She couldn’t tell dreams apart from reality because in both he was present. In both she was loved and cherished by him.
What a blessing to tell people that Satoru was hers
Oh how proud she was.
What a blessing to feel how now a life is growing inside her, merging his soul with hers.
It was her deepest desire to be a mother and to share parenthood with her lover.
She knew that he would do anything to protect her and now their child. What she didn’t know though was that he was aware that she was pregnant even before she could.
It was a night where both were lying in their bed exhausted from working and teaching
Both bodies close to each other.
His legs draping over hers, covering her torso with his.
He felt that there was something different with her.
Something changed with how he sees her.
In recent day she smelt different
Felt different
And looked differently
His feelings for her felt immense and he knew that something was changing. Developing. He could only guess.
And then, he felt something akin to a second heartbeat.
Feeling overwhelmed with being so close to her and being overcome with different emotion, he started to pull away to look at his baby.
She looks so peaceful
Feeling too much and now wanting to be closer again he shifted his body downwards, resting his head in the middle of her stomach just under her breasts.
She let out a whimper because of his constant movements.
`baby, why are you moving so much?´ she asked her voice hoarse from being shaken awake by his movements
` …´
Not receiving an answer she just decided to bring his head closer by threading her hand in his white hair.
She loved when he head his head near her stomach.
It made her feel safe. He was always draping on top of her like a heating blanked.
Snuggling. Cuddling. Hogging her space.
Suddenly she felt very odd, her stomach warming? No, her stomach feeling moist?
What was going on? Was she sweating this much?
In her tired state she felt something shaking. Or more like someone.
`hey, what’s wrong? Satoru, why are you shaking so much?´ she asked, now very awake and concerned for her lovers well being.
`its nothing baby, please go to sleep` he replied almost breathlessly, taking deep breaths, almost like he tried soothing himself
She finally understood. He was crying.
Why was he crying? Did something happen with the kids at school today? Did he injure himself?
What was going on?
He never cried out of nowhere so it was confusing her. She was worried.
Deciding that she couldn’t just go back to sleep when her baby was not well, she turned to the side while still holding Satoru`s head to her stomach, him clinging to her with his arms around her, reaching for the lamp on her nightstand.
`baby please tell me whats wrong, why are you crying?´ she asked looking at his face trying to understand what he was thinking
´… thank you`
´What?´ she gaped at him not understanding what he was saying
`thank you´, he repeated in a small voice
` thank you for loving me and giving me the greatest gift´
She truly didn’t know what he was talking about or what he was so emotional about and sensing that he wouldn’t tell her in this state she just resumed stroking his head and scraching his back with her nails to calm him down.
She would talk to him in the morning she decided.
She would find out what was bothering him.
She was pregnant and he cherished her for that
Cherished her for always choosing him
For loving him
For being with him
And for giving him another reason to live.
His baby was having a baby was what he was thinking about
She couldn’t tell dreams apart from reality because in both he was present. In both she was loved and cherished by him.
What a blessing to tell people that Satoru was hers
Oh how proud she was.
What a blessing to feel how now a life is growing inside her, merging his soul with hers.
It was her deepest desire to be a mother and to share parenthood with her lover.
She knew that he would do anything to protect her and now their child. What she didn’t know though was that he was aware that she was pregnant even before she could.
It was a night where both were lying in their bed exhausted from working and teaching
Both bodies close to each other.
His legs draping over hers, covering her torso with his.
He felt that there was something different with her.
Something changed with how he sees her.
In recent day she smelt different
Felt different
And looked differently
His feelings for her felt immense and he knew that something was changing. Developing. He could only guess.
And then, he felt something akin to a second heartbeat.
Feeling overwhelmed with being so close to her and being overcome with different emotion, he started to pull away to look at his baby.
She looks so peaceful
Feeling too much and now wanting to be closer again he shifted his body downwards, resting his head in the middle of her stomach just under her breasts.
She let out a whimper because of his constant movements.
`baby, why are you moving so much?´ she asked her voice hoarse from being shaken awake by his movements
` …´
Not receiving an answer she just decided to bring his head closer by threading her hand in his white hair.
She loved when he head his head near her stomach.
It made her feel safe. He was always draping on top of her like a heating blanked.
Snuggling. Cuddling. Hogging her space.
Suddenly she felt very odd, her stomach warming? No, her stomach feeling moist?
What was going on? Was she sweating this much?
In her tired state she felt something shaking. Or more like someone.
`hey, what’s wrong? Satoru, why are you shaking so much?´ she asked, now very awake and concerned for her lovers well being.
`its nothing baby, please go to sleep` he replied almost breathlessly, taking deep breaths, almost like he tried soothing himself
She finally understood. He was crying.
Why was he crying? Did something happen with the kids at school today? Did he injure himself?
What was going on?
He never cried out of nowhere so it was confusing her. She was worried.
Deciding that she couldn’t just go back to sleep when her baby was not well, she turned to the side while still holding Satoru`s head to her stomach, him clinging to her with his arms around her, reaching for the lamp on her nightstand.
`baby please tell me whats wrong, why are you crying?´ she asked looking at his face trying to understand what he was thinking
´… thank you`
´What?´ she gaped at him not understanding what he was saying
`thank you´, he repeated in a small voice
` thank you for loving me and giving me the greatest gift´
She truly didn’t know what he was talking about or what he was so emotional about and sensing that he wouldn’t tell her in this state she just resumed stroking his head and scraching his back with her nails to calm him down.
She would talk to him in the morning she decided.
She would find out what was bothering him.
She was pregnant and he cherished her for that
Cherished her for always choosing him
For loving him
For being with him
And for giving him another reason to live.
His baby was having a baby was what he was thinking about
SYPNOSIS — what if two friends starts seeing each other in different light? after that one rumor spreads, you begin to notice those feelings you once thought were normal weren't very simple at all.
pt. 1 pt.2
🖇 : childhood friends to lovers, crack(ig), romcom, fluff, angst(?) and lots of plot — predebut lngshot, ft. two mvg members and hearts2hearts leean (ian) (requested)
wc : 3k
author's note : i'm really sorry for the late upload T^T also i think this fic will turn into a 3-4 part story. i'll try to make it up to you guys if I get to finish this :> also english is not my first language so don’t mind my grammars T^T
The next few days felt dragged.
You kept falling a step or two behind him without meaning to. His small questions made it worse, and avoiding him felt like the best option, but you couldn’t exactly do that without making it obvious. He can’t act like nothing was wrong after he literally made it even more annoying to deal with your churning stomach. You can’t help but go back to remember the three words that made still you choke everytime.
“I like you”
and another,
“You can’t just ignore him after some measly bouquet. That just feels like saying you really like him.”
After that talk with your sister, the thoughts didn’t really stop. They just got louder and more annoying. Every reasonable part of you kept repeating the same thing that it’s not worth it or you’ll just mess things up.
Your sister’s casual statement struck a nerve, unfortunately. And yeah, you knew how stupid that sounded cause now you felt like it was true, that maybe you really do like him more than just as someone you grew up with.
But you had too much to lose, and that part wasn’t an exaggeration.
So whatever this was?
It’s not like that.
Isol noticed it, well at least she’s the first to actually address the distance you’ve been awfully putting between you and Ryul these past few days—her last straw being the time you backed out for LNGSHOT’s recent schedule with their CEO.
She really looked more pissed for you than when she has her own monthly evaluations coming up.
“You are not skipping this one out again, Y/N.” she said as she stared at the foot sticking out of the blanket, her arms crossed to her chest, “Come on, get up.”
You didn’t budge. No, definitely not going. You pulled the blanket to even higher as you turn to your side, ignoring Isol's doting foot at your bum.
She huffs. “Unbelievable.” Isol ties her hair loosely, while she heads out of the room, you heard the door shutting.
Sigh, why did it have to be today? There was no way you were going to the face them—if only Isol and Jasmine can spare you—which is impossible given how you left them few days ago on read when they called you for night out.
“She’s not moving, she might be dead.” like goodness gracious, can’t your sister not be involved in your life for once?
“Get off my ass” you muttered under your breath as you reach for your phone under the pillow. You let the brightness of your screen illuminated the darkness under the covers, before burning your pupils leaving you to squint and close it again.
You heard the door open again.
“Isol, for the third time I’m not goi—”
You nearly flew out of your skin when you felt something grab your ankle, The minute you tried to shake it off, you found yourself getting dragged on the floor with your blanket.
You yelp, rubbing your scalp as you bang you fist on the floor.
“WHAT TH—HEY WHAT WAS THAT FOR?!”
You kick the hand that was still latched on your ankle.
“RISE AND SHINE!” Woojin said in a bright voice, the straps of his beanie softly laid in his shoulders.
You grunt as you pick up the blanket, your expression turning more unpleasant. “You shouldn’t be doing that!” You said, bonking your fist on his head.
Woojin lays motionless on the floor, “Ow.”
“So that’s where my other jersey went.” drawled a voice that made your guts drop.
Ryul.
You sat up, eyes traveling down your shirt—his shirt, now that you realise it was fitter than most loose ones you wore from him before.
You stood up, cheeks growing warm. You tried to ignore the growing feeling in your stomach. You scowl at him.
“Can’t you warn me before coming into my room?!”
“You always come to mine without asking.” He shrug, standing up from his earlier position before looking back to Isol who was currently leaning on the doorframe.
Another figure slip in from behind, Louis, still in his shoes, sat down on the bed while munching on nuts that’s for sure going to make the ants feast on you later.
“W–well t–that’s not the point here!” You turn to your back, “shoes off!” you point at Louis.
Before Louis could reach for his feet, Isol claps her hands in a manner of a cheerleader, “Alright! Now that you’re all riled up and awake, let’s go.”
“I am not going and you can’t make me!”
“Why are they five feet apart?”
Woojin, who was perched on the edge of the bench, stared intently at the two figure-like poles standing near the lake.
“More like why is she scooting further away...”
“Maybe they’re social distancing?” Louis scratches his head, reaching for another granola beside Ohyul.
“That’s so over years ago.”
“Y/N looks like she’s about to clock out.” Jasmine breathes out a laugh, “Do you think Ryul knows?”
Woojin asks, “I think he’d been knowing...” he turns to face her, “He definitely thinks that Kangho guy should stay away from her.”
Isol raises her eyebrows at him, “Who?”
Woojin rolls his eyes. “You know, the rose guy?”
Louis shot up, taken aback, his Geometry Dash character dying at the same time. For a moment, his mind jumped to somewhere else.
He blinked. No, that couldn’t be right. There’s no way.
He looks around, thinking they heard it too, but no one seemed to be in shock as he is, so he slowly turns back to his game.
“Woojin, you were literally the one who introduced him to us before Y/N. It’s Gunho, remember?”
“I don’t know? Ryul kept saying his name wrong I started to think the first name I heard was wrong.”
On the other hand, Ohyul clicks his tongue. His eyes drifting down where the lake. You two were finally talking—that’s a shocker. Ryul sat beside you, idly plucking at the grass beneath him as he watched the ducks glide by. From Ohyul’s point of view, though, it looked less like a conversation and more like you were yelling at the guy. Same as usual.
But this is going nowhere.
He rolls his eyes.
It was bothersome when it first started, but now it’s just exhausting—watching the two of you brush everything off like it means nothing. Every time you subtly flinch when Ryul speaks to you on the walk to the park, he has to steady himself, rein it in. He doesn’t know how much longer he can hold back the urge to shout at you both to just fucking kiss already.
“Hey.”
From his side, Isol finishes her last piece of bread, face caught in thought. She whispers without looking, teeth showing as she grin, “I have a plan.”
Ohyul shakes his head, “Isol, you should‘t—”
“Shhh…” Isol presses her index finger deep into his cheek, squishing it to the side as she stretches her arm out to block him.
Ohyul tries to frown, but it comes out lopsided, she’s going to be stubborn anyway. She turns to him, eyes glimmers with intent.
“I can an’ I will,” she smiles widely, “’S about time those two knuckleheads start walkin’ the same way.”
“Girl, you’re fucking scary when you’re up close with that weird smile.” Ohyul brushes his cheek as he pulls away, the wet feeling drying on his skin. He stops—wet feeling—his eyes widen.
“Did you just put your contaminated finger on my face?!”
Ohyul grimaces at the faint smell of saliva, his attention settling again on the lake, hoping to find you two still together, but instead, he catches sight of you swaying—
SPLASH
Everyone whips their head to where the sudden sound came from.
The sight they saw was definitely not what they were expecting. Ducks were fleeting to the other side, children who were feeding it fled to their parent‘s arms as they cry, pointing at the girl who just fell on to the lake.
“OH SHIT!”
Woojin and Ohyul hurriedly scrambled to their feet, bread crumbs falls down on Woojin’s shirt as he practically roll down the cliff.
Isol and the rest followed after, nearly crashing on each other when they rush to where Ryul just threw his shirt off.
Ryul dives in with no hesitation.
“Boy not you too!”
Isol kneels down on the lawn, gasping as she failed to grab Ryul before another splash echoed. Slowly, few passerby starts stopping near them, trying to catch sight who just slip into the water instead of calling for help.
An old man approaches the kids, clutching his hat as he tries to push Louis on the water in attempt of helping.
Louis plants his shoes firmly in the soil, crying out as he panic, “SIR JE NE SAIS PAS NAGER, PUTAIN!”
As Ryul finally managed to take hold of you, Jasmine and Ohyul pulled him by his free hand, the two of you landing straight on the dry ground.
You coughed, scrubbing at your nose as water dripped down. Ugh, that felt awful. Your ears were still clogged, everything sounding weird and far away, until you shook your head hard, and the noise came rushing back.
You tightened your grip on the arm that’s been holding you steady, only to feel the uneven line on their skin under your fingers.
You went stiff. You recognized that same feeling under your fingers confirming it that it was him with that same small scar you gave him a few years ago.
Ryul casually wiped the water off his face and started patting your back, completely unfazed like he didn’t just pull you from the wraths of fresh water. You, on the other hand, quickly let go, clearing your throat like that would somehow fix how close that just was.
He notices the faint blush in your cheeks, while he slowly pulls his arm, the warm feeling of your skin lingering on his, he then moved to grab his shirt.
He didn’t know.
You were just rambling about something he did that made you upset and the next was he found you trying to resurface out of the water, hands thrashing around in panic.
You cleared your throat, still flustered. “At least now I know swim class doesn’t pay off,” you muttered, trying to stand up.
“Y/N, I know it’s hot as fuck but I knew for sure you didn’t need to take a literal swim!” Woojin scolds you in an exaggerated tone he only use when Louis starts acting up.
Jasmine takes off her jacket, draping it on you. “Girl, are you okay?”
She twists the ends of your hair, water dripping from it as she look down at you, more worried than ever.
You collect yourself as you awkwardly lean to her side, wetting her arm causing her to shiver.
“Yeah I’m fine! Just missed a step, I guess,” you laughed out, it was your turn to look up, Isol was right behind Jasmine, looking at you with the most guilty look she could ever muster.
“Sorry, Y/N… I shouldn’t have asked you to come,” Isol says, eyeing your muddy pants.
You immediately wave her off. “Nah, it’s fine. Don’t make it a thing.”
The two of you stare at each other. You shrug. “It’s just lake water.”
“You nearly died.” Ohyul rolls his eyes as he then turns to Ryul, “Unfortunately, someone saved you.”
“EXCUSE ME?” you twisted toward him immediately.
He responded by calmly bonking your forehead with a slice of his hand, shutting you up mid-breath.
You yelp, the cold was suddenly disappearing as annoyance simmered inside of you.
For a minute, everyone started going back to cracking jokes. People were just watching just a minute ago, slowly disappeared one by one as they finally concluded it was just some dumb slip that cause you to fall. You were still cold, heck, you felt more colder when a gush of wind hit you. You pull the jacket tighter before a voice behind you takes your attention,
“Let’s go.”
Ryul was staring at you, still bare, with his shirt in his hand, he pats Isol’s shoulder. Isol, who quickly understood what he wanted, pulled everyone’s attention.
“Let’s head to the dorms, it’s getting late,” she adds, “You two should head home first.”
Less than an hour later, you two walked together in silence. You were now damp, now that you squeezed the remaining water from your clothes.
You looked around, your eyes somehow drifted right back to him and the way his nose lined up neatly with his lips and how his eyelashes fluttering a bit when he moved. You wondered if he ever touch your eyelash serum.
Your gaze lingered more than it should, and before you know it, the familiar growing feeling churns your stomach once more.
“I like you.”
No. You are not doing this right now. You thought to yourself.
You refrain from thinking too much again as it seems like you both had finally reach your neighbourhood. You stood beside him, their gate flying open as he unlatches the lock.
“Not coming?”
“H-huh? Oh no, I’ll just go home. Bye!” You quickly respond, walking straight to your own door. When you tried to pry it open, you realise it‘s locked.
His voiced echoed through the fence, “Right, I heard they went to the market with Dad.”
“You could‘ve just said that earlier!” You yelled back in frustration.
You huff, marching back to their door.
Ryul lets you in, shoulders relaxing as he close the door.
“Oh my, what happened to you two?”
Ryul's mother peeked from upstairs, gasping as she sees you two in damp state. Dried mud stuck to your ankles, most probably because you rubbed most of it along the way.
Ryul turned to her as she stepped down, the magazine dangling on her hand. When she reached to brush off the small mud on her son’s forehead, you gave her a little smile.
It's been months since you last saw her, and given how she was always on a business trip, you got used to finding her on random times, like the time when you two were still around preschool.
You still remember how hard you cried when a lady dressed in white slammed the cupboard's door open while the two of you were busy playing blocks. The look on your face was certainly funny when the boy hugged the lady. No one can blame you. You didn't like ghosts, especially after hearing Sadako was real, so watching your best friend hug the “ghost” made you run out of the cupboard. Bummer that Ryul's father had to call your mother to take you home, which led the sleepover to end with Ryul's mother apologising to your parents.
You explain what happened while she ushers you to follow her while she points Ryul to the bathroom. The floor creaks under your feet as she pushes the door open.
“Still clumsy as ever I see.” she laughs while she rummage through her cabinet. You smile, giddiness creeping up to your neck.
“Here, I think this will fit you well,” she hands you a few clothes; a light blue fitted shirt and suspiciously, a very loose white clothing.
You blink, lifting it up, trying to make sense of its shape.
“I’ve never seen you wear a dress,” she adds casually. “So I thought you might try this one. I got it in Japan last year, never had the chance to wear it myself.”
You hesitate, biting your lip. “Ah…auntie,I think I don’t think this will fit. I’ll just wear my jorts—”
“Nonsense! Your jorts is wet and plus, you’ll look fantastic.” She ruffles your bangs fondly.
“Hey, the water’s still warm.”
Ryul’s voice cuts in from the doorway.
You turn sharply, ears turning red when the words dies down your throat.
His hair is still damp, clinging slightly to his forehead, a towel draped loosely around his shoulders. You kept your eyes up, avoiding the urge to perceive his presence any longer. It”s so annoying you noticed the way he stands there, like he hasn’t just tracked mud through the house with you minutes ago.
You click your tongue, looking away first. You bring the long skirt to your chest, hugging it tightly as you bolt pass him, bumping on his side on purpose.
He grunt in pain.
An hour later, you find yourself standing before the mirror your reflection staring quietly back at you. As much as you didn’t want to admit it, you kind of liked how the skirt felt, how it settles around you in a way that was unexpectedly comfortable.
The door opens.
Ryul stops before he could enter the bathroom. He stares at you.
“You look...weird.”
He lets go of the knob, eyeing your wet hair. Behind him, his mother peeks, grinning in satisfaction.
You glance back to Ryul, raising one eyebrow, “Can’t you be more ruder?”
“Just sayin’.”
Ryul glides past you, reaching for the dryer. He plugs it into the socket with an easy motion, then flicks the switch to the cool setting. Without a word, he steps in behind you, gathering the ends of your hair in his hand before gently starting to dry it.
You freeze, “What are you doing?”
“Be still.”
You did, but the familiar burning feeling inside your stomach didn’t. He had done a lot of things for you but this one was neither of them—taking care of you. It shouldn’t feel like anything special, but yet, it did, in a way that you knew it was wrong.
Especially now, when you find yourself thinking about what others have said. Again and again, the same voices loop in your mind—Ohyul’s question, your sister’s remark, even your own passing thoughts when you let your guard down.
“Have you ever tried looking at Ryul in a different light?”
How can you? You like it this way. At least, that’s what you keep choosing to believe. Because if you question it too much, you might not be able to go back.
His fingers move gently through your hair, careful, almost absentminded as they pass along your scalp. You close your eyes without thinking, the soft hum of the dryer filling the quiet.
Your mind drifts again, you tried to think of anything—anything to avoid the feeling sitting in your chest.
The park where you used to spend hours without thinking.
The gate where he always waits for you like it’s nothing.
The quiet familiarity of his room,
the echo of his voice when he scold you to come closer,
And then...his words.
They repeat, over and over, settling somewhere you can’t quite ignore until you finally shake your head. Ryul clicks his tongue in quiet protest, “Will you stop moving?”
Something inside you made you twitch.
You suddenly run your hands through your hair, ruining the hair he carefully combed.
This is ridiculous, you shouldn’t be feeling this way. You grunt, hair pointing at different directions.
“What are you doing?” He watch you mess your hair even more.
You turn around, and Ryul doesn’t expect what he sees.
Tears.
You were crying?
But why?
They slip down your cheeks quietly, the hot feeling burning throughyou inside and out. Your expression is tight, caught somewhere between frustration and something you’ve been dreading to feel. You felt it glide down your jaw as you choke on one of your sobs.
Ryul didn’t know what to do, his hands hovering around your face.
“…What’s wrong?” he asks quietly,
Ryul pauses.
Then he turns off the dryer, the sudden silence making the room offered no comfort. He sets it down carefully on the counter behind you.
“Okay,” he starts, trying to recover his usual tone, “when I said weird, I meant you just look different than usual—”
“That’s not what I meant!”
Your voice snaps before you can stop it. The words come out sharper than intended, cracking at the edges as more tears spill over your lashes.
For a second, everything stills. Your chest tightens as you felt his stare at you.
You let out a quivering sigh, “Did..did you mean it?” you murmur, glancing at the floor, “W-when you said you like me...did you mean it?”
Ryul blinks, then for a minute he thinks.
“Yeah,” he says quietly, “I meant it.”
Your heart tightens at that.
His expression softens, heart swelling as he carefully wipes your cheeks before patting your head. “Best friends first… before anything else. That’s what we’ve been we’ve been always saying, right?”
You felt something crack inside you.
“…What?”
“I like you…so stop crying.”
“Ryul! Y/N! Dad’s here! Can you bring over the bags from the bedroom?”
His mother’s voice downstairs cuts through. Ryul glances toward the door first, then back at you, “We should go...”
You let out a shaky scoff.
What the fuck?
You wiped the last of your tears before stepping out, forcing your breathing to steady as you followed him downstairs. You watch him talk with his parents, bowing to yours like nothing happened.
It almost made you laugh, how easily he moved through the moment, how gently he had placed you back into that safe, distant space.
Best friend.
The word echoed louder now. Stupid, you were stupid to assume he felt the same.
He always thought of you that way. That's why it was easy for him to say that, you were just stupid to think it differently.
So it was nothing. None of it was real.
The door opens as your family leaves with food in your hands. Leean jumps in excitement, ogling at the tray of food she was holding. She nudges your shoulder, “Look! We got crabs!”
When you didn’t turn and kept quiet, she turns to you. She felt it, and definitely notice the way your jaw was tightly clenched, and how your eyes were slightly red.
“…are...you okay?” she asks, entering the house before you as she hands the tray to your father.
You nod, chest tightening all over again. “Yeah.”
Your sister knew better than to believe you. She knew something was up. Quickly, she told your parents to wait for you two while you go upstairs and change.
When you two made it to your bedroom, that's when you felt it. Your legs turned jelly, your body collapsing on the floor. Leean, sat down with you.
You clutched at her, the fabric of her shirt bunching in your hands as you cried into her shoulder. Ypur cries felt raw and uneven, you didn’t know how heartbreak felt like until now.
Why are you even crying? You were just denying it right? That you like him? So why are you crying when you finally got the answer you wished to hear?
“I hate him so much...”
Leean remained quiet, holding you even tighter while you pour your emotions out to her shirt. It doesn’t matter if you’re going to stain her favorite band shirt, right now, what you needed was her.
Downstairs, everything had stayed the same. Your mother hummed under her breath as she watch the food simmer. Your father remained on his spot on the couch, tweaking some old radio he found at the flea market.
Downstairs was the same, but what you don’t know is that next doors was him—who was sitting on the floor, back against the side of his bed, hands loosely wrapped around the back of his neck, wondering if you really did thought about it that way.
“…friends,”
He let out a frustrated breath, fingers tightening slightly against his neck. “…but why was she crying like that…?”
You must’ve value your friendship so much.
Maybe that’s why.
But he felt different now, he finally learned that when he saw you with Gunho, especially when Ohyul finally made him realise it.
He wanted to tell you yes, that he like you in a way that he wanted to break all boundaries. But he doesn’t know how without pushing you further.
If he did, what would happen?
Will you walk away?
Will you tell him the exact words? The lie he just casually dropped to you?
That’s what scares him the most. He can’t lose you.
He brings his palm to his face, his eyebrows furrowing in frustration.
He drags himself up, grabbing his jogging shoes, hoping running will solve his internal conflict tonight—because he can’t tell you.
Not now, or mayben even ever.
So whatever this was?
even if it is?—he’ll still convinces himself—it’s nothing like that.
SYPNOSIS — what if two friends starts seeing each other in different light? after that one rumor spreads, you begin to notice those feelings you once thought were normal weren't very simple at all.
🖇 : childhood friends to lovers, crack(ig), romcom, fluff, angst(?) and lots of plot — predebut lngshot, ft. two mvg members and hearts2hearts leean (ian)
wc : 10k words
pt.1 pt.2
author's note : I don't feel very proud with this, but im still going to post it after making anon wait for four days T^T babawi ako sa part 2 promise. (english is not my first language)
Ryul had always kept his life in order.
Everything was planned, carefully curated to his own liking. A trainee under More Vision, small, but still managed by none other than the CEO the internet “loves”. He didn’t mind the negative attention much, he focused on the people who had supported them from the start. They were different from the others who judged without ever trying to understand first, and that alone was already a big bonus.
His parents were the same. They stood by his dreams, helping whenever he needed it, slipping him extra pocket money when times got rough, and scolding him whenever his ego grew a little too big.
“Be humble,” they always told him, not just to him, but to his members as well.
Of course, Ryul listened. He was calm, strong, and undeniably hardworking, just as they had raised him to be. He was grateful for that too.
And then there was you.
The neighbour’s daughter he had long since gotten used to. The loud ass he has gotten used to share the same air with. It was honestly crazy how the two of you had managed to stay friends for this long, considering how different you two were. Who would’ve thought that the two children who once doodled across the floor with markers would grow up doodling your way toward future adult life?
Your parents thought otherwise, though. To them, the two of you were simply two peas in a pod. Whether he wanted to be on stage, or you on your choice of job, they knew both of you will succeed.
What was his was yours, and vice versa.
So it wasn’t even surprising to them when both of you were invited to LNGSHOT's youngest member's birthday.
The streets were crowded, like any other night. Ryul scrunched his nose at the smell coming from the alley, already regretting the walk. He should’ve known better. If he had caught the last bus, he wouldn’t be here now, huffing the last puff of his foger.
The walk was long, and sure was exhausting. He let out a sigh as he reached the pedestrian crossing, stopping when the light turned red. Behind him, a rowdy group of students groaned at the halt, one of them bumping into his shoulder.
Judging by their uniforms, they were from the same school he had recently transferred to. Ryul subtly lowered his face. The said student muttered a quick apology, though her eyes lingered on him from behind, studying him carefully.
He wondered if she had recognized him as quickly as he had recognized two of them as Woojin's classmates. Well, that didn’t matter much now that his phone had started vibrating for the third time that night.
“What?” His voice comes out relaxed.
“Where are you?! Why are you ignoring Woojin’s calls?” the voice—your voice—was loud enough that he doesn't need to put it on speaker.
“I swear, I can’t do anything right with you.”
He breathes. “I’m two streets away.”
He heard you huff on the other end, muttering something inaudible.
“Just hurry up,” you added,“…Oh, and we ran out of balloons.”
You end the call right after that.
He stares at the screen. You had always had a way of nagging. Even when you were still kids, you had always stayed the same. He remembers clearly, that snotty little girl who once yanked him off his bike just to scold him for not wearing kneepads. That little girl who had always been on his side for no absolute reason.
Annoying? Kinda, well, most of the time yes, but it helped that he never really minded your antics much. So even from the start, he somehow has already mastered tolerating you with the same quiet indifference he still carries now.
You never acted gentle anyway. You were more rougher around the edges, pushing people around like you weren’t the lady-like your dear father tries to convince you to be. You were the one who can steal his console mid-game because he’d “played enough,” barge into his room without knocking, and start pointless arguments just to get a rise out of him. He never minded and neither did you, so it was all cool.
By the time his thoughts drifts further, the streetlight turned green and someone behind him grunts. Ryul starts walking again, shoulders brushing lightly at every person who strides past him. His shoes started to bruise his ankles. As he turns right, he makes a stop at a nearby convenience store.
A frown knits his eyebrows together at the sight of lined products, balloons all in different shapes and colors. You didn’t exactly mention what specific balloon was needed, so he texts you.
Few seconds later and receives one reply which immediately makes him takes away his attention from juggling the two packs of marbles.
“We need red ones, and also hurry up. Louis might come at any minute.”
“The store’s literally just in front of the building.” He huffs out. Quickly, he grabs two packs and head towards the counter.
In front of him, another row of Hot Wheels and random collectibles lined the shelf. Ryul’s gaze stopped on a certain box, lingering as he scanned the printed Nyota preview on the packaging.
He reached into his pocket, pulled out the bill, and passed it to the lady without a word.
The restaurant was mostly empty by the time Ryul walked in. Only few people kept the silence from fading away. The lighting was a bit too bright for him, some live band member was playing some jazzy tunes with their guitar, too random, but at the very least, it was comforting this time.
He reaches the table the waiter pointed, still a bit tired from the walk. Woojin was talking to Ohyul, the one whose hair tied into a bun. Meanwhile, the birthday boy, Louis, was still nowhere to be sighted.
“Where is she?” He tosses the plastic bag on the table.
“Where is who?” Woojin brushes his bangs behind his ear. “Oh…your girl isn’t here.”
Ryul huffs, “Not my girl.” Woojin smirks, “Right…so you wouldn’t mind me pulling her?”
He simply shrugs, “I don’t think she’s not interested in twinks.”
Ohyul greets him with a handshake, his free hand blocking Woojin’s attempt on jumping at Ryul.
“Hello to you too.” Ohyul trails off, “And she’s on bathroom break.”
At the same time, you step out of the restroom, shaking the last drops of water from your hands. As your eyes scanned around the area, your eyes landed on a familiar figure. One stride was all it took. You jump, body slamming on his back like a sack of rice. “Heyyah! I need you could make it!”
“Girl, I’m still not used to you shouting.” Ohyul muttered under his breath, going back to blowing another balloon when you happily slap his shoulder in response.
“You were literally shouting at me a while ago.”
“And it worked, so stop talking.” She pulls away, pushing him down to the chair.
Ryul slide a glass of water to your side in return.
The night continues in full swing. Louis came just as expected, oblivious from his staff and member's birthday surprise. Everyone stayed up drinking, Louis, the girls and you being the only ones prohibited to try Jay’s infamous ‘won soju’, with just juice on your cups.
Meanwhile, on the far corner, Ryul kept a distance, watching the guys dance to some hyperpop the girls decided to play under you and Jasmine's doting. It's a fun beat, you both say, your laughs blending with the boys. It didn’t take a while before you notice a certain head is missing and of course, instantly, you spot him.
You stood up, strides and settles next to him, “You’re usually with the three during this time already, what's up?”
Ryul leans back, meeting the wall, “I’m sitting this one out.”
You reach for his foger from his pocket, throwing it to the side. Ryul hisses, “Hey, I just bought that.”
“And I’ll keep throwing it somewhere else again. I told you to stop buying these stuff.”
He slumps back again. You scrambled to your feet, snatching the foger off the ground before the restaurant's cat daps it like it’s some rag toy. You pocketed the foger and sat back down.
“Well damn, a penny for your thoughts?”
“There’s nothing inside this head.” Ryul chuckles, low and warm.
You watch him, he was leaning back in his place, dark hair slightly tousled from the cap he was wearing awhile ago, “Yeah, usually it’s empty, but you seem to be in way more deeper thought tonight.”
Ryul pops one smile, “I promise you, nothing is bothering me other than you right now.”
“Ouch? I’m only checking up on you. You’re not even keeping up with the boys these days...fine never mind!”
You glare at him, annoyed at how he was still smiling like you didn't purposely annoy him.
You tried not to stare too long.
Apart from his blunt retort, there was something how easy it was to stare at his smile. Your gut twists. It wasn’t like you didn't noticed it before, you guys were childhood friends, after all. His smile was different, easy, casual and gums on display. He was also attractive, you had always thought of it. It made sense how many girls fall for him. You didn’t mind, not really, it’s just that you couldn’t stop admiring his smile...or him in general.
“Hey Y/n,” Ryul stood up, snapping you back to reality. He ran his hand through his hair, eyes darting to you, “Here. I picked this up on the way”
“What’s this?” Your eyebrows raises, “Wait...NO WAY! I thought these were already sold”
Ryul glances. You were leaping around. His head tilts, hands shoved to his pants,
“You’re so easy.” He wasn’t complaining.
The group had walked out of the restaurant, Woojin’s squeaky laughs fading into the air as they part ways. Jay had already left them an hour ago with his other adult friends, much to the boys’ relief.
You settle beside Ryul, both of you slowing down to match each other's pace.
“So, how are you with that girl?” you nudge his shoulder, forcing a grin, “ehhh… ehhh… is she pretty? Hmm? Hmmm?”
Recently there were rumors spreading around campus about him with a girl. Someone accidentally saw them behind some building at school.
Then came another, one of your classmate saw some blurry face on his phone which he kept staring at during PE break. Everyone seemed to be interested in whoever this mystery girl was, and no doubt, it did take your attention too. Ryul has never been around with girls like some playboy, specifically when it comes to dating, it never fit right in one sentence. But now, somehow you find it weird hearing it, knowing you'll likely be the first one who's going witness it.
And that somehow didn't sit right with you.
Ryul glances at you, brows slightly pulled together. “What girl?”
“Don’t play dumb. The one everyone’s talking about.”
“Oh.” He looks away. “No idea. She ran off.”
You stop for a second. “What did you even do?”
“Nothing. Told her I wasn’t interested.”
“Just like that?”
He nods.
“No hesitation?”
“Why would I hesitate?”
You click your tongue, unconvinced. “Then what about the one on your phone? During P.E. break? Our classmate saw it, you were smiling like an idiot.”
“Where are you getting all this nonsense?” Ryul chuckles, looking away, “If you meant about that photo, that was a photo of you sleeping with those weird eyes. It reminded me like how Woojin sleeps.” He adds, as if he wasn’t ignoring Woojin earlier.
“WHAT?!” you snapped, whipping your head toward him, face scrunching up. “What the fuck?! Delete that! Since when do you even take pictures of me? That’s weird and obviously an invasion of priv—”
“It's not weird. It’s just you.” he adds, like that explains everything.
You look away first, your steps pick up slightly. “Still! Delete it.”
“Maybe.”
“Ryul!”
“Relax. It’s not like I'm showing anyone.”
“That’s not the point!”
You gave him a look, but he keeps walking like nothing happened, hands digging in his pockets.
“Oh about dating, I don’t waste time on people I’m not interested in.”
You raise your eyebrows and turn away a little too quickly. “Right… and? I was just asking. Relax.” Ryul blinks, caught off guard by the sudden edge in your voice. He wasn’t even been defensive, if anything, you were. He watches you for a moment, eyes lingering with quiet curiosity as you keep going, words spilling out faster than before, like you’re trying to steal rapper position.
His head tilts slightly. The streetlight glowing softly above you two. He notices your hurried stomps, a small smile tugging at his lips.
You continued talking, words slipping out like you want to replace his rapper position. He catches up, “Slow down, the streets are slippery.”
“Honestly, just because girls like you doesn't mea—BE QUIET! Don’t pester me!”
Still, he grins. As you turn right, you got yanked back, his hand firm on your shoulder, “It's this way.”
“Hey! I can walk on my own!”
You straighten up, crossing your arms for a second before looking away. “And stop acting like I need help… it’s annoying.”
The library was quiet, with only few people gathered around in hushed murmurs, it was a good time for you to work on your project. You sat cross-legged on the floor, papers scattered around you. The aisle you were in weren’t very much walked upon so you didn’t really bother making a small mess.
“Whoever made this quadratic problem are sick. They could’ve just use factoring and completing squares.” You mutter under your breath, eyebrows meeting each other in focus, and eyes squinting at the screen where few equations sat like a punishment.
Few distinct voices suddenly echoed behind the bookshelf you're leaning on.
“She's too boyish, what did Ryul even see in her?”
“Right? Apart from being childhood friends, I don't see anything likeable from that Y/n girl.”
Your fingers hover on the keyboard. You listen to the two girls as they keep on talking, More and more, the words kept coming out of their mouth started to bug you. It lingered more than should.
“Ryul should just tell her to piss off, honestly, she leech on him too much. That kind of girlfriend is embarrassing as hell.”
Your jaw tightens, you didn’t even think twice, you’re already on you feet. placing the laptop on the floor. You walk up behind them, one girl finally noticing your stare, eyes widening as she nudge the other..
“If you wanna talk shit about me,” you say, voice flat, “then say it directly to me face.”
“O-oh Y/n—”
“Not gonna talk?”
The girl looks back, lips pierced together, “W-well...we weren’t in the wrong to question what's up with two of you.”
“Yeah, but you’re deadass wrong for calling me a leech, what exactly is your point here?” She shots back, the two seem like they wanted to be somewhere else.
“Say what you want directly. You’re not even trying to be straight up with me right now.” You continue, “So you’re just going to be here muttering weird nonsense like two losers? You two know nothing about me or Ryul.”
You look at the two, “Like that doesn't make any sense...What do you really want?”
The other girl glances, and hesitantly, she replies, “We heard the girl who confessed to him say that she got rejected cause Ryul said he isn’t interested in her.”
“So?” You shrug.
“A-and that Ryul said she wasn’t his type.”
“So what?”
She fiddles with her skirt, anything to avoid you, “S-so we thought it he might be interested in you since you two were always together.”
You almost laugh. Ryul? You? Ridiculous.
“If it’s not,” the other pushes, “then shouldn't you… stay away from him a little? D-do you like him?”
Something tightens in your chest at her question. You cross your arms.
“So what if I do?” you shoot back. “That’s none of your business.”
“Like seriously,” you go on, irritation bleeding through, “what kind of reaction are you expecting from me? You want me to apologize? Back off? For what?”
Their jaws tighten at her tone, but neither of them speaks.
“People like you got no right to say anything about this. It's embarrassing.”
You left them as soon as you say those words, and head back to your place. As you gather your stuff, you didn't even notice him leaning on the other side of the aisle.
He moves as soon as the girls left in rush.
“Come on.”
Ohyul crouches beside you, already picking up your scattered papers like he’d been there longer than you realized.
The air was cool now, the faint smell of cinnamon hangs between them as they drink their coffees. The cafe was packed with few people, glasses clicking while the low jazzy melody hovers around the air.
“What happened back there?” Ohyul asks casually.
You glance up, “Nothing, just two girls saying weird stuff.”
He nods, one hand rubbing his ear. They sat in silence for a few minutes before he spoke again,
“I’m not trying to pry but...” He began, eyeing your messy sleeves riding to your forearms, “Have you ever tried looking at Ryul in a different light?”
“Ohyul, not you too.” You whine, head dropping on the table.
“Y/n.”
You finally shift your focus on him. “What?”
“What you said back there…” he says slowly, “that didn’t sound like nothing.”
“And you didn’t deny it either.”
“Deny what?”
Ohyul shakes his head in disbelief. He sets aside his now half empty cup, elbows planting on the smooth surface.
“Y/n, you were practically yelling at those two. I knew you were a rough headed one but not to this extent.”
“Cause they were being weird?”
“Hey, why am I getting the lecture? They’re the one who started it first!” Your voice gets a bit louder, loud enough for the nearby table to look.
He leans back, “You are always with him though.”
“We’re close neighbours.” You reply back,
“You’re always in his room.”
“It’s a ventilated room. Auntie doesn't mind.”
“Wearing his stuff?”
“We got the same taste!”
“Y/n.”
You click your tongue, looking away. “Why are you making it sound like something it’s not?”
“Something like what?”
His question lands deeper than it shouldn't be. You suck your cheek, thinking what to respond. There was nothing to talk about. You grew up together, played together, you practically sneaked your way to be part of his family ever since you started pulling Ryul to play. You never even thought of dating him. So there's nothing to doubt about.
Right?
You take a deep breath, too fed up with these questions. “Look, I only confronted them because they were calling me a leech and kept saying I should stay away from him. WHY SHOULD I? I wasn’t even aware the girl liked him.”
You cross your arms, gaze flicking away for a split second. “He’s my best friend. That’s it.”
“…And it’s not weird to borrow his stuff. It's comfortable, okay?”
“…Alright,” he says finally, leaning back again. “I’ll hold you to that.”
The second his eyes followed the curve, the ball landed softly in Woojin’s grip. Softball practice—one of the few easy games he could actually play with Woojin.
The following week was packed with recording sessions and dance practice. He didn’t have enough time for school activities, and he could barely answer his mother’s calls, even when you visited their home. Not that it mattered, though. He knew you’d just look for his Nintendo Switch or maybe grab few clothes if his mother did the laundry. That’s why he always kept his door open, with a few extra bottles of your favorite drink placed on his nightstand, the ones he keeps on buying every dismissal.
“You always buy that.” Woojin wipes his face as points at the bottle on his bag, he didn’t need to grab it and tell what brand it was.
Ryul splashes water on his face, “The Jasmine tea?”
“Yeah, you don’t even drink it.”
“Y/n likes it.” He casually replies, eyeing the student who’s now walking towards the stairs, specifically, to your group. His eyes then lands on what’s behind their back.
“Of course. As always, it’s for her. Come on! You always buy things for her, what about me?”
He didn’t hear him. Ryul stood there, eyebrows drawn together, hair still damp, “Who’s that?”
Woojin, who had been seconds away from complaining about the struggles of being the middle child, paused and followed Ryul’s gaze. “Who’s what?”
Ryul didn’t look at him. “That.”
Woojin squinted, then let out a small huff“Oh.” “You mean Gunho?”
“I don’t exactly know if that’s his name....was it Kangho? Gano?...meh.”He scratched the back of his head. “Ah… right. It’s Rose Day.”
He turns to him, “Wasn’t that tomorrow?”
“Yeah, but i guess the dude decided to do it earlier… kinda shocker though, never seen a guy come to Y/n with that kind of intent.”
Woojin reaches for his bag by the strap, waiting for Ryul to grab his too.
“You coming? I think Ohyul hyung should be with Louis by now.”
His grip around the water bottle tightened slightly. He watched as Gunho stopped in front of you. He also saw the small shift in your posture, and the way your friends reacted before you did. Ryul exhaled slowly, like he’d been holding it without realizing.
“…What’s he doing?” he muttered, more to himself than to Woojin.
The unfamiliar feeling crept up his spine, and when you stood up to face the guy, something clicked. He moved, not bothering to look at Woojin.
Woojin looked back, startled. “H-hey! Where you going?!”
He called his name again, but Ryul didn’t budge. Woojin sighed, slowing down as he watched his friend walk off. “…Yeah,” he muttered under his breath. “That’s what this is.”
You still didn’t felt like wanting to face the boys. Your thoughts kept drifting back to your last conversation with Ohyul, the memory lingering in a way you couldn’t quite understand, his final words almost like a quiet threat you couldn’t shake off. So you were here, with your friends, sitting behind while you hug your friend, Jasmine, to stop her from further arguing with Isol about some music genre and how it’s different from the other.
You snigger, not really noticing anything around you, until a gentle nudge from your friend pulled you back, and only then did you realize someone had been standing in front of you.
“Y/n,” Isol, points to the guy in front of you with her chin, “It’s him, the one I told you about.”
“Which one?” You furrowed. She rolls her eyes in disbelief, “Really?”
“Hey, uh, Y/N? I think you might not know me—”
“Oh, right!” You tilted your head slightly, as if recalling it more clearly. “You were the guy who got kicked in the balls during PE. Gunho! I know yah!”
Gunho lets out an awkward laugh, muttering a small ‘yeah’ before you stood up, brushing you uniform vest slightly, “What’s up buddy?”
“Uh right uh...here.”
Your friends peeked at the red petals, exchanging quick glances before one of them leaned closer in curiosity. Isol, the most intrigued, spots a familiar figure approaching, She smiles, knowingly.
“Wait,” you blinked, then tapped your fist into your palm as realisation hit. “Yah want me to pass this to my younger sister, huh? Oh, aren’t yah little champ!”
Your friends groaned behind you in unison, one of them burying her face in her hands while another muttered your name under her breath like a warning. The guy chuckles, scratching his neck.
“Actually no, this is for you.”
With slightly jutting lips, you gave a casual smile, like it was nothing serious. Now, you placed one arm on his shoulder. “Oh! Like a friendship offering! Sure, I’ll be your friend.” You let out another laugh.
“Y/n!” Jasmine, your other friend, whispered from behind, tone sounding rushed, “He’s asking you out, airhead”
eh.
eh...
eh?
eh...
You froze, smile slowing turning to something like thin line, “For real?”
Slowly you pull away, facing Gunho again, this time you weren’t sure what to react.
Then you heard a deep familiar voice.
“Y/n.”
You looked past the guy, and as if you hadn’t been avoiding him for the past few days at all, you straightened up. Your expression shifted into something much more brighter.
“Ryul!”
Ryul takes your bag from your hold, “There’s this new nyotaa seri—”
“Say no more!” You spun on your heel, already halfway out, calling quick goodbyes over your shoulder. Then, like an afterthought, you glanced back at Gunho. “Hey, if you want, you could come. We might swing by the arcade after.”
Gunho blinked, clearly caught off guard. For a second, he looked like he might say yes, but then he glanced at Ryul, who was staring a little too intense at him.
“…Uh, no,” Gunho said, scratching the back of his neck. “I’ll pass.”
You frowned slightly but didn’t push. “Suit yourself.”
Gunho stared at the two as they walked away, sighing at himself in dissapointment. He felt a hand on his shoulder.
“Told you she’s dense.”
A little later, you two roamed the aisles of a small shop. The nyota boxes were in his hand, bag swinging left and right as you both walk back to the first aisle.You held up a single delicate charm, turning it in your fingers.
“Do you think this would look great for my bag?” you asked.
“No,” Ryul said honestly. “Very pretty. Gunho might notice.”
You eyed him suspiciously, placing the charm in the basket.
Ryul kept his eyes ahead. He felt weird. He didn’t know what happened, he just felt like it wasn’t right. Something about that sight of you receiving flowers from another guy made his stomach churn. What made it even more irritating was the bouquet in his hands—probably your first, and it wasn’t from him.. His jaw clenched, realising where those last thoughts were coming from.
No way.
You were his childhood friend, nothing more, nothing less.
He grits his teeth tighter. So what if he wasn’t the first to give you flowers? He can give you much better ones, he’d pluck your favorites himself if he had to, his grip tighten on the bouquet as he tries to stop drifting his thoughts any further.
“What was that supposed to mean?” Your voice snapped his attention, watching his jaw loosen for the second time.
You brush past him as you wait in line to pay the bill. Ryul sucked his cheek as he caught up with you outside.
He quietly passes the bag, you reach for one box.
“Alright, let’s see what you look like.” You pry open the box, slowly revealing a small figurine dressed up as a bamboo shoot. You cheered, “She’s just what I needed. Oh yeah!” You did a weird dance that made him stare at you with his signature poker face, his smile escaping for a second.
He clicks his tongue, the familiar feeling coming once again. You were smiling, you were you and for some reason, it was annoying. He wondered, would it be weird to tell you? You two talked about everything anyway. This probably counted too.
Ryul senses something on the tip of his tongue, he fiddles his shirt’s hem once, then slowly,
“Hey Y/n,” you turn to him, “I like you.”
You blink once, stopping right behind him as few beat pass.
You choke in your own spit.
Stunned, you raise your voice at him, “H-hey! You can‘t just throw words like that out of nowhere!”
“Why not?”
You walked forward again, momentarily forgetting which route you were supposed to be.
“W-well that’s because—well—well I like you t—”
“…WAIT, that’s not what I meant!”
You fumbled over your words, the last part spilling out too fast.
He looks back, “You do?”
You face fell, staring at him, you remember those girls at the library and Ohyul’s words at the cafe. The same question he was now asking you.
“Have you ever tried looking at Ryul in a different light?”
You didn’t know what to do, so you snapped on impulse, lashing out at him for being so blunt out of nowhere. He shrugged again like it was nothing, like it wasn’t tearing him apart from the inside.
Silence fell between you. You walked side by side, footsteps falling into the same rhythm. The faint clink of your keychains filled the space neither of you dared to break.
“Did you like the flowers, though?” he finally asked.
You blinked, still trying to gather yourself. “The what now?”
“The red roses from Gungho.”
“You mean Gunho?”
He paused. “…That’s his name?”
You scrunched your face in disbelief, but still, answered anyway. “They were nice. No one’s ever gotten me flowers before, so—”
You stopped, eyeing his hands.
Nothing. “Ryul, where are the flowers?”
Ryul suddenly picked up his pace.
“Hey—” You turned, looking around quickly. “Wait, did you—”
That’s when it hit you, realising, you turned just in time to see him dart into another store.
“You left them at the shop?!” You hurried after him.
“Ryul where the fuck—are...you...”
You were stopped when you were about to enter the store.
Ryul stood in front of you, holding a wrapped bundle of yellow and orange—petals scattered at his feet.
You looked up at Ryul, then down at the stems in your hands, you now realised these were marigolds, and that the store was actually a flower shop, the small signage behind you two confirming it.
“Why are you giving me these?” You plucked at a petal.
“Just because.”
He turned and walked off. You blinked, for the second time, you rushed after him again. “Wait, are you planning something? With Gunho?”
“…What, is this my funeral??”
He glanced at you briefly.
“If it was, Gungha wouldn’t be invited.”
You shot him another look, “It’s Gunho. Jeong Gunho. Why do you keep saying it wrong?”
Ryul didn’t reply and just kept walking, so you followed, your eyes drifting down to the marigolds in your hands as another loose petal slipped free and fell behind you. You frowned at it, like it was something minor you could focus on instead, but your mind kept circling back to the flower shop—him leaving the roses, choosing these instead of the first without saying anything.
Your chest felt a little tight, and you didn’t like how you couldn’t explain why. It wasn’t a big deal, it shouldn’t be a big deal, but you kept thinking about it anyway as your steps stayed in sync with his.
“…That’s so annoying,” you muttered under your breath, quieter than before, more to stop the thought than to actually say it, even though it didn’t really work.
Once you reached home, you quickly bid him goodbye and rushed inside, the door rattling loudly and startling your mother, who was carrying a basket of laundry. “I do not pay maintenance just for you to break things!” she snapped.
Your little sister, Leean, peeked out from the blanket on the couch, eyes half-lidded as she watched you stumble in. “Oh, he already asked you out, huh?”
Flustered, you argue back, “W-what are you talking about?! He didn’t ask me anything!”
“I never said who,” she sat up.
You deflate back to the floor. You watch as the petals fall one by one.
With a sigh, Leean turns your head with her hand.
“Sis,” she said flatly, “we need to talk about how annoying you two are.”
“So you gave her flowers after throwing away what that Gangho guy gave her?” Woojin muttered, hands clasped in front of his mouth as he looked off to the side.
“Who the fuck is Gangho?” Louis whispered to Ohyul. “It’s Gunho.” He took a slow sip of his drink, eyes on Ryul as he tightened the strap of his boxing glove. Louis had wisely moved the laptop far from the table. His room felt warmer than usual as the four of them settled in for a sleepover, despite already sharing the same dorm.
Louis slurred, eyeing the bundled jackets nearby. “Bro, no… not here.”
“And her favorite? Bro, you’re basically confessing.”
He stopped mid-punch. “Confessing?” He shook his head, starting to count again. From his spot by the window, Ohyul noticed Ryul slow at the word.
“You like her, don’t you?”
Ryul glanced up. “I don’t like her. Not like that.”
“But you hated it when that guy gave her flowers.”
“That’s not—” Ryul clicked his tongue. “I just didn’t like it.”
“You could’ve just watched them.”
“He wasn’t—”
“Oh?” Ohyul tilted his head. “He wasn’t what?”
Woojin looked up. “You always buy her that tea.”
“And that smiski thing,” Louis added.
“It’s called Nyota,” Ryul cut in.
“See? You can’t even remember our dorm passcode,” Woojin shot back.
“Point is,” Ohyul cut in, stopping them, “you don’t see her the same way you see the rest of us. She’s not just your childhood friend anymore. Even you can tell.”
Ryul finally stopped, Ohyul’s words sinking in.
Maybe they were right. Maybe he had been convincing himself you were only his best friend.
Either way, he didn’t let it show—not on his face, not at all.
I reblogged her late last year and my 2024 has been very satisfying work-wise and (secure enough to not stress out) money-wise so far. Money Snake is wise and good.
SYNOPSIS. ever since martin’s debut, he’s been touted as a master of fanservice, but he's got something to prove: that his flirting does work on anyone. meanwhile, you desperately want to turn your internship at stereo into a full-time job. the best way to do that is by writing something so eye-catching to the point where your boss will have no choice but to keep you on: an article on dating and losing an idol. so when martin spots you at their comeback showcase, the scene is set. he’s going to make you fall in love with him in 10 shows. you're going to make him dump you in that same timeframe. you’ve got your agenda. he’s got his. game on.
or alternatively, the question: “Does Martin know how to flirt??” is answered.
GENRE. crack, fluff, angst, idol! martin, inspired by 'how to lose a guy in 10 days'
WORD COUNT. 20.2k (I'M SORRY I CAN'T HELP IT)
WARNINGS. swearing, mentions of drinking (james is drunk), questionable journalism practices for plot (as a journalist, i do NOT endorse what y/n is doing), reader is the same age as martin and is implied to be shorter
AUTHOR'S NOTE. yes this was inspired by seonghyeon's weverse reply. Does Martin know how to flirt?? enjoy this cheeky long fic as a gift to u all bcos i'm going to be working a bit so may b a bit more ia :p really loved this and i don't want to keep u guys waiting so i'm dropping it with no teaser. i hope yall like this!! <3
feedback and reblogs are much appreciated! <3
“Eom Seonghyeon, what the hell is this?”
Martin Edwards storms into his dorm room, holding his phone up. His brows are furrowed in mock anger as Seonghyeon peers at his screen from his spot on the bed.
“Wait, I can’t read it. I’m also too lazy to get up. Can you read it to me?” Seonghyeon’s buried under his blankets, head resting on his pillow as he squints at Martin’s screen.
Keonho, who’s lazily sprawled across his own bed, looks up from his phone to listen in on the conversation. Knowing him, Keonho’s probably watching some funny dog videos or going through his album of Cookie photos.
“What the hell do you mean by ‘does Martin know how to flirt?’ I have to find out that you think I have zero game from a Weverse reply?” he exclaims, exasperated. Seonghyeon and Keonho both explode into a fit of laughter, and Martin simply stands there, unamused.
Seonghyeon’s words ring heavy in Martin’s ears – look, although Martin hadn’t dated before, he does think he can flirt. He’s seen the discourse online.
Sure, was it a little corny sometimes? Yeah… a little. But most of the fans were eating it up, and Martin was more than happy to oblige if it meant that he would be making a little bit more money. Money didn’t fall from trees, and those clothes that Martin’s been eyeing for ages weren’t going to pay for themselves.
“What?” Seonghyeon asks, laughing as he hugs his pillow a little tighter. “Come on, the fanservice barely counts. I know everyone’s been saying that you’re a fanservice king, but they're all basically in love with you anyways!”
“Us,” Keonho pipes up. “They’re not only in love with Martin hyung. Also, you’re right – Martin, do you really know how to flirt?”
Martin narrows his eyes at Keonho. “I think I know what you’re insinuating, and I don’t like it.”
Seonghyeon and Keonho’s loud laughter somehow summon both James and Juhoon in the room, and Martin’s already preparing himself to become the laughing stock for the next 30 minutes. The life of a leader, he thinks. It's truly so difficult.
It also wasn’t like Martin didn’t want love. He wanted it more than anything – he just didn’t exactly have the time for it right now, like most idols. He had so much to do every single day, from dance practices, to music shows, to producing music. Martin Edwards, despite having so much love to give, simply didn’t have time to do so.
“James hyung, Juhoon hyung – do you think Martin can flirt?”
James snorts. Juhoon makes a noise that’s a mix of a strangled laugh and a cough. At their reactions, Keonho laughs so hard his pillow falls right off his bed.
Martin groans, turning his phone off and shoving it back into the pocket of his sweatpants.
“I rest my case,” Seonghyeon says, grinning triumphantly.
“I can flirt!” Martin says, defensively. He doesn’t know why he’s arguing so passionately for this – it wasn’t even that big of a deal. "Trust me, my flirting works on anyone."
He crosses his arms, letting out a deep breath as Seonghyeon lets out another laugh. He knows that the younger boy isn’t being malicious – they were just teasing each other like usual.
"Anyone is a bit brave, Martin." Juhoon jokes. Martin rolls his eyes.
“Okay, Mr. Confident. Let’s see if you can make someone – a non-fan, by the way – fall for you before promotions end here in Korea,” James says, jokingly. But Martin can see the gears turning in Keonho’s head before that shit-eating smirk spreads across his lips.
“James hyung, you’re a genius!” Keonho says, jumping up from his bed. “That’s 10 shows. Martin, if you get a girl to fall in love with you in 10 shows, we’ll officially say that you can flirt.”
Martin furrows his brows. “That’s all I get out of it?” he frowns. “Seems like a pretty bad trade-off for something so risky, considering that we’re… idols?”
“Fine. We’ll say that you can flirt, and Seonghyeon will pay for all your clothes the next time you buy something.” Keonho says, and Seonghyeon suddenly gets up from his bed. He looks at Keonho, shaking his head.
“Me? You’re the one doing the bargaining, you pay!” Seonghyeon protests, and Keonho rolls his eyes.
“Okay, new proposal. We all pay for your next shopping haul and we say that you can flirt. We’ll all chip in an equal amount so it’s fair, and so Hyeon can stop complaining,” Keonho grumbles. Seonghyeon sighs, nodding as he gives in to Keonho’s bargain.
“Works for me,” James replies, putting his hands up. “I for one, don’t think I’m gonna lose any money.”
“Oh, don’t be so confident,” Martin scoffs. Wow, his friends really had zero belief in him. It really made him all the more determined to prove them wrong. “You guys are so losing your money.”
Keonho looks at Juhoon, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Juhoon hyung… you’re the only one left,” he says in a sing-song voice. “Come on, it’s not even going to be that hard. It's easy money, let's go.”
“10 shows is still technically a lot, you know. It’s three weeks,” Juhoon hums, thinking it through. “Three weeks… well, Martin needs all the help he can get. Yeah, whatever – I’m in.”
“Juhoon!” Martin exclaims.
The boy looks at him, shrugging. “I’m sorry! I’m just too curious to see how this will pan out – we need a little bit of excitement in our lives! Performing is exciting enough, but this is like a whole new level. I’m going to be entertained for weeks.”
Juhoon drags the last word out, and Martin sighs. The air is thick with anticipation as the four of them look at Martin expectantly.
Honestly, getting all his clothes paid for by his friends wasn’t exactly a bad trade-off. He’s just going to make sure to throw in a couple more expensive things in there for some payback before he officially starts the bet. And the girl would surely understand that dating an idol was difficult, and if it ended a little earlier… that was sort of to be expected, right? In three weeks he would be going to New York City anyways. No harm, no foul?
“Fine,” Martin groans in exasperation, giving in. “Let’s see where this goes.”
Keonho pumps a fist in the air triumphantly, and Martin rolls his eyes. “Okay, and if you don’t get a girl to fall in love with you in 10 shows… you pay for our clothes. And publicly say that you’re shit at flirting and have zero game.”
“One piece of expensive clothing each. You’re four people, I’m one. If I paid for all of your clothes, I think I’d probably go broke.” Martin shoots back. Keonho shrugs, seemingly deeming it reasonable enough.
“It’s a deal,” Keonho says, holding his hand out for Martin to shake. Martin does, albeit a little reluctantly. What the hell did he just get himself into?
The room erupts into cheers so loud Martin thinks he’s suddenly transported back to MAMA.
Seonghyeon’s already immediately searching for a new pair of shoes that he wants to buy. James has rushed back into his room to grab his phone to go on Gentle Monster to see which pair of glasses will suit him. Juhoon’s already pulling up photos of this jacket that he’s been talking about for ages. Keonho makes it a big show out of telling Martin the price of this bracelet that he wants.
At their antics, there’s a fire lit up in the pit of Martin’s stomach.
He was going to win this bet. Even if it was stupid.
Your internship at Stereo is about to come to an end.
You’re distraught. Most people would love for their internships to end – no more shitty coffee from the 10-year old dispenser that someone brought in as an ‘office gift’, no more tapping away at a dim-lit cubicle, and no more measly half-assed articles to write that are assigned haphazardly. But you’re not most people.
Being a journalist at Stereo is your dream job. You get to write about the music that you love, review new albums, and you get exclusive perks and invites to music award shows every single week. You’ve been interning at Stereo for one and a half months now, and in just two weeks, you’re just going to be a high schooler in your final year.
You’ve heard stories of Jisoo, your boss, giving an offer for a full-time job to interns before. You desperately want to be one of those people.
You’ve heard her complaints behind closed doors about how Stereo’s latest content was becoming a little drab and boring, and that Stereo wasn't getting enough clicks online anymore. The most reads the publication had gotten recently was a review on Taylor Swift’s new album, but come on – it was Taylor Swift.
You needed to find a way to write the most eye-catching, niche and exclusive article that the music world had ever seen. That way, Jisoo had to give you the job.
Yoonchae, another intern who you’ve befriended, rolls her chair over so she’s sitting next to you. She taps her nails on your desk to get your attention. “So… last two weeks. How are you feeling?”
Yoonchae started around the same time as you, but unlike you, Yoonchae wanted to get the hell out. She was tired of writing the weekly ‘Songs You Need To Know’ article. “I’m a gatekeeper,” she had said. “I don’t want people discovering the artists I like!”
“Stressed,” you sigh, taking a sip out of your mug. “I’m trying to rack my brain to figure out how to write something so… fresh, I guess. Something that no other publication will be able to write.”
Yoonchae raises a brow. “I don’t know why you’re so obsessed with keeping this job, (Name). What we’ve been writing really isn’t that interesting, is it? I just had to review some album from a rookie group that I don’t think anyone’s heard of yet,” Her voice drops low into a whisper. “It was like nails on a chalkboard. I threw away that pair of company-provided earphones because the memories of listening to it were so traumatic.”
You look at Yoonchae like she’s insane before diverting your eyes back to your laptop screen. You’ve just finished a review on ILLIT’s new album – you skim through your article, making sure that there’s no spelling mistakes or other errors before sending it to Lily, the in-house copy editor.
“I love it though,” you say honestly. “I love music, I love writing about it – plus, Stereo’s the best place to get off the ground running if you want to work in this industry. I was at ILLIT’s comeback showcase literally last week – do you know how many people would die to have this opportunity?”
“I have to get that job offer from Jisoo.” Your voice is laced with determination, and despite Yoonchae not understanding why in the world you’d want to stay, she gives you a nod in support.
In the cubicle across, you hear a loud noise from another intern – you can’t tell if it’s a screech or a wail, or something in between. You and Yoonchae’s eyes snap towards the direction of the noise. It’s Yuna, and she looks towards you two with absolutely zero shame on her face, even if the entire office was startled by the sound.
“It’s my favourite idol! He’s dating someone! How could he?” She’s saying it like it’s the end of the world.
You’re looking at Yuna like she’s insane. You can’t tell if she’s being serious or not, and you blink at her. “Um… are you okay?”
Suddenly, her demeanour changes, and she smiles brightly at you. “Yeah! I was literally just being dramatic, I couldn’t care less,” she says, and you let out a sigh of relief. You didn’t really want to be working with someone who was so incredibly parasocial over some guy who barely knew her. “It’s just crazy how he even has the time with how busy his schedules are.”
You hear the sound of heels clacking on the marble floor, and your eyes widen. It must be Jisoo.
“Was that you?” Jisoo asks, pointing at you. “The one who screeched?”
“Oh,” you stammer. “No, Jisoo – it was Yuna.” You felt bad for throwing her under the bus, but you weren’t going to lie to Jisoo and take the fall. Jisoo's eyes divert towards Yuna, who gulps.
“What happened?” she asks. Jisoo doesn’t sound like she really cares. She does have better things to be doing than partaking in conversations with interns who she probably won’t remember the names of in two weeks.
“Oh, just some… idol… dating,” Yuna says, acting like she doesn’t care at all. It’s hard for her to pretend that she doesn’t when a photo of said idol in question is in a picture frame sitting on her desk. “Maybe we should report on it briefly, or something…”
Jisoo takes in a sharp breath, sucking her teeth. You can hear the disapproval just from the noise, as if she’s already prepared to get rid of you three. “Alright. Get back to work.”
You turn your head quickly back to your laptop, not wanting to be berated by Jisoo. The disapproving tone was already enough, and you feel embarrassed under her gaze. You click onto your calendar to see what you’ve got going on next week. You’ve got two comeback showcases to attend with Yoonchae – IVE and CORTIS, along with a couple of music shows. You pencil them in your notebook, along with the words ‘remind Yoonchae to bring the camera!’
“You know,” Yoonchae hums. “Speaking of dating idols, I do wanna know what it must be like to date one. It’s like Yuna said – they’ve always got so much going on, how would they have the time? Hey, maybe you should write an article on this.” Her words aren’t meant to be serious, but you take it as such.
You can hear your pulse in your ears as your brain processes what Yoonchae has said. She’s tapping away at her laptop like she hadn’t just pitched the most amazing idea in the world.
“Wait,” you pipe up, dropping your pencil on the desk. It clanks to the ground, and you don’t even bother picking it up. Your eyes snapping up from your notebook to look at her. “You’re onto something.”
Yoonchae’s idea, if put into action, would give you an inside scoop that no journalist had ever had access to before – even if you were cordially invited to the shows and showcases of every group on the planet. Everybody wanted to know what it was like to date an idol, there was no doubt about that.
If you turned this into a piece, you knew it would tick all the boxes. Exclusive? Check. Daring? Check. Eye-catching? Check. Three big fat checks. It was perfect.
This… this was exactly the pitch that would land you a full-time job at Stereo. For someone who said they hated working in the news publishing industry, Yoonchae had just given you a golden ticket to a full-time job at Stereo. You’re just upset that you hadn’t come up with it first.
“What it’s like to date an idol,” you hum under your breath as you brainstorm, drumming your fingers on your desk. “Sure, it may be gossipy and scandalous, but Jisoo was saying that we’re not getting enough clicks, right? And after… I don’t know. 10 shows, maybe? I could just… dump him. Or find a way for him to dump me.”
You say that so casually, and you wince when you’ve realised what you’ve said. You’ve never been one to be a heartbreaker, or one to get into casual relationships with an ulterior motive, but you really wanted this job.
Finding someone to even be able to “date” for this article would probably be difficult. And once you got them to fall in love with you, getting them to dump you would likely be easy. Idols barely had time for relationships anyways, right? You wouldn’t necessarily be heartbroken at the prospect of losing him, because you had a job to do, and he wouldn’t really care that much. No harm, no foul.
You thought she had gone back to her office by now. Your head snaps to look at her, fear evident in your eyes until her words register in your brain. Jisoo had just said the idea was brilliant. Your heart is beating so incredibly fast you think it might jump out of your chest.
“Write it,” Jisoo says, and her lips quirk up into a smile. It’s like she can see the thousands, if not millions of views that your piece will bring in to Stereo already.
“If you can, of course. You’ve got two weeks left here, but I’m more than happy to extend your internship if you need more time to work on the article. And if it goes well…” she trails off, and you swear that if you could read her mind right now, you’re sure she’s about to say something along the lines of: you have a place here permanently.
You look at her, bright-eyed and with determination. “Of course, Jisoo. I’ll get right to it,” you stammer. Jisoo nods at you approvingly before she walks back to her office, heels clicking on the floor with a certain enthusiasm that wasn’t there before. She’s excited about your article. Your boss – the one who was notoriously difficult to appease, was happy with an article pitch of yours. Well, Yoonchae gave you the idea, but technically, you’d be the one to flesh it out.
Yoonchae looks at you, eyes wide with a look of bewilderment. “What… what have you gotten yourself into?” she asks, her tone laced with disbelief. She wheels her chair over to you, grabbing onto your shoulders and shaking you.
“How… How the hell are you going to go bag an idol in the two weeks that we have here? Are you crazy?” she hisses, and the realisation of how difficult your task was actually sinks in. Thinking about it was fine and seemed easy enough, but now… now you actually had to do something.
“I… I’m going to figure something out, Yoonchae,” you say. “I have to.”
You wanted this job. You were going to make it work.
Jisoo would get that article, and it's going to be the best article that she’s ever read in her life.
The CORTIS comeback showcase is buzzing with people.
You scan your media pass at the entrance and wait at the side before Yoonchae comes through. You’ve got your notebook, pens and laptops in your bag, and the two of you head towards your designated seats at the front.
The plastic chairs are arranged in an orderly fashion, with yours and Yoonchae’s names printed out on paper and stuck to the chair to tell you where you both will be sitting. Much to your delight, you two are seated in the front row.
When the two of you sit down, you pull out your laptop, setting it on top of your lap. It’s been three days since you told Jisoo that you’d be writing that article, and as the days have gone by, you think you might’ve been a little too confident.
Music Bank was at the end of the week, and you think that you probably have your best shot there, but waiting was making you incredibly nervous. You didn’t want Jisoo to scrap the idea before you even started.
“So… found an idol to date yet?” Yoonchae almost reads your mind, and you groan as you open up your notes app. You click to the note titled ‘CORTIS comeback’, and all the questions that you have prepared pop up right in front of you.
“No, I haven’t,” you sigh, tapping your foot on the ground. “Thank you for reminding me, Yoonchae.”
Yoonchae smiles with amusement, as if she’s somewhat entertained by the predicament that you’ve put yourself into. You groan as you think about the article once again, and you scan through your options. You really could only take your pick from some 4th gen groups and the 5th gen groups.
This assignment was way easier in your head. The dating and dumping part was easy. The part where you had to get an idol to want to get to know you enough to move on to the dating stage was the hard bit.
Backstage, Martin peeks behind the curtains to get a good glimpse of the crowd. Although their new album just released today, Keonho just had to remind him of the bet as they were getting dressed.
Now, Martin has to actually find someone to make them fall hopelessly in love with him. Keonho had been ever so gracious to say that the comeback showcase didn’t technically count as a show, so in reality, Martin kind of had 11 shows. One more show couldn’t possibly make much of a difference, but 11 was a little less daunting than 10.
So now, he's searching amongst the crowd to see if he can find someone who he thinks would help him win the bet.
Keonho joins him, and it's like he can read Martin's mind, because he instinctively does the same. “Okay, let’s see. Which girl…” he hums. His eyes are scanning the crowd with hawk-like concentration.
“Okay, what about her?” Keonho says, motioning towards a brunette girl sitting in the second row.
“No,” Martin replies quickly, shaking his head. “Looks like she’d ghost me, but tell all her friends that we dated for a month.”
“Hard to argue with that,” Keonho replies. Seonghyeon catches wind of what’s going on and decides to join the two of them. Seonghyeon’s eyes land on a girl sitting not far away from the brunette, and she’s got dyed pink hair. He tilts his chin towards her.
“Her?” Seonghyeon proposes.
“Nope,” Martin says. “Feel like she’d ask me if I can give her BTS’ phone number. Which I also wish I had.”
“Fine,” Keonho says, and his eyes land on Yoonchae. “What about her?” He gestures towards her, but Martin’s eyes land on you.
You’re typing away at your laptop with determined focus, and Martin doesn’t know why he finds it so intriguing. You’ve got one earphone in your ear, the other dangling as you talk to Yoonchae. You’re wearing a striped zip-up jacket and jeans – you’re not trying to be noticed at all, but it makes you stand out even more to Martin. You’re sitting in the front row with a media pass around your neck, so Martin knows that you’re definitely not a fan.
That checks the box.
For him to actually win the bet, he should’ve made it easy for himself. But there’s something about you that makes Martin want to actually get to know you better. And truthfully, he did like a challenge.
Keonho notices how Martin’s gone silent. He’s looking in the direction that Keonho had originally pointed towards, but he sees that Martin’s looking at you, rather than Yoonchae. “Ah,” Keonho hums. “The one sitting next to her’s caught your eye.”
“Sure,” Martin replies casually. “You could say that. You said any non-fan, right? She fits the bill.”
“Alright, Martin hyung,” Keonho grins in amusement. “10 shows. It’s all you’ve got to make her fall in love with you.”
“That's all I need,” Martin replies.
Martin prays he’s right.
The comeback showcase goes well.
You enjoy the music a lot – you liked CORTIS’ debut album anyways, so you weren’t really surprised that they had released something good again. Their stage presence was always insane from the videos you’ve watched online, and witnessing it in person was no different.
However, you did seem to notice one of the members’ – Martin’s – eyes on you a little too often. You also had a hunch that perhaps they had talked about you, because whenever there was someone asking a question from your direction, Keonho would elbow Martin with a knowing smirk on his lips.
“So, what was that?” Eight out of ten?” Yoonchae asks you as she begins to pack up her things. The fans have been told to leave by now, and the only people really left are media and industry professionals. You look at what you’ve written down, and you’ve practically given five stars to all of the songs. The lowest is a 4.5, and you’d like to think that you have a pretty high bar for greatness.
“I mean… nine?” you hum. “There’s always room for improvement, right?”
“High praises,” you hear a voice that’s not Yoonchae interrupting your conversation. It’s also a voice that you’ve heard far too many times tonight. You turn to look at the stranger, and you meet eyes with none other than the Martin Edwards. “It means a lot. Thank you.”
Yoonchae opens and closes her mouth like a fish, stunned at Martin’s sudden presence. But then she remembers something the same time you do – the article. She purposely moves to stand behind him, mouthing at you: ‘he’s the one!’
You know Martin Edwards is exactly who he thinks he is. 6 '3, gorgeous dyed blonde hair, impeccable music-making skills and the coolest fashion sense in the industry right now. If you hadn’t seen more of him on your social media, you’d be genuinely a little intimidated by him.
But you know that he’s a sweet guy. He’s also a little bit of a goofball too – loud, likes making his friends laugh, and often gives in to a little too much of his fans’ requests. The fan call videos were certainly something, and you’re really wondering how much he gets paid to tell someone else ‘I love you, you’re my girlfriend.’
He’s still in his clothes from the showcase – silver jewellery hangs around his neck, with three rings on each finger. You observe his features for perhaps maybe a little too long, and his lips curl up in the slightest hint of a smirk.
Yoonchae clears her throat, giving you a wink. “So, I’m gonna go grab something for us at the convenience store nearby. (Name), I’ll be back in about 15 minutes.”
Before you can protest, she’s already darted off. You curse under your breath before looking back at Martin, who’s eyeing you with a mischievous glint in his eye. You can’t quite place your finger on why that is, but maybe he caught you staring.
“So… (Name),” he says. His voice is smooth, and your name rolls off his tongue like he’s testing the waters. There’s a certain cadence in his tone that sends butterflies straight to your stomach. “I’m glad you liked the album. We worked hard on it.”
“I’m sure you did,” you beam. “Do you go thanking every member of the media after the showcase?”
Martin’s airy laughter rings through the air, and his smile grows even wider. “Oh, no,” he says breezily, waving you off. “Just the pretty ones.”
You’re knocked off your feet for just a split second. Was Martin Edwards flirting with you? And was it… dare you say… working?
And suddenly, the article doesn’t feel so difficult anymore. With Martin Edwards standing right in front of you, you realise that you have the perfect candidate.
His group was still new on the scene, but everybody wanted to get to know CORTIS just a little bit better. Your article would do that. Even if fans said that Martin was practically an open book, the boy standing in front of you now wasn’t necessarily the one you saw on stage mere minutes ago.
Sure, he was still confident and assured. But there was the slightest difference in the way he carried himself – a little less guarded, a little less… idol-like. Perhaps it was the flirting, honestly.
You come to your senses, quirking a brow at him. “Oh, so you think I’m pretty?”
The air is electric, and usually you’d be nervous, but just this once, you think that it’s perfect. Martin’s grin somehow grows wider before he nods.
“I do,” he hums. “Thought I said that before. And if my eyes didn’t deceive me just before your friend scurried off… you might’ve been staring at my face for just a smidge too long.”
Your cheeks heat up. “I… I was not!”
Martin lets out another laugh, clearly amused at how flustered you were. “I’m just teasing,” he replies. “Regardless, it’s not often I see someone working in the media that’s around the same age as us. And as I’m saying this, I’m hoping that you’re in your last year of high school.”
You nod at his words. “I am,” you reply. “Same age as you.”
“Perfect,” he grins. “I’m glad I was right, or I would’ve embarrassed myself coming up to you.”
“Right,” you chuckle. “So… any other pretty members of the media you want to thank?” you look around, and the exhibition hall is just about empty. Martin shakes his head, pulling his phone out of his pocket.
“Nope,” he says, popping the ‘p’ sound. “Just you.”
“Way to make a girl feel special, Edwards,” you quip. Martin ignores how his heart flutters when you simply just call him by his last name. “What's the phone for? A selfie? Just a reminder that you're the idol there."
"You're funny," Martin replies. There's sincerity in his tone. "But, I was hoping that perhaps I could get your number.”
You look at him, your lips curling up into a smile. “Ah, you’ve beat me to it,” you pout, jutting out your bottom lip. “I was hoping that I’d be the one to make that move.”
Your words are awfully confident, making you sound completely unfazed at Martin’s flirtatious words. But inside, you’re internally screaming. You’re trying to hide your nerves, and Martin’s gaze on you is not helping as your thumb carefully presses the keys on the screen.
“There we go,” you say, pressing the ‘save’ button. “You should text me. I’d love to hear from you.”
“You would?” Martin asks, almost in disbelief. He can’t believe how well the flirting is going. Keonho, Juhoon, James and Seonghyeon would so be losing their money.
“Of course,” you beam. Your eyes tilt towards the exit, and you see Yoonchae standing there. She’s not hurrying you, but you know that it’s time to go. “Listen, I’ve got to head back home, but… yeah. Text me, and let’s hang out.”
“Are you asking me out?” Martin says, a coy smile on his lips.
“Maybe I am,” you reply. Your eyes dart back to Yoonchae again, and a sudden wave of boldness makes you inch closer to him, pressing a chaste kiss to Martin’s cheek. You watch as his cheeks flush bright pink, and you can’t help but feel satisfied with yourself. Got him, you think. “I’ll see you around, Edwards.”
Before Martin can say anything, you’ve already rushed off. He instinctively brings a hand to his cheek, and he smiles triumphantly.
“Oh, you’re already falling in love with me,” he says to himself, a wide grin on his lips.
Meanwhile, as you’re darting off to the car, a similar expression graces your lips. “I’m gonna make you wish you were dead,” you whisper.
Conversation with Martin is surprisingly easy.
He texts you as soon as he gets back to the dorm, and you reply just as quickly. You shoot off flirtatious messages every other second like a seasoned professional, and Martin replies with just as much enthusiasm. You just know he’s probably cheesing behind the screen. You don’t notice how you’re grinning at your phone like an idiot, though.
Martin is incredibly flirtatious, like you’ve seen online. You really thought it was all just fan service, but it turns out, Martin did really act that way. You’ve earned a new nickname now, thanks to him – pretty.
Minutes turn into hours, and sure enough, the two of you found yourself talking to each other until four in the morning. It’s not until you remind him that he’s got a schedule tomorrow and that you’ve got work, and then you two say goodnight.
Martin gives you recommendations of his favourite songs, and you rate them just like you usually do for Stereo. You find that your music taste is surprisingly similar, and Martin just tells you that ‘perhaps it’s a sign that we’re meant to be.’ You smile a little too wide at that response, and your heart flutters in the slightest way. You reply with a ‘I think so’, and Martin beams seeing those words on his screen.
You didn’t think that it was that easy to get Martin Edwards to fall in love with you, but honestly at this point, you think that you’ve got him absolutely whipped.
For three days, you and Martin talk non-stop. Whenever you’ve got a break, and he’s got a break, the two of you are talking about anything remotely that interests you. Bailey, another colleague of yours, tells you that you seem awfully invested in this considering that it’s just an article assignment.
On the fourth day, you head into work and find that there’s a tray of iced coffees on your desk. Yoonchae looks at you with a knowing grin as you pick up the sticky note, and sure enough, it’s Martin’s handwriting.
Hi, pretty. For you and the team. – Edwards.
You fail to hide the smile that’s unconsciously crept up on your lips. When Yoonchae points it out, you just tell her to shut up. This was all for the article, you remind yourself. You weren’t really in love with Martin Edwards. You hand out the coffees, and when you give one to Jisoo, she raises an eyebrow.
“Did you bring this in?” she asks, and you shake your head.
“Martin from CORTIS did,” you say. There’s a coy lilt in your tone, and Jisoo seems to remember the article. She smiles at you proudly, and gives you a pat on the shoulder before taking a sip of the coffee.
“Good work,” she beams. “Can’t wait to see the article.”
She then walks off, heels clicking on the floor. Yoonchae clears her throat to catch your attention, and you look at her, taking a sip of the coffee that Martin had bought you.
“So… what’s the plan to get him to dump you? Because… getting him whipped seemed pretty fucking easy. Like, this is three-month relationship stuff.” she says, gesturing to the coffee on her own table. Bailey, who's curiosity is piqued at the sound of Yoonchae's words, rolls her chair over to you to join in the conversation.
“I’m going to be entirely too much, too overbearing and too clingy to the point where he has to break up with me,” you say. Your plan is absolutely fool-proof. “They’re heading to New York in three weeks. Let’s get this done in the 10 shows they have in Korea.”
Bailey hums, nodding at your words. “Okay, but like… do you have any specifics?”
“Calm down,” you reply. “I don’t have to move that fast. We’ve known each other only for four days. No sane person is going to ask someone to be their girlfriend in four days.”
“You have three weeks, (Name) – you better hurry up…” Yoonchae replies, her voice trailing off. “Maybe just a date? Tonight? You know how they’ve got to basically be in the middle of the night though, right – because cameras are everywhere. Your sleep schedule is going to be fucked when you’re dating Martin.”
“Well, you didn’t have to put so much emphasis on the ‘fucked’,” you raise an eyebrow. “But yeah, a date sounds good. I’ll text him now.”
you | 7:32am
thanks for the coffee, edwards
it was really sweet of you
can i thank you with a date?
martin edwards | 7:33am
ah, i was waiting for that text from you
of course!
tomorrow? after you’re done with work?
you | 7:34am
sounds like a plan
wear something nice
martin edwards | 7:34am
i always do
gonna step it up to impress you though
can’t wait to see you, pretty
Yoonchae peers over your shoulder. “Don’t they have to go to Inkigayo tomorrow? How will you two have time to actually… go on a date?”
“Shoot, you’re right,” you reply. You quickly type out a message to Martin, your fingers flying over the screen.
you | 7:35am
you have inkigayo
martin edwards | 7:35am
ah. right
date at inkigayo? you could be my plus one
you’ll be there anyways right? as media?
you | 7:36am
first date at inkigayo is highly unorthodox
i’m in, though
only because it’s you
martin edwards | 7:37am
i feel so special
sneaking around is gonna be awfully romantic
i’ve got dance practice now and i’m sure you’ve got work
talk soon pretty
“Well… first date at Inkigayo,” you say, almost in disbelief. So this was what it was like to date an idol – music show dates, late-night dates, probably getting blown off because dance practice takes precedence. You note that down in your notebook, because you’re sure that it’ll be of use to you later. “That’s settled.”
“I suppose it is,” Yoonchae says. She’s still in disbelief at the entire interaction – she was peering over your shoulder the entire time. “Also, you should probably change his contact name to something other than his full name. It’s not that romantic.”
“I… ‘Chae, he’s not my real boyfriend,” you say, pointedly. “Heck, he hasn’t even asked me to be his girlfriend. Which actually reminds me, I have to get on that.” You do take her advice though, and change his name simply to ‘Edwards’ with an orange heart emoji. It’s plausible enough, considering that you do call him exclusively by his last name.
“I must say… this is going surprisingly well,” Bailey hums. “Even though I know it’s really new. Just… don’t go falling in love with him, or something. That would ruin the entire thing.”
You laugh, dismissing Bailey's words as if they were ludicrous. “Don’t worry,” you hum, your tone laced with a little too much confidence.
“I’m not going to actually fall in love with Martin Edwards.”
For someone who’s allegedly not invested in this ‘relationship’ at all, you do spend an awfully long time picking out your outfit for Inkigayo tonight.
CORTIS had a reputation for being incredibly fashionable – if you were going to be introduced as ‘Martin Edwards’ talking stage and to-be girlfriend’ tonight, you had to at least look the part.
You opt for something so outrageously Martin-esque to the point where you look like you could genuinely be the sixth member of CORTIS. So much so, that any random staff member would probably think that you pulled it out of his closet.
Members of the media were supposed to be unassuming, trying to avoid the public eye at all costs – but just for today, you were going to break that rule. Just based off of your outfit alone, you wanted it to be glaringly obvious that you were talking to Martin.
You pull on these black, chunky boots that you haven’t worn in forever (you even have to blow the dust off of them) lacing them up with a smile on your lips. Martin Edwards was so going to freak out when he saw you. You could just envision it.
Yoonchae looks at you oddly when you jump into the car – this was certainly not your style at all. “Okay, Martin’s girl. You might as well just dye your hair blonde too,” she quips. Usually you’d tell her to shut up, but that was exactly the reaction you were looking for.
edwards 🧡 | 6:23pm
let me know when you’re here
we’re in dressing room 103
you | 6:24pm
im on my way
see you 🧡🧡🧡
“You go find Martin,” Yoonchae tells you, a playful smile on her lips. “I’ll tell you where we’re seated for tonight’s performances… if you’ll even be joining me here.”
You laugh, waving goodbye to her before you go off and find dressing room 103. You see a bunch of staff members at Inkigayo give you odd looks. They saw you here last week too, and you most certainly were not dressed like this. A girl you’ve made conversation with a couple of times – her name was Yoojung – mouths ‘Martin fan?’ at you, and you simply give her a wide grin before disappearing down the corridor.
You knock on dressing room 103, tapping your foot on the floor. Your mind runs through the plan – too overbearing, too clingy, too boisterous. You’re going to make Martin go insane.
Martin opens the door, since he was expecting you anyways. But what he did not expect was for you to be dressed in clothes that seemed like they were pulled from his closet. He looks you up and down, mouth opening and closing as if he’s about to speak – but all the words he has to say become strangled in his throat.
“Hey,” you say, trying to sound casual. You want him to think that no, this outfit did not take me forever.
“You look…” Martin stutters.
Time to pack on the dramatics, you think. “Gorgeous? Stunning? Beautiful?” you ask, batting your eyelashes at him. “Tell me something I don’t know, Edwards.”
Martin’s brain almost short-circuits. He’s still at a complete loss of words, and for a split second he thinks that Seonghyeon may be right – does he even know how to flirt? He’s trying to rack his brain for a compliment, or anything that makes it known that he thinks you look good.
Keonho clears his throat, and it brings Martin back to his senses – the bet. Time for him to make you fall hopelessly in love and make you weak in the knees, he thinks. He instantly puts a smile on his lips. “Yeah,” he replies. “All of those things.”
“Next time though, if you wanted to dress like me, you should’ve just said so,” he adds. He hopes Seonghyeon’s listening – he was about to deliver a masterclass in flirting. “Just wear my actual clothes instead.”
Your heart flutters a little too much at those words, and for a brief second, Martin thinks that he can see your confidence falter ever so slightly. Bingo, he thinks. Another win.
“Oh, so that’s an invitation for me to just wear all your clothes, isn’t it?” you ask. “Moving fast, Edwards.” You peek behind him to see the other four boys watching the two of you talk with curiosity. Keonho’s eyes are practically sparkling.
You raise your voice a little before you say your next sentence. “Mind you, you still haven’t asked me to be your girlfriend.”
You don’t know which member it is that hollers loudly hearing your words. Martin turns around so fast you think he’s going to snap his neck. He glares at the four of them, before diverting his attention back to you.
This was going exceptionally well. Four days in, and you already wanted to be his girlfriend. Anyone who said that he didn’t have game was going to regret it.
“Right,” he says, dragging out the word as a smile plays on his lips. “Let me introduce you to the members first, and then we’ll talk about that, pretty.”
He opens the door a little wider to actually let you into the dressing room, and the four of them blink at you, stunned when they see your outfit. Your outfit was almost a carbon-copy of something that they think they’ve seen Martin wear before. Was it a little tacky to dress almost identical to your talking stage? Probably. But their reactions were golden, and you hope to God that Martin’s cheeks are heating up in embarrassment.
“Guys, this is (Name),” Martin says, introducing you. You beam at the four of them just before lacing your fingers with Martin. The action comes out of nowhere, and Martin freezes for a split second before he closes his hand around yours. Your hand is warm, and Martin doesn't know why having your hand in his just feels oddly... right.
You swear Juhoon’s eyes pop out of his skull. Seonghyeon’s jaw practically drops. James puts his glasses back on to make sure that his eyes aren’t deceiving him. Keonho shrieks before falling to the floor dramatically.
“I’m his…” your voice trails off. Suddenly, an idea pops into your brain. What did anyone in a talking stage hate the most?
The dreaded ‘what are we?’ question.
Martin would hate it even more if you asked that question right in front of his friends. It was perfect.
A devious grin threatens to creep up onto your lips before you turn to Martin. “What are we, exactly?”
Seonghyeon chokes on his water while Juhoon has to suppress a laugh. Martin can’t believe you asked that question in front of everyone – you were impatient, alright. He was actually going to ask you to be his girlfriend, but in private. But considering your outfit choice today, perhaps you were someone who wanted to make your affection for him known. He knows that he should feel embarrassed, but surprisingly, he doesn’t.
Four days is awfully fast to ask someone to be their girlfriend, but Martin wanted to win this bet. Badly.
And the first step to actually make it known to his friends that he was going to win, was to loudly announce that you were his girlfriend. Martin can’t wait for Keonho to pay for those Rick Owens shoes that he’s been eyeing for ages.
“She’s my girlfriend.” he says, a coy smile tugging at his lips.
The room practically explodes with questions, shouts and what you think are cheers. You weren’t exactly expecting this reaction from Martin, but it’s more than welcomed, considering the predicament that you’ve gotten yourself into. The first half of your job was done – you’ve gotten the idol. Now you just needed him to dump you.
But for some odd reason, him telling everyone in the room that you were his girlfriend makes your chest tighten ever so slightly. You ignore the feeling, telling yourself that it’s just nerves. You’ll ease more into the role of annoying girlfriend as the days go on.
You look at him, tilting your head with a small smile on your lips. “Didn’t even ask me,” you whisper in his ear. You hear Martin let out a light laugh amidst the chaos that those three words had created.
“Isn’t that what you were hinting at me to do when you arrived at the door?” he replies, voice matching yours. Touché, you think.
“Well,” you say, turning to face him. “That’s true. And I’m happy you did.” Your eyes quickly divert towards the four boys sitting on the couch – they’re still going on and on about how Martin actually has a girlfriend. They’re saying it as if they’re in disbelief that he’s actually with you.
Believe it, you think. To really sell it, you dramatically plant a kiss on Martin’s cheek. You’re thanking yourself that you decided to wear lipstick that wasn’t transfer-proof today, and you can practically hear Keonho’s gasp. When you pull away, there it is – a glaringly obvious stain of your lips on the side of his cheek.
“Oops,” you say, but Martin can tell you’re not really sorry about it at all. You bring a hand up to wipe the stain off, and Martin just shakes his head, gently clutching your wrist as if to tell you to leave it.
“I’ll just use some makeup remover,” he replies, calmly. You’re surprised that Martin’s face isn’t heating up with embarrassment – maybe you just had to be even more dramatic than you already were. In fact, he was smiling like an idiot in love. Was he crazy? “Thanks for the good luck kiss, girlfriend.”
It’s official. All Martin has to do is get you to stay with him until the end of the tenth show. All you have to do is get him to dump you before the tenth show.
And as you squeeze Martin’s hand a little tighter before planting another overly obnoxious kiss on his cheek, you’re almost certain that you’re going to get that full-time job.
Over the next week, Martin realises that first impressions are deceiving.
You’re not who he thought you’d be when he first saw you at the comeback showcase – rather, you’re the complete opposite. Loud, boisterous, unrestrained. You’re overly sweet and romantic in a way that Martin thought only existed in rom-coms. It’s nice to be showered in love and affection, and Martin – despite his better judgment – allows his heart to flutter whenever you lean a little closer, or when his name rolls off your tongue like honey over the phone.
You send him texts almost every single second now that you two are officially a couple (can he even call you his actual girlfriend when this was all a bet?). You also show up at almost every performance of theirs throughout the week.
The members and the staff all get used to your presence rather quickly – it’s not surprising, considering that whenever you’re there, your presence somehow commands the entire room. Everyone’s eyes are on you, and he doesn’t know if he loves or hates the extra attention that you bring with you. In addition, Martin doesn’t even know how you have the time to basically cling to him like glue when you’ve got a full-time job.
His phone pings again, and he already knows who it’s from. It’s you, sending him twenty messages in a row – each text is one word, and Martin would usually get a little frustrated, but it was you. He doesn’t think he can bring himself to actually get mad at you, which is the crazy part considering that this was all a bet.
You send him four selfies of yourself sitting in the front row of the same exhibition centre where you guys had met. He’s admiring how pretty you look until he realises the article of clothing that you’re wearing is awfully familiar. It’s then when it hits him – you’re wearing his striped red and black zip-up hoodie.
The one that he precisely wanted to wear today.
Martin knows that the zip-up basically swallows you, because he’s seen you in his other clothes before. His heart does a flip at the thought. It’s just a bet, he reminds himself.
You look pretty, he tells you. You respond almost immediately.
I know, is your response. Martin doesn’t realise how hard he’s grinning at his screen right now.
Is that my jacket? he asks you.
Your response? It’s mine now.
His nostrils flare slightly at the fact that you’ve just claimed his favourite zip-up hoodie, but he relents and lets you have it anyway. You did look good in it, he had to admit.
You practically demand his attention at all times, which is a little impossible considering his job. More often than not, whenever he’s practicing with the rest of the members, his phone would be buzzing so much to the point where it fell off the bench. Keonho only looks at him teasingly before Martin quickly shoots back a response to you, telling you that he’s got dance practice.
You don’t seem to care, and you continue spamming him anyways. Despite this, Martin can’t seem to push you away. Or mute your contact.
You’re sitting in the exhibition centre, confused as to why Martin hasn’t gone batshit crazy over the fact that you’ve taken his favourite zip-up without any warning. Keonho had warned you about how Martin didn’t like sharing his clothes. Perhaps you just had to take it a little further, then.
So, a day later, Martin opens the door to his dorm to find you standing there. You hadn’t announced that you were coming, and Martin assumed that you had work anyways. What he didn’t know was that you’d asked Jisoo for some time off today to work on the article – it was going well, you had told her. At those words, Jisoo nodded, giving you time off without a single thought.
“Hi?” Martin asks, stunned at the sight of you at his doorstep.
“I thought you’d be a little happier to see me,” you pout, and Martin shakes his head.
“No, no!” he says hastily. “I was just surprised to see you. Come on in,” he opens the door a little wider for you. You kick your shoes off at the door, and Martin winces a little when you just leave them there instead of putting it on the shoe rack. He decides to do it for you, like any good boyfriend would – placing your shoes next to a pair of his own sneakers.
“Thank you, ‘Tinnie.” you beam, pressing a kiss to his cheek. Even though there’s nobody else there right now, you make it a big show and exaggerate every motion. You deliberately say ‘mwah’ when you pull away, admiring the lipstick print on Martin’s cheek.
Oddly, Martin doesn’t wipe it off. Maybe he’s insane. Or maybe he’s just insanely whipped like Yoonchae said.
“Tinnie is a new one,” he hums. “Finally moved on from calling me Edwards?”
You shake your head, bounding down the corridor like it’s your place rather than his. Martin follows you like a lost puppy. “Nope,” you reply, popping the ‘p’. “Just trying out something new. But, I wanted to grab some clothes.”
Martin furrows his brows. “You want to go shopping?” he asks. “Sure, I’ll just go grab my coat.”
You hold a hand out to stop him. “No, I want to wear some of your clothes,” you say like it’s the most casual thing in the world. It’s totally not like you two have only been dating for a week. “If that’s alright with you, of course?”
Martin can’t say no to you. Not when he remembers how nice you looked in his striped zip-up. He nods reluctantly, and you squeal, dragging him towards his closet.
You’re raiding Martin’s closet like it’s a department store sale. You’re grabbing hanger after hanger and asking him to hold onto them for you, and Martin can barely keep up. In five minutes, he’s somehow holding five of his own hoodies and three of his t-shirts, while you’re trying on another one of his zip-ups.
You’re twirling around in it, looking at your own reflection in the mirror. You look at Martin for his approval, and he nods, giving you a thumbs up. “Looks great on you, pretty.”
You really should be used to the compliments that Martin dishes out, but your cheeks heat up ever so slightly. Bailey’s voice rings in your head – don’t fall in love with him. You can’t believe you have to remind yourself.
Seonghyeon walks in to grab a jacket, and he’s stunned at the scene. Martin’s got hoodies and shirts and jumpers draped over him as you pull out something else from his side of the closet.
“What the…” he says, and Martin turns to look at him.
“Hi,” Martin says. He can barely see. There’s a hoodie over his head, and he can’t bring his arm up to pull it off. “(Name) wanted some of my clothes.” Seonghyeon, who’s ever so kind, pulls the hoodie off Martin’s head.
“Okay,” Seonghyeon giggles. “Have fun, you lovebirds.” Before he leaves, he mouths at Martin, 10 shows. Though your presence is awfully over-the-top, Seonghyeon doesn’t quite mind having you around. It was rather funny to witness yours and Martin’s dynamic.
You take four more pieces of his clothing, and Martin helps you fold them all up neatly before placing them into a bag. “There you go,” he says, snaking an arm around your waist to pull you closer. “Happy?”
“Very,” you giggle. You do feel a little guilty for stealing half his closet. “Thank you, ‘Tin. Do you want to watch a movie? I’ll let you pick, since I’ve taken so many of your clothes.” Though it was for an article, you weren’t a monster. You don’t realise how instinctively, you’ve leaned into his touch.
Martin nods, grinning as he kisses your temple like he’s done this a million times before. It’s getting awfully easy for him to slip into the role of your boyfriend. “Sure,” he hums. “We can watch something on my laptop.”
You curl up next to him on his bed, your head resting on his chest and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind playing on his laptop. Martin presses a kiss to the top of your head, his arms wrapped around you.
This domesticity feels a little too natural. A little too real – like you two are actually two teenagers in love.
The slightest twinge of guilt pangs at your heart. You don't know it, but when the thought of the bet flashes through Martin's head, that same feeling strikes him in the chest too.
Martin’s eyes leave the screen for a split second to look at you, and he pushes the thought of the bet to the back of his head.
His closet may be a little bit more empty now, but his heart feels the slightest bit more full.
“I think Martin is a lunatic.” you confess to Yoonchae at work one day.
CORTIS had five more shows left in Korea before they were due to leave for New York City, and any logical person would have already broken up with you at this point.
But for some strange reason, Martin stayed. Not even just stayed – pulled you closer, even. He flirted with you more. Peppered your face with kisses. Proudly showed you off to his friends.
He’s either insane, or he loves crazy girls. You don’t know which is worse.
What you didn't know, of course, was that Martin was practically clinging on to this relationship for dear life. 10 shows, he reminds himself. He needed a girl to stay with him for three full weeks and to somehow put up with his insanely hectic schedule. Martin half-expected to barely see you, but you somehow managed to find a way to sneak into his life more often than not. It was welcomed, of course – he could show his friends that yes, he could flirt, and yes, an idol was able to date.
You were acting batshit crazy, and he still wanted you to be his girlfriend. Martin still hasn't dumped your ass, and that was absolutely shocking.
Idols were always busy, so you decided to do the very thing that all busy people hated: you spammed Martin all day.
You sent him stupid TikToks, telling him to reply to each and every single one. You called him at random hours, sent him voice messages, and practically demanded his attention every single second.
The crazy thing was, Martin would reply to every TikTok. He’d always pick up. He’d reply to every single voice message with his own, and you hated how you always smiled hearing his voice and his loud laugh through your headphones.
You showed up unannounced to so many performances to the point where his manager would only sigh, and reluctantly let you in. You’ve embarrassed him by showering him with affection in front of quite literally everyone. You heard how Keonho tried – and failed – to hide a shriek when you made a big show of calling Martin ‘baby’ five minutes before they were due to head on stage.
One night at his dorm, you’d even spent one whole hour asking the most basic questions about music production, forcing him to overexplain like he was teaching a toddler. You knew all the answers to the questions, but you’d asked them anyway just to rile him up.
Martin thinks that for someone who’s working at Stereo, you should know. But regardless, he explains it all to you patiently, smiling like he’s glad that his girlfriend is actually interested in what he does – much to your dismay.
Martin didn’t even bat an eye when you purposely stole all of his favourite clothes from his closet a few days ago. You’re sitting at your desk in the Stereo office, wearing Martin’s hoodie that is outrageously large on you. You’re shocked that he didn’t protest more, especially when you grabbed one of the expensive ones. Instead, he smiled, told you that you looked gorgeous, folded it up neatly and then gave it to you.
You also realise that you don’t hate the affection that he showers you with. It feels quite nice, actually – to be cared for by Martin Edwards.
But, this was truly not going well for your article.
“Why is that?” Yoonchae asks. “Because he hasn’t dumped you?”
“Yes!” you exclaim, as if it was the obvious answer. “He’s staying! Which is the crazy part! Idols don’t have time for this clingy, over-the-top nonsense, do they? So it’s either he’s insane, or he loves crazy girls.”
“There’s another obvious answer,” Bailey chimes in, a smile playing on her lips. “He just likes you.”
Bailey’s words hit you like a truck, and you ignore how your heart jumps at the thought. Martin Edwards likes you? You hate to say it, but that was truly… not implausible. But if Martin actually liked you – with all your craziness – surely, he had to be just the slightest bit insane.
“I…” your cheeks heat up. “Okay.” you grumble, eyes diverting back to your laptop screen. You need to figure out a way to drive Martin absolutely up the wall – he had a strong resolve, there was no doubt about it. Something about music seemed right.
Your eyes sparkle with delight when you remember that Martin said that he was going to be working on some music tonight in his studio. Something about recording some adlibs and some lines for their next album. Even while promoting music that was released recently, Martin was always working on something new. It was honestly incredibly admirable.
So, you find yourself slumped on a chair next to Martin at 9:30 at night, watching as he works on a new song. There’s a microphone in front of his lips as he clips sections together with silent precision. His brows are furrowed in concentration, and you deem it the perfect time to enact your plan.
“Tinnie,” you say, dragging out his name. He hums, acknowledging you, but his eyes don’t leave the screen. You nudge him gently, and he glances towards you. There’s a soft look in his eye, and a small smile graces his lips. “What do you think about this dog?”
You show him a picture of this random white poodle that came up on your For You page. He squints at it, nodding. “It’s cute, baby. Why?” he asks, before his eyes divert back to his screen again.
“I want a dog,” you say. “Let’s get a dog.”
That catches Martin’s attention. “You want… us to get a dog?” he asks, in complete disbelief. You nod, and Martin’s eyes bug out of his skull. He can’t believe what you’ve just said. A dog was a big relationship commitment, right?
Martin could barely take care of himself sometimes – how was he going to take care of a dog? And who was going to pay for the dog? He’d made enough money from the song royalties, but still. The proposal was a little insane.
“That’s really sweet, baby – but we’ve only been dating for like a week,” he hums, hand gently caressing your shoulder. “And I don’t know how we’d even take care of it – would it live at your house? It can’t live in our dorm, you know.”
You pout at his words.
“I’m sorry. We can… go to a dog cafe, or something. I’ll take you sometime next week,” Martin looks at you sympathetically. Just give me a few minutes to work on this song, is that alright? I have to record some bits tonight, and then we can watch a movie.”
You nod, letting out a small sigh. Martin thinks it’s because he lightly rejected your proposal for you two to get a dog. In reality, it was really because you can’t seem to figure out a way to get Martin to actually dump you. What normal person asks their boyfriend of one week to get a dog with them?
Martin glances at you before he pulls up the lyrics of the song on his phone. He taps the record button, and just as he’s about to sing into the microphone, your voice cuts through the air.
“Tinnie,” you pipe up, and Martin pauses the recording. He really wanted to get this song finished by tonight. You see the slightest hint of frustration on his face, and you do feel bad – but despite all your past attempts to get him to drive you away, nothing else seemed to work.
“Hmm?” he asks.
“Do you have any drinks?” you ask, and Martin nods, rolling his chair back so he can open the mini-fridge under the desk. He pulls out a can of Coke – he knows your favourite – cracking it open for you before sliding it over to you.
“Thank you, Tinnie,” you beam. Martin thinks that seeing your smile is worth it, even if he did have to pause recording for a bit. Even if you sometimes did have awfully bad timing, he’s realising that he’s grown accustomed to your antics. “I’ll be quiet now.”
“Okay,” he replies. “Thank you. I’ll be quick.”
You take a loud, dramatic sip of your drink just as Martin presses record. He pauses it again before turning to you, and this time, frustration is evident on his features.
Guilt washes over you, and you realise that honestly, you didn’t really want Martin to get so mad at you to the point where he ended things. He looks tired, and you know it’s probably from a mix of hectic promotions, working on music and dealing with your incredibly annoying ass.
Martin was too sweet for his own good, and you’re suddenly re-evaluating every little thing. You didn’t like seeing him upset, and you certainly didn’t want him to be upset at you.
You look at him sheepishly. “Sorry.” you wince, and Martin shakes his head, waving it off.
“It’s okay.” he sighs, but exasperation is evident in his tone. He huffs, pressing the record button again.
This time, you don’t interrupt – and now you know why everyone in the industry calls him a musical genius. Martin’s working like a seasoned professional, putting in clips of his voice here and there. He presses play on the section that he was just working on, nodding in silent approval when he’s satisfied.
You realise that you don’t want to drive him incredibly insane to the point where he can’t bear to see your face anymore. The article wasn’t going to write itself, but writing it meant that you had to hurt Martin. And looking at him now, and thinking about all of the times he had put up with you, you really didn’t want to hurt him. But you needed a way out.
The guilt is eating you alive as you sit there, making sure to quietly sip your drink. You think about every single moment you’ve shared with him for the last week, the flirting, the affection, the laughter – you don’t really want to let that go either. What were you going to do? This wasn’t supposed to be that complicated. You didn’t intend to actually catch feelings—
Oh.
Shit.
You might have feelings for him.
Everything clicks into place right then and there. You like Martin Edwards. You make sure to say those words in your head so you don’t interrupt him, but those words settle in your chest like they actually belong there.
Fuck. You did the one thing Bailey told you not to do.
“Hey,” he says softly, snapping you out of your thoughts. You look up at him, and Martin doesn’t know why you’re looking at him a little differently. Your gaze is soft, warm, and filled with what Martin thinks – and he doesn’t realise, but hopes – might be love. He doesn’t think he’s seen this look in your eye before. “I’m done.”
“Okay,” you say. Your voice is quieter than it’s ever been before. Martin’s slightly startled at the change. “Tin, I’m sorry.”
Martin furrows his brows. “What for?”
Everything, you want to say. “Interrupting you when you were working,” is what you say instead. Martin shakes his head, pulling you close in a hug.
“It’s okay,” he replies. He presses a kiss to your cheek to comfort you, and you hate how much it works. “Don’t worry about it, baby.”
You smile, albeit a little stiffly. “Movie?” you ask, pretending that everything is fine. Martin nods, gesturing to the couch situated at the back of the studio.
You sit down on the couch, and Martin plops right down next to you, giving you a bright smile as he places his laptop on his lap. “What’d you wanna watch?” he asks, and you shrug, resting your cheek on his shoulder.
“You pick,” you reply, and Martin nods. You lace your fingers with his, and he randomly clicks on a movie that he thinks Keonho had offhandedly mentioned was good before. He presses play before glancing at you to make sure you’re okay.
Martin squeezes your hand a little tighter, just to let you know that he’s here. You hate that he’s far too good to you.
You gulp, trying to ignore how the guilt is eating you alive.
Then, you take a deep breath before pressing a chaste kiss to his shoulder, slipping into the role that you think you’ve gotten too good at playing.
You have to end it with Martin.
It’s what you realise is best for the both of you. You get your article, and he gets to rid himself of an annoying, overbearing girlfriend. You head into work with a little less enthusiasm, and Yoonchae can immediately tell.
“What’s wrong?” Yoonchae asks, as you let out another loud sigh. Martin’s face is everywhere on your Instagram, and you hate that your lips instinctively tug into a smile at the sight of him. You were in love, damn it.
“Nothing,” you reply. “The article’s just… a little harder than I thought.” You weren’t necessarily lying. Every word you typed out felt wrong. The bitter taste of guilt in the back of your mouth reminds you that you were technically a horrible person for inflicting psychological warfare on Martin Edwards, who couldn’t possibly hurt a fly.
“Oh?” Yoonchae asks, surprised. “I thought it was going well with Martin.”
“It is,” you mutter under your breath. “A little too well. He won’t end it with me. So I think I’m going to have to do it.”
Bailey quirks a brow. “Oh, really? How are you going to do it?”
“I don’t know,” you reply. “Maybe come up with some lame excuse saying that he doesn’t have time for us anymore, and it’s breaking my heart.” Bailey nods, giving you a look that indicates that it’s not that bad of an idea.
You knew that Martin’s schedule was packed today – he had two variety shows to film and then Music Bank later. If anything, today was the perfect day to spam him and then complain about how you got no response. Then, you could use that as an excuse to break up.
It was better to get it done early on before you both got too invested. Your heart does, however, twist at the thought of letting go. But it was for the better, you remind yourself. And you had an article to write.
So, after one whole day of no responses from Martin like you’d planned, you find yourself standing outside the CORTIS dorm, rehearsing your words. You take a deep breath, telling yourself that you could do this. You could play the clingy, overbearing girlfriend role to perfection – this was the last time that you had to, hopefully.
You knock, and you hear Martin’s voice. You fail to stop the smile spreading across your lips.
When he opens the door, he instantly beams when he sees you. “Hi, baby!” He moves to wrap his arms around you in a hug, and for a split second, you nearly let him – until you remember that you’re going to break up with him.
“I can’t believe you,” You slip into your role, sniffling to show how heartbroken you were. “I sent you messages all day and you didn’t reply to me! It’s like I don’t matter to you anymore.”
Martin steps back in horror. Shit. Did he mess up? Well, not really, he thinks. He was far too busy – he barely had time to even check his phone all day, but seeing you heartbroken in front of his doorstep makes his stomach twist.
“No, no,” he says, reaching out to pull you into a hug in an attempt to comfort you, and you push him away. “Baby, I’m so sorry – I was really busy all day, and I didn’t have time to check my phone. The guys and I just got home, and I was going to text you, believe me!”
“I don’t know what to believe anymore,” you say. Your words are absolutely ridiculous, and you know it. “I think we need to break up.”
Saying those words makes your heart sink. You hated it. You didn’t want to let Martin Edwards go.
Martin’s heart drops. The rest of the members can hear everything, and all of their eyes widen. Martin had not a single clue of what to do. He didn’t reply for one day and you wanted to break up? This was ridiculous – he turns to Juhoon, who’s shaking his head as if to say: don’t ask me!
He then looks at Keonho, who’s reminding him: 10 shows.
10 shows. He’s got a week left until he hits 10 shows. Shit. If you ended it with him right now, he would lose the bet.
Asides from that, Martin found that he genuinely did care for you. He didn’t want you to hate him over his schedule being far too packed. He had to find a way to reason with you so you’d stay – not just for the bet, he tells himself.
Seonghyeon’s watching this as if it’s the best episode of television he’s seen in his life. Martin Edwards, begging for his overdramatic, overly clingy girlfriend to stay with him. This was gold.
What did couples do when their relationship was in trouble? Martin racks his brain for ideas.
He’d apologised already. What about gifts? He could get you those. Couples counselling?
“What?” you pipe up. It’s only then when Martin realises that he’s said ‘couples counselling’ out loud. His eyes widen with panic, before he pretends like that’s what he intended all along.
“Yes!” he says. “Let’s do couples counselling. Please, let’s fix this, baby.” Desperation is evident in his tone, and you’re so shocked at his proposal to the point where you don’t quite know what to say.
“I…” you stammer out. You look at Martin, and you realise that you really can’t say no to him. Fuck, you think.
You’d have to find a fucking couples counsellor. Or someone who could pretend to be one. Maybe you could just get Yoonchae or Bailey to say that the two of you weren’t meant to be, and then that could be your excuse to end it.
Yes, that would work, you think.
“Okay,” you sigh, reluctantly. You suppose that you were in this predicament for a little longer. "I'm picking the therapist."
Martin lets out a loud exhale in relief. He's unbelievably happy that you've decided to give your relationship another chance, despite all this being a bet. A little voice in the back of his mind tells him that he seems to care more about you than the bet now. Even if you did, at times, drive him a little crazy.
He pulls you closer to him in a hug, and this time, you let him.
The smell of blackberries and cedar envelopes you in a comforting embrace, and you allow yourself to melt in his arms. “I’m sorry,” he whispers against your hair. He presses a soft kiss to your cheek and it’s all just too genuine – you feel awful.
Your heart twists with guilt at how genuine he sounds in his apology.
He holds you a little closer, and all you know is that you don’t deserve Martin Edwards at all.
One day later, you find yourself in Bailey’s apartment – or rather, Dr. Sok’s apartment. You didn’t even have to beg or bribe Bailey to pretend to be a fake therapist for you and Martin – she had said yes immediately, and with a little too much enthusiasm. Bailey wanted to witness whatever the hell you two had going on firsthand.
“It’s going to be good,” she says, tapping her fingers together mischievously. She’s talking about it as if your couples’ counselling appointment is going to be the best movie she’s seen in years.
Martin’s sitting beside you as he taps his foot nervously on the floor. This was insane. He feels a little too out of place here. Why did he agree to couple’s counselling for a relationship that had only just reached the two week mark?
Despite Bailey’s living room looking very much not like a therapists’ office, she comes up with some lame excuse saying that her actual office (which doesn’t exist) is going under some construction. She peers at the two of you through her blue light glasses, leaning forward as she holds a clipboard in your hands.
“So, (Name), Martin. Tell me what’s going wrong in your relationship,” Bailey says. You take a deep breath before slipping back into the role of annoying, overbearing girlfriend.
“He doesn’t have time for us and this relationship!” you huff, crossing your arms. Martin gives you a pained look, sighing. “He’s not taking us seriously anymore.” You sniffle a little for good measure to really sell the fact that you’re heartbroken.
“I… I have a lot to do, baby – you know this,” he pleads “I’m trying my best to make as much time for you as I can, I’m sorry.” You watch as Bailey writes something down on her clipboard. She’s never met Martin before, but she could immediately tell that he harboured a lot of affection for you.
She’s starting to realise that maybe you were right in thinking that Martin was a lunatic – she’d heard about all the antics you’ve pulled, and yet, Martin was still grovelling and wanted you to stay?
“It’s like you care more about being an idol than me,” you say – as the words leave your mouth, you realise how unreasonable it was. Perfect. You needed Martin to dump your ass. The longer you stayed in this ‘relationship’, the harder you knew you were going to fall. You were already in deep, and you needed to get out before this article left you completely heartbroken.
“I…” Martin’s at a complete loss for words. “I can balance my work and our relationship, baby. Please.”
Bailey hums, tapping her pencil on the side of her clipboard as an idea pops up in her brain. You watch as her eyes light up in that way you’ve seen before – you just know this is going to be bad. You’re praying to God that you’re wrong.
“I know,” she says, leaning forward with a glint in your eye. “I think you two need an opportunity to spend a little bit more time together, away from all the idol life. Maybe then, you’ll see your relationship with clearer eyes.”
Your eyes widen in horror. Oh no.
Martin leans forward, suddenly curious. Double oh no.
“What may that be?” he asks – he’s genuinely invested in keeping this relationship, Bailey thinks. It was more clear than ever to her that Martin genuinely liked you, despite how you acted insane.
“When’s the next time you have a day off?” Bailey asks.
“Tuesday. I’m heading back to my parents’ house to spend some time with them before we head off to New York,” Martin says. “Oh!” he looks at you, eyes gleaming with delight. Your heart sinks. Whatever idea Martin had, you knew it was going to be bad for you.
“You can come with me,” he beams. “Right? Is that a good idea, Dr. Sok?”
Bailey is surprisingly shocked at Martin’s willingness to introduce you to his family only two weeks into your relationship. But she had to admit, it was a brilliant idea. She plasters a smile on her face to hide her shock, and nods in satisfaction.
“It’s brilliant, Martin,” Bailey grins. She turns towards you, who’s got a look of horror on your face. “(Name), you should go meet Martin’s parents. After all, you said he wasn’t taking this relationship seriously. What couldn’t be more serious than meeting the parents?”
You fail to come up with a coherent response. Fuck, you think. You should’ve asked Yoonchae to be the fake therapist.
Martin’s looking at you expectantly, and you can tell just based on his gaze alone that he wants you to come. Your gaze softens, and you realise that you’re in way too deep. You’re in love. Shit.
“Fine,” you huff. “Let’s do it.”
Martin beams, so bright that it could rival the sun. The corner of your lips pull upward into a smile at the sight, and he laces his hands with yours. You hate how it feels right.
“Perfect.” he says.
To you, this was anything but.
Tuesday rolls around much faster than you thought.
You put much more effort into your outfit to meet Martin's parents. You’ve practically been living in Martin’s clothes for the past few weeks, and as much as you knew that he liked it, you still had to make a good impression on his parents. Showing up in Martin’s oversized hoodie and a pair of sweats wasn’t going to cut it.
You opt for something simple, a little more similar to what you wore at the comeback showcase. You arrive at the CORTIS dorm wearing a striped shirt and a pair of jeans. Seonghyeon greets you at the door, and the boy points at what you’re wearing, and then what he’s wearing.
“Oh,” he says. “Why are we matching?”
You let out a little laugh. “Don’t bring it up,” you reply. “Tin wouldn’t like it.”
If Martin notices that you’re somehow dressed like Seonghyeon, he doesn’t make any mention of it. He holds your hand as the company car drives the two of you to his parents’ place, and the two of you share earphones, listening to Martin’s music.
You gulp. This was not what you had planned when you first decided that you were going to write the article. You didn’t think that you’d have to go this far – you had already accidentally fallen in love with the subject of your article, and now you were meeting his parents. This was… simply great.
When the two of you arrive, it’s like Martin can sense your nerves. He looks at you, his gaze soft and gentle like usual. “Don’t worry,” he beams. “They’re going to love you.”
You don’t know if you love or hate the idea of Martin’s family loving you. On one hand, it was nice to get his parents’ approval – on the other, this relationship was practically completely fake. Or at least it started that way, until your real feelings got involved.
Martin’s mother answers the door, and when she spots you, she pulls you in for a hug. You’re slightly stunned at how affectionate she is, but it’s awfully kind of her, and you return the gesture nevertheless. “You must be (Name),” she beams. “Martin’s been going on and on about you.”
“You have?” you ask, turning to Martin. His cheeks heat up and he shrugs, trying to hide his embarrassment.
Martin’s father greets you once you’re inside, sitting down at the living room table. He’s easy to talk to, much like Martin. He jokes around with you right off the bat, and your stomach twists with guilt. Your presence feels a little too foreign, as if you don’t belong – because truly, you don’t.
Here you were, sitting at the Edwards’ dining room table as if you were exactly who Martin said you were. His loving girlfriend who cared about him more than anything in the world.
The truth? All you were was a music journalist who was writing an article on how to lose an idol in 10 shows, and their son was the target. It was simply awful, and here you were, basking in the Edwards’ family’s praises like you deserved them. Like you deserved their son.
You didn’t. Martin Edwards was far too good to you, and for you.
You listen as his mother tells you stories about Martin’s childhood, such as how he composed a piece of music at the ripe age of 10 about the Spider-Man movie that he’d watched. His sister teases him lovingly, telling him that he shouldn’t have hid you for this long – she doesn’t seem to know that you two have only been ‘dating’ for two weeks. They treat you like family. You realise how much you adore all of them.
It makes the guilt that’s been simmering in your stomach much, much worse.
When Martin tells the story of how you two met at the comeback showcase, his sister’s eyes widen. “Wait, I thought you guys have been dating for two months!”
“Nope,” you chuckle nervously. His sister only hums, nodding. That reaction strikes genuine fear in your heart. Is she okay with it? Does she hate you? Martin seems to notice how anxious you are, and he gently caresses your hand with his thumb in an attempt to comfort you.
Martin beams as his family gushes over the new album, and you sit next to him, your fingers laced with his. You look at him, pride evident on your face as he talks about the songs, and Martin’s father realises that it’s only then when you relax your shoulders.
When Martin’s whisked away by his mother and sister, his father approaches you.
“(Name),” he says, pouring you a glass of water. “Thank you for being so kind to Martin. And being there for him.”
Your breath hitches in your throat. Martin’s father looks at you, handing you the glass. “It’s not an easy life for him to be an idol, especially since he’s so young,” he hums. “I’m glad he has someone like you to… you know. Keep him grounded amidst all the chaos.”
Oh god. The guilt. You want to throw up. His dad was extending so much kindness to you because he genuinely believed that you loved his son.
And you did, but you had started everything with ulterior motives. Did it even matter now that you truly had feelings, when you’d approached Martin with zero intention of anything genuine?
But you plaster on a smile, something that you’ve gotten a little too good at doing. “Of course,” you say. You look out the window, seeing Martin and his sister laughing about something. Martin’s father recognises this look in your eye – one of genuine affection for his son – and he too, smiles. “I’m glad that I can… be that for him.”
“And really, he is… absolutely amazing,” you say. “I don’t think I deserve him.” It’s the most truthful thing you think you’ve said all day.
The smile on his father’s lips grows a little wider. “For what it’s worth, I think you two are perfect for each other. Even if this is all a little recent.”
Perfect. Those words should make you feel relieved. But now that you have his father’s stamp of approval, it makes ending things much more difficult. How were you supposed to do that now?
It’s then when it hits you. You couldn’t write the article anymore. You had to tell Jisoo that you couldn’t. Because you’ve fallen for Martin Edwards. Hard.
Martin returns, seeing you and his father speaking to one another. He sneaks up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist before pressing a kiss to your shoulder. You lean into his touch, even as the guilt from the past two weeks piles up and threatens to crush you like a boulder.
“Pops, what’d you say to her?” he asks, hoping that his father hasn’t embarrassed him in front of you.
“Oh, nothing bad, Martin. Don’t worry,” he laughs. “Do show her around the house, though. I’m sure she’d love to see your room.”
His father gives you a nod before going outside to find Martin’s mother and sister. Martin looks at you, and you’re standing there silently. “You okay?” he asks, and you nod, coming to your senses.
“Of course,” you say. He smiles at the nickname before lacing your hand with his. He does it so casually now to the point where you’re not fazed by it at all. “So… are you going to show me your room?”
He nods, leading you down the corridor. It’s the first room on the right.
“Tada,” he says, flicking on the light switch. Your eyes immediately dart to the plane drawn on the wall, and Martin notices.
“My dad painted that for me when I was little,” he says, and your eyes flick back to look at him.
“He’s really good at painting,” you say, and Martin beams. Your eyes wander across the entire room, and the next object your eyes land on is a little Spider-Man figurine sitting on top of a cupboard. “You really did like Spider-Man, didn’t you?”
Martin chuckles, walking over to pick it up. “I did,” he hums. He hands it over to you, before grabbing something else perched on top of the same cupboard. “I was a big Marvel fan. Case in point – Thanos’ gauntlet.”
He tries to put it on, but it’s clearly too small for him now, and you laugh. “You try it,” he says, handing it over to you.
You put it on, and it fits. “If I snap my fingers, would we all turn to dust?”
Martin bursts into a fit of laughter – were you really that funny? But the sound of his laughter is infectious, and for a second you allow yourself to forget about that daunting thought of feeling like an intruder in your boyfriend’s own home.
You take off the gauntlet, handing it back to him so he can place it back in its original spot. He flops down on his bed, patting the empty space next to him. “Come,” he says. “My bed here is comfy. Much better than the dorm one, to be honest.”
You lay down beside him, and to be fair, he was right. The mattress was slightly softer. Martin tugs at the corner of your shirt to get you to move slightly closer to him.
“Your room is cozy,” you say as he wraps his arms around you. You turn to look at him, and he’s looking at you with so much sincerity and love. That feeling of guilt creeps up once again.
“I know,” he hums. “Listen… I’m happy that you decided to come meet my family. I’m sorry about that day, by the way. I should’ve probably told you that I was going to be busy.”
You shake your head. You knew how unreasonable you were being. “It’s okay,” you say. Looking into his eyes, everything feels far too real – and instinctively, like you’ve done a million times before, you brush his hair out of his eyes. “Sorry for causing a scene. I was being overdramatic. Like usual.”
Martin chuckles, his laugh light and airy. “Don’t worry.”
Over the two weeks, Martin has found that he does care for you. Perhaps a little too much for something that was just a bet. But with you here in his home, things just felt right. His father seemed to love you, and outside in the garden, his mother and sister had both said that you were amazing.
Martin doesn’t know what to do – was he supposed to tell you about the bet? You’d surely break up with him for good once you found out.
But he looks at you, and he just can’t help but think about how pretty you are. Truthfully, his heart did skip a beat when he first saw you at their comeback showcase, and despite your overdramatic antics, Martin did… want you to stay. That realisation settles in his chest, and he doesn’t know if he should be happy about it.
He’s not in love with you, is he?
You look at Martin. Silence falls between the two of you, and it’s comforting, really. You look at him like he’s the most beautiful person in the world, and your breath hitches in your throat. He’s too pretty. Too kind. Too good for you.
You don’t know when your eyes flick to his lips, but you realise that over the last two weeks, you two haven’t actually kissed. He’s kissed your cheek far too many times, you’ve done the same, but you’ve never actually pressed your lips to his.
And the scary thing was, that you really, really wanted to.
You lean in a little closer, inching his face closer to his. Martin suddenly seems to notice the proximity between you two, and he too, realises that he hasn’t actually kissed you on the lips before. For someone who his sister claimed to be ‘so in love’, he hadn’t even kissed his own girlfriend.
He wants to kiss you. Really, really badly.
You’re the one who leans in first, pressing your lips to his. It’s hesitant and slow, and Martin’s a little shocked at your tentativeness. For someone who was so dramatic, over the top and boisterous – this was a little out of character.
Martin can hear his own pulse thundering in his ears as he kisses you back – slow, gentle, like he means it. Yes, this was exactly what he had been missing this entire time. Everything feels right, and Martin completely forgets about the bet. At this moment, all of it was real.
His hand moves up to gently cup your cheek as the other finds your waist, and you kiss him a little harder, a little more insistent. As Martin melts into the kiss, he’s also simultaneously praying to God that he’s closed his bedroom door. The last thing he really wanted was his parents or sister catching him making out with his girlfriend – he'd never hear the end of it.
But when your hands find his shirt to pull him impossibly closer, that thought leaves his mind completely as he allows you to kiss him senseless. It’s fine if the door’s open, he thinks. All he cares about is you, and how your lips feel on his. He’s drunk on the feeling, almost – he doesn’t think that he can go a day without kissing you now.
When you pull away for air, you’re beaming at him like an idiot in love. Because truthfully, that’s what you were. The guilt that’s been eating at you is completely forgotten, and all you really want to do is kiss him again.
“You kissed me,” Martin says, a little breathless and a little astonished that this was all real. You had kissed him. And he felt something. Something real, something genuine – something that told him that it wasn’t a bet anymore, at least not to him.
Martin Edwards might really be in love with you.
It was horrifying and exhilarating at the same time. On one hand, Martin was thinking about what would happen if – god forbid – you found out that you were a bet. On the other, Martin just wanted to kiss you over, and over, and over again.
“Is it that hard to believe?” your voice cuts through his thoughts, your breath hot against his lips. Your eyes flick down to his lips once again, stained with your lipstick. Martin doesn’t – and won’t – wipe it off. “I think you better get used to it, Edwards.”
And when Martin Edwards leans in again to press his lips against yours, he allows himself to be irrevocably and truly yours.
You tell Jisoo that you can’t write the article.
She’s disappointed, but simultaneously, not surprised at all. “I thought you might’ve caught feelings for that CORTIS boy,” she hums, tapping her pencil on the desk. You don’t think you’re getting that full-time job now. “It’s okay. I knew it was too good to be true.”
Ouch, you think. That stings.
But you’re honestly on too much of a high after that kiss in Martin’s house. With the weight of the article off your shoulders, you can actually date Martin without feeling completely guilty now. Sure, some of it still remained knowing that you started the relationship with ulterior motives, but it was slightly more of a clean slate than before.
Despite Jisoo's disappointment in you, she still does invite you, Yoonchae, Bailey and Yuna to this music awards show after-party. You immediately text Martin, asking him if he’s going to be there. He responds with a yes, and you beam.
I can’t wait to see you, he tells you. You smile at your phone, giddy and far too much in love.
“I knew this was going to happen!” Bailey exclaims as you two get ready for the after-party in her apartment. “I told you, that Martin boy was so deeply in love – he was practically looking at her with stars in her eyes when we were doing ‘couples counselling.’ Honestly, I’m surprised that you didn’t see it earlier!”
You curl your lashes, coating them with mascara carefully. “I mean, I didn’t expect to actually fall for him.”
“We all saw it coming a mile away, (Name),” Yoonchae laughs. “Come on, at the showcase you were gawking at him like he was your personal Prince Charming. The only thing I’m surprised at was how persistent he was in staying. If I were him, I would’ve broken up with you the second you humiliated me like that in front of all my friends.”
You gasp at Yoonchae’s words, and she simply shrugs, a smile playing on her lips. The rest of the time spent getting ready is filled with chatter about how you and Martin are going to cope with having eyes on you the entire night tonight. He couldn’t hold your hand like he usually did – you now had to hide.
When you arrive at the after-party, you immediately send a text to Martin, asking where he is. You look around the room to search for him, and you see idols, industry professionals and journalists like you conversing with one another.
“Hi,” a voice all too familiar to you makes you turn around, and you see Martin standing there, in all his glory. He’s wearing a crisp, sharp suit – Dior, you assume, considering the brand deal – and he looks absolutely perfect.
Your voice catches in your throat as you’re about to tell him he looks good, but rather a strangled noise escapes past your lips. You suppose you finally know what it’s like to actually be left speechless. You cover your mouth in embarrassment, and Martin simply laughs.
“Hi,” you breathe out, when you’re finally able to speak. “You look really nice.”
“And you do too,” Martin replies, looking at you. You’re wearing this stunning, satin yellow dress. In all honesty, Martin had grown accustomed to seeing you wearing his clothes, and seeing you in something like this made his heart race. A dainty necklace hangs around your neck, and Martin thinks that he might’ve just fallen in love all over again.
“Thank you,” you say. You’re unsure how to actually speak to him knowing that there were always going to be eyes watching his every move. “So… you doing anything after this?” is the only thing you’re able to come up with, and Martin chuckles.
“No, I don’t happen to be,” he replies, fixing the collar of his suit jacket. His voice drops low into a whisper, looking around carefully to make sure that nobody is listening. “Come to the dorm later for a movie date?”
“Of course,” you whisper back. You fail to hide the lovesick grin on your lips, and Martin’s practically fighting the urge to kiss you right now. You look irresistibly good, and Martin hates that every move of his is likely documented right now.
His manager approaches him, and he gives you a nod in acknowledgment. “Martin, we’re going to have to meet some members of the media. Please come with me – I’m sure the two of you will find time to talk later.”
You nod, understanding that duty calls. Martin waves goodbye to you, and you wave back. You didn’t even realise how fast your heart was racing there. You find Bailey, Yoonchae and Yuna near the drinks, and you grab a glass of fruit punch and converse with them about some new album that Yoonchae reviewed recently.
Martin straightens up his suit jacket before he walks up to the rest of the members, who are already talking to someone. “Hi, I’m Martin, the leader of CORTIS. Apologies for being late,” he says politely. “I had to catch up with a friend.” It’s a lie, but he couldn’t call you his girlfriend to everyone here.
“Oh, don’t worry,” the lady says, waving him off. She seems awfully drunk, and she’s already taking another sip of the champagne in her glass. “We were just talking about some of the articles that we’ve been publishing about your group. You boys are some of the most exciting faces on the music scene.”
“Thank you.” Martin beams.
“Her name is Jisoo,” James whispers in Martin’s ear. “I think she’s super drunk. Manager says that the rest of us are going to speak to some guy named John, but Jisoo really wanted to talk to you. So… we’ll leave you guys to it?”
Martin nods in agreement, but he doesn’t really want to speak with her. She’s incredibly drunk, and to be honest, Martin would much rather be talking to you right now.
“Oh, and we’ve got something much more than just about your albums,” Jisoo pipes up. “Well, did. One of my interns – talented girl – was writing a piece about one of you.” Jisoo's so drunk that she thinks that the five of them are still there, when it’s really only Martin who’s left.
She searches around the room, and her eyes land on you. She points in your direction.
“Ah, her. Over there,” Jisoo says. “(Name).”
Martin immediately straightens up at the sound of your name. He leans in to hear Jisoo better, curiosity suddenly piqued. “What article may that be?”
“Oh, it was a little bit more fun. How to lose an idol in 10 shows, or something. Dating an idol, and then trying to get him to dump her in 10 shows or less. I was gonna give her that full-time job, honestly.”
Martin’s heart drops.
An article? You... were writing an article on dating an idol?
It hits Martin right then and there. That’s why you were so adamant on breaking up over something so trivial – he knew that you weren’t that unreasonable.
The next realisation hits Martin like a truck. That’s why you would act so ludicrous and over the top sometimes – he had a feeling that it wasn’t really who you were. The night at the studio, the moments the two of you shared at his parents’ house. That was the real you. But Martin didn’t really care, he told himself he loved you all the same.
But knowing that all of this was just for an article? It sends a knife through his heart.
You kissed him like you actually loved him that day at his parents’ house. He thought you did. Did you love him? Did you even like him?
Jisoo is so drunk she doesn’t even seem to know the state of shock and distress that she’s just put Martin through. His mouth suddenly runs dry, and he doesn’t know what to do – all he knows is that he feels sick at the thought that perhaps none of it was real. His heart aches with betrayal, and he doesn’t think he’s ever felt this awful before.
His eyes are hot as he tries to blink back tears. “I’m sorry,” he stutters, his voice cracking. “I have to go.”
Jisoo's too drunk to notice as Martin pushes past her, trying desperately to find any corner away from the cameras.
When he finds a place secluded enough, covered by the black satin curtains, Martin finally lets a tear slip past his cheek.
This must be what heartbreak feels like, he thinks.
You’re already starting to get a little bored at this after-party.
You know that Jisoo's practically drunk off her mind, and Bailey’s gone over to make sure that she doesn’t hurl on any of the guests. Yoonchae winces seeing Jisoo stumble on air, and Bailey sighs as she knows that she’s going to be babysitting her all night.
You look at the crowd, trying to count how many idols you can see that aren’t completely drunk off their mind.
“(Name)!” James snaps you out of your little game – you were at roughly 12 idols – and you direct your attention to him. He beams, greeting you with a wide smile.
He’s got a glass of champagne in his hands – after all, he is the only one legally allowed to drink. You can tell that he’s slightly tipsy.
“Hi, James,” you say, smiling at him. “Nice to see you again… after seeing you yesterday night.”
James laughs, a little louder than normal – yeah, the alcohol was definitely kicking in. “That’s funny. Yes, so nice to see you again. I know that our Martin was a bit late speaking to some important people because he was caught up with you,” he says, wagging his finger at you. “It’s okay. No worries.”
“Oh,” you say sheepishly. “Sorry about that.”
“No worries,” he says, trailing off. There’s a beat of silence that falls between the two of you before James seems to remember something. “Oh! Oh! Don’t tell Martin. Wait, you two are dating for real, for real now. So you must know!”
You look at James, confused. You don’t have a single idea in the world of what he was insinuating at.
“Our Martin can flirt, can’t he?” James says, dragging out the word. “We all thought he couldn’t, so he proved us wrong. Now we all have to pay for his next shopping spree. Bleh. I’m going to be broke.”
Your brows furrow, but there’s a sinking feeling in your stomach – you think you know what James is hinting at, but he’s tipsy, so he’s somewhat circling around the topic.
“James, whatever do you mean?”
“We made a bet!” he says, a little too gleefully. “So like, Seonghyeon was saying that Martin couldn’t flirt, so we made a bet – 10 shows to get a girl to fall in love with him with his flirting skills. And he had to make sure you stayed with him through those 10 shows.”
He doesn’t know that those words had basically caused your personal apocalypse. You were a bet?
You look at James, betrayal evident on your features. Your chest pangs with pain so visceral, you think you might actually double over. You were just a bet to Martin, and the betrayal and pain from that realisation hits you like a tidal wave. Martin being awfully sweet to you, being too kind, being too understanding – that was all a lie?
You feel like you don’t even know him. You stand there, stunned, and at your silence, James somehow seems to sober up.
“Oh, shit – you didn’t know,” James’ face contorts into one of horror, and he brings his hands to his lips. “Oh my god, (Name) – I did not mean a single word of what I said, I am so sorry–!”
You push past James, running for the exit. You feel so violently ill – all you want to do is go back to your house and cry until you’ve got no tears left. You’re going to block Martin, and you never ever want to listen to a CORTIS song ever again.
You push past the gates, but then you’re stopped by a voice that is awfully familiar, but it’s the last person you want to hear from right now.
“Skipping town?” Martin asks. His hands are shoved into his coat pockets. Of course he still looks devastatingly beautiful, and for a second you forget that this is the boy who had made a bet that you’d fall in love with him in 10 shows.
Congratulations, it worked, you think. Maybe he should win a prize for it after you get over your heartbreak.
You turn to look at him, brows furrowed in anger. “What do you want, Martin?”
“What do I want?” he asks, voice laced with disbelief. He steps closer towards you, and you realise that he’s angry too. You don’t know what for. “I want to know why Jisoo told me about an article that you’d pitched called: how to lose an idol in 10 shows. Yes, she was drunk. But you know that drunk words are sober thoughts. I could tell she wasn't lying.”
You’re stunned. Martin notices your expression, and his eyes narrow. “Yeah,” he replies, gritting his teeth. “Sound familiar?”
You gulp, and that guilt that you thought you’d rid yourself of comes back tenfold. But then you remember the bet. You, in similar fashion, grit your teeth and look at Martin with the same betrayal in your eyes.
“Right,” you hum. “And I want to know a little bit more about this bet that James told me about… perhaps something along the lines of you getting a girl to fall in love with him in 10 shows.”
This time, Martin’s the one with the stunned look on his face. His breath stutters, and you cross your arms. “Yeah,” you tell him, using the same words he did mere seconds ago. “Sound familiar?”
“You used me for an article,” Martin exhales. The heartbreak in his tone is evident, and you hate knowing that you’ve hurt him. But he hurt you too.
“I was just a bet to you,” you gulp. Saying it out loud makes it more real. “I meant nothing to you, didn’t I?”
“You can’t be the one saying this to me,” Martin says, pointing at you. “Are you serious?”
“Dead serious,” you retort.
“You wanted to lose an idol in 10 shows?” Martin seethes, trying to ignore how it feels like his heart is quite literally breaking. “Congratulations. You just lost him.”
You gulp, trying to fight the tears that are threatening to spill past your eyes. You take a deep breath, strengthening your resolve – you were a bet to him anyways. It didn’t matter.
“No, I didn’t.” you say. Even those words feel like a lie. You did lose him, and you feel terrible. “Because you can’t lose something you never had.”
With that, you turn on your heel and leave. You only let the tears fall when you know that you’re far away enough, and you reel with the realisation that you’ve probably just lost the first person that you’ve ever truly loved. Because of some stupid job that you weren’t quite sure you wanted anymore.
You leave Martin hanging as he watches your figure disappear. He opens and closes his mouth as if he wants to say something, but you’re already too far gone. It’s fine, Martin tells himself. It was just a bet. You were just a bet. You didn’t mean anything to him.
No, he can’t lie to himself. It hurts much more than the truth.
Martin stands there as the cool evening air tousles his hair. It’s then when he finally allows himself to sob as he crumples to the floor – despite it all, he doesn’t know why he once again, can’t bring himself to hate you.
Martin Edwards lost you, and you lost Martin Edwards.
Maybe after all of it, this was the outcome that you both deserved.
Martin feels absolutely awful.
The members all look at him sympathetically, and they all notice that Martin’s not really his usual self nowadays. Seonghyeon buys him that jacket that he’s wanted for ages. Juhoon breaks his bank account to get Martin three hoodies. Keonho finally buys him those Rick Owens shoes, and he doesn’t complain about it.
James, who feels the worst out of all of them for letting the news slip to you, buys him two pairs of expensive earrings and cashes in on an extra bracelet as if it’ll cure the heartbreak.
"Well... I guess you can flirt," Seonghyeon says. He knows that it's really not helping Martin get over the heartbreak, but he's not quite sure what to say to make him feel better.
Sure, he could flirt. Hooray, Martin thinks. But he didn't really care about that anymore. Not when he just wanted to see you.
His life falls into the routine that he was so accustomed to before you barged into his life. Wake up, practice, make music, perform, repeat. Despite how much his stomach twists in anger at the thought that he was just an article to you, he misses your presence.
In those two short weeks, you’d changed his life in a way that he didn’t think was possible. His eyes always linger a little too long at the dressing room door, hoping you’ll show up. He stocks up on Coke for the mini fridge in the studio just in case you swing by and want a can. He can’t even tell his parents that he’s not speaking to you anymore.
He messed up too. You weren’t the only one. The guilt eats at him every single day, and he’s immediately reminded of it when he wakes up. Martin Edwards, despite it all, still thinks that he loves you. That may be even more ludicrous than your antics.
He hears the doorbell ring, and Martin gets up from his seat at the couch to go answer the door. He’s the designated one to do that now, because he’s always hoping that perhaps you’ll show up.
He swings open the door, and he realises that it’s Yoonchae. He recognises her from the comeback showcase.
“Hi,” she gulps, a little hesitant. “Martin?”
“Yes?” he asks. “How did you find–”
“I’m not a stalker,” she says. Martin figured, considering that she was a friend of yours. “Sorry, I had to get that out of the way. But… I think you might want to read this.” Yoonchae hands Martin a stack of papers, and he furrows his brows, confused as to why.
Yoonchae looks at Martin, and she knows that’s a devastated man if she’s ever seen one. His hair’s messy, he’s got dark circles under his eyes, and there’s just something heavy seeming to be weighing on his conscience.
“Please,” she says. Martin motions for her to come in, and Yoonchae sits down at the dining room table. Martin flicks open the page, and there it is – the dreaded headline. How to Lose an Idol in 10 Shows. Your name is plastered right under it.
Martin doesn’t even want to read it. He feels sick already seeing the title. But curiosity kills the cat, and he reluctantly reads the words printed on the page, letting out a deep sigh.
Step one: Ask the dreaded question – “What are we?” in front of all of his friends.
He remembers that day. He also remembers the instantaneous shock that he felt hearing those words spill past your lips, and how it filled him with a sense of intrigue but also overconfidence that he was going to win this bet.
Step two: Be overly obnoxious – yes, again, in front of all of his friends.
The over the top cheek kisses, the way you’d cling to him like a koala and the loud displays of affection – yep, that tracks, Martin thinks. The crazy thing was that he didn’t mind at all.
Step three: Annoy him with text messages every single minute.
You did that. But Martin wasn’t annoyed, per se. He went through every single message, replying to them with equal enthusiasm. You always had something interesting to talk about – it wasn’t just filler, so Martin didn’t quite mind. And it did bring him some much needed entertainment after busting his ass for a performance.
Step four: Steal all his favourite clothes.
Martin smiles, stupidly. The memory of you wearing his clothes and looking a little too good in them cuts through the anger and bitterness he’s been feeling for the past few days. The mention of those also makes him also remember that you haven’t given any of those clothes back.
Step five: Interrupt him at the studio…
The next few words make Martin’s breath catch in his throat.
Despite my ridiculous antics, Martin Edwards somehow puts up with me and has the patience of a saint. I decide that he’s either a lunatic who loves crazy girls, but my colleague Bailey offers me something else: that he might genuinely like me. It’s when I’m halfway through step five I realise that I’ve fallen in way too deep.
It’s the first time where he actually shows frustration with my insanity, and it’s the first time where I realise that I don’t want to hurt him. Because despite starting this with unfortunately ulterior motives, I think I may have fallen in love in the process.
My goal was to lose an idol in 10 shows. But after getting to know Martin Edwards – the real Martin Edwards – I didn’t want to lose him at all, and yet I have. He’s admirable. Dependable. Too kind for his own good. I don’t even think I deserved him during those two weeks.
These two weeks have been riddled by mistakes. Starting this article, lying about my intentions, pretending that I was someone that I truly wasn’t… but the biggest mistake of all?
Losing the love of my life.
His vision blurs as tears prick his eyes. He was the love of your life? The words hit him like a ton of bricks, and Martin almost forgets how to breathe. The weight of those words settles in his chest, and somehow, the anger dissipates and is replaced with disbelief. He was the love of your life.
The crazy thing is, Martin thinks you may be the love of his life too.
He looks at Yoonchae with a look of determination in his eyes that wasn’t quite there before.
“I… is she at the office?”
“No,” Yoonchae replies. “She quit. I can give you her address, if you need—”
“Please,” he says, desperation evident in his tone. He throws on a random pair of shoes as he practically shoves his phone into Yoonchae’s hand so she can type in your address into his GPS app.
Martin runs out the door, Yoonchae trailing behind him and nearly failing to keep up. Juhoon asks him where the hell he’s going, but Martin doesn’t answer – he has pressing matters to attend to right now. Yoonchae calls a car for the two of them to head to your place, and on the way, she tells him that she really wasn’t supposed to show him the article – but she had to. She knew you were miserable too.
The ride to your place feels like forever, and Yoonchae tells him that she’ll just wait downstairs. He bounds up the staircase – the lift was a waste of time, you lived on the third floor. Yoonchae thinks that he doesn’t even register her words.
Martin double checks the apartment unit that Yoonchae had given him, and he knocks, tapping his foot on the ground nervously.
You fling open your door, and you’re stunned to see Martin there.
He’s almost speechless at the sight of your face – he hadn’t seen you in so long, and Martin has missed you, devastatingly so.
“Martin?” you say in disbelief. You’ve been dreaming about him so much for the past few days to the point where you really wouldn’t be surprised if he was a hallucination. “What are you doing here?”
He holds up the article that Yoonchae had handed him less than an hour ago. You recognise it, and a mixture of guilt, shame and anxiety pangs in your chest – so he’s read it. That sickly feeling that you’ve grown accustomed to for the past week returns tenfold.
“This article,” he breathes out. “Did you mean it?”
“What?”
“Did you mean it?” he asks. He’s looking at you with desperation, practically pleading for you to say yes.
You blink back the tears in your eyes. A beat of silence falls between you two before you finally speak.
“I meant every word,” you confess, your voice barely above a whisper.
Martin tries to hold back the smile that’s threatening to creep up on his lips. “Really?” he asks, and you nod.
“Yes,” you say, a little louder this time. “ And I’m sorry about it all – you mean… so much more than an article to me.”
Martin has another question. “And am I really the love of your life?”
“Yes,” you exhale. “You are. I told you, I meant every word.”
Martin finally allows himself to breathe, his shoulders relaxing as he beams, wider than ever before. “Ask me the same question.” he says, grinning. You look at his expression, a little confused but hopeful all the same.
“Am I the love of your life?” you ask, your voice brimming with hope.
“You are.” Martin replies.
“Oh,” you reply softly, and you let a tear slip past your cheek. You’re crying, but they’re happy tears.
Martin reaches out to you, pulling him close to you. His hand finds your waist like it belongs there, and like nothing has changed in the last few days the two of you have been apart.
“I love you,” you choke out. “Unbelievably so. I’m sorry I lost you.”
Martin leans in, inching his face closer to yours as he smiles.
“I love you too,” he replies before he presses his lips to yours, and everything just feels right again. He pulls away for a split second to look into your eyes. “You’re never going to lose me.” he says, giggling before he pulls you in for another kiss.
And now, Martin Edwards is truly, irrevocably yours.
being married to your childhood sweetheart should be the pinnacle of happiness in your life… but when he returns from the war, he is no longer the man you once knew—changed, distant, a stranger with familiar face. will you attain your true love in this lifetime?
genre/warnings:
18+ suggestive content—minors do not interact!—angst, childhood friends to lovers, arranged marriage, jealousy, fluff, explicit smut, hurt/comfort, lady!reader and lord!zayne, based on zayne' card entwined kites
notes:
the allure of lord zayne... yeah, that, prince rafayel and some angsty dose is the plot <3 tagging @hachisenshi @cherrywinetuscany @rjreins @redrookrising as per request
Lady of Anlan.
For years, that title was not something you covet. When you were first promised to Zayne, he had neither titles or rank—just a humble son of a small lord with a big heart and shy smile.
But you fell in love with him with such ease, as he did too for you.
And yet, that honorable title fell into your hands the moment you married him, now better known as the Lord of Anlan—
A man who is not the gentle boy you once knew. He was now cold, detached, and unwilling to spare you even a trace of the warmth he once showed so freely.
It was such a stark contrast that you were left reeling. Six months into your marriage, reality bore little resemblance to the life you had once imagined.
You had once thought your home with Zayne would be warm with laughter, shared meals, and soft conversations lingering late into the night—a place that breathed with comfort simply because the two of you were in it together.
Instead, the halls of the grand mansion granted by the emperor were cold—spacious, immaculate, and lonely.
“My lady, here.”
The voice startled you out of your daydream, snapping you back to focus as your handmaiden, Yvonne, wrapped the shawl around you.
Oh, right. Today you were accompanying your lord husband for his audience with the emperor.
. . .
The journey to the palace was smooth. You sat demurely within your palanquin, lulled by the steady rhythm of the horses’ steps. Now and then, Zayne’s voice carried through the air as he issued clipped commands to his troops.
And before you knew it, your entourage had arrived at the royal palace. The palanquin doors swung open, and the first thing you saw was your husband’s stoic expression.
“My lady,” he muttered, grayish hazel eyes stern, offering his hand to you to assist you out.
Your heart pricked at the sight before you. Zayne had always been steadfast—but before all this, he was never rigidly formal with you like this.
“One day… I will become the greatest general in the land. Will you wait for me until then?”
The memory rose then: a younger Zayne, red-faced, thrusting a jasmine flower into your hands as he stumbled through his confession. It made your chest ache even more.
The things he saw in the wars turned him into this version before you, you believed. Maybe, to him now, the tenderness you once shared during your childhood no longer held any meaning at all.
You took his hand.
“Thank you, my lord,” you replied with equal stiffness, gripping his hand. You didn’t dare look at him while he led you forward.
Yet you still took comfort in one thing—his hold over your hand never wavered, not even as the two of you came to stand before the emperor himself. It was only when he had to let go of you that he did.
“What a pleasing sight it is to see you, Lord of Anlan!”
The emperor was headstrong yet a jolly individual. From his elevated dais, he greeted the two of you with open warmth. Zayne answered with a restrained bow, and you quickly followed his lead.
The emperor’s attention then shifted to you. “And I trust the Lady of Anlan has been well?”
“I am well, Your Majesty,” you replied, fixing a polite smile in place. “Thank you.”
However, you had a feeling that the emperor didn’t actually care about you at all, as the way his sharp gaze lingered on you sent an uncomfortable chill down your spine each time.
He soon turned his attention back to Zayne, and the two spoke at length about matters concerning the fief. Then—
“Is something troubling you, Your Majesty?” Zayne asked, putting on a mask of a concerned subject.
“Oh, yes—yes,” the emperor said with a faux chuckle. “There is something that has been bothering me...”
“And what might that be?”
“Well, the princess royal is still in search of a husband. It’s giving me a headache as she insists on someone just like you… It’s such a pity you turned down my proposal back then, Lord of Anlan...”
You could feel his hot stare on you, and he continued, “Had you accepted the princess’ hand, you would be part of the royal family by now.”
You clenched your fists. It was not the first time this had been mentioned, and each time it was brought up, it always left a bitter taste in your mouth. Zayne had indeed refused a royal marriage decree and chosen you instead—but did he somehow regret that choice that it left him cold and distant to you all this time?
If so… why hadn’t he broken off his betrothal with you back then?
. . .
By the emperor’s command, both you and Zayne were to remain in Yunshao for a time—residing within the imperial palace itself.
The two of you were showed to your temporary chambers, and the moment you stepped inside, you let out a sigh. Behind you, Zayne paused, noticing your weariness.
“Are you tired?” he asked.
You opened your mouth to answer, but the words halted. And in that hesitation, something in your expression must have betrayed you.
“You look unwell,” he observed, tone thoughtful. “If the travel has strained you, I will have the physician summoned.”
“That isn’t necessary,” you replied quickly. “I am fine.”
The silence stretched. He was watching you—not coldly, not warmly either, simply assessing. Then, as if deciding something, he spoke again.
“I will be entertaining the princess royal shortly,” Zayne said, his voice returning to that familiar, careful neutrality. “Her Highness has arranged for it. It would be improper to refuse.”
The princess, again. The woman who had once sought him as a husband never seemed to miss an opportunity to summon him whenever he was within palace walls. Lowering your gaze, you were silently irked.
“Do you… have to go?” You asked before you could stop yourself.
“Yes.”
A default, logical answer. You had expected this but somehow your heart still hurt regardless.
“I see,” you murmured, the words felt hollow even to your own ears.
Zayne didn't linger. As he turned and walked toward the door, his steps were quiet.
And the space between you suddenly felt wider than the vast halls outside your door.
The palace was a world of its own—lavish courtyards, lotus ponds glimmering beneath carved bridges. Servants moved like shadows, each bowing, each whispering, each watching.
Yet none of those gazes ever lingered on you for long.
You were the Lady of Anlan, yes—but not a lady of imperial blood. In a place where lineage was currency, you were a mere general’s wife. Polite smiles were given, greetings exchanged, but you passed through the palace halls like a quiet breeze.
Zayne, meanwhile, was constantly summoned—councils, briefings, private audiences. You saw him only at night, and even then not much that could be talked about.
And so, you learned to occupy yourself quietly. Reading beneath shaded pavilions. Feeding the koi in still waters. Watching the sky shift from pale gold to indigo behind tiled rooftops.
It was during one such day that the palace stirred with unusual excitement—an envoy had arrived from Zhaole.
It was Zhaole’s prince himself who had come to negotiate trade routes. You paid it little mind at first as foreign politics had nothing to do with you... until you were summoned to attend the audience.
You stood at your designated place within the grand hall, slightly behind and to the right of Zayne, when the doors opened.
“His Highness, Prince Rafayel of Zhaole, has arrived!”
Silk banners bearing unfamiliar insignias unfurled as the entourage entered. At its center walked a man whose presence seemed to bend the air around him.
Prince Rafayel was clad in white robes embroidered with cerulean and gold-threaded waves, the fabric flowing like water with every step. His long purple hair and porcelain-like skin were striking. Exceptionally refined and handsome. There was something artful about him, like a masterpiece aware of its own beauty.
His eyes swept across the hall lazily at first—measuring ministers, skimming over the servants—
And then they stopped. On you.
For a fleeting second, you wondered if you were mistaken. But no—his gaze sharpened, as though he had found something unexpectedly intriguing among a sea of expected faces.
And a second later, he smiled—at you, before he resumed his walk.
The prince came to a halt before the dais and offered a bow for the emperor.
“I bring greetings from Zhaole,” he said smoothly, his voice clear as a plucked string. “I am Rafayel. I trust Yunshao’s hospitality will not disappoint.”
The emperor responded with booming warmth, welcoming him to the court. Formalities were exchanged. Polite laughter followed.
But you would never expect what would he do next.
As the formal greetings concluded, Rafayel’s gaze suddenly shifted towards where you stood beside Zayne.
“My apologies,” Rafayel said lightly, tilting his head with deliberate curiosity. “I do not believe I have been introduced to the lady standing beside the esteemed Lord of Anlan.”
The hall grew quieter. You felt Zayne’s posture stiffen imperceptibly, and you—caught beneath the weight of the prince’s attention—found yourself momentarily at a loss.
The emperor chuckled. “Ah... that is the Lady of Anlan.”
Rafayel stepped forward, not too close to breach decorum, but close enough for both your and your husband’s discomfort.
Up close, his smile softened, eyes gleaming faintly.
“Oh, Lady of Anlan...” he repeated, as though tasting the title. Then, inclining his head toward you in a gesture that was respectful, yet strangely personal, he said, “It is a pleasure, madam.”
And that was how you went from being overlooked to the subject of every whisper within the imperial palace.
“Hey… did you see what happened earlier?”
That evening, the palace held a banquet in honor of Zhaole’s prince.
The grand hall was transformed beneath the glow of lanterns. Music drifted softly through the air, accompanied by the quiet murmur of noble voices and the occasional ripple of laughter.
“The imperial prince of Zhaole— he specifically greeted the Lady of Anlan!”
And yet, Zayne wasn’t amused in the slightest.
It was one thing for his wife to become the subject of palace whispers—that alone was enough to draw attention he did not welcome. But it was another thing entirely to realize that his wife had caught the interest of a royal prince.
Zayne didn’t show it openly. His expression remained as composed as ever, but throughout the night, the faint crease between his brows lingered longer than usual, and his gaze would settle on you often.
It was most probably nothing, he told himself. A passing curiosity. A prince’s fleeting amusement in a foreign court.
Across the hall, you stood beneath the lanternlight—radiant without trying. You, his childhood sweetheart, had always been a dear to him.
After he was done conversing with an official, he made his way towards you.
“My lady,” he greeted quietly. You jolted at the sound of his voice, turning to face him.
“My lord,” you replied.
Once, you had called his name freely, whenever you wanted. You would tug at his sleeve, demanded his attention, laughed without restraint. Zayne didn’t like this formality between you, honestly.
“Take a respite if you are tired,” he said then, mostly out of concern. “You have always disliked attending banquets.”
You let out a quiet sigh. “And you have always endured these far better than I ever could.”
When had your relationship become this strained? There had been no single argument that shattered everything. No cruel words spoken in anger that could not be taken back.
Only distance. Distance that crept in so quietly neither of you had noticed until it was already too late.
Zayne inhaled slowly. He didn’t want to say it, but he couldn’t remain silent either— and so he did:
“…Don’t get too close to the Prince of Zhaole.”
You frowned faintly, seemingly not taking his words well. “What are you implying?”
“I am saying,” he began slowly, “that you should not allow his attention to draw you in.”
However, contrary to your usually docile demeanor, your expression hardened immediately.
“I’m not so naive.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
For a moment, you simply stared at him. And then, you pulled back slightly, your chin lifting. “You speak as though I’m incapable of judging character for myself.”
That was not what Zayne was getting at at all, but you were already irate. “I don’t—”
“You entertain the princess, a woman who tried to make you her husband,” you went on, eyes sharp. “So tell me, why is it acceptable for you… but not me?”
Zayne held your gaze. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The music swelled faintly around you, but the air around you felt cold.
There was a lot he wanted to say. That you were not meant for another man’s curiosity. That you are reserved for him only. That to him, you were precious more than anything.
But he knew better than to say it aloud, because you already looked at him with resentment.
“Take care of yourself.” He finally left you with those parting words.
He had never been a man of excessive affection or one to indulge in sweet words. Love, he believed, was best proven through stability, protection—through ensuring that you would never lack comfort nor security.
“Lord Zayne!”
But to give you everything, he was bound to give himself to his duties first.
Zayne held back a sigh and turned towards the voice—the princess royal, a vivacious woman trying to attract his attention, and forced a straight face.
“Your Highness,” he greeted evenly.
His fingers tightened around the stem of his cup, the cool porcelain grounding him.
. . .
While the banquet was lively, the laughter felt distant, the lanternlight a little too bright against your tired eyes. After the argument with your husband, you were honestly considering to retire for the night.
Your chest still felt tight.
It felt like an ache you could not soothe, because you honestly had enough of everything in this marriage. You wanted a husband who was present, not just dutiful— and Zayne wasn’t really fulfilling what you really desired.
You exhaled quietly, intent on leaving the grand hall behind. However—
“My lady.”
You were stopped in your tracks. The velvety voice came from your right. You turned.
Prince Rafayel stood nearby, dressed in darker robes of burgundy, the candlelight catching in the gold embroidery. Up close, his gaze was as intent as it had been earlier—unabashed in its attention.
He inclined his head politely, lips curved in a bright smile. “I trust the palace has been treating you well.”
You lowered your gaze in courtesy, once again bewildered by his presence before you. “His Majesty’s hospitality is generous. I lack for nothing.”
“Is that so?” he questioned lightly, “Is it just my imagination then... that you don’t seem particularly fond of it?”
The comment caught you off guard. You looked up at him, startled. His expression softened, as though aware he had stepped too close to something unheard of.
“Forgive me,” he said, lowering his tone. “It’s merely an observation. I suppose when one’s husband appears to be too close to a certain princess, you’re bound not to enjoy the evening.”
His gaze flickered across the hall, and you instinctively followed his line of sight only to see your husband with the no-nonsense princess, ever composed and attentive. You looked away.
“They say the Lord of Anlan is unmatched in the battlefield,” Rafayel began idly. “That he drove back the pirates without mercy and won the Emperor’s favor through sheer merit alone.”
“Yes,” you said softly. “He did.”
Rafayel glanced back at you, studying your expression.
“They also say,” he continued, “that he governs Anlan with fairness. That the people trust him. That he is a man who does not bend easily, nor does he offer himself cheaply to gain favor.”
Everything he said was true. Zayne was always steadfast. Honorable. Respectful. He had always been that way—even as a boy.
“Yes,” you admitted quietly, a smile slowly forming in your lips. “He is.”
Rafayel watched you for a moment longer, as though weighing something. Then, he reached for a nearby tray and lifted a cup of sweetened wine, offering it towards you.
“While all of them might be true, even the greatest man does not stand alone. Behind him is a woman just as remarkable. You must not diminish yourself beside him, my lady.”
Your breath stilled. An imperial prince was telling you that you were worth more than what you thought you were.
“You may not be a princess,” Rafayel continued, his voice warm but certain, “but you are in no way lesser. Everyone here knows it to be true—or at least, I do.”
Your cheeks flushed from the heat and flattery. “Your Highness... Thank you for your kind words.”
Prince Rafayel’s gaze held yours with quiet sincerity, still smiling. Your fingers closed around the cup before you could think better of it.
“And right now, you are far too lovely to spend the evening looking as though the world has wronged you.”
You let out a small breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, and raised the cup to your lips.
The wine was sweet. Warmer than you expected, and the slight bitterness loosening something tight within you.
“Yes, just like that... chin up, my lady. The lanterns favor you better that way.”
You hadn’t realized how much you needed it.
Rafayel said nothing more, merely gesturing lightly when another tray passed. And when your cup emptied, another found its place in your hand.
And then another.
The warmth spread slowly through your limbs, softening the sharp edges of the evening. The distant laughter no longer felt so piercing. The ache in your chest dulled, and replaced by a fleeing sensation and your own laughter.
You drank, and drank... perhaps more than you should have.
But for the first time that night—
It became easier not to look across the hall.
At some point, Zayne realized he had not seen you in a while.
The moment he found a lull in his conversation with the princess, he excused himself at the first opportunity. His eyes swept the grand hall, but you were nowhere among them.
A faint unease settled into his chest, until he passed by his personal guard—
“My lord,” he bowed slightly.
“Did you see the lady?”
“I believe the Prince of Zhaole was seen escorting Her Ladyship out to the western terrace.”
Zayne’s eyes hardened. He immediately made his way towards the said terrace. He found you at last—
And Prince Rafayel stood beside you, too close for his liking.
“My lady, are you sure you’re fine?”
And you—
“Am fine! I’m fine!”
Your hand rested against the stone railing, posture swaying, your cheeks flushed and gaze watery. Flash of anger immediately filled Zayne’s sense at the sight.
Rafayel noticed him first and he turned to him courteously.
“Lord of Anlan,” the prince greeted smoothly, his expression calm. “I was merely keeping your lady company. It seemed the evening had become tiring for her.”
Zayne moved past the prince, taking big strides without acknowledging him.
“…My lord husband?” you murmured, voice soft when your eyes finally landed on him. Zayne immediately reached for you.
“Y/N,” he whispered in your ear, trying to ground you. But you staggered and crashed into his chest. His jaw tightened as he pulled you into his embrace.
That accursed prince had seen you like this.
“I shall take my wife back,” he said through gritted teeth.
Rafayel inclined his head with easy grace, putting on an easy smile. “Of course.”
Zayne put his arm around your shoulder, steadying you. You leaned into him instinctively as he led you through the quiet corridors, away from the prying eyes.
By the time you reached your chambers, your steps had grown even more unsteady. He guided you inside carefully, dismissing the servants with a glance before they could speak.
Your husband sat you gently on the edge of the bed, meanwhile you were still trying to get your bearings, blinking slowly.
“Are you alright? Do you feel dizzy?” Zayne asked, unable to conceal the worry in his voice. His hands came up to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing lightly against your warm skin, frowning deep. “I’ll get you some water.”
Your gaze followed his every movement as he crossed the room and poured water into a cup. He knelt before you again once he was done, holding the cup carefully toward your lips.
“Drink,” he coaxed gently.
You stared at cup of water. Then at his hand. Then at him.
Then, with clumsy defiance, you pushed the cup away. Splash!
Water sloshed over the rim, spilling onto his robe and the floor below. Zayne froze.
However, not caring about it at the slightest, you raised your hand abruptly, your finger pointing at him—
“You terrible, detestable, wicked—”
You might be slurring, but your eyes burned with clarity as you spew profanities at him:
“—husband!”
The last word left your lips and you slumped. Throughout the years you had been with him, Zayne had never seen you so openly wounded like this. He stared at you, at a loss of words.
You swayed where you sat, your arm falling limply back to your side.
“Yvonne said I’m pretty,” Your nose scrunched faintly as you sniffled. “My maids said I’m pretty too...”
Zayne tried to reach for you again, but you refuted his touch.
“And Prince Rafayel—” you continued, sounding borderline delirious, “He said I’m no less than a princess... So why—”
Your lashes were wet, tears blurring your vision, and your lips trembled as you glanced up at him:
“—am I not enough for you?”
The question pierced him cleanly. Zayne felt something twist inside his chest at the sight of you. He knew that with everything that had happened, you were bound to resent him. But he had loved you... still loved you even at right this moment.
He closed the distance between you then, gently and firmly taking your face in his hands before you could turn away again.
“Enough?” His voice dropped, dangerously close to breaking. His hazel eyes searched yours as if trying to carve the truth directly into your heart. “You are... You are more than enough.”
His thumb brushed away the tear that fell down your cheek. Something flickered across his expression— the hurt, but when his eyes shifted to your lips, it was replaced by something far more possessive.
“And you— must only look... at me.”
And then, Zayne crashed his lips into yours with fervor. One hand on your waist, he pulled you flush against him. The taste of salt lingered between you, your tears mingling with the heat of his mouth.
“Mmm...” You gasped into the kiss, fingers instinctively clutching at his robe—still damp from the water you had spilled.
He softened only slightly then, angling his head, kissing you slower but deeper. His thumb traced along your jaw, coaxing you to respond, to open for him. And when your lips parted for him, he groaned, before inserting his lips to tangle with yours.
Each kiss lingered, pressed harder—until you melted into breathless sighs against his mouth.
When Zayne finally pulled back, his grayish hazel gaze held yours with such intensity that made it impossible to look away.
“You are more than enough,” he repeated, voice hoarse. “You undo me.”
His hand slid to your cheek again, gentler now, almost reverent.
“And if I have failed to show you that, then that’s my failing.”
You were half-conscious and all thoughts emptied from your head, spellbound by the restrained desire in your husband’s look.
His thumb traced your lower lip, swollen from his kisses. “Don’t measure yourself against another man’s gaze.”
He would show you how you meant to him, he vowed.
“For mine has never left you.”
. . .
Six months into marriage, and you had learnt that your husband wasn’t as gentle as he looked in marital bed.
With practiced fingers, he worked fast on the laces of your robes as he guided you to the said bed. He kissed the path from your lips to your throat, nipping at your skin— and at the same time, he palmed your breasts, his thumb brushing over your nipples in slow, deliberate circles until it tightened beneath his touch, sending a sharp, aching warmth through you.
“Zayne...” you gasped, arching to his touch.
“Tell me what you want, wife,” he growled against your ear, flicking your nipple in the process, making you squirm. “Tell me.”
Words failed you as his kisses grazed your collarbone, leaving love bites there. He followed the path from your shoulder— and you were in for a ride when he took your erect nipple into his mouth, sucking hard.
A cry slipped from your lips, your nails digging into his hair. The sensation was overwhelming—heat pooling low in your belly, your breath coming in uneven gasps as your husband shamelessly suckling you.
“Ahh, mmrgh…”
He held you firmly, feeling every tremor running through your body. But suddenly, he lifted his head, lips glistening and eyes dark with lust, gazing straight at you. “I want to hear you first.”
“I...” your breath hitched, swallowing the shame. “I want your... mouth.”
“Beg.”
You fingers curling weakly against the sheets. “Your mouth, please—” you breathed out, heat blazing on face, “all over me.”
His lips quirked into a satisfied smile. “As you wish, my lady.”
And with that, Zayne moved to the other breast, giving it the same devoted attention, his sinful tongue swirling before he bit down gently on the flesh.
“Mmngh!” you moaned, head falling to the pillows. His mouth was relentless, and true to his word to fulfill your desire, your husband made sure you were sated with his mouth first.
He rained hot, open-mouthed kisses throughout your chest and abdomen next, and stopped just below your navel, dark eyes clouded with predatory haze.
The thought that he very much could get you swollen with his child after this night was through made himself hard. If his seed were to take hold within you tonight— even Prince Rafayel would know better.
His hand tightened at your waist, his lips pressing into the softness of your folds—and a second later, lapping at it like a man in throes of hunger. You gasped, grasping his hair, as he devoured you down there.
And in no time at all, your lord husband made you come on his tongue.
“Ah—aaah...” Your thighs trembled around him as pleasure washed through you.
He is cruel... You were hazy with drunken lust and tears, but you no longer cared enough to resist.
“Stop…” you whimpered. “Just… make love to me already…”
Your husband’s stern, hazel eyes turned to you, slightly widened at your bold plea. “Is that truly what my lady wishes?”
You glared at him. “Yes.”
And he honored your wish without hesitation. Zayne rose, shedding his garments with swift movements. His magnificent length sprang free, thick and hard, his hand closing around it as he stroked himself slowly—his eyes never leaving yours.
Your lord husband is very, very tantalizing, indeed...
He moved over you, settling his hips between your thighs. One hand wrapped around himself as he dragged his length slowly through your slick folds, coating himself in your arousal. He pressed against your entrance, the tip nudging there before he stilled, dark eyes once again confirming yours.
“Are you ready to take me, wife?”
You wrapped your legs around his torso, pulling him closer. “Please, Zayne— now.”
And with that, he pushed himself into you. You writhed, broken gasps spilling out of you—the way he stretched you was perfect, sinking into you slowly, making you feel every inch of himself.
Zayne grounded you by resting his forehead against yours, groaning into your mouth like a beast in heat. “Perfect,” he choked out.
When he began to move, you lost all your wits altogether. His thrusts were slow at first, each one reaching inside you impossibly deep— “Ah, ah...!”
But the rhythm did not stay gentle for long. It grew steadier, more insistent and faster. The lewd sound of skin slapping resounded in the room, your breathless moans mingled with his harsh grunts.
“Look at me,” Zayne commanded, voice rough. His hand came to your chin, turning your face toward him. “Look at your husband.”
You forced your eyes open, meeting his captivating gaze. In that fleeting instant, you thought you saw everything reflected there—lust, the aching need to be closer than flesh could allow, love.
He adjusted his angle, and suddenly struck that one spot that made you cry out. “T-there!”
A low growl rumbled from his chest as he aimed for that spot again, and again, relentless in his pursuit. Your vision blurred, your cries filling the room, clutching his shoulder helplessly as his unforgiving fingers found your clit—circling and rubbing it, driving you closer and closer to the brink.
And a second later, pleasure crashed through you without mercy. Your walls clenched around his girth, and the feeling of how you pulsed around him pulled a rough sound from his throat, making him lose his control at last.
He thrusted deep one last time, burying himself to the hilt as ropes of his cum filling your womb— sowing a part of himself in you.
The first thing you noticed when your eyes fluttered open was the warmth.
Soft, steady warmth wrapped around you, and golden sunlight filtered through the window, spilling across the bed in beams. For a moment, you simply lay there, suspended between sleep and waking, your body heavy.
Then you became aware of something else. An arm draped securely around your waist—
Your breath caught as the memories of the night before flickered faintly at the edges of your mind.
Last night, you and Zayne were...
You unwittingly let out a gasp, and your voice woke your husband.
Behind you, Zayne stirred. His hold tightened instinctively for a second, as though even half-asleep he refused to let you slip away. A low murmur brushed against your ear—
“…You’re awake.”
His thick voice sent a faint shiver down your spine. You slowly turned in his arms.
You were greeted with his beautiful face. The familiar line of his jaw. The faint crease between his brows as sleep gradually left him. The dark grayish hazel of his eyes as they focused fully on you.
It had been so long since he was in your bed. Long enough that waking up like this—tangled together, bare beneath the sheets, his warmth still wrapped around you—felt almost unreal.
Your lips parted, but no words came. Instead, your eyes grew glassy, emotion rising too quickly for you to contain. The sight of him made your chest ache.
“Y/N?” he asked quietly, catching your forlorn expression. A realization dawned on him—
His arm loosened at once, withdrawing from your waist as though your skin burned him. He shifted back, putting a small distance between your bodies.
“I won’t touch you again,” he said, voice steady, the spark in his eyes dimmed. “If last night was… a mistake in your eyes, then it will not happen again. I give you my word.”
Your eyes widened in surprise. After enduring days and nights of feeling unwanted, to experiencing the most exalting night in your life— only for him to spew this nonsense—
“You stupid, stupid lord!”
Before he could react, you seized the nearest bolster and smacked it against him. Zayne blinked, completely caught off guard as you struck him again.
He instinctively grabbed the sheets to cover himself, trying to shield his face from your assault. “Wife—”
“How dare you—!” you snapped, hitting him again. “You have ignored me for literal months, always busy with that damn princess, and then bedded me— only to say that?!”
Another blow landed against his shoulder.
For a man who commanded armies and terrified courtiers with a glance, Zayne looked utterly defenseless as you continued your attack, his hair disheveled, sheets barely clutched around his waist.
“You’re awful!” you continued, your voice trembling now for an entirely different reason. “I thought—”
Your arm faltered mid-swing, your grip on the bolster loosened. “I thought you didn’t want me anymore,” you choked out, the first of your tears falling.
The way you teared up made Zayne’s expression change instantly. He moved before you could turn away, his hands found your wrists, drawing you closer despite the awkward tangle of sheets between you.
“How could I not want you?” His thumb brushed beneath your eye, catching the tear there. “Marrying you… has been my goal from the very beginning.”
Your breath hitched. The memory of that spring replayed in your mind’s eye once again: “One day… I will become the greatest general in the land. Will you wait for me until then?”
Zayne’s jaw tightened in regret as he pulled you into his embrace.
“But apparently it was just the start, not the end. After our wedding, I thought that my duty next is to ensure you never have to want for anything. That if I build enough stability… enough wealth, then you would never feel lacking. And in doing so, I neglect something far more important.”
His other hand rose to cradle your cheek fully now. You found his steadfast gaze.
“You.”
Zayne leaned his forehead lightly against yours.
“I’m sorry,” he said, and this time there was no pride left in his voice. “I should have treated you better. I should have been beside you more. Not just as your husband in name—but in truth.”
“You’re so silly.” You stared at him through your tears, poking his chest. “All this time… you thought I only needed wealth? Security?” Your fingers curled slightly in the fabric of the sheets between you. “I was right here, and yet you strayed so far away.”
If being silly was what would get you with him, then so be it. Zayne’s eyes softened in a way few people would ever be allowed to see.
“The girl who chased fireflies with me in the jasmine fields…” he smiled despite himself, picturing the little you who were always full of laughter for him. “When I asked her to wait for me, I also vowed that I would never let her experience any hardships in life once she came to be with me...”
You shook your head immediately, your hand sliding higher, resting over his heart firmly.
“I wanted to marry Zayne,” you said, looking at him with a frown. “Not the Lord of Anlan.”
Something in his expression broke then—not painfully, but like frost melting beneath the first warmth of spring.
His forehead rested against yours once more, his eyes closing as though savoring the closeness he had denied himself for far too long. His hand came up to cradle the back of your head, and in that touch was his love for you.
“And you did,” he whispered. “You married a man who has loved you long before he ever became anything else.”
“Forgive me, Your Majesty, but I can’t prolong my stay within the imperial palace any further. My wife wishes to return home, and I don’t have it in me to deny her.”
Zayne’s voice was calm and unwavering as he stood before the throne, posture straight and expression composed, facing the ruler of the land himself.
“As for the princess… I am certain a worthy match will present himself in due time. So I humbly ask that Your Majesty refrain from summoning me again for this matter.”
The emperor scoffed, seeing the two of you off with thinly veiled exasperation, but this time, Zayne didn’t bend, nor did he seem troubled by the emperor’s displeasure.
He had chosen you, and from now on, he would continue to do so.
. . .
Preparations for your departure followed swiftly. Your servants and handmaidens moved with practiced efficiency, gathering belongings and readying the palanquin. Yet their eyes lingered, subtle curiosity passing between them as they noticed the unmistakable change.
“Have you seen them?”
“His Lordship hasn’t left her side once.”
“I’ve never seen him look at her like that before…”
Their voices carried in hushed murmurs, behind sleeves and lowered gazes, and you pretended not to hear, only greeted them with the brightest of smiles.
When the time came to board the palanquin, Zayne turned to you and offered his hand openly, a faint, reserved smile resting upon his lips—one meant only for you.
The servants fell into stunned silence as you placed your hand in his, in awe at the picturesque sight of their dashing lord and beautiful lady. It was a simple gesture, one they had witnessed countless times before.
But this time, there was clearly something different in the air.
He helped you into the palanquin carefully, his hold steady—as though you were something precious. And this time, he didn’t ride the horse, but went inside along with you.
“…I think they’ve reconciled, at last,” one handmaiden murmured softly.
“It’s about time,” the lord’s personal guard sighed.
A heartfelt smile appeared on Yvonne’s face. “Ohh, I’m glad!”
And truly, they all were.
They had always admired him—their stern, unyielding lord, a man of discipline and honor.
And they cherished you—the general’s lady, whose kindness had touched every corner of Anlan.
To see the two of you now, no longer separated by silence but standing side by side as husband and wife… It felt like watching the very first blossom of spring unfurl after winter.
And as the palanquin began to move—carrying you home, Zayne looked at you with the tenderest of smiles, never once letting go of your hand.
‘Omg he is so good looking’ came from your coworker
Right you thought, everybody can see him too.
Every day going to work you would meet up with your coworker to get coffee.
And every single day he was there to pick up his coffee as well.
Concidence? No, you thought.
Fate.
Well, maybe delusions.
‘You´re staring, stop staring he´s going to think you're a creep’ was what rattled you from your dazed staring after the handsome man.
Now you were actually drooling.
Ew, what a way to make yourself attractive
‘Im not staring at him’ you grumbled.
‘Let´s go or we´ll be late’ you said begrudgingly not wanting to go to work.
You´d much rather just stay here at the coffee shop to see his face first in the morning. Screw it. You´d look at him every single minute of every day if you didn´t have to work.
It was almost like a routine.
Waking up, getting ready.
Texting your friend and going to the Coffee shop. To just look at him.
Ignore the coffee, it wasn´t that good. He made it appear sweeter though. With his smiles and thoughtful look he would get once in a while.
Making your corporate life less miserable.
Just looking at him made you feel so much better, so much more motivated.
For work? No, to wake up early to go to the coffeeshop.
Priorities
What a man you thought.
What you didn´t know was that he was begining to notice your stares.
They were subtle at first which is why he didn´t pay them any mind.
Now however you would just blatantly stare at him. Full on daydreaming, not noticing anything around yourself.
Daydream, yeah.
Thats why you didnt realise when he would be staring back at you.
What a beautiful woman Kento thought.
‘Oi, have you seen that girl who always stares in our direction? I think she wants me’ said his coworker one day while they were picking up their regular morning coffee before work.
‘What?’ Said nanami after snapping out of his trance.
‘What girl?’
‘That one with the dark hair, who you said looks pretty’
‘Oh, yeah’
Kento couldn´t think of why he was disappointed to think that you were staring at his cowroker instead of him.
Maybe he was having delusions thinking such a beauty could even take interest in him. Could even look at him.
Spacing out, he thought about how you would look like next to him, hand in his walking around town.
How eventually you could get married.
How-
‘Excuse me’ , was what interrupted his daydreaming from going to the thought of how he even could think of having babies with you.
Looking to the source of the voice Nanami had to take a double take. He just HAD to.
Well, wow
Is she talking to me?
‘Are you talking to me’ was what Nanami asked you.
‘Yeah, well…’ you shyly answered looking everywhere but in his eyes.
After so many mornings you actually felt courageous about going up to him to… just talk.
‘I wanted to say that you are very handsome, would you… would you like to get a coffee sometime with me?’
‘I´d love that’ was what immediately came out of him. Not even a moment of hesitation.
Desperate, Nanami too desperate.
‘Do you want to give me your number?’ Was what he asked.
Cool. Composed. Almost didn't even shiver.
Breathe in, breathe out Nanami. Stay cool.
Exchanging numbers Nanami didn´t see anything but you.
He didn´t see his coworker who was standing in disbelief next to him.
He didn´t see your coworker who was hyping you up from the back of the coffeeshop.
And he most certainly, didn´t see the way your heart was beating out of your chest.
summary: 5 weddings in one year. 5 dates you saved for you and your boyfriend to attend — before he cheated. and now, you had to force your best friend, vernon, to go with you. but after losing a bet, mingyu agrees to take vernon’s place and be your date. this wasn’t how any of this was supposed to go, but you guess you could settle going with your only one-night-stand from college.
warnings: oral (f!recieving), fingering, 69ing, unprotected sex, reader on top, praise, mingyu has boyfriend dick<3, sub-ish!mingyu, also power bottom!mingyu 👍, multiple sex scenes, marijuana smoking/shotgunning, marijuana-induced horniness lol, one bed trope, forced proximity, miscommunication, HEAVY mutual pining. nsfw (minors / ageless blogs dni).
word count: 19.9k
note: first things first, APOLOGIESSSSS for this taking so long. I've had a lot going on (which I know just about everyone says) and I was lowkey struggling to write this, even tho I was so amped for it. nevertheless, I'm so glad I was able to focus and finish it, because I care so much for these two and I desperately wanted to share their story with you 💓 per usual, please expect angst with your smut, and if you cry, I will not judge you and honestly would love to hear it lol. enjoy friends! (taglist posted at the bottom.)
in rotation: bmf, sza / mona lisa, mxmtoon / gorgeous, taylor swift / moonstruck, enhypen / finally // beautiful stranger, halsey
Your mom had told you that the friends you make in your first year of college stay with you for life, but you didn’t expect that when you met Vernon. He had been shy, refusing to speak to anyone in your orientation group, but knowing glances turned into sitting next to each other, which then had you both whispering jokes back and forth, until finally, he told you his name. Hansol Chwe to be exact, but he insisted on “just Vernon.” By the second semester of freshman year, you both had become inseparable. He was your best friend, been with you through some of the toughest moments of your adult life, and you wouldn’t trade him for the world.
Vernon’s friendship survived through many of your boyfriends, and you knew he’d outlast many more. He experienced some of the worst ones – a.k.a. the men who refused to believe you two were just friends – and also the boring ones – the one guy who used you to get to him. But none of them had pissed him off more than your most current breakup: the man who was three years your senior and cheated on you with a 22-year-old. You assumed by age 27, you’d know how to pick ‘em, but that was clearly wrong.
Now you were left to your own devices with five weddings to attend this year. In retrospect, maybe there was a few you could’ve skipped, but you hated saying no in situations like this. You had agreed to go to all of them with your now ex-boyfriend in mind, placing a 2 on the invite’s attending line. Per usual, Vernon had stepped up and begrudgingly offered himself to be your date.
So why were you now meeting up with Kim Mingyu to discuss the dates of said five weddings?
You first met Mingyu when Vernon joined a fraternity in sophomore year to make more friends. “I can’t just have you. I need to have at least some friends that are dudes,” he said, which made you reply, “That’s the toxic masculinity talking.” And boy, had Mingyu been the epitome of that statement. Him and Vernon had connected instantly, sharing the same major and an affinity for art girls. You had never really gotten along with him like Vernon had hoped, but he was … attractive, to say the least.
Okay, maybe you had a crush on him. You had eyes.
But it was college and you both were on the cusp of 20. It was so hard to confess feelings back then, especially to someone like Kim Mingyu. Who you didn’t particularly enjoy talking to in the first place. However … he was probably one of the hottest men you’d ever seen; made in a lab for every young girl’s fantasy. Sometimes you couldn’t help but just stare at him, admiring his perfect teeth or the way his honey-gold skin shined in the afternoon sunlight. (You thanked your lucky stars that Vernon joined the college football team alongside Mingyu, just so you could secretly ogle him during practice.)
Suffice to say, you did eventually hook up. In the most cliche way possible, you had both gotten a little too tipsy at the first frat party of senior year and wound up in Mingyu’s dorm, locking out his roommate for the entire night. It almost felt weird, realizing your attraction had been reciprocated, but he hardly said a word to you come morning. In fact, he never mentioned it again, period, choosing to avoid you except in group settings with Vernon. You weren’t a fool; you were quick to realize it meant nothing to him, just another notch on his bedpost.
Mingyu was every girl’s dream, but Mingyu was also uncommitted.
And he was walking towards you right now.
You looked up from your phone after stalking – looking through Mingyu’s Instagram. You never followed him, never checked in on him after graduation, but you knew how close he still was with Vernon. He even posted a picture with him recently. You rolled your eyes. Despite his long hair, you recognized Mingyu instantly as he went up to the barista and ordered a coffee. You studied him for a moment, noticing that there was a curl to his hair and the way those dark stands hung around his eyes. His skin was as perfect as ever and – goddamn, did he get bigger? He was wearing a jacket over his t-shirt and you could still tell how big his muscles were.
When he finally looked over his shoulder and your eyes connected, his face remained unchanged, if not a little awkward. He walked up to you, rubbing at the back of his neck, and said your name as if it were a question. “Yeah. Hi, Mingyu,” you replied with a wave. “It’s been a while.”
“Five years since graduation,” he added, pulling out the chair across from you and plopping down. “So you stopped putting those blonde highlights in your hair?”
Your eye twitched. Before you could spit out a response, a cute, dark-haired barista came over and set a fresh mug of coffee in front of him, completely ignoring that your own was practically empty. Mingyu flashed her a smile, showing off his pretty canines as she walked away. You frowned.
Vernon had told you last night that Mingyu wasn’t the same guy you knew in college, but you begged to differ.
Turning back to you, he took a sip from his mug and asked, “Why did you want to meet up again?”
“Because my best friend is an asshole and you lost a bet.”
“Oh, yeah. That.” He nodded.
You almost didn’t believe Vernon when he told you. You knew he didn’t exactly want to be your date to all these weddings and probably felt like he had to, but he did offer so you didn’t think much of it. Until he told you last week that he put all his guest invites on the line while playing a drinking game with Mingyu, which the latter lost. So now Kim Mingyu, your college one-night-stand that was scared of commitment, was committing to being your date to several weddings this year.
Kill me now, you thought.
“I thought drinking games and making silly bets like this didn’t happen once your frontal lobe formed,” you said, and his dark eyes flickered up to yours.
“That’s where you’re wrong,” he cleared his throat and set the mug down again. “Men never really grow up.”
You crossed your arms over your chest and sat back in your chair. “Apparently,” you muttered under your breath. “How do you have the time to actually commit to this? Don’t you have a girlfriend or something?”
“One,” he held up a single finger, “I take bets very seriously and I’m not a sore loser. It’s only removing five weekends out of the year for me. No biggie. And two,” he lifted another finger, “No.”
You raised a brow. “Well, I guess that answers all my questions.”
Mingyu stared at you for a moment, running those two fingers over his bottom lip. You suddenly had a flashback to that night, remembering his hands all over you, remembering his fingers plunging inside and curling –
Not the time.
“Don’t you have a boyfriend? Why put down two people on these RSVPs you sent back and then force just anybody to be your date?” He fought the urge to smile, trying to dig a little deeper into you. You weren’t falling for it this time. “I love the guy, but I know Vernon wasn’t your first choice to accompany you.”
“My ex and I broke up,” you replied. “Not much to it.”
Intrigued, he sipped his coffee again. “Why?”
“It’s none of your business, Mingyu.”
“Well, as your new date –”
“Drop it,” you said, voice taking on a new tone. “I’m serious.”
Mingyu raised his hand in surrender, and you shook off your anger. This was supposed to be a friendly, quick conversation, but it was seemingly moving off the rails. A sigh escaped your mouth before you asked, “So you said this is only taking five weekends out of the year. What do you do with your time? Are you working?”
“I thought I answered all your questions.”
You narrowed your eyes.
He chuckled softly, exposing those canines once again. His smile was so … ugh, you needed to stop getting distracted. “I work at a restaurant four days a week as a cook, and then teach flag football at a rec facility the rest of the time. I’ve been trying to save up to open my own restaurant for years, but I got the time to be a makeshift wedding date.”
You knew Mingyu had always loved to cook – you remembered when he’d been the resident chef at the fraternity – but to hear he was still passionate almost … melted you a little. Almost. You were dedicated to not being too swayed by Mingyu’s pretty words. This was a deal and that was the end of it.
“I see,” you nodded, uncrossing your arms to play with the handle of your still empty mug. “I’ve been working at the same marketing agency since college. Pays the bills, you know?”
Mingyu gave you a knowing look before running a hand through the long strands. “Always so committed.”
Your lips pursed. “One of us has to be.”
“Speaking of commitment,” he said without missing a beat, pulling his phone from the pocket of his jeans. “What are the dates for those weddings again?”
Save the Date for the wedding of Choi Seungcheol and Holland Levine: February 28th
It was a rainy Sunday in February. Your coworker, Choi Seungcheol, was getting married today at a local venue on the outskirts. His girlfriend, Holland – otherwise known as, Hinge Holland, when he met her on the dating app 3 years ago – was a little kooky and asked for them to be eloped that morning. Seungcheol was too in love to say no; he’d do anything she asked. They were married early morning, and lucky for you and Mingyu, all you had to attend was a reception. It was a nice way to test the waters of this deal before anything got too crazy.
Mingyu had picked you up in his truck, and together struggled to help lift you inside with your dress and heels on. As he drove away from the city and into a more rural area, he commented, “Your coworker must be real whipped to agree to a reception here.”
“What are you talking about?” You looked through your phone for the address Seungcheol had sent you months ago. “I thought the reception was at some small venue.”
Mingyu said your name, and you glanced over, seeing the smile on his face. “It’s a VFW owned by someone in his girlfriend’s family.”
You realized just how right he was when he pulled up to a spot in a VFW parking lot, seeing a crowd of Holland’s family pour into the post. You knew what the inside of a VFW looked like; you had your sweet 16 at one. But going to a wedding reception at one was a whole different story. Were the walls so old that they’d crumble once the DJ dared to play Dancing Queen?
Rain pounded from the sky, making the cold February wind even more chilly. Mingyu rounded the truck and opened your door, making sure to hold an umbrella above your head as you slid out of the seat. He looked … okay, he looked extremely handsome in his suit, tailored exactly to his body. You were in an old, off-the-shoulder black dress with mesh sleeves that were doing nothing in this wet cold. This wedding had crept up on you, and before you knew it, you remembered you didn’t have any new dresses to wear. And while it looked nice, the dress just barely zipped and you had to keep pulling up the neckline. Clearly, you had grown a bit since the last time you worn this. Probably in college.
Mingyu was staring at you now, letting his eyes wander down, and you were yanking at the neckline again. He didn’t deserve to see more of your cleavage. He whispered, “You look …”
“Just come on,” you cut him off, tugging him in the direction of the VFW. He struggled to keep up for a moment, rushing to hold the umbrella above both of you.
As soon as you both walked inside, you realized just how dressed up you were compared to the place. The building looked like it hadn’t been updated since the 1990s. There was, at least, a huge buffet-style food setup in the corner and a man so old that he probably had one foot in the grave behind the bar. A sign in front of him said, OPEN BAR, written in thick sharpie. Various family members were congregating at tables, while the DJ – who looked like a Pitbull impersonator – was setting up at the head of the room.
Seungcheol ran over the second he saw you meandering through tables. He had the biggest smile on his face, tugging his new wife over to introduce her to you before wiggling his eyebrows at you when he noticed Mingyu on your arm. Even Holland couldn’t help but ogle him. Seungcheol was one of your closest coworkers, so it wasn’t weird when he asked, “Who’s the beefcake?”
Mingyu was too busy dealing with Holland’s questions to hear you reply, “Don’t ask. I’ve cycled through many options before I was forced to bring him.”
“I’m sure it was quite difficult for you,” he snorted, before carefully pulling his wife’s hand off of Mingyu’s and introducing himself. Not long after, he was ushering her away to start making speeches.
You and Mingyu found your seat quickly, and luckily enough, you were sat with most of your coworkers. Every single one was looking at Mingyu like he was a piece of meat, but he didn’t seem to notice as he had a friendly conversation with each of them. You struggled to not roll your eyes. How was he perfect with everyone? Maybe your dislike of him was irrational and unwarranted, maybe he did change. But … ugh, could he fuck up for once?
Your coworker, Minghao, sat to your left, watching Mingyu converse with the young assistant – Amelia, right? – who was very clearly batting her eyes at him. Leaning towards you, Minghao whispered, “I thought you were bringing Vernon?”
Minghao was one of the few people you told about your breakup, as well as Vernon and of course, your girlfriends. It wasn’t like you to go around everywhere and post on social media about your breakup; it wasn’t anyone’s business. But Minghao gave great advice, and he was one of the first people that helped you get over the heartbreak. He wasn’t just a coworker. He became a trusted friend.
Turning your head, you said, “Would you believe me if I told you that he lost a bet?”
“Considering who you ended up with,” he chuckled, “I’d say it’s a win in your favor.”
“He’s not that great.”
“Then you might want to pull Amelia off of him before she starts sucking his face.”
The reception ended at an early hour thankfully. Most of the elderly guests were falling asleep anyway. Mingyu was a class act, per usual, trying to get you up and out of your seat to dance with him, but the last thing you wanted to do was dance to Toxic by Britney Spears in front of your boss at the marketing agency. Instead, he took the lead to asking Seungcheol’s mom to dance, and made Amelia’s day when he asked her to join. Minghao only continued to laugh when you rejected each of Mingyu’s advances.
Once 10 PM rolled around and you both were exiting the doors of the aging VFW, you noticed the rain hadn’t let up. In fact, it seemed to have gotten even worst. You had to run to Mingyu’s truck with him holding the umbrella above both of you and almost trip over your dress as you hopped up inside the cab. Assuming it would be fine to drive, just a few minutes in the rain left you both realizing that it might be extremely unsafe to drive back to the city in this weather. You really couldn’t argue with Mingyu when he suggested you stay the night at a motel right down the road.
The woman behind the front desk at the motel was chewing so loud that you thought the wad of bubblegum between her teeth might be larger than your palm. She informed you both that the only rooms available were ones with a single queen-sized bed. As much as you desperately wanted two, you’d take what you could get. She started grabbing both of your informations to check in when a loud bolt of lightning cracked, followed by a crash of thunder. You instantly gripped Mingyu’s arm, and he paused signing his name to look down at you.
“Are you scared of thunder?” He asked playfully.
Realizing how tight you were holding on, you quickly removed your hand. “No, I’m … it’s fine.”
His bicep felt so much harder than anticipated. All muscle.
Stop that.
The front desk attendant gave you an actual metal key to open your room, the number dangling from a kitschy pendant. This was the kind of motel where you needed to venture outside to get to your room, and with your arms locked together, Mingyu led you both through the pouring rain to the right building. He shoved the key in the lock, immediately opening the door and allowing you to walk inside first.
The room was smaller than expected. The heat was hardly circulating and you were still shivering. A queen-sized bed was situated in front of an old RCA TV, decorated with a comforter that looked strangely similar to the one from the 80s that your mom had given you when you first moved out. The room smelled like bleach and all you could hear was the rain on the roof. Noticing you shiver, Mingyu walked over to the thermostat and adjusted the heat.
“Maybe this was a bad idea,” you said, hugging your arms around yourself.
Mingyu pointed to the large window by the door. “I can’t drive in that. It takes an hour to get back to the city and I can hardly see the road.”
“Okay, well –”
Lightning struck again, painting the window white, and you jumped. Mingyu shook his head and walked over, closing the shades over the glass. He looked down at you, and you were acutely aware that he was the kind of person who could say everything just with his eyes. “Better?” He asked, a smile playing at his pink lips.
He was so close that you could smell his cologne and – god dammit, you were such a sucker for men that smelled good. He smelled like violets mixed with smokey sandalwood, spicy and musky. Whatever you were going to quip back died on your tongue, leaving you to reply, “I can’t sleep in my dress. I have nothing to wear to bed.”
Walking over to the tiny closet, Mingyu spotted a robe hanging up next to the vintage ironing board. He placed it in your arms and remarked, “Take a shower and put this on.”
“Are you saying I smell?”
He laughed. “No, you’re shivering and it’ll help warm you up.”
You nodded, heading off to the bathroom and shutting the door. As you slipped off your dress and let it pool onto the tile, you realized how antagonizing you were being for no reason. Mingyu had been nothing but nice to you, but you were suspecting him to switch-up at any moment. Maybe Vernon was right, or maybe you just needed to take a chill pill.
Mingyu was helping you out, after all.
After taking the warmest shower of your life and probably using all of the hot water in the motel, you walked out into the room with your robe tied firmly around your waist. The cotton smelled like mothballs and you hardly left an inch of skin showing. Granted you weren’t naked underneath, but you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing your underwear. Again. After five years.
He was wearing only a tank top and boxers while setting up a makeshift bed on the floor. You struggled to maintain focus with him looking … well, like that, and eventually spoke up, “What are you doing?”
He hardly jumped at hearing your voice. “I figured it would just be easier if I slept on the floor. Trust me, I’ve slept in far worse places.”
“Mingyu, you don’t have to do that,” you sighed, pulling back the covers and tossing the mismatching throw pillows on the floor.
“It’s not a big deal.”
“I know, but it’s just –”
Thunder clashed outside, sounding like pots and pans clanging together, rattling your bones.
Your eyes connected with Mingyu’s, and you pointed to the empty side of the bed. “Sleep in this bed right now.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
You both agreed – more like, you told Mingyu and he listened – to place a wall of pillows between you two, leaving you on the edges of the bed. You curled up into yourself, your spine facing him, as Mingyu laid on his back and pinched the bridge of his nose. The rain was so loud. The thunder was deafening. You considered plugging your fingers in your ears as you slept.
Mingyu was shifting on the small sliver of mattress he had, wishing internally that he brought a joint or two with him. This bed was so uncomfortable that he probably wouldn’t sleep. But hopefully, you would. Although that was seeming highly unlikely from the way your back tensed with every boom of thunder.
He watched you from the corner of his eye, and eventually, you did stop shaking. Soft snores filled the room, replacing the sound of the rain. And then Mingyu felt himself relax, swiftly falling asleep with his arm thrown above his head.
Despite the pillow wall you built, you woke up with your head on his chest.
Mingyu had wanted to tell you how beautiful you looked that day, but he couldn’t find the courage to finish his sentence.
Save the Date for the wedding of Lee Chan and Adrianna Olson: April 4th
Tapping your freshly manicured nails on your bare arm, you leaned against the passenger side door of your car and huffed. You uncrossed your arms, beginning to pace outside Mingyu’s apartment building. The ceremony today started in two hours and you were about ninety minutes from the venue. Not to mention, there was only a matter of time before one of his neighbors showed up, forcibly removing you from the parking spot in front of the building you definitely did not live in. What the hell was Mingyu doing anyway? He said he’d be down ten minutes ago.
You tugged off your heels, realizing they’d be a bitch to drive in, and pulled your sneakers from the back seat. Your floral, strapless sundress blew in the Spring breeze. Your curls – that looked like they could’ve been done by a toddler – whisked off your bare shoulders as you stepped into your favorite Nikes.
“Sorry.”
Popping your head up, you halted while shoving the back door closed. You blinked, assuming your eyes were deceiving you, but there he was, sprinting down the front steps of his building with freshly chopped hair.
Mingyu was quickly walking over to shove his duffle in your backseat, pulling at his tie, when you leaned in and placed your hand on his head. Yep, that was his real hair. Those long locks that had reached his chin were gone, replaced by a hairstyle that was similar to how he looked in college.
“I know we’re running late,” he apologized, letting your fingers sink into the strands for a moment, “but do you have to –”
“This is not about that.” You removed your hand, leveling a look at him. “You cut your hair.”
Mingyu raised a brow. “It was getting long.”
You paused, blinking at him. “Why didn’t you warn me of your new look?”
“I didn’t think I had to?” He shrugged, genuinely confused as to why you were questioning him. “My hair had gotten even longer since February, so I just thought I’d freshen up for you –”
You completely missed his words – for you, he’d freshened up for you – because you were already interrupting him. “Well, it’s just – it might look weird in pictures because my hair is up and your hair is so short. And I’m already going to have so many people looking at us wondering why my ex, who’s name I put on the invite, isn’t here. And I just want to eliminate as much attention as possible. And, well – and –”
Mingyu placed both hands on your shoulders. His palms were large, practically burning into your exposed skin. “Are you overthinking?”
“No, I …”
When your voice trailed off, Mingyu hesitated for a moment longer and then slid his hands off. “Vernon told me that you dated the groom. Chan, right?”
Of-fucking-course, Vernon told him. Your lips pursed before you replied, “We were friends before that, and we only dated for like a couple months in college. I introduced him to the woman he’s marrying.”
“Then why are you so nervous?”
“I think I have a lot of reasons to be nervous these days.” You continued to stare at him, waiting for him to come up with another quippy remark, but it seemed he contested and shoved his hands into the pockets of his suit. The same tailored suit he wore to the wedding in February, a few loose threads at the seams. “Let’s get going. We’ll be in the car for a while,” you said, rounding your car and hopping inside the driver’s seat.
As Mingyu dealt with finding room for his duffle in your trunk, you took this small second to text Vernon.
You: your friend is infuriating
You: also I’m never going to forgive you for telling him that I dated chan
Vernon: you’ll get over it lol
Vernon: is that the only reason why he’s infuriating?
You: HAIRCUT
Vernon: oh I probably should’ve told you about that when I saw him last week
Vernon: sorry :/
You closed your texts when Mingyu hopped in the passenger seat, turning on your music to drown out your thoughts. The drive was long and you were lucky that you got to the venue with ten minutes to spare. You parked the car in a haste, running to your back seat and quickly tugging your heels back on. You chucked your sneakers onto the car floor, almost hitting Mingyu in the face when he went to grab his phone from the same area. Locking your car, you grabbed his arm and yanked, both of you running towards the venue attached to a pretty hotel. Mingyu, even with his long legs, was struggling to keep up. He was also slightly impressed that you could run so fast in heels, and that was definitely the only reason why he was staring at your legs. He wasn’t admiring how long they looked when the wind lifted your skirt and he got a flash of your calf.
Even from your seat in the back of the ceremony, you could see Chan’s face light up as Adrianna was escorted down the aisle. She was wearing a vintage wedding dress, the veil sheer enough to see how beautiful she was underneath, and Chan was eager enough to lift it as soon as they said, “I do.” Adrianna looked like she hadn’t aged a day since school, and you could probably say the same for Chan. But he did manage to finally remove the earrings he got six years ago, which made you giggle to yourself.
Mingyu pretended not to notice.
Most of the people at the wedding were old friends from undergrad, even a few Mingyu knew in passing. Every time you were approached, you prepared yourself for the same question: “Where is He Who Will Not Be Named?” Or, for those that actually knew Mingyu: “Since when did you know Gyu?” You weren’t sure how much longer you could fake a smile and laugh, pretend that your heart still wasn’t sore from the breakup, rehash the same words over and over again. It was tiring; you were tired.
Same explanation. Same heartbreak. You wouldn’t be surprised if the whole planet knew of your breakup by now. You didn’t announce it anywhere, besides telling your family and close friends. It was natural for people to be curious; you had been with your ex for a couple years, enough for your family to assume that he’d propose. But then he cheated, and you found out, and you were left in pieces, tied to Kim Mingyu as your date for a full year of weddings.
You just didn’t want to keep on doing this, explaining yourself ten times over, realizing that everyone was looking at you with interest. Maybe a second glass of champagne would be a good distraction …
“Wanna dance?”
You looked up from the rim of your empty glass. Mingyu had knocked you out of your daze, laying out a hand for you to take. The reception was lively with family and friends mingling on the dance floor, but Mingyu had still noticed you alone at the table, lost in your thoughts. Had he always been this attentive, or was he just prone to watching you?
Ignoring your internal monologue, you took his hand, allowing him to lead you to the dance floor. Just as Mingyu was about to place his hand on your waist, the song changed, switching to a more upbeat track you used to blast in college. You immediately started laughing at all the older folks trying to follow the beat, and then found Chan with his wife, shimmying on the dance floor. Mingyu pinched the bridge of his nose, but found himself beaming when he finally saw the smile grace your features. He didn’t let go of your hand, let you twirl him to the song that took you back to the musty basement of a frat party.
Chan, at some point, had managed to dance over in your direction, bumping into you with a big grin. “I knew all the alumni here would love this,” he shouted over the music. “Do you remember when you puked outside a window once at some party and you said that it was this song that induced it?”
You were surprised when Mingyu said, “Yes,” at the same time as you. Both you and Chan glanced at him, eyebrows raised, until he added, “That was at one of my parties. I cleaned your vomit off the windowsill!”
The four of you erupted in laughter. Even Adrianna remembered that party, considering that was the night you drunkenly introduced her to Chan. She eventually pulled you away from Mingyu, leading you towards her group of bridesmaids so you all could dance together. But your eyes couldn’t help but find Mingyu’s across the floor, and then he was looking at you, and – god dammit, staring at him felt like a crime you’d consider going to jail for.
Everyone was looking at him, but he was looking at you.
Actually, Mingyu couldn’t seem to take his eyes off you. Not once.
He stared at you as if it was just you two, as if you were stripped bare before him, just for his eyes to see. You could tell from the way he bit his lip while smiling. He looked at you as if you were naked.
Soon enough, you were slipping through the crowd and by his side once again. He was now leaning against the wall by the open bar, nursing a scotch. The party was winding down; all the older family members had left, leaving Chan and Adrianna – plus a few other young couples – swaying to a classic Ed Sheeran song. It wouldn’t be long until they ended the night with Can’t Help Falling In Love by Elvis Presley. The time war nearing 11 PM.
Slinking beside him, he offered the glass to you and you took a sip, wincing at the burn. You stuck out your tongue. “How can you drink that so smoothly?”
“Years of practice,” he replied, and then flicked your nose in a way that shouldn’t make you blush. But you definitely did.
You blinked up at him, admiring how pretty he was in the faint, yellow light. Actually, he was pretty in every light, but you liked to find any excuse to admire him. Even if you denied it.
“Wanna get out of here?” You asked then, digging your nails into your palms. So afraid of rejection after all these years, even though he agreed to be here. “I think the reception is going to end soon anyway.”
“Yeah, sounds good.” He set his half empty glass on a random table and straightened his back before adding, “Whatever you’re comfortable with.”
God, you needed to get it together. Those words were the bare minimum, but when he said them in that slightly muffled voice, it made your nails pinch the inside of your hands harder.
You both stood on opposite sides of the elevator, dragging up, up, up to your room on the seventeenth floor. Your eyes connected. A smile played at his lips. An unspoken tension brewing between the two of you. A feeling you didn’t want to be there in the first place, but something you couldn’t simply ignore.
This couldn’t be happening. Not today. Not tonight. Not ever again.
He opened the door for you, allowing you to slip inside and grab your bag. While he rifled through his duffle, you brought your bag into the bathroom and leaned against the sink. You allowed yourself a moment to just breathe. Maybe if you kept exhaling like this, you would release all the tension from your body. You knew how silly it sounded, but desperate times called for desperate measures. You stared at your reflection in the mirror, turning your face from side to side. Was it the makeup that made him look at you that way sometimes? Perhaps he still had a fondness for lipgloss, like he did back in the day.
When you finally stopped studying your appearance, you wiped off your makeup and tugged on a pair of loose pajamas. Wearing these would be so much more comfortable – and less awkward – than the robe you wore after the last wedding. You still had nightmares about that. Carefully tiptoeing out of the bathroom, you expected to find Mingyu already in one of the two full size beds, scrolling through his phone and ignoring the noise you naturally made. But he was on the deck just outside your room, smoke billowing from his mouth.
You stood near the unoccupied bed, balancing on the balls of your feet, as you debated your options. A smart person would go right to sleep, leave him to his business. You chewed on your bottom lip nervously.
Despite the slight warmth to the air, you threw on a hoodie, scared of the possibility of your nipples showing through the thin fabric of your t-shirt. You slid open the door and immediately closed it, preventing any smoke from getting into the room. He didn’t turn; he knew exactly who was behind him. His back muscles flexed underneath his suit jacket, the joint dangling between his lips as he prayed for his lighter to work again.
“You probably shouldn’t be smoking in this suit,” you said, saddling up beside him.
He chuckled, finally taking a long drag. “I promise to get it dry cleaned before our next adventure.”
Before our next adventure. You bit the inside of your cheek.
Your eyes didn’t leave the joint now sitting between two of his fingers. (Jeez, were they always that big?) He let more smoke filter from his lips and into the open air, clouding up the starry night sky. Without even looking at you, he asked, “Why are you staring?” His words hung in the silence for a moment. “Have you ever smoked before?”
You shrugged. “Only once or twice with Vernon. Probably as freshmen.”
“You want me to show you how?”
Blinking at him, all you could do was dumbly nod. Mingyu laughed under his breath, fighting with his lighter again, before eventually holding the flame to the end. He then cautiously passed the joint over to you, allowing the filter to brush your lips. “Take it in your mouth,” he instructed, “now inhale.”
When you did as he asked, you must’ve inhaled far too deeply, or just didn’t exhale at the right time. Because then you were coughing, doubling over as you tried to catch your breath. “Hey, hey, hey,” he said, concern etched in his tone, and patted your back as you hacked up what felt like your left lung. His voice was soft, soothing, but you could hardly hear it through the ringing in your ears.
“Yeah,” you sighed, voice hoarse, “I’m definitely out of practice.”
As you stood up, his hand stayed on your shoulder, his thumb rubbing patterns. Your breath stilled as you looked up at him. Playing with the joint between his lips, he said, “Let me show you an easier way.”
“Okay,” you agreed, before your conscious could stop you.
You watched as he took a long pull from the joint, sucking it all in until you could see his eyes get a little pinker, and then moved closer to you. Instinctively, your eyes closed and your lips parted, welcoming the scent of him. His lips only lightly grazed yours as he exhaled the smoke into your mouth, letting it engulf your very being, and you felt yourself start to relax. He craned back, grinning down at you, and it took everything within you to not ask for another hit right then.
In the moonlight, you could see why you fell hard for Mingyu. He had only gotten more handsome since college. Light, in any form, was so kind to him, but with the stars hanging above his head … it allowed his dark hair to shine, casting a slightly blueish tone to his warm features. You could see the twinkling stars reflecting in his eyes, especially when he leaned back in, expelling more smoke into your mouth.
This felt too intimate. This felt like fucking.
Once you both were so high you could do nothing but laugh, Mingyu stubbed out the joint and you stumbled back into the room. You both were finally going to have a good sleep at one of these, especially since there were two beds. Rolling into your bed, you immediately burrowed under the covers as Mingyu took off his suit in the bathroom.
The last thing you expected was to feel him plop down in your bed. He was wearing so little that it made your thighs press together, or maybe that was just the weed talking. He was disoriented, laying halfway off the edge of your bed, staring at you as if you were the Mona Lisa. You huffed, “Mingyuuu. You need to get in your own bed.”
“Do you really want that though?”
His words made your eyes immediately snap open. A grin was tugging at his mouth again, his teeth sinking into that plush bottom lip. Oh, so also wanted … Oh.
You tried to sound cool and nonchalant, “Considering this is a full size bed, yeah.”
Even in the darkness, even with his back to the moonlight streaming through the glass door – his presence was making you nervous. His eyes weren’t leaving yours. You felt your hand inch over, your pinky curling around his.
“If I can be so honest with you,” he whispered, licking at the corners of his lips, “you are so beautiful that I want to kill any guy that has done you wrong.”
You exhaled, “Mingyu …”
He leaned in, smiling like he knew he caught you in his trap. “Yes?”
You were pretty sure that you knew Kim Mingyu by now. You knew that this would be just another night that meant nothing to him. No matter how much he “changed” in Vernon’s eyes, it was very clear to you that he remained uncommitted. But fuck it, your heart was still burning from the breakup, stinging from the memory of people uttering your ex’s name tonight. It was only going to be a kiss. Just something to soothe the pain.
He was so much closer now, invading your space, his hand completely eclipsing yours. He smelled like marijuana and lingering cologne. “Tell me to stop,” he murmured, but you didn’t. You let him kiss you, and god, it would be so much easier to dislike Mingyu if he didn’t kiss so well.
It wasn’t long before his tongue was pushing into your mouth, his large body looming over yours as he pressed you into the mattress a little more. And you’re desperate for it; you couldn’t stop. This was supposed to be simple – just a kiss – but you could feel yourself falling under his spell, feel how his palms burned against your skin as they dragged down your torso. He explored your mouth like it was the first time, parting your legs to make room for himself on top of you. When his lips left yours, you almost let out a whine, but he helped take off your hoodie before reattaching his mouth to your neck. Those large hands snake under your shirt – up, up, and up – until he was cupping your breasts and you can feel how hard he is against your thigh.
Mingyu looked up at you as he kissed down your torso, his spit soaking through the thin fabric of the t-shirt you were still wearing. He lifted one of your legs, adjusting it so your thigh could rest comfortably on his shoulder and – shit, you knew where this was going. Reaching the waistband of your panties, he begged, “Let me go down on you.”
You mulled over his words. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“No,” he grinned against your skin, meeting your eyes from between your legs. “But that’s a tomorrow problem. Please?” His head tilted. “Do I have to beg? I’m willing.”
You bit your tongue, egging him on a little as he nipped at the inside of your thigh. He bucked his hips once, them twice, trying to get the smallest bit of friction on his cock that was currently throbbing in his boxers. He grunted softly against your skin.
“And if I say, ‘No?’” You asked with a raised brow.
He lifted his head and pouted his lips. After all these years, he still managed the perfect puppy dog eyes that could make just about anyone weak. “Don’t be mean,” he pleaded, and you couldn’t help but giggle.
“You like when I’m mean,” you quipped, giving him permission by helping him shimmy your panties off. He adjusted your legs again, presenting you like a meal.
“I do,” he chuckled, his breath ghosting over your pretty, pink folds. “Especially, when you act like you didn’t want me here in the first place.”
Before you can rebuttal, he’s pressing his face between your thighs, dragging his tongue up your slit to collect the wetness that gathered there. Just the small amount of attention had you keening, your hips jumping for more of him, and Mingyu was happy enough to oblige. His tongue flicked at your clit as he slid one single finger inside of you, testing your limits. Those puppy dog eyes lifted from between your thighs, wanting to see you crumble, knowing that it was him who made you like this. You sighed out his name, your hand coming down to tangle in his hair. And god, if Mingyu didn’t love that … he’d be a dead man. He groaned when he felt you tug at the strands, beginning to swirl his tongue in a circle around your puffy clit.
You couldn’t even prepare yourself when he shoved another finger inside, pumping them in and out at an unreasonably fast pace. But you were bucking into him, tears pricking at your eyes as you whimpered for him. It was too much but almost too little at the same time. You could practically feel him smile as he devoured you. The bed rattled against the wall when he ground his erection against the frame, so needy and aching. His plump lips suckled on your clit, your slick smearing over his face, but he didn’t want to miss a drop of you. He needed more of you, so he started curling three fingers inside of you, teasing that sweet spot.
This wasn’t your first rodeo with Mingyu. He knew what you could take.
“Mingyu,” you whined, and he glanced up at you again with the most fucked-out eyes imaginable. And still, he didn’t stop. “You’re gonna … I’m gonna cum so fast.”
He moaned into you, then begged, “Please. Need to taste you.”
He was so determined, so desperate to feel you shake and moan and cry until he was completely spent on the taste of you. And it wasn’t long before he got his wish: as he shoved those three fingers into you, grazing your g-spot while lapping at you like you were his last meal on death row. You unraveled on his tongue, muffling your cries for the rest of the people sleeping on your floor. Biting into your hand, you had physically restrain your body from shaking as your orgasm rocked through you, but Mingyu held you down with a gentle hand on your stomach. He was staring at you again and you were staring at him and fuck, his half-closed eyes made him look like he was drunk on you. You could feel him smirking into your pussy as he collected every last drop of you, knowing that he did a good job. He sighed with relief when he could finally taste you again and again and again.
Once your body settled, you felt him start to tug at your shirt and kiss up your stomach. The thought of now having him inside you made your hands clench with excitement, but dear god, he just knocked the wind out of you and you weren’t sure how you could last. You were spent, tired, probably could just fall asleep right now.
You weren’t feeling his lips on your skin anymore, so you opened your eyes. The moonlight gave you just enough to see that, despite the raging boner he probably had, Mingyu was now snoring softly with his head resting on your hips. Brows raised, you almost couldn’t believe that this was the moment he decided to fall asleep, but you couldn’t deny that you had been on the verge of doing the same.
Untangling yourself from him, you quickly cleaned yourself up and wiped his face clean with a washcloth. You sighed, using all the brute strength you had to haul him up on what was supposed to be your bed, and wrapped the covers around him. You admired him for a moment, your hand coming up to smooth back his dark hair. Somehow, this felt even more intimate than you cumming in his mouth. So you quickly moved away and slipped under the sheets of the other bed, using his snores as white noise.
The next morning, neither of you spoke of what happened.
Mingyu had wanted to tell you that he had a crush on you the moment Vernon introduced you two all those years ago, even when you disliked him. And slowly but surely, he was starting to realize it never truly went away.
Save the Date for the wedding of Joshua Hong and Jordan Lo: June 20th
Two months passed and the spring air turned sweltering. It was on days like this when you rolled the windows down and wasted gas just to get an overpriced iced coffee that you reminisced. You were taken back to a time when you waited by the curb as Vernon appeared from football practice, and even though he was sweaty, you still always agreed to drive him back to his dorm on the other side of campus. You would watch him say goodbye to his teammates and – shit, the light would catch, and suddenly you were looking at Mingyu wipe the sweat off his face while laughing with the quarterback and –
Now you were thinking about Mingyu again.
You had been thinking about him since April.
All of this felt so silly, like stupid games young 20-somethings played. You knew it wasn’t good for you in engage in – well, anything with Mingyu. He had always been perfectly uncommitted with women, and he was clearly obsessed with his work, posting his new recipes or pictures of him and his flag football team on his Instagram stories. You could handle this. You could be an adult and have a functional acquaintanceship with someone you found attractive.
So you kept your distance. On the off chance that Mingyu was free and asked if you wanted to get together (which was a shock in itself), you declined. Even if you wanted to. Even if you desperately wondered what would come of it. The next wedding wasn’t until the end of June and you were already biting you lip at the thought of seeing him in a suit again.
The only person you could finally blabber to about this was Minghao, and in typical fashion, he laughed. Not that you expected anything less.
“You’re overthinking the entire situation,” he said over drinks. “It’s completely normal for you to have a little fun, especially while healing from a breakup. That’s what being single is all about, my friend.”
He was right. Of course, he was right. But what if Mingyu rejected you yet again, like he did in college? You wanted to talk to Vernon about this. He always gave you the best advice with this stuff, but this was his friend. The last thing you wanted was to make his friendship with Mingyu weird.
You attempted to ignore him. You redownloaded some dating apps as a distraction. You deleted them just as fast.
On the morning of June 20th, your cousin, Jordan, was marrying her longtime boyfriend, Joshua Hong. You had only met Josh on a number of occasions, but considering that they had been together for almost twelve years, you trusted him enough to take care of her. You felt lucky to be chosen as a bridesmaid and you’d never make a fuss, but dear god, the dark blue of this dress clashed with just about everything. The color was so dark and the dress was clinging to just about all of you and Mingyu’s tie was the wrong shade of blue –
Damn, did he look handsome though.
Jordan had made you both get to the venue early for a rehearsal dinner, and then once the morning came, you were whisked off to hair and makeup. You had barely said a word to Mingyu, too scared to give him anything besides small talk, but you couldn’t help but compliment the new suit he bought for the last few weddings. “Figured I’d cave and invest in one that wasn’t from Goodwill,” he explained, “for you.”
For you. For you. For you.
Your heels were hurting your feet halfway through the wedding, and despite how hard you were trying to focus on Josh’s vows, you couldn’t help but find Mingyu’s eyes in the crowd. He wasn’t paying attention to anyone else, his stare burning into yours to let you know his intent. You swallowed hard. Would anyone notice if you hid your blush behind the bouquet in your hands? It felt like torture having him look at you like this, as if there wasn’t an extravagant wedding happening around them, as if he wasn’t Kim Mingyu.
It wasn’t until the reception that you could finally get a word in with your cousin, some much needed alone time after what was surely going to be the craziest wedding you went to this year. You both parked yourself near the open bar, ignoring the guests on the dance floor that were screaming for another round of the Cha Cha Slide. Tucking a strand behind your ear, Jordan said, “I can’t thank you enough for doing this for me. Jeez, I really didn’t think when I was three and met you a couple weeks after you were born that we’d be here. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
You grinned, “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” The bartender handed you a new glass of wine and you took a sip. “Besides, these days all I do is work or go to weddings. The life of being a permanent wedding guest, I supposed.”
“Speaking of guests …” Jordan turned her head slightly, ogling Mingyu from where he was standing up and trying to decline your great aunt’s advances to dance. Your cousin giggled. “He isn’t the older guy I thought you’d bring.”
“Circumstances change.” You shrugged, and she gave you a look. “I’d rather not get into it.”
Jordan’s brow raised. “You guys are having sex though, right?”
You almost choked while taking another sip of your wine. “Absolutely not.”
“You sure?”
“Well, I –” You sighed, and then decided to suck down the rest of the glass in one go. Jordan whistled. “We did at one point. Very long time ago. But he’s Vernon’s friend and … it’s a long story.”
“Sounds like it,” she snorted, eyes flickering around the reception until they landed somewhere behind you. “Well, if you’re not having sex with him, my friend just might tonight.”
Your expression muddled, until she pointed over your shoulder. Turning around, you found Jordan’s Maid of Honor chatting up Mingyu near the stairs that lead to the restrooms. Her hand was inching up his sleeve and he was blushing at what you could only assume was a compliment coming from her lips. He was clearly enjoying the conversation, despite the intimate looks he was giving you earlier.
Classic fucking Kim Mingyu, you thought.
A pang of jealousy surfaced that you couldn’t control. It was probably best for everyone if you walked away and took a breather. After Joshua pulled his wife onto the dance floor, you adjusted the tight silk of your dress and headed for the bathrooms. You walked past them, your perfume wafting past Mingyu’s nostrils, a scent he would know anywhere.
Instead of going inside the bathroom, you decide to stand in the empty hall connected to the venue and brace your back against the cool wall. You sighed, gathering yourself, completely unaware it wasn’t just you here until you heard the squeak of someone else’s shoes.
“I noticed you were empty,” Mingyu muttered as a way of greeting. He was holding two glasses of rosé between his fingers, stepping down the small staircase to get to you.
It was just you two now, and he was handing you the glass while standing so close that you could smell his cologne. Had this dress always felt that tight, or could you just not breathe right now? You watched the way his eyes flickered to your mouth, and it took everything in you not to yank him closer by the tie. Instead, you took a big gulp of rosé.
“You didn’t have to come after me,” you remarked, and then nodded your head in the direction of the Maid of Honor now on the dance floor. “You looked like you were having fun.”
Mingyu simply tilted his head to the side, studying you carefully.
“She’s pretty. Don’t stop on my account, but please be aware that we are sharing a room so you can’t bring anyone back there.”
Mingyu’s lips slowly curved into a grin. “Are you jealous?”
You scoffed, “No. I’m just … being realistic.”
Taking your half empty glass from your hand, he set them both down on a side table right near the women’s restroom. Your mouth opened, but the words died as soon as he placed a hand beside your head on the wall. He was so tall that he towered over you, even in heels, leaning into your space with pretty, half-opened eyes as he stared at your glossy lips.
“Can I be realistic with you?” He didn’t give you a moment to answer. “I cannot stop thinking about our last night together. I know you probably thought it happened because of the weed, but I … these past two months, it’s all I’ve been thinking about. And it’s killing me that I’ve been trying to be normal this whole night when all I’ve wanted to do is drag you away and make you cum again.”
Your breath hitched slightly at his words. He leaned in then, grazing his nose over the side of your face, desperate to be in your orbit. You took your bottom lip between your teeth and tried to control your heart rate, but how was that even possible when Mingyu’s other hand was brushing up and down your side, tangled in the silk.
“Well, that …” You swallowed hard. “That wouldn’t be a good idea considering all my family is here.”
He tsked under his breath. “Obviously, it wouldn’t be, but …” You felt his nose at your jaw, inhaling the scent of your perfume again, the one that made him crazy. And he damn near groaned in your ear.
“Mingyu, you … you –”
“Fuck, how could you think I’m looking at anyone else here when you look this good in your dress?” His voice had taken on that needy tone he always got when he was horny. It almost felt like a reward to be able to hear it again. “I’ve been half-hard this entire reception just from looking at you, remembering the way you tasted …” He muttered another curse.
This was how he always acted. Mingyu could be so desperate and pleading when he wanted to get someone in bed, needy to the point he would do anything just to please you, but god – you couldn’t deny how much you liked it. He was reeling you in. You were like fish to bait.
Slowly, he laced your dominant hand with his and moved it from his belt buckle to his groin. You could barely breathe when you felt him harden under your touch, and then you remembered you were still in a public hallway, where just about anyone could walk by.
Your eyes met his half-lidded ones as he murmured, “Look what you’re doing to me.”
And god help you, because you whimpered at the sound of his voice, slick starting to gather between your thighs.
“Okay, Mingyu, just …” You sighed, composing yourself because you knew he wasn’t going to any time soon. Your hand slipped away from his and he huffed, his forehead falling to rest on your shoulder. “Go to our room and let me make my rounds. I’ll meet you up there.”
He stood up. For a moment, he was almost tempted to drag you into the bathroom and bury his face between your legs, too hungry to let you get away now. But one of your uncles was walking down the hall, and you separated quickly. With a nod, you walked back to the reception and said goodbye to your family that you didn’t get to talk to for too long prior. Jordan gave you a look when you mentioned about going to bed early, and even Josh told you how weird you were being, but your cousin shut him up and sent you a wink.
You exhaled heavily and headed back to hotel on the other side of the venue. Slipping your heels off once you were inside the elevator, you debated if giving into Mingyu this easily was the smart thing to do. Smart? Definitely not. But would it be enjoyable? You didn’t need to answer that question. Mingyu knew what he was doing.
As you unlocked the door to your hotel room, you began to wonder if you were just setting yourself up to be hurt again. He didn’t come back to you like this in college, but what’s stopping him from telling you that he’s “just not that into you” at the next wedding? Or what if he just thought of you as an easy hookup that would get his dick wet every 2 months? Well, you hadn’t done that yet –
Yet. Yet. Yet.
The word repeated in your head like a melody, because when you threw your purse down and saw Mingyu walking out of the bathroom, fresh from a shower and dressed in only a towel around his waist, you realized that you were most definitely getting his dick wet tonight. Whether it was in your mouth or somewhere deeper, you were salivating for it.
He was smiling at you and you were smiling at him and Jesus, he was so goddamn handsome that you couldn’t believe that he was the one desperate for you. Droplets of water trickled down his tan skin and that towel around his waist was just barely holding on. His torso was chiseled and his arms – fuck, his biceps were bigger than you remembered. He was something out of a dream – some horny, fucked-up dream that you only had after masturbating before bed.
He was on you instantly, pushing you against the wall and kissing you hard. Sighing into the kiss, your hands fist into the towel to yank him closer, but it only makes the flimsy fabric fall. You break away for a moment to mutter, “Oh, shit,” but his lips can’t stay away from yours for long. And he’s laughing, like you did exactly what he wanted. You were too hypnotized by the scent of his body wash to care.
Dragging his lips down your neck, he sucked at the spot that he knew made your thighs press together, grinning proudly against your skin when you moaned. His fingers gripped the soft silk of your dress, slowly pulling the fabric up to feel you that much closer. But it wasn’t enough. No matter how much he liked you in this dress – and god, did he like you in this dress – he needed you out of it. Now.
Mingyu unzipped your dress with precision, setting it down on one of the two beds in the room, and both of you were suddenly wishingthere was only one. His hands smoothed down your sides, his breath hot against your mouth. He just wanted to feel you everywhere. He almost didn’t want to step away, afraid you’ll slip through his fingers like sand. When you two had hooked up in college, it was quick and explosive, letting out the tension that had been building for years. There was so much territory for him to cover now, so many ways for him to find out what made you whine and sigh with pleasure. But, if he were being honest, all he wanted right now was for you to –
“Sit on my face,” he begged, caging you into the wall, pressing his hard cock against your stomach. So desperate for just an ounce of friction, so hungry for another taste of you. He could literally start drooling at the thought of it. He was mesmerized by you; he’d do anything you asked just to have your pussy on his tongue again.
But you seemed to be debating your options, biting you lip again, and he wished that didn’t turn him on even more. You were just so pretty, and the way your face scrunched as you decided on something was a sight he couldn’t help but think about when he touched himself, even all those years ago. It was just you. You.
Eventually, your face relaxed, and you replied, “Well, you don’t have to beg me.”
Mingyu’s lips pulled into a smile, and he laughed while pulling you down onto the nearest bed. Despite his request, you continued to straddle his torso and kiss him for just a little while longer. He was needy, moaning into your mouth whenever his cock bumped against your ass, but all you wanted to feel his lips on yours, tangle your tongue with his, even if it was just for another minute.
You forgot Mingyu was stronger than you, though. It wasn’t much longer before he was yanking your body up and turning you around so you knelt just above his face. He inhaled the scent of your pussy and almost breathed a sigh of relief, but instead muttered, “Such a tease sometimes.”
Now that you were hovering above him, you were suddenly self conscious about how excited you were and if your arousal was seeping onto his face. You couldn’t even see if he was thrilled or not, since he had turned you to face away from him, but the way his cock jumped in front of your eyes told you enough. His hands gripped your thighs tight. “I don’t want to crush you,” you said nervously.
“You could suffocate me and I wouldn’t have a problem with it."
You chewed on your bottom lip. His tone was firm, probably the most serious you’d ever heard from him. But you were embarrassed and this was crazy and you still so wet. With flushed cheeks, you asked, “Mingyu, are you –”
“Yes,” he answered before pulling you down onto his face.
He wasn’t teasing you tonight. He was devouring you without even letting you catch your breath. His tongue swiping at your clit before he sucked on it – hard. So hard that you let you a sound that was a mixture of a yelp and a moan. Gripping you roughly, he spread you wider, drinking more of you in. Your hips moved on their own, grinding against his face, which made him groan into your pussy. The vibration in his voice spread throughout your entire body, goosebumps lining your flesh. “Mingyuuu,” you whined, begging for more, and you could practically feel him smirk as he flicked at your swollen clit.
Leaning forward, you turned your head up and noticed again just how hard he was. His cock had always been perfect: the perfect size, dark pink at the tip, veins etched into the shaft. Precum beaded at the head, sliding down every so slowly, as he throbbed and ached and – god, his hips were almost thrusting into the air now. You didn’t doubt he could get off for hours on this, but that didn’t mean he needed to be unsatisfied.
Besides, you wanted something to do with your mouth anyway.
Mingyu whimpered as you shifted slightly to reach his cock. Your body stretched, your mouth at the perfect angle as you flicked the head with your tongue. He pulled you back towards his mouth, shoving his tongue inside your tight hole and making you gasp at the same time you licked a stripe up his shaft. His tongue worked you open while you swirled your own along the tip, and then finally took him into your mouth.
The grunt he released should’ve caused an earthquake.
You bobbed your head up and down his shaft, choking when he bucked into your mouth. You could hardly breathe, taking every opportunity to inhale through your nose, but you couldn’t stop. You didn’t want to stop. God forbid, you have a hobby like wanting Kim Mingyu’s cock in your mouth. He took the liberty of grinding you against his face with his own hands, wrapping his lips around your clit again, eager to taste your climax. And to be honest, he wasn’t sure how much longer he was going to last if you kept sucking on his tip like that. He groaned each time, feeling your tongue circle his head before going back down, taking as much as you could, as if you were rewarding him. And he just couldn’t help but whine along with you.
Your lips pulled off him to kitten lick the veins along the sides of his shaft, and you breathily asked, “Are you close?”
His only response was a moan straight into your pussy.
You nodded, even if he couldn’t see it, before your mouth opened like second nature. You spit on his cock and stuffed him down your throat once again. Head moving faster, you were slobbering on him like a dog in heat, trying not to gag and failing. Your free hand snaked up to cup one of his balls, and the sound he released was deafening. His tongue flicked and sucked at your clit like he had nothing left to live for, hungry for every last drop of your essence.
But then you were cumming, and he was too not long after.
You cried, choking on his cock as you came all over his face. White blurred in your vision, and you were a mess of sweat and spit and so much cum. He exploded in your mouth a moment later, hot seed running down your throat, and you consumed all of it. Neither of you wanted to miss out on the taste of each other. It was filthy, intoxicating, how much you liked this. How much you could suck him off over and over again, and not get tired of him.
You didn’t know it at the time, but Mingyu would say the same about you. If not worse.
He could spend all day between your thighs and never want to leave.
When you both finally angled off each other, spent and exhausted, your breathing was heavy and off by two seconds. Mingyu was glancing over at you before you could even process, a smile playing at his swollen lips. He brushed away a strand of hair that was stuck to your sweaty forehead.
“Mingyu,” you finally said, “has anyone ever told you that you have boyfriend dick?”
Mingyu had wanted to tell you how much he’d been dreaming of that moment, how much you had haunted his dreams and left him waking up so hard that he felt he was going through puberty again. Sometimes he dreamed of how good it would feel when he finally slipped into you, inch by inch. You’d feel like home.
Save the Date for the wedding of Lee Seokmin and Quinn Song: July 31st
You couldn’t go a day without talking to Mingyu. Whether it be through text or over the phone, you were joking with him, telling him about your day, and vice versa. Just a month prior, you had tried keeping your distance, but now … you simply couldn’t help yourself. It was like there was a voice inside your head telling you to contact him, to send him a funny video you saw that day, to tell him about the show you were currently watching. And on nights when you had too much to drink, that voice made you text him that you missed him. He always said he missed you too.
Mingyu: I’m watching that show you recommended
Mingyu: kinda wish you were watching it with me
Mingyu: but I’m still content here and I can see why you like it so much
You: right?? I knew you’d like it!
You couldn’t help but giggle at your phone when his texts came through. And you answered them immediately, like you always did.
Mingyu: what are you doing right now?
You: wouldn’t you like to know
Neither of you made the effort to go on an actual date. It was all just flirty texts with a TikTok mixed in every once in a while. Promises about going back to that coffee shop someday, but never planning the day. To be honest, this was one of those moments where you were glad Mingyu was so uncommitted. If you started going on dates that didn’t include a vow exchange in between, it would be so easy to fall for him again, and then be let down when he eventually didn’t want to see you after wedding season.
Mingyu: I mean that’s why I asked
You: I’m hanging out with
A pillow was suddenly thrown at your head. “Ow!” You shouted, head shooting up from your phone to glare at Vernon sitting on the other side of the couch. “What the hell was that for?”
“Anakin is literally burning alive and all you can do is look at your phone!” Vernon scoffed, turning Revenge of the Sith back on. You set your phone down on your lap as he muttered, “Kinda wish I never won that bet.”
Vernon, obviously, was becoming increasingly annoyed that you and Mingyu had rekindled … whatever this was. Sometimes you wondered if you were talking to Mingyu more than your best friend, but given the way Vernon was acting, that was probably the case. You probably shouldn’t even be texting Mingyu while hanging out with Vernon. Bad friend move; happens to the best of us.
You apologized to Vernon in the best way possible: you bought him fried chicken from his favorite spot.
As summer came along, so did Seokmin and Quinn’s wedding at the end of the month, an invitation that was barely hanging on by an old Britney Spears magnet on your fridge. Quinn Song had been your first ever roommate out of college. You both had met on a Facebook group to find roommates in the area and quickly hit it off. She had been your roommate up until last year actually, when her now-fiancé Lee Seokmin asked her to move in with him. It was at that point that you finally decided to live alone, besides the few days out of the week that Vernon crashed at your apartment.
The wedding was being held on a pretty island in the northeast, nestled on the expansive grounds of a bed and breakfast in the area. The spot felt warm and lived in, the exact kind of place you imagined Quinn would get married at.
Meeting Mingyu at the airport had been awkward, but at the very least, you two were sitting in different rows of the plane. Maybe it shouldn’t have been as cringe-worthy as it was, given the fact that you two had been talking nonstop, but it was the memory that the last time you did see each other in person, you were sitting on his face and his cock was so far down your throat –
Mingyu had found your eyes a couple rows behind him on the plane. Even he was blushing now, as if he could read your thoughts.
You had rented a car once you reached your destination and threw him the keys, letting him drive the convertible down the coast while the summer breeze whipped through your hair. You tried not to notice the way his hand twitched on the gear shift, like he was itching to place his palm on your thigh, to ground himself to your presence. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. Especially when all you could do was stare out the window with a big smile on your face.
Unfortunately, you had to book a room at a small hotel near the bed and breakfast since all the rooms were used for the wedding party. The hotel was quaint, but definitely old and smelled like the Febreze scent your mom used to love when you were a kid. Your room was tinier than the pictures implied, but it was on the first floor and had a screen door that opened to a pretty view of the ocean. You didn’t have much time to enjoy it though, considering that the ceremony was in a few hours and the reception would probably carry on until way past midnight.
You decided to rewear the floral sundress that made a previous appearance at Chan and Adrianna’s wedding. It wasn’t like anyone here was at that event, and honestly, you didn’t care. Throwing your hair up into a perfectly messy updo, you curled a few pieces and took your time with your diligent makeup routine. Mingyu was in his suit before you could even blink, biding his time while you got ready by watching past game recordings of the flag football team he taught and trying to identify key moves they missed out on. As you finished up and clumsily slipped on your shoes, the perfume you sprayed seemed to beckon him like a siren song, and suddenly, he was leaning against the doorframe of the bathroom, meeting your eyes in the mirror.
Your brows shot up. “Done with your flag football research?”
“You’re beautiful,” he replied.
You turned, unable to stop your lips from pulling into a soft smile. His expression was so warm, cheeks tinged slightly pink either from embarrassment or a nasty sunburn. He was beautiful. In ways you couldn’t even comprehend.
Holding out your necklace to him, you asked, “Can you help me put this on?”
He nodded, plucking the dainty chain from your palm. You moved back to the mirror as he struggled to open the clasp with his thick fingers, but he got it eventually. Placing the thin, gold chain around your neck, you watched the small, star-shaped pendant sit so delicately under your collarbones. He fixed the clasp on your neck, his fingers brushing the top of your spine, and you watched him lean forward in the mirror.
His lips ghosted over the shell of your ear, breath hot and making the hairs on your neck stand up. “I meant it, by the way,” he whispered, and then placed the softest of kisses behind your ear.
Your breath hitched, and you were unable to form a single coherent thought. For the first time in a while, he was catching you by surprise. He was moving back, and you noticed him smirk in the mirror, knowing exactly how he was affecting you. That annoying asshole –
“Ready to head out?” He asked, grabbing his wallet from the desk.
You huffed and tugged the strap of your purse onto your shoulder. “Of course.”
The grounds of the bed and breakfast were bigger than you assumed, enough to fit an extremely large tent and hardwood floor for all the guests to congregate. The ceremony was held near the shoreline of the ocean, and it was so, unapologetically Quinn to have a few seashell pins in her veil as she walked towards her husband. You had known Seokmin as long as Quinn had been your roommate, but you had never seen this kind of smile on his face until now. He completely lit up at the sight of her, and he didn’t waste a second to say, “I do,” once his time came.
As the guests crowded into the tent for the reception, Mingyu seemed to hold onto you like a toddler with it’s parent. His arm was locked around yours, letting you lead him through the crowd, even though he was tall enough to see over the tops of everyone’s heads. His palm was so warm on your wrist, and then his fingers were so easily lacing through yours, and you squeezed because you simply couldn’t help yourself.
You were able to find your table easily, but you didn’t recognize the other people already there. They introduced themselves as Seokmin’s friends, and you remembered seeing one or two of them at a bar. You still couldn’t get a read on these people, and found yourself swiftly growing silent around their shared camaraderie. But Mingyu was suddenly so talkative, catching along with their jokes just as quickly, so you stood and whispered in his ear, “Do you want a drink?”
He leaned back to meet your eyes, and you swore time stopped for a moment. His hand reached down, squeezing your wrist, as he said, “You know what I like.”
Jesus. Fuck. Since whendid he have you this wrapped around his finger?
(Probably since sophomore year of college.)
You nodded, swinging your head in the direction of the bar, and your feet had started to head there when you halted in place. It almost felt like your heels were glued to the floor as you found the face of the last person you expected to be here. The only face that could make all the noise drown out around you.
Your ex.
He still had that same curl that always got in his eyes. He was wearing the same suit he wore to your mother’s engagement party last year. The same watch on his wrist; the same cufflinks. Same. Same. Same. And now, he was meeting your eyes across the room. Bodies formed in clusters under the tent – some hugging, some stumbling into each other – but he was unable to look away.
Until a head popped up in front of him, standing from her chair at the table. Her wedge sandals almost made her taller than him, and her dress looked expensive enough that he probably bought it. You didn’t know her, but you knew of her. Well, at least, you knew what the back of her head looked like, and that was her right there.
You couldn’t forget the night even if you tried. Exhaustion had your shoulders sagging as you unlocked the door to your boyfriend’s apartment. He didn’t typically keep it locked, but you had a key anyway. You remembered how quiet the place was, except for the soft sounds echoing from his bedroom. At first, you thought he was just masturbating, and to be honest, you were too tired to engage in anything tonight. But a voice in your head had urged you to move, to go, go, go towards his room. And you were slowly pushing open the door, only to find your boyfriend fucking your 22-year-old neighbor from behind, yanking on her short hair like a leash. You had been too scared to move, too scared to breathe, but eventually, you had started wailing. His eyes had found yours – exactly like in this moment – and he screamed, slipping away completely as your back slid to the floor. He had tried explaining, tried to yell at the young girl, but everything had drowned away in that moment, and all you could hear was the ringing in your ears –
Your breathing was growing rapid, just like that day at his apartment. Sprinting to the inside of the bed and breakfast, you tried to act normal and say hello to whoever you knew mingling by the bathroom. But something was clearly very wrong. It was evident in your eyes, the way tears were pricking at the sides. You almost thought the universe was pulling a cruel prank on you, but then you remembered that it was Quinn who had introduced you two in the first place, that he had been a friend of a friend.
Climbing up the staircase in the lobby, you plopped yourself down on the middle step and let your face fall into your hands. You began to count your breaths – one, two, three, one, two, three – anything to make you get a semblance of control. But you could feel your brain spinning, and your heart was beating too fast. Was this what it felt like to die? Was your cheating ex going to be the last face you saw before you completely slumped against this staircase? Vernon always said you had a flair for the dramatic. What a fitting way to end.
You felt a weight sink into the plush carpet next to you, and you lifted your head, tears brimming your eyes.
“You do realize that this isn’t your party. You can’t cry if you want to,” Mingyu joked, reaching out and swiping the tear at your lash line. His eyes softened then, looking at you like you were something fragile, like a baby bird. “What’s wrong?” His voice was hardly about a whisper.
You sniffled, dabbing at the corners of your eyes with your knuckles. The last thing you needed was your makeup messed up. “This is so embarrassing. I’m crying over something so …” Your words trailed off, noticing that he was leveling a look at you. You sighed before admitting, “I forgot that the bride, Quinn, might invite my ex because they were friends. Somewhat.”
“Your ex? As in that ex?” His brow shot up, and you nodded. “Did he come alone?”
You looked down at your hands in your lap, and after a moment, you watched his large palm slowly envelope one of yours. The rough pads of his fingers – the hands of a cook – brushed over your knuckles, and his touch was so warm that it could burn.
His voice was soft in your ear as he said, “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”
You chuckled a little, turning to look at him again. “Then we’d be sitting on this staircase forever.”
He smiled at you and stretched out his long legs. “That’s fine with me.”
Your lips pursed, and you found him staring at them for a moment. A sigh escaped, and you glanced down at your laced hands. How perfectly they fit together, how he held you with such a fierce softness. His thumb grazed the scar on your knuckle that you got the first time you fell off your bike. Finally, you answered, “He came here with the girl he cheated on me with.”
Mingyu didn’t speak, but you did hear him do a sharp intake.
“She’s twenty-two. She didn’t – she doesn’t know any better. He’s in his early thirties and he’ll do it again,” you continued, chewing on your bottom lip for a moment. “I found them in his apartment after I came home from a late meeting at work. It was … messy. Walking in on them, the fallout, now this … everything about that breakup has felt like one big mess. And now, I have to see him here and be reminded of it all–fucking–over again.”
You didn’t even dare to meet his eyes as the next words tumbled out of your mouth, already feeling your voice start to break again. “It didn’t just hurt because I found them. It hurt because … I never wanted to become my mother. I love her. I really do. But the last thing I ever wanted was to become her. Be in the same situation as her. And yet, there I was, witnessing yet another infidelity that would affect my life for what seems like forever.” You rubbed at your running nose. “I found my father cheating too. It wasn’t exactly the same. I found him kissing my best friend’s mom in my parent’s bedroom one night when my mother stayed at work too late. The sentiment still stands, and history was always bound to repeat itself. Daughters always become their mothers and I always have to bear witness to another man not choosing to stick around –”
Mingyu stopped you by turning your face towards his, one hand cupping your cheek. His thumb skimmed the tears running through your blush. He didn’t say anything; his eyes let you know that he was here. That he was sticking around. Despite everything you thought of him, despite your past – Mingyu was here.
He held you for as long as you needed, gathering you in his arms and cradling your head against his shoulder. He let your tears soak into the fabric of his expensive suit, promising he’d get it dry-cleaned, which made you laugh. Your fingers clutched his lapels and you almost considered not letting go. You would give anything to stay in this bubble, to sit on this staircase in his embrace forever.
“I meant what I said all those months ago,” he said, his voice muffled from his lips at the crown of your head. “I would kill any guy that has done you wrong. Do you want me to kill him?”
You chuckled and raised your head from his shoulder. “What are you gonna kill him with? A butter knife?” You shook your head. “No chef is gonna let you in that kitchen tonight to grab a weapon. You of all people should know that.”
Mingyu grimaced. “This conversation is getting morbid.”
Another laugh bubbled at your lips. “You brought it up!”
“And you’re smiling again,” he said, making your hands hold onto him tighter. “That’s all I could ask for.”
Such simple words could take your breath away, especially when they came from his mouth. You searched his eyes for a moment, your fingers now smoothing out the creases in his lapel. Eventually, you whispered, “I don’t know if I can survive this whole reception. I hate the awkward tension, but I should stay for Quinn.”
“Trust me, I know,” he snickered, and his hand covered over yours as an anchor. “I say we stay at the reception for as long as your comfortable. Then we go to bed early. Whatever works for you.”
Your smile was so kind as you nodded along with his plan. After touching up your makeup, you took his hand and let him lead you back to the reception. Once you saw Quinn in her short, after party dress and looking at Seokmin with stars in her eyes, you instantly felt more at ease. This was her day; you wouldn’t let one person sour it. And Mingyu, clearly, wasn’t going to let your own nerves sour it either. Anytime you locked eyes with your ex, there Mingyu was, distracting you by whispering in your ear how pretty you looked or asking you about your best memories while living with Quinn. There was one moment where you saw your ex heading in your direction, assuming he was finally going to talk to you, and Mingyu stood up to whisk you onto the dance floor. His large arms enveloped you, holding you close, as you swayed to one of your favorite songs. Everything about him felt safe, secure, and he even let you stand on his feet when you told him you had never been that good at dancing. And when you looked at him, you noticed that he was staring at you like how Quinn looked at Seokmin during her speech. Even when you had cried, had let him in, see parts of you that not even Vernon touched … he looked at you like you were the only person in the room.
You stayed at the reception far longer than anticipated. When you told Mingyu that you were too tired to stay any longer, he didn’t question it. He simply grabbed your purse and jacket before taking your arm in his, walking the short distance back to your Febreze-ridden hotel. The first thing you did once you were back in your room was take off your heels. They were only a kitten heel, but your feet were already blistering, and you winced as you went to the bathroom to wash off your makeup. Mingyu had set your stuff down on the small desk before walking out onto the deck connected to your room. You craned your neck out, assuming he was going to smoke a joint, but he was just staring at the ocean, noticing how loud the waves crashed against the shore.
You padded out of the bathroom and leaned against the door frame for a moment, admiring him in the dim light. It almost left in you in disbelief how you had roped Kim Mingyu, one of the most attractive men you’d ever met and probably one of the longest crushes you’d ever had in your life, into being your wedding date for an entire year. He had a lost a bet, but he really didn’t have to be here. He didn’t have to invest in a new suit. He didn’t have take the time off from his two jobs. He didn’t have to listen to your trauma, or look at you like you were this painting to be worshipped, this Mona Lisa of sorts. Mingyu could’ve said no.
But he didn’t.
“I’m going to take a shower,” you finally informed him, and he turned to meet you eyes. “Can you help me out of my dress?”
He nodded diligently, following you to the bathroom. You pulled your hair up with one hand, and with deft fingers, he slid the zipper down your back. Typically, you would hold the dress to your chest until he left the bathroom, out of respect, but you were letting it pool at your feet tonight. You stepped out of it, your gaze locking with his as you turned on the shower. You were giving him this look and he was still standing there in his half-buttoned dress shirt, hands forming into fists as he fought the urge touch you. Waiting for a sign. Waiting for your permission.
But you didn’t even have to say anything. Your eyes said the words for you. As you climbed into the standing shower, he took his time removing his suit, pretending as if he wasn’t fucking dying to have his hands on you, and then he was behind you, the hard panes of his chest flush against your back. He closed the shower door as the glass began to fog up.
The water was scalding as it rained down on your head, steam forming around the small bathroom. You could still feel the dried tears on your face, imprinted underneath your makeup all night, and you did your best to wash them away. Mingyu noticed the way your shoulders sagged, the way you sighed while you were lost in thought, and as much as wanted touch you in places that made those sweet sounds fall from your lips, he held himself back. Instead, he let his hands comb through your wet hair before scrubbing shampoo into the strands. You relaxed against him, closing your eyes as he washed your hair.
It was so domestic that you could cry.
(Again.)
The last person you ever thought could be capable of this kind of care was Mingyu. You both had known each other for eight years, and not once had he displayed this kind of person around you. Or maybe you just weren’t paying attention, too lost in your own perception of him. Even now, you couldn’t help but remind yourself of when he avoided you after the hookup in senior year. He really isn’t the same guy, Vernon’s voice echoed in your head. Give him a chance. You had never trusted those words, but in this moment … you realized where you had went wrong.
The water began to get cold when it came time to wash his own hair and you could tell he was struggling to rush. His mannerisms made you giggle, and even though the steam began to dissipate from the room, you still turned to his front and rested your forehead on his chest, letting the lukewarm water beat down your neck.
When you walked out of the shower, you had never felt more fresh and at ease. Your body was all warm and you had brought the comfiest pajamas for summer weather. The breeze wafting off the ocean blew through your room from the open screen door, and the sound of the waves crashing against the shore could lull you to sleep.
But right now, it seemed like neither of you were keen on the subject. As you slipped under the covers next to each other, you were grateful that there was only one bed: one large, king-sized bed that both of you could be using to spread out. Instead, you were huddled close, hair still wet from the shower, and his arms locked around you like he couldn’t bear the thought of letting you go. Your hands cupped his face, studying parts of him that you didn’t think of in your previous lust-induced hazes. Fingers traced his lips, brushed over the tip of his nose – where his tiny mole was stamped – before you skimmed the shell of his ear.
You almost didn’t recognize your own voice as you whispered, “Thank you for tonight.”
“Anytime,” he smiled.
A beat of silence. Hands stilled. Lips pursed.
“Mingyu?”
“Yeah?”
“Please, kiss me.”
His mouth was on yours before you could even finish the sentence, but he still took his time exploring new ways to make you moan into the kiss. He kept one hand splayed on your back, pressing you further into him, while the other played with the hem of your loose t-shirt. Your hands knotted into his hair as he kissed you slow, savoring you like a fine meal. And you simply let him. You were like molten lava, melting in the palm of his calloused hands.
You felt his fingers prod at the waistband of your shorts, and it was game over. Slipping them under, he practically whined into your mouth when he realized you hadn’t put any panties on after the shower. His mouth disconnected from yours, fingers sliding between your slick folds. “Are you trying to kill me?” He breathed against your lips.
“In my defense,” you chuckled softly, “I forgot to bring them to the bathroom.”
He laughed with you, and you were debating on crying again because he was so kind and good and definitely just as obsessed with you as you were with him. No matter how many times you didn’t want to admit it, you had somehow fallen into Kim Mingyu’s trap once again.
He kissed you again, hungrier this time, as he spread you open with his fingers. You whimpered, but he swallowed it with his tongue and began to rub tight circles on your clit. Your leg lifted, hooking onto his waist, and you bucked against his hand. Your body felt like it was on fire, but Mingyu was careful, plucking your strings like a guitar, and you needed moremoremore. Pushing two fingers inside of you, his kiss was like a sound barrier as he consumed all your sweet sounds, as if that would allow him to hear them forever.
It was only when you came apart that he dragged his lips to your neck, wanting to focus on your moans as he fucked you with his fingers. He felt you shake, your pussy squeezing his thick fingers, and he kept rubbing your clit through it, wanting to prolong your orgasm as much as possible. If not for you, then for him, just so he could hear you. He would make you cum as many times as you wanted if it meant he could hear his name falling from your lips.
Neither of you wanted to stop; all fumbling hands and shaky limbs as he finally tugged your shorts off. It was a lot more difficult to take off his boxers without separating from you, but you laughed and you were so pretty that he almost forgot what he was doing in the first place. Once he was situated, you rolled on top of him, straddling his lap. You held his face in your hands, and for a moment, you could almost see reflections of the dark ocean outside in his starry gaze. Your palms drifted down, fingertips tracing the hard panes of his chest. He was all muscle, sculpted like your very own David statue; his complexion so similar to golden hour personified.
You lifted your t-shirt off and tossed it onto the floor. Mingyu was already so hard that it hurt, but he took a few more seconds to stare at you. He wanted to remember this moment forever: the sight of you on top of him, naked and vulnerable, hair wet and a faint blush on your cheeks.
Sitting up on your knees, you positioned yourself right over his cock and gripped the shaft to get the perfect angle inside of you. You were looking at him and he was looking at you as you lowered yourself slightly, grazing his tip against your wet slit, still dripping from your previous orgasm. Mingyu groaned at the sensitivity, throwing his head back against the pillow and muttering, “This is so mean.”
“You like when I’m mean,” you giggled, repeating the same words you uttered that fateful night after Chan’s wedding, when Mingyu’s face was buried between your thighs.
And Mingyu recognized it too, a grin making it’s way to his lips. But that was soon replaced by look of complete bliss as you finally sunk down onto his cock. He was the perfect size, filling you just right but never uncomfortable. He gave you a moment to adjust, but you could tell from his white-knuckled grip on your hips that he was damn near fighting the urge to thrust up into you. He didn’t though. He was patient and perfect and all yours.
You anchored yourself to him with one hand on his shoulder, beginning to rock into him at a snail’s pace. Your eyes connected, and even as he moaned underneath you, he was unable to stop smiling. Mingyu let you set the pace, and you took your time, getting to know what speed had him pulling your hips harder. The angle had him buried so deep inside that you could practically feel him in your stomach, and you sighed each time as you moved against him.
“Fuck,” he whined, shifting to sit up against the headboard. “I’ve needed you so bad.”
“I know, I know,” you confessed in a breathy whimper. “Me too.”
He was digging his fingers into your hips so hard that you were sure there’d be marks, but you didn’t care right now. You just wanted him, wanted this. Wanted to be this connected to him and feel him this deep and cum together as the waves crashed against the shore outside. He began to move you on his own accord, bouncing you on his cock as he leaned forward to nip and suck at your neck. “So pretty,” he mused against your skin, breath stuttering as your walls tightened. “So pretty sitting on my cock.”
You were the one whining now, raking your fingers into his dark strands as your thigh muscles burned. Your breasts jumped with each slam of his hips against yours, and he planted hot, open-mouthed kisses down your throat, dipping his tongue into your collarbone, before latching his mouth around one of your nipples.
Your hands pulled at his hair. “Mingyu, please,” you cooed, not exactly sure what you were begging for. Just moremoremore.
His eyes lifted to yours and you watched him fucking smile while tugging at your nipple. You were melting like putty, and he was able to still move you with one hand, using his free one to cup your other breast and run his thumb over that nipple. Tears pricked at your eyes, feeling him pulse inside you with each pass. And when he started to thrust up into you, you were pretty sure that you were close to seeing stars.
“Wanna cum with you,” he rasped while switching breasts and flicking his tongue over your other nipple. “Please, wanna cum inside you.”
You nodded, too cock drunk to say anything besides, “Yesyesyes.”
He was rolling your hips now, practically rutting into you as he lifted his head from your chest, leaving a trail of spit. You leaned down and let his lips ghost over yours. Moans slipped from your mouth into his, and he was bouncing you on his cock so fast you almost couldn’t register to breathe. His breath was hot against your lips, so close he could feel his body shaking, but he needed you to be closer, needed to feel you tightened around him and milk him for everything he was worth.
Snaking a hand between your bodies, he found your clit easily, knowing your body better than anyone ever had. All you could hear in that moment was the sound of the ocean through your screen door and skin slapping against skin. You were so wet and warm and – shit, you were starting to clench around him. He rolled your clit between two fingers, and a whimper slipped out of his mouth when he felt your pussy clamp around his throbbing cock.
He needed to cum and so did you and – fuck, he could feel it, feel you, feel how deep he was inside.
He would do this forever if you asked.
“Fuck, Mingyu, oh my god, right there, right there –” You pleaded in his ear, feeling yourself tip right over that edge –
Then you were cumming.
And so was he.
You moaned his name like it was a prayer, shattering as you came undone. Your walls were squeezing him like a vice, and he was unable to hold himself back anymore, burying himself to the hilt before painting your insides white with his orgasm. Hips jerked, bodies went taunt. You felt your whole being dissolve into nothing but pleasure, molding yourself to him in his arms. When the rush of warmth started to fade and he felt your combined releases seep from between your thighs, he breathed out a sigh of relief, brushing kisses over your jaw.
You weren’t sure you were in your right mind. Everything was so hazy. But you didn’t want to move away just yet. Even when his cock started to go soft inside of you, you stayed connected to him, pushing his hair back from his forehead and whispering praises in his ear like, “You were so good … So good to me … My Mingyu … I’ve always been yours …” You could feel him smiling against your skin, his hands tracing circles on your lower back.
But as time seemed to stop and you felt peace for the first time in a while, you realized just how deep you had fallen. You were drowning in him.
Mingyu had wanted to tell you that it felt exactly like his dreams. If you were drowning in him, he had already sunk to the bottom a long time ago.
Save the Date for the wedding of Nathan Chaney and Your Mother: September 5th
Your mother was remarrying. Her and Nathan had been together since you went off to college, and then got engaged just a year after you graduated. They decided on a long engagement, choosing to plan out a destination wedding in the Caribbean. You thought it was crazy at first, but then your mother said, “If this is going to be my last wedding – and it is – I want to go out with a bang.” You couldn’t exactly blame her. After your dad had cheated and the divorce was finalized, you knew your mother deserved something like this. She deserved the world.
When she had called you just a week before the wedding, babbling on about who you were possibly bringing now that your ex was completely out of the picture, you paused. Holding the phone to your ear and watering one of your half-dead plants with the other, you said, “I’m … I’m going with Mingyu.”
“Vernon?” She asked, not believing what you said.
“Mingyu.”
“Like … the Mingyu from university? The football player?”
You sighed, playing with the dead leaves on the plant. “He was also – and still is – one of Vernon’s good friends.”
“Oh,” your mother said, more surprised than anything. “Well, you better watch for Nathan’s sister. If Mingyu looks anything like how I remember from Family Day, she will go buck wild over him.”
“I’ll make sure of it,” you chuckled.
The truth was … you weren’t exactly sure how this wedding was going to go. Ever since the last one, you had been progressively putting more distance between you and Mingyu. Once again. Your last night together had been so real … too real, and you wanted to save yourself from the heartbreak after this wedding when you never saw him again. As much as you hated to admit it, feelings were now involved, seeping into your bloodstream, until your heart thrummed like the sound of his name on your tongue.
Slowly pushing him away … it hurt, but it was better this way. Pain was temporary and so was your arrangement. You knew that going into it, so how did you end up in this mess? You remembered what had happened after Chan’s wedding, the way Mingyu looked at you as he was shotgunning smoke into your mouth and – yeah, you knew exactly how you ended up here.
If you kept telling yourself this was for the better, maybe you’d start believing it. Maybe your feelings would drift like smoke and your mother’s wedding would be a final farewell before you two went your separate ways.
But you had been doing that for a month now.
And those feelings refused to fade.
You had an early morning flight the day of your mother’s wedding. Typically, you wouldn’t be getting to a destination wedding on such short notice, but the ceremony was small. So small your mother refused to have a rehearsal dinner and no bridal party. It was about her and Nathan, and you had to respect that she was doing things her way this time around.
You had waited at your gate right before doors closed for Mingyu, since you were on the same flight. But he was clearly running late and you were much too awkward around him now to text him. So you finally got on the plane and found your seat, noticing the one seat in the back still left unoccupied. Once you had landed five hours later, you quickly headed to the hotel that Nathan had booked for the ceremony and reception. Your phone lit up as you hailed a ride.
Mingyu: I’m sorry, I got a new flight
Mingyu: I’ll be there just 2 hours after you land
Mingyu: I’ll make it for the ceremony. I promise
Feeling his anxiety radiate through your phone, you believed him, and then wondered if maybe this was a blessing in disguise. You were rewarded a few more hours of alone time before you had your last hurrah with Mingyu. Maybe if you buried your feelings deep enough, you wouldn’t tense up the second you saw his face. Maybe if you didn’t look into his eyes, you wouldn’t have the urge to kiss him. Or let him hold your hand. Or spread your legs to welcome him inside –
You dropped your lipgloss onto the bathroom counter, sick of your own thoughts. Your square-neck, baby blue dress was clinging to every curve, but you felt like you were being suffocated by the fabric. You had just finished doing your hair and makeup, but you couldn’t quite keep your thoughts at bay. Nerves batted against your skull, making your hands shake slightly. What would you do once Mingyu walked in? Would you avoid his stare? Would you tell him immediately how much you liked him and how this wouldn’t work out and you knew you set yourself up for heartbreak –
Maybe you needed a walk.
Grabbing a spare pair of sandals, you headed outside to walk the beach just along the grounds of the hotel. There was still an hour before the ceremony, and you could just see the planners putting finishing touches on the decorations laid out on the shore, where your mother wanted it to take place. Couples were still walking through the water. Kids were making sand castles. The sun was slowly beginning to set and the breeze was whipping your hair off your shoulders.
And you smiled, despite everything you were feeling. Because where there was an end, there would always be a new beginning.
“HEY!”
You spun around, your sandals sinking into the sand. Although you recognized his voice, the last thing you expected to see was Kim Mingyu running towards you in his pristine black tux, his tie loose around his neck and blowing in the breeze. It was like something out of a movie, the kind of movie where there was supposed to be a happy ending, but you knew you weren’t afforded luck like that in real life.
He stopped in front of you, running a hand through his hair. Sand sprinkled down the tops of his shoes.
“When did you get here?” You raised a brow.
“About twenty minutes ago. I flew in my tux because I figured I wouldn’t have enough time to change. But now it just kind of smells like …” He lifted the sleeve to his nose and inhaled. “Like peanuts and old plastic.”
You giggled, holding a hand to your mouth and just … staring at him. He was smiling at you, fangs poking out from under his top lip. His skin was even prettier in the sunset. His hair, despite the messy texture, was effortless and perfect. He embodied sunshine in its purest form.
“Well, you …” You looked to the water, your hands flexing at your sides. “You didn’t need to come find me out here.”
His voice was sweet, soft, like fresh sheets, when he replied, “Yes, I did.” His hand reached out a little, attempting to lace your fingers together, but he stuffed them in his pockets instead. “When I was wondering where you’d be, I remembered something you said to me in college … Do you remember Move-In Day of junior year when we had that bonfire with Vernon and a few other people? You really didn’t enjoy my company back then, but I sat next to you because you agreed to sharing that god awful cheap vodka we used to like.” He laughed when you grimaced. “We got to talking and I asked you, ‘If you could be anywhere right now, where would you be?’ And you said something like, ‘I want to be walking on a beach. I’ve always felt the most calm with my toes in wet sand.’”
You blinked, wondering if you had heard him right. He … how did he … “You remember that?”
“I remember a lot of things.”
And there he was, reaching out again and brave enough to brush his fingers over your knuckles. You looked down, watching his hand interlock with yours, and his palms were balmy and calloused. They felt familiar, like home. And you simply couldn’t believe that you had deprived yourself of this.
“Did you mean it when you said, ‘I’ve always been yours?’”
Your head snapped up, tsking under your breath. Hand still intertwined with his, you pushed a lock of hair behind your ear. “You came all the way out here to ask me that?” You asked, flustered and agitated.
His brow shot up. “So that’s a yes then?”
Your mouth opened, but then closed when you realized that he caught you.
He added, his voice like velvet again, “Then why are you avoiding me? I can sense it.”
“Well, if you’re that sensitive to other people’s feelings than I guess that –” You paused, taking a deep breath as you gathered yourself. Your ears reddened. “Look, I think it’s pretty obvious that I’ve … I like you. A lot. But having feelings for you would be so messy. The last time I went through this, we hooked up and you hardly spoke to me after.”
Mingyu’s brow furrowed. “That was years ago.”
“You know how uncommitted you’ve always been,” you quickly remarked, even though you didn’t fully believe those words anymore. “Weren’t you the one that told me at the start of this that men never really grow up?”
His eyes narrowed a little. “Are you playing psychological warfare with me right now?”
Slipping your fingers away from his, you shrugged. “Maybe.”
“I’ve been your date to five weddings this year. It wasn’t just about losing some bet. I did it for you.” He stared at you incredulously. “Are you really going to hold me to a mistake I made six years ago? When I was a shitty 22-year-old that was terrified to tell the girl I liked for years that I was interested in her?”
“I never … I never thought you liked me back then.”
Mingyu’s gaze softened, and he tucked another curl behind your ear that blew in the wind. “I made you believe that I didn’t because it was easier than admitting my feelings. I was terrified of rejection. And an idiot.”
You couldn’t help but snort at his comment, but you knew this conversation was far from over. “Well, I …” You rubbed at your nose and turned away from him, facing the water that looked almost sapphire in color. The waves sparkled under the setting sun. “Wedding season is over after this and we can both go back to our normal lives. Vernon won’t flip a lid when he sees me texting you all the time and everything will be back to the way it was. I always prepared for you to just forget about me after this anyway.”
“I love Vernon, but this isn’t about him.” Mingyu stepped forward into your line of vision. “What if I don’t want to go back to the way things were?”
Your eyes flickered to his, and it was his turn to step closer again. His large palm cupped your cheek, his skin always so cozy and inviting that you just had to lean into him. Fingertips traced your brow bone as his gaze lingered on your lips.
“I don’t want to forget about you or never see you again. I want to be around you,” he confessed. “I … want to go on more dates with you. I want to be your date to more than just weddings.”
You hesitated, unraveling and dissecting each word in your head, before you came to the conclusion that … oh, my god, he had feelings for you too. Had you always been this much of an absolute moron?
Getting on your tiptoes, you closed the distance between you two, your lips crashing onto his like the water against the shoreline. Your body almost suctioned to his, bringing him even closer when your arms wound around his neck. He kept that one hand on your cheek, the other splaying on your lower back, like how he always did when he was nervous. But he had nothing to be nervous about, because you liked him and he liked you. The world felt like it was spinning, but also just right, and his tongue was licking into your mouth enough to make you feel breathless. You could do this forever, be this relaxed in his arms, kiss him as if it was only you two in your own world. And as he tugged on your bottom lip to make your breathing heavy, you decided that your dream had become a reality.
When you broke the kiss, your cheeks were definitely flushed, even under the layer of blush you put on. Mingyu grinned, tilting his head as he whispered, “So you have always been mine then?”
“Such a tease sometimes,” you repeated his fateful words from June.
You turned, tugging on his hand playfully as the waves begin to lick at the sand near your feet. “C’mon,” you chuckled. “If we’re late to this wedding, my mom will kill me before I can even think about calling you my boyfriend.”
Mingyu had wanted to ask you to marry him only two years later, and thank god, he finally found the words.
She wondered how such a simple question could always make her nervous. The First and second time he uttered the question, she didn't even think twice before giving him what he wanted.
The following times she started to hesitate.
Why was he asking her so many times?
Can he not kiss her without asking?
Don't get her wrong, she loved how Satoru valued her consent, but why wouldn't he just act on his desire without questioning her?
‘Again? You can just kiss me, you know, you don't have to constantly ask me for a kiss just to give me a peck.’ she said looking down at her phone
‘No, I'll just keep asking you’, he answered annoyingly
‘But why?’, came the question after which she looked up at him questioning her own sanity.
‘Because if I don't ask you, I won't be able to hold back’
‘You don't have to hold back’, she stated.
Was it a mistake to have given him free will?
Maybe. Most likely.
He was intoxicating.
Plush lips against hers, the deep kiss making her feel afloat.
Wet
A kiss is wet, was the thought that crossed her mind
Oh? She tastes like strawberries?
‘Did You eat strawberries before this?’ He asked while breaking the kiss.
He was so close to her face still, nosing at her cheek and kissing along her face, next to her mouth.
She felt his breath everywhere.
‘Hm? Yeah, it's my lipstick. D’you like it?’
It felt like she was hypnotized, in a daze.
He made her dizzy.
Closing her eyes she submerged herself in him yet again.
‘If I give you money, will you buy other lipsticks with different flavors? So we can kiss like this more often’
Being acquaintances who were working in the same sphere of sorcery, they met very frequently.
Not in the way Satoru would like to, though.
Fleeting glances, longingly staring at each other while being in the same conference room, sometimes even driving each other home when both stayed back late at work.
Their paths always crossed.
Like today.
He was just getting out of his apartment building when he bumped into her?
‘Oh? Are you stalking me now?’ Gojo said smugly
‘You'd like that, huh? No, I just moved here’ she replied teasingly
And that's where it all began.
Him asking her out to eat (more like begging her to go, or he will starve without her presence), her agreeing, them walking around the city and getting ice cream at last.
‘You have ice cream on your face’ was what the girl he had daydreams about pointed out
‘Hm?? Where?’ he asked confused
‘Right here’ was said while she reached for him to wipe the corner of his mouth with her thumb.
Thoughts running wild, Satoru thought about many things.
How it would feel like to kiss her.
It was like he was on an ongoing high, his mind cloudy, only looking at her.
Realizing what she just did, she stepped back, encouraging both out of their trance to continue their path home.
Going back felt like a fever dream.
Why is it so hot today,
was what she thought,
Why did I have to bump into him today??!
Why is she not looking at me
Do I not look good today??, were his thoughts
Back at their apartment complex, both decided to use the elevator to get to their apartments
‘So, which floor do you live on?’
‘The last one’
‘Oh’
So she lives next to me?
What did he ever do to the universe to deserve such luck? To have the girl he is dying to kiss live next door?
Definitely god's favorite, he thought, pressing the 23rd floor.
‘We live in the same floor?’ She asked finally looking up at him
‘Yeah’ he answered looking down at her
It felt like a romance movie, where the main characters have eye contact and their bodily distance reduces every second.
The tension from the entire day spent together led to both stepping closer.
Satoru pulling her in by her waist, intent on fulfilling his desire.
Her moving her head further.
Closing the distance more and more.
Being only inches apart, nothing held them back anymore, except…
Ding
The elevator doors opened, revealing a red-faced Satoru and the girl next to him on two different sides of the elevator to the newly arrived person
Worst luck in the world, that's for sure
Well, maybe next time?
Guys guys:
Suggestions about what I should write next??? Pls help a girl out, my creativity is ending 🥲
At 6 am she was standing in the bathroom in front of the mirror brushing her teeth.
Wanting to have a productive day, she tried to stay true to herself and wake up earlier to freshen up while her other half was still lying around in their bed.
I'm so tired, she thought to herself.
The reason? Well, somebody wouldn't stop talking about his students' drama and love stories up until bedtime.
After brushing her teeth lazily, she washed her face quickly with water and started putting on moisturizer, hearing Satoru groan all the way from their room.
‘Babyyyyy? Where are you?’ Came a mumble from the man.
Stretching, he looked around the room trying to locate his girlfriend but with no success.
With half open eyes and a half functioning brain, he started pushing back the covers to stand up and search for his lover.
He followed the light to the bathroom and leaned onto the door frame of the bathroom, only half opening his eyes to look at his baby.
‘Baby?’ he said in a small voice
‘Hm?’ She answered, busily continuing her morning routine
Seeing as she didn't pay much attention to him, he came up behind her, craving their morning nearness, hugging her and encircling her torso
‘Why are you up so early, I already miss you’
‘Satoru, I have so many things to do, so I wanted to wake up earlier than usual’
‘But not at six in the morningggg’ he said whining a little while hiding in her neck from the lightning in the bathroom.
‘Let's go to bed for at least another hour, hmm?’
‘Noooo’
‘Pleaseeee?’
That please was very convincing, especially because Satoru started to push his hands past her sleeping shirt to her chest, pulling her shirt up and caressing her breasts.
‘Just an hour’
he whispered kissing down her collarbone, while she felt herself giving in already
‘Okay, if it's just an hour’, she breathed out a sigh, turning slightly to look at his desperate eyes.
And how could she resist him?
He was temptation personified.
Of course, she had to succumb to the temptation of
