Junha has to close her eyes and bury her face into her back, arms tightening around her waist. Not out of fear, she trusts Seungjoo too much for that, but it can be a little much.
Seungjoo always cackles at Junha’s wobbly legs when they get off the bike, as she stands there like a newborn fawn. She takes off Junha’s helmet, teary eyes and flushed cheeks from the wind meeting a mirthful face. Then, without a hitch, Seungjoo pulls her closer, tucking her head under her chin.
“I’m sorry, petal,” she coos, swaying them lightly.
“You say that as if it won’t happen again,” Junha scolds her half-heartedly but she hides her smile into Seungjoo’s chest.
Seungjoo unlocks the front door and steps aside to let Junha in first, a habit she’s never lost. It’s something she started doing back when they were young—opening doors for Junha, making sure she gets inside first. She’s always claimed it to be for safety, that she feels more secure having Junha in front of her, entering rooms before her. “You’re so small, you could get snatched at any moment, and what would I do, then?” She’d say sometimes, pinching her cheeks.
Their shoes are kicked off by the door and Junha makes a beeline for the bathroom while Seungjoo heads to the kitchen. Another part of their routine; Seungjoo is in charge of making dinner when they get home. She doesn’t allow Junha to get her hands in the kitchen, if she can help it. It’s—well, her friends would probably call her spoiled if they knew, but Seungjoo is undeniably the better cook between the two of them. The only times Junha can cook is if Seungjoo is home later, which doesn’t happen often, or if Seungjoo is sick.
And even then, Seungjoo will try to drag her tired body up to cook something, despite Junha’s scolding.
“Stay in bed,” Junha says firmly, finger pointed toward the burrito shape under the blankets.
She’s only taken three steps out of the room before she hears the sounds of sheets rustling. And sure enough, when she turns around, Seungjoo is up. She has one hand braced on the bed to keep herself upright, and she’s clearly in no condition to be moving anywhere.
Huffing, Junha steps closer, arms already outstretched to take half of Seungjoo’s weight. “You’re impossible,” she mutters before she pushes gently, trying to nudge Seungjoo into lying back down but it’s no use. Despite how weak she currently is, she resists the push, jaw set in that familiar way she gets when something isn’t going her way.
“Seung-ah,” she warns, but Seungjoo defiantly raises her chin.
Unfortunately, a sick Seungjoo is a very stubborn Seungjoo, but two can play that game. Junha slides her hand down to Seungjoo’s, the one holding her upright, and tugs. It’s almost too easy, then, to push her until she’s lying down once again.
Before she can protest, Junha swings a leg over to settle herself on Seungjoo’s lap. She blinks up at her, still caught between her surprise at being down, and amusement at what Junha’s doing.
Junha decides to bring out the big guns. “Joo-unnie,” she murmurs, quiet and soft, watching the way Seungjoo’s breath catches in her throat. “Stay in bed.”
To put the final nail in the coffin, she leans down to wrap her arms around Seungjoo’s head, as best as she can with the awkward angle. It’s not exactly a hug but it works just as well. Seungjoo’s hands drift naturally to her waist as she replies, voice slightly sulky. “That’s cheating.”
Junha shrugs, speaking against Seungjoo’s neck. “Well, you’re impossible.”
Comfortable silence settles in, warm and familiar. After a little while, Seungjoo pats her waist to get her attention. “You’re gonna get sick, Jun-ie.”
She shakes her head, burying her face further into the curve of Seungjoo’s shoulder. “You won’t stay in bed so I have to.”
She did end up sick as well the next day, but it was all worth it. It’s not something that happens often—not that she wants Seungjoo to be sick more. That’s not it at all. It’s disconcerting to see her so tired, so pale and pliant, when she’s usually so full of life, of assurance and snark. But she can’t deny that a part of her enjoys it. For one day, she’d been the one to take care of Seungjoo, to feed her and make sure she was getting enough rest.
Junha gets out of the bathroom with damp hair sticking to her neck to the smell of food filling the apartment, something warm and spicy. The scent makes her mouth water and she pads barefoot into the kitchen, where Seungjoo is standing at the stove. She beckons Junha closer with a flick of her head, blowing air on the spoon she’s holding before lifting it to Junha’s lips.
“How is it?” She asks with a cocky smile, because she knows exactly how it is.
Still, Junha doesn’t skimp out on complimenting Seungjoo, especially not on her cooking. Why should she pretend otherwise, when they both know the truth? “It’s really good.”
Seungjoo’s smug grin turns softer at Junha’s genuine praise, and she bends a little to bump her shoulder against hers. “Go sit, I’ll bring the plates.”
“I’ll do it,” Junha replies, already stepping around Seungjoo to reach the cupboard where they keep the plates. She sticks her tongue out when her best friend looks at her with narrowed eyes and goes to set the table.
*
When Junha wakes up the morning after, the sun is already up. She almost panics for a second at having slept in and missed her classes before she remembers that today is a saturday and thus, a free day.
She’s still on the couch. She must’ve fallen asleep somewhere after the second movie. Seungjoo is still curled around her, nose tucked right under her jaw and both arms wrapped firmly around her waist. This isn’t out of the ordinary, they often fall asleep on the couch together, because it’s always so comfortable and warm that Junha can’t help falling asleep, dozing off to the rhythm of Seungjoo’s chest moving up and down.
What makes her freeze and snap her eyes open isn’t that.
It’s the way her skin feels warm, in places it really shouldn’t. There’s the ghost of heat lingering between her legs.
Seungjoo, thankfully, is still asleep, oblivious to Junha’s impending meltdown. She doesn’t bear witness to the frantic way Junha tugs on the waistband of her pajama shorts under the thin blanket, to check—maybe she’s wrong, maybe it’s not what she thinks—
But her underwear is undeniably soaked. Physical proof of how despicable she is.
Heat rushes to her face. It’s—shamefully, it’s not the first time Junha has woken up like this. Wet and sore, in between Seungjoo’s arms. Her best friend’s arms.
She shifts cautiously, trying to get away without waking up Seungjoo. The guilt is twisting her insides, the shame feeling like a brick she swallowed. She needs to change, needs to shower, to—
“Mhm, Jun-ie?”
Seungjoo’s voice, heavy with sleep, interrupts her internal panic, then makes it skyrocket, even stronger. “Sorry—Did I wake you?” She says, trying to keep her voice level and casual. She knows that at the slightest hint of discomfort, at the slightest shift in her voice, Seungjoo will be up and alert, fussing over her through bleary eyes and Junha can’t have that. No, Seungjoo needs to stay still, stay drowsy and blissfully unaware of the sin that Junha’s committed again.
“Are you alright?” She asks, one hand squeezing Junha’s hip, to offer wordless comfort, as the touch usually would. Except, right now, it only makes everything worse, makes her already sensitive core burn.
She nods, not trusting her voice. “Go back to sleep,” she whispers.
She brushes Seungjoo’s hair away from her face with gentle fingers and by miracle, she complies. She leans into Junha’s hand for a moment before she relaxes, loosening her grip, and allowing Junha to peel herself from their embrace and the couch before speed walking to the bathroom, heart pounding.
The bathroom door clicks shut behind her, the noise too loud in the early morning, in the fragile silence.
Junha doesn’t turn on the lights as she strips off her clothes, wincing at her damp underwear. She rolls it into a ball and drops it into the laundry hamper, as if that might erase her shame, her guilt.
Worst part is the sensation between her legs hasn’t gone away.
Junha turns on the shower tap and doesn’t wait for it to warm up before she steps underneath the spray. She doesn’t even flinch, she needs a cold shower. Needs the shock to wake her up and hopefully wash away the awful thing she’s done.
This is an unfortunate, terrible, disastrous drawback to living with Seungjoo like this. Maybe the only one even, but definitely the biggest one.
This is her best friend. Junha’s body needs to stop acting up when she's sleeping near her. Or maybe she needs to stop falling asleep around her altogether. Maybe then her body would get the memo.
Junha can still remember the first time it happened.
It was in her own bedroom, back when she was still living with her parents. Seungjoo was sleeping over, as she usually was, and they had spent the night watching horror movies, because Junha really likes them, even if some of it still manages to scare her. But it’s fine, because Seungjoo’s always here with a soothing touch to her neck, holding her hand when it gets too much. What’s not fine is waking up in the middle of that night to pee, only to realize her legs had been locked around Seungjoo’s thigh, and she had been—she had—
Even now, a year and a half later, it’s still mortifying to think about. But no matter how much she wanted to deny it, the proof was there. She had been undoubtedly rubbing herself against her best friend’s thigh in her sleep.
Junha groans, forehead hitting the cold tile as she slumps forward in humiliation. The cold water running down her back isn’t helping all that much—she hates the part of her that still wants to reach down and touch herself. God, what would Seungjoo think if she knew?
Junha can’t imagine her reacting with disgust. Seungjoo is too nice for that, she’s never once made her feel like something could be wrong with her. Quite the opposite, she always makes sure to shower her with compliments, even for the smallest things. Junha knows no one cares for her more than Seungjoo, and she hopes her best friend knows she feels the same.
But this —this is different. This is a lot. This would change things. Maybe Seungjoo wouldn’t look at her with disgust or pity, but she could pull away. She could put careful distance between them. Could lessen the amount of physical touch they shared, the ease at which they moved around each other. The way they’ve always been them. She would be kind about it, she’d hold Junha's hands, delicately rub her thumbs against her knuckles maybe, and tell her that they should give each other a little space.
Junha shuts off the water. She still feels on edge, emotionally and physically, but she pats herself on the back for not giving in to the guilty urge to rub herself in the shower. She can’t keep letting her body betray her like that. She can’t spend the rest of her life like this, waking up ashamed at her proximity to her best friend. Seungjoo is, objectively, the most attractive woman she knows, probably even the most gorgeous woman among those she doesn’t know. But that doesn’t mean she has to act like an animal in heat. She’s not like those people in the street; the ones who stare at Seungjoo with open lust in their eyes, who would like nothing more than to get her in bed, like a beautiful prize.
Well, sure, she does get Seungjoo in her bed more often than not, but it’s not like that. It’s their safe space; it means comfort and familiarity. And sure, it’s not her fault that her body moves on its own during her sleep. She can’t be held responsible for what she does unconsciously. But still—she’s better than those strangers. She has to be.
*
The café is pretty empty when Junha arrives, around five pm. She hadn’t been planning on going out all weekend; she’s always preferred spending free days with Seungjoo, just the two of them and anime episodes to catch up on. But Yejun had texted her earlier in the afternoon, apparently about something urgent that she had to tell Junha face to face.
So here she is, at their usual spot, nursing an iced vanilla latte and scrolling through Seungjoo’s messages, while waiting for her friend to show up when the door chimes. She glances up, expecting to see Yejun’s blonde hair but it’s a perfect stranger who’s standing at the entrance. A tall woman with wavy dark hair who looks around the near empty café with confidence until her gaze lands on Junha.
Her eyes light up and she marches over, fingers curling over the back of the chair across from Junha. “You must be Junha.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m Seoyeon,” she smiles, keeps going like this is normal, dropping down into the seat.
Junha’s gears work at full speed, scrambling to make sense of the situation—did she miss something? Was she supposed to meet someone?—until everything clicks. Oh, for fuck’s sake. “..This is a setup.”
Seoyeon laughs, low and amused. “Mm, your friend said you wouldn’t come if you knew.”
Junha is going to strangle Yejun. And the other two idiots, because she knows Yejun didn’t come up with this on her own. This is a hundred percent a group effort and she’s going to send a very angry text to the group chat as soon as she has the chance to. But for now, she sighs and takes a long sip of her drink.
It’s not Seoyeon’s fault that her friends are annoying. Junha doesn’t want to be rude and waste the other woman’s time, even if nothing is going to come out of this…not-date. What were her friends thinking?
Well, she knows exactly what they were thinking, and it’s extremely dumb.
Seoyeon stands up to get herself a drink before sitting back down. She stirs the sugar in her cup casually, like she doesn’t feel the awkwardness surrounding their table, or maybe she just doesn’t care. “So,” she grins, “your friend told me you needed to get out more.”
Junha huffs, rolling her eyes. “You should never believe a word of what comes out of her mouth.”
Seoyeon suddenly leans in a little closer, resting her chin on her palm as her gaze turns sharp. “Mm, I don’t know about that, she didn’t lie about how cute you were.”
The motion makes her sleeve fall back a little and Junha’s eyes catch on the tattoo peeking out underneath; long lines of ink trail down her forearm. Seoyeon notices her glance and smirks, tugging down her sleeve a bit more to show Junha the full piece. It’s something pretty, something floral and elegant.
Not a snake.
“You like tattoos?” Seoyeon asks.
Junha nods, pulling her gaze back up. “They’re cool.” It isn’t like the other woman is doing anything wrong. She’s beautiful, clearly confident in the way she speaks and carries herself, like she knows the effect she has on people. But something about this whole thing feels off. Wrong.
Maybe it’s because Junha doesn’t really go on dates, ever, but she feels like she’s doing something wrong. Would it be rude to leave now? Because she really, really wants to go home.
“Sorry,” she says abruptly, chair making a screeching noise on the floor as she stands. “I’ve had a long day. I should get home.”
It’s a complete lie. She’s had a very restful, very peaceful day, actually. Spent lazy hours on the couch with snacks and Seungjoo. But the date, despite how nice Seoyeon seems, drained all her energy.
Seoyeon leans back in her chair, and she doesn’t look surprised nor offended at Junha’s words. “No worries, you looked miles away ever since I sat down.”
A hint of guilt does flicker then. “You seem great, this just—”
“You don’t have to say anything, I get it, this was planned behind your back,” Seoyeon says, rising too. Then, she grins a little sharper, leaning down into Junha’s space. “If it doesn’t work out, you can always give me a call.”
She winks, and with that, she’s gone. Junha is still reeling, blinking confusedly by the time she walks out into the street as well, fishing out her phone.
First, she texts Seungjoo to let her know she’ll be home soon. Then, as planned, she sends the group chat a message as well.
i swear to god
u think i dont know what you’re trying to do??
you think you can throw me a “copy” of seungjoo and then what? ill forget my best friend??
im so mad at u guys i dont even have words
She doesn’t bother checking their replies, either apologies or excuses. She just wants to go home and crawl into Seungjoo’s arms like a cat, pretend this whole thing didn’t happen.
Seungjoo has long since abandoned pretending to be someone that she’s not.
When Junha frowns at her phone, muttering something about one of her friends needing her and saying she’ll be back as fast as she can, Seungjoo simply nods.
Then, she waits five minutes before grabbing her helmet and heading out after her.
It’s not like it’s really hard to figure out where Junha could be. She said that one of her friends texted her, which narrows it down to three locations: their regular café, the little restaurant on the other side of town, or Junah’s favorite bookstore. And if she’s wrong, which is highly unlikely, well, Junha shares her location with her at all times, so she’s never too worried, never left in the dark for long.
Still, it doesn’t mean she enjoys watching her just leave the sacred place of their home to go do who-knows-what. Her friends don't seem to understand how generous Seungjoo is, to even allow them to see Junha as often as they do. They should be thanking her.
When they were younger, Junha didn't keep friendships for very long.
Not because of anything she is or did, absolutely not, Junha is a wonderful friend to have. Anyone would, and should, feel blessed to even breathe the same air as her.
However, Seungjoo didn’t care much for anyone else. She used to be a lot less subtle as a teenager. She'd hog all of Junha's time and attention shamelessly. Would glue herself to her back like it was her place, and it was. Still is. She'd make sure everyone around them, whether family, friends, classmates, or strangers, knew that there was no room for anyone else between them. They could only be passing figures, momentary acquaintances, in Junha's life. Anything more than that was strictly forbidden.
Who were they, to think they deserved a smidge of Junha’s attention?
To believe they were worthy of seeing beyond the surface?
No, Seungjoo is the only one who can treat her like she deserves, the only one who can give her what she needs.
Irritatingly, some people don't get the hint.
Seungjoo parks across the street from the café, not removing her helmet, and watches as a woman sits down across her little dove.
It isn’t someone she knows, and she reckons it’s not someone Junha knows either, judging by her cute confused blinking at the sudden presence in front of her. The woman is tall and confident in a way that Seungjoo recognizes all too easily. This is a woman used to people eating in the palm of her hands, used to getting what she wants effortlessly.
Well, this will be her first time learning defeat.
She reins in the urge to storm in here and scoop Juha onto her shoulder. Maybe accidentally spill boiling hot coffee all over the woman, rip the easy smirk off her face.
But she knows she doesn’t have to. Junha isn’t interested, it’s clear as day. She’s only half listening to be polite, she’s restless on her chair, eyes darting around like she’s distressed.
When Junha stands abruptly, leaving no room for negotiation, Seungjoo smiles, pleased.
Maybe she should reward Junha, tonight. For knowing where she belongs.
When the other woman finally leaves, Seungjoo heads home, so she’ll be there to welcome Junha back with open arms. Her lamb handled that perfectly, thrown to the wolves as she was. But Seungjoo is still seething. She knows that was Junha’s friends doing, and not an accidental run-in. She hates when people start taking liberties.
Maybe she should make things clear again.
Seungjoo is sprawled on the couch by the time the door clicks open, merely four minutes after she’s gotten home. Minutes she spent contemplating what she should do about Junha’s meddling friends. She doesn’t want them to pull another stunt like this.
“How was it?” She asks, voice light.
Junha freezes for half a second, as she slips her shoes off. “It was fine, Yejun was just being dramatic.”
Seungjoo’s fingers curl around the plushie she was playing with—a round, blue cat she’d won for Junha months ago. Oh? A lie?
Smiling, she asks, “Are you sure?”
Junha hums, trying to keep it casual, avoiding her gaze like she’s guilty about something. Which she is.
Not because of that poor excuse of a date. But because she’s now hiding it. From her .
She shouldn’t hide anything. Junha doesn’t keep secrets. There isn’t a single thing about her that Seungjoo doesn’t know, and it’s not going to change now.
“I missed you,” she says instead, one hand reaching out towards Junha, catching her wrist as she draws closer.
“I was gone for, like, not even an hour,” she replies but she melts into Seungjoo’s hold all the same, until she’s more or less sprawled in her lap, right where she belongs.
Seungjoo noses into her hair, inhaling the faint cherry scent of her shampoo. “You know I don’t like being home alone too long,” she murmurs, not a threat but a reminder. “Don’t make a habit out of it.”
Whatever she thought about a reward earlier will have to wait. She believes a little punishment before is in order.
She doesn’t let anything in her behavior betray her thoughts, but she does keep Junha in her lap for a while longer, her arms looped lazily around her waist while they keep going with their rewatch of Hunter x Hunter. Seungjoo is only barely paying attention, she’s more interested in the way Junha keeps shifting, like she means to get up, maybe, only to still every time Seungjoo tightens her grip in response.
Eventually, Junah’s stomach grumbles and Seungjoo relents. She lifts her off her lap with ease and places her down onto the couch while she gets up to cook something, nothing too fancy nor anything that takes long to make. Each time she glances behind her, Junha is still here, looking soft and focused on the TV screen. She disappears briefly to take a quick shower, and once she’s done, dinner is waiting for her at the table.
By the time they finish eating, Junha’s eyes are heavy-lidded, the way they always get after a warm meal. Seungjoo smiles at her, chin propped on her palms. “Good?”
“Mm,” Junha yawns, standing up to put their plates away before Seungjoo can do it. She dips down when she brushes past her to bump her nose into Seungjoo’s cheek. “Always is.”
Seungjoo doesn’t protest, she just watches her head to the kitchen sink, chest filled to the brim with something too big to name, as always, like she’s going to burst with the strength of what she feels for Junha. She’d gauge the eyes of anyone who’d get to see this—Junha, soft and drowsy, barefoot and swallowed up in one of Seungjoo’s hoodies.
They curl up on the couch again, tucked under the faux-fur blanket, but Seungjoo knows Junha won’t be awake much longer. Her head keeps tipping forward before she jolts back up, shaking herself awake. Watching her sleepy blinks, Seungjoo decides to help. She brushes her knuckles up the length of Junha’s arms, brings them up the curve of her cheek, gently rubbing back and forth until Junha’s eyes stay closed, breath steady.
In only a few minutes, she’s fully asleep half on top of Seungjoo, snug, warm, and vulnerable.
Seungjoo simply keeps stroking her cheek at first, a deep satisfaction reinforced every time Junha falls asleep around her, so trusting and all Seungjoo’s.
Then, slowly, she lets her fingers drift down.
She trails them down Junha’s arms, moving at careful speed not to wake her up. She doesn’t bother mapping out every inch of her body this time. This is not the reward she had thought about, but a punishment for lying to her and hiding things.
With feather-light fingers, she dips her hand under the blanket. The tips of her fingers glide along the curve of her thigh, and it’s enough for Junha’s legs to part slightly, because her body knows who she belongs to, can recognize the faintest touch.
It feels like permission, and Seungjoo’s other hand splays low along her inner thigh, feeling the warmth here. Usually, she loves taking her time, loves savoring every little unconscious reaction Junha offers her. But not tonight. Tonight, the venom under her skin is asking for more than that.
One hand stays curled possessively around Junha’s thigh while the other one slips beneath the cotton of her underwear. Her fingers meet bare skin, so hot and soft, and Seungjoo doesn’t hesitate. She runs two fingers through warm folds, gathering the slick; Junha always gets so wet with so little touch. It’s like her body is trained to welcome Seungjoo, made for her.
Her hips twitch helplessly, and Seungjoo gives her what she needs—she dips the tip of her middle finger inside, before pulling it out. She does it again, teasing the entrance at a steady pace, sinking down little by little each time.
Junha gasps in her sleep, brows furrowing. “Shh,” Seungjoo murmurs, lips close to her ear. She strokes her thigh with her free hand, soothing movements to keep her dormant. At the same time, she adds another finger, sliding against Junha’s inner walls with a patient rhythm.
She’s not in a hurry, she’s going to make sure Junha feels every touch deeply. But she won’t get to come, not tonight. She’s going to keep her just on the brink of ecstasy, right on the edge.
She curls her fingers inside, grinds the palm of her hand against Junha’s clit, and when her hips jerk, she pulls back. She withdraws her fingers entirely with an obscene wet sound and watches, bewitched, as Junha’s stomach clenches, as her hips squirm, chasing the pleasure she was denied.
She makes a noise, a fragile, broken whimper from the back of her throat, and Seungjoo answers by pushing in three fingers in a single, smooth thrust.
Junha’s hips roll, like her body is trying to take more, to entice Seungjoo into going deeper, harder, on instinct alone. Her lips find Junha’s jaw, tempted to bite down, to mark her and make sure no one will even dare try something again. She presses careful, open mouthed kisses down her throat instead, hand moving firmly between her legs.
Junha starts making those short, involuntary jerks, her breathing has gone irregular, little whimpers escaping her throat and Seungjoo knows she’s close. She knows her body by heart, which means she knows exactly how far she can push it before Junha comes.
She doesn’t slow her movements, she keeps thrusting her fingers, deep in Junha’s cunt, hitting that spot that makes her back arch. Just to be mean, she brushes her clit with her thumb, just once, just enough to make her buck roughly, and then she pulls away completely.
Junha’s body tenses before she sags back against Seungjoo, like a puppet whose strings have been cut. She pulls her fingers out of her underwear, patting her pussy gently above the fabric, and she can feel how she’s still pulsing, still clenching around nothing.
Junha is frowning in her sleep, mouth downturned into a cute little pout and Seungjoo presses a series of kisses to her jaw, reverent, before she brings her fingers to her own mouth to lick them clean—nothing will ever taste as sweet and right as Junha.
For now, Seungjoo settles more comfortably into the couch, pulling Junha over her with a hand underneath her hoodie.
Twenty minutes later, she does it again. Coaxes Junha’s legs open with a firm hand, works slow fingers into her cunt until Junha is heaving, then she withdraws, leaving her empty and wanting.
Then, she does it once more.
Junha is still dripping wet, her legs are trembling, and she doesn’t know the erotic picture she paints—legs open, face flushed, parted lips gasping for air while her hips keep rolling into Seungjoo’s hand. Her cunt clenches around her fingers the moment they press in, and Seungjoo keeps the same pace going, slow and torturous.
Junha isn’t the only one who’s wound tight. Her own body is warm and aching; she’s soaked but she doesn’t spare herself any relief, every bit of her attention focused on Junha and the way she’s crumbling under her hands. She pulls her fingers out again.
This time, she doesn’t wait as long. Barely five minutes have passed before her fingers sink inside Junha again. She has to force herself to move slowly, even though everything inside of her wants to break, wants to pin Junha down on the couch and feast. She pushes her fingers inside and stays here, unyielding, watching the way Junha’s hands unconsciously claw at the blanket.
This time, Seungjoo doesn’t pull out. She thrusts in again, and again, strokes Junha’s clit slowly with her other hand. Junha starts jerking in Seungjoo’s lap, pleasure reaching its peak, and Seungjoo starts coming undone as well. She keeps the momentum going, keeps stroking her clit, but she pulls her fingers free to reach for one of Junha’s hands. With careful movement, she guides it under the cotton and pushes two of Junha’s fingers in, alongside her own.
Junha moans, back arching as her fingers twitch inside herself, and she does it for a few more thrusts, then she brings Junha’s hand up to lick her slick fingers clean. At the same time, she finally grinds down against Junha’s back, chasing friction, and the contact, along with Junha’s taste on her tongue, from her own hand, sends jolts of heat up her spine. It doesn’t take long for both of them to come together, after that.
They lay there breathless in the aftermath, Junha’s body shaking in her arms as her body finally gets a break. Seungjoo keeps holding her hand, slick and warm, and pressing feathery kisses along her neck, up her jaw and cheek.
She might get up to clean them up, or she might stay here, in her rightful place underneath Junha, until they wake up.
She can only imagine how distraught her little dove will be in the morning. Even though no one is here to see it, she hides her pleased smile in Junha’s hair.