Annyeongz One-shots

70. Challenge

Yujin had always been the guy who lived in the gym.

At 6'1", his shoulders were wide enough to block doorways, his arms thick from years of heavy pulling, and his abs — eight sharp, carved ridges — looked like they were etched with a chisel. He wasn't the type to flex in mirrors for selfies; he just liked how the iron felt, how the burn reminded him he was still moving forward. Every morning at 5:30 a.m., rain or shine, he was there: deadlifts, bench, pull-ups, then an hour of conditioning that left most people gasping just watching.

Wonyoung, his wife of three years, loved that about him. She loved the quiet focus he carried, the way sweat would bead along his collarbone after a set, the casual strength he never seemed to notice himself. She wasn't a gym rat like him — she preferred yoga, long walks, and scrolling through aesthetic videos late at night — but she admired the discipline.

One humid Thursday evening, Wonyoung was curled on the couch in an oversized hoodie (one of Yujin's, naturally), phone in hand, when the algorithm served her something dangerous.

The video was simple: a shirtless guy in gray sweatpants doing slow, perfect push-ups. His girlfriend — tiny, giggling — sat cross-legged right on the middle of his back like it was a bench. Every time he pressed up, she squealed and patted his shoulders like she was riding a very slow horse. The caption read:

"POV: your man is your personal weighted vest 😏 #couplegoals #pushupchallenge #strongbf"

The comments were a war zone of thirsty emojis, marriage proposals, and men swearing they could do it too (they couldn't).

Wonyoung watched it three times. Then she saved it. Then she stared at the ceiling for a full minute, biting her lip.

Yujin walked in twenty minutes later, the tank top soaked dark, towel around his neck, carrying the faint smell of iron and cedarwood body wash.

"Hey, baby," he said, bending to kiss her forehead. "You good?"

Wonyoung looked up at him with those big, innocent eyes that always meant trouble.

"Can you do push-ups with me sitting on your back?"

Yujin blinked once. Twice.

"…What?"

She turned the phone around and played the video. He watched in silence, expression unreadable. When it ended he rubbed the back of his neck — the universal sign he was calculating.

"That's like… what, 50–55 kilos extra?" he muttered, mostly to himself. "Center of mass is higher than a plate… the core has to stay tighter…"

Wonyoung tilted her head. "Is that a no?"

He looked at her — really looked. The soft glow of the lamp on her cheekbones, the way she was already half-smiling like she knew he'd say yes.

"It's not a no," he said finally. "But if we're doing this, we're doing it right."

They moved to the living room, pushed the coffee table aside. Yujin dropped into a plank position on the rug. Wonyoung hesitated for half a second — suddenly aware of how small she felt next to him — then carefully climbed onto his back, sitting cross-legged right between his shoulder blades like the girl in the video.

He didn't even flinch.

"Comfy?" he asked, voice steady.

"…Yeah?" she squeaked.

"Good. Hands on my shoulders if you need balance. Don't squeeze my neck."

She placed her palms lightly on the warm, hard muscle there.

"Ready when you are," she whispered.

Yujin exhaled once, long and controlled.

Then he started.

The first rep was smooth — chest to floor, press back up. Wonyoung felt the shift of power under her like ocean waves. She let out a tiny, surprised laugh.

"Still okay?" he asked on the way down for rep two.

"Mhm!"

Three. Four. Five.

By eight she could feel the subtle tremor in his core — not weakness, just the extra demand of keeping everything braced while 50+ kilos sat on his spine. His breathing stayed even, deep, almost meditative.

At fifteen she leaned forward a little, resting her cheek against the back of his neck.

"You're ridiculous," she murmured.

"Says the girl using me as furniture."

She giggled, and the vibration made him huff a laugh mid-rep.

Twenty.

Twenty-five.

Sweat started to bead along his temples, sliding down the side of his face. His arms — those stupidly thick arms — showed the veins popping like road maps.

Thirty.

Wonyoung's teasing disappeared. She just held on, amazed, heart thumping against his back.

At thirty-five he slowed — not struggling, just deliberate. Every inch down and up was textbook perfect.

"Still with me?" he grunted.

"Always."

Forty.

He paused at the top of forty-one, just for a heartbeat.

"If I drop you," he said, voice low and rough from effort, "it's your fault for being so damn cute."

She laughed so hard she almost lost balance. He powered through the wobble without breaking form.

Forty-five.

Fifty.

He stopped at the top of the fiftieth rep, locked out strong, then slowly lowered himself all the way to the floor. Wonyoung slid off gently and knelt beside him.

Yujin rolled onto his back, chest rising and falling, eyes closed. Sweat glistened on every ridge of his abs. He looked like a statue someone had just poured water over.

Wonyoung leaned down and kissed the center of his chest, right over his pounding heart.

"You okay?" she whispered.

He cracked one eye open.

"I just did fifty push-ups with my wife on my back. I'm better than okay."

She grinned, brushing damp hair off his forehead.

"Think we can beat the TikTok guy's record?"

Yujin let out a tired, happy laugh and pulled her down until she was sprawled across his chest.

"Tomorrow," he murmured, arms wrapping around her. "Tonight I'm using *you* as my weighted blanket."

Wonyoung nestled closer, listening to the steady drum of his heart slowly.

"Deal."

And somewhere on the coffee table, her phone screen was still frozen on that silly video — except now it didn't feel like a challenge anymore.

It felt like theirs.