coco •ᴗ•

just here to read 🥸 25

[xomakara]

Wrangling Hearts | C.SC, K.MG

Your sanctuary was supposed to be simple: soil, crops, and peace. Instead, a stolen carrot lands you right in the crosshairs of the town's two most swoon-worthy ranchers—Seungcheol, a protective cowboy with a hidden soft side, and Mingyu, a sharp-tongued, charming livestock rancher who knows exactly how to push your buttons. As neighborly friction melts into deep, unspoken desire, you're forced to redefine what building a life—and a home—truly means.

PAIRINGS | Choi Seungcheol x F. Reader x Kim Mingyu

GENRE | smut,comedy, fluff, Modern Western au

RATING |  Mature, NSFW, EXPLICIT, MDNI, 18+, Any Minors and Ageless Blogs will be blocked 

CONTENT/WARNINGS |  non-idols au, country/ranch life, swearing, kissing, caressing, unprotective sex, oral sex (both female/male receiving/giving), penetrative sex, hair grabbing, body worship, dirty talk, praising, pet names, beast play, cowboy riding

LENGTH |  29,573 words

NETWORKS |  @k-vanity  @ksmutsociety  @cosyhomenet  @hybehunters

TAGLIST |  @lovetaroandtaemin @theidontknowmehn @livelaughloveseventeen @liaaya-17 @codeinebelle @j3nnch3ls3a @choco_scoups @bearynicesworld @unholywriters @bebskyy @aethnie @seungminimpossible @frayaatiny @little-mix-fan-forever @parakissss @star-dust17 @cakebootyscaca @scoupsahoy @junniesoleilkth @datcrazyybratt @woo-wonwoo @watchanisworld @insannities @mmessier31 @uh-stray-lee-ah

AUTHOR’S NOTE | Released a day late but I got busy going to my niece's track meet yesterday and running errands haha. But it's finally here! I hope it's decent haha. I feel like the smut scenes aren't smutting but oh well. I thank all the time and effort from playing farming sims (stardew valley, coral island, story of seasons, starsand island, etc) for giving me the inspo for finishing this lmao.

Seventeen Masterlist | Main Masterlist

"Excuse me, cowboy. But is that your horse eating my carrot?"

When Choi Seungcheol turns to you, his Stetson hat tilts back and reveals dark, twinkling eyes. He's got that slow, lazy smile that makes most people's knees weak. But it doesn't work on you, not today. Not when your prize-winning carrot—the one you planned to enter into the county fair—is currently being munched on by a rather large horse with very large teeth.

"Looks like it," he says, voice a low rumble like distant thunder. "But I'm afraid to tell you, ma'am, that carrot looks happier in his mouth than it ever did on that ribbon of yours."

You huff, crossing your arms. The wind picks up, carrying the scent of hay and something else—something distinctly male and earthy, like leather and morning coffee. "That carrot was going to win me a blue ribbon. Now it's... horse food."

Seungcheol steps closer, the worn leather of his boots scuffing against the dusty ground of the fairgrounds. "Well now," he murmurs, and you notice the way his gaze flickers down to your lips before meeting your eyes again. "I do believe I owe you something for that. A replacement carrot, perhaps?"

You raise an eyebrow. "A replacement? Do you have any idea what went into growing that carrot? The specific soil composition? The precise watering schedule?" You're being dramatic, and you both know it, but that carrot was special.

He laughs, a real laugh this time, deep and rich. "No, ma'am, I can't say I do. But I know a thing or two about making things up to people." He's standing too close now, close enough that you can see the tiny crinkles at the corners of his eyes. "How about a ride? On him," he gestures to the horse, who has now finished your carrot and is looking mildly pleased with itself, "not on me. Unless you're interested."

The audacity. You should be offended. You are a little offended. But there's something about the way the late afternoon sun catches the light in his hair, the way his smile doesn't quite reach the warmth in his eyes. You're suddenly very aware of the dirt under your fingernails, the hay in your hair, the fact that you haven't looked in a mirror since this morning.

"I don't ride horses," you say, but it comes out weaker than you intended.

"Everybody rides something," he replies, and the double meaning hangs in the air between you, thick and sweet as molasses. "Even prize-winning carrot growers."

You swallow. The horse nudges your hand with its soft nose, and you find yourself stroking its velvety muzzle without thinking. "Are you looking for more carrots?" you ask it, then look back at Seungcheol. "He's awfully friendly for a thief."

"He's got good taste," Seungcheol says, his gaze unwavering. "In carrots. And in people." He holds out a hand, calloused and strong. "I'm Seungcheol. And this here is Thunder."

You look at his outstretched hand, then back at his face. He's devastatingly handsome, you give him that. The kind of handsome that gets people into trouble, the kind you read about in paperback novels with steamy covers. You're not supposed to be the kind of girl who falls for the cowboy with the stolen carrot and the lazy smile. But here you are, standing in the dust of the fairgrounds, your prize carrot gone, and a horse named Thunder is nuzzling your palm.

You take his hand. It's warm and calloused, and it envelopes yours completely. "Nice to meet you, Thunder," you say, then look at Seungcheol, a small smile playing on your lips. "You too, I guess."

His grin widens, slow and satisfied. "So," he says, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. "That ride?"

"Maybe another time," you reply, pulling your hand back gently. "But you do owe me a carrot."

He laughs again, the sound echoing across the fairgrounds as the sun begins to dip below the horizon. "You run the farm just outside of town?" he asks. "The one with the ridiculously perfect-looking vegetables?"

"That's the one," you say, a small wave of pride washing over you. "They're not ridiculously perfect. They're just grown with love. Let me guess, you're the horse ranch on the other side of the creek?"

"Guilty as charged," he admits, tipping his hat back. "Guess we're neighbors."

Neighbors. The word settles over you, heavy with possibility. You look at Seungcheol, at the way the fading light catches the curve of his jaw, the easy confidence in his posture. You think about the stolen carrot, the casual flirtation, the promise of a ride.

"Well then," you say, turning to leave, but not before giving Thunder one last pat on the neck. "Next time you want a carrot, Thunder, you ask." You give Seungcheol a pointed look. "And you bring one to trade."

You walk away, your boots crunching on the gravel path, feeling the weight of Seungcheol’s gaze on your back. You don't look back. You refuse to give him the satisfaction. You hold your head high, even though a small, traitorous part of you wants to turn around, to see if he’s still watching, to see if that lazy, confident smile is still on his face. You focus instead on the lights of the fairground in the distance, the cheerful music of the carousel, the distant shouts of children on the Ferris wheel. It's a world away from the quiet intensity of the moment you just shared, a world of sugar and noise and bright, fleeting colors.

When you moved to this small town, you were looking for peace, for a quiet life away from the chaos of the city. You wanted to sink your hands into the earth, to watch things grow, to live a life measured by seasons, not by seconds. You didn't expect to find a handsome, carrot-thieving cowboy with eyes like dark, starry nights and a smile that promised trouble.

As you reach your truck, you allow yourself one quick glance back. Seungcheol is still there, a lone figure in the fading light, his silhouette stark against the deepening purple of the sky. He's watching you, of course he is. He tilts his hat, a small, silent acknowledgment, and then he turns and leads Thunder away, their shapes blurring into the twilight.

You get into your truck, the engine rumbling to life beneath you. You drive out of the fairgrounds, the bright lights and cheerful sounds fading in your rearview mirror, replaced by the quiet darkness of the country road. You drive past rows of corn, the stalks whispering secrets in the wind, past fields of soybeans, their leaves dark and glossy in the moonlight.

When you reach your farm, you cut the engine, the sudden silence a welcome weight. You sit in the darkness for a moment, the only light the pale glow of the moon on your dashboard. You think about Seungcheol, about the feel of his hand on yours, the sound of his laugh, and the stolen carrot. A small smile touches your lips. Maybe a quiet life doesn't have to be a lonely one. Maybe there's room for a little trouble, a little thunder, and a little stolen sweetness.

You get out of the truck, the cool night air a gentle caress on your skin, and walk toward your house, noticing the kitchen light is on. Strange. You're certain you turned it off. Pushing open your door, you're greeted with the tall figure of a man leaning against your counter, a half-eaten apple in his hand. He looks up as you enter, a smirk playing on his lips. It's a face you know all too well, one that's been haunting you dreams every since you moved into town.

"Win anything?" he asks, taking a bite of the apple, the crunch unnaturally loud in the quiet of your kitchen. Kim Mingyu, your neighbor whose fields overlaps with yours, runs the livestock ranch adjacent to your own. One wouldn't call him a cowboy but man does he love to play the part, with his boots and hat, and the kind of smirk that says he knows exactly what he's doing.

"I didn't win," you say, stepping inside and closing the door behind you. "My carrot was stolen by a horse." You watch him, curious. He seems completely at home in your kitchen, as if he belongs there. And you hate that you don't entirely mind.

"Stolen?" Mingyu's smirk widens. "Ah, lemme guess. Seungcheol and Thunder?"

You nod, surprised. "You know them?"

"Known him since I was a babe," Mingyu says, pushing off the counter and sauntering towards you. He stops just a little too close, the scent of apple and cologne filling the space between you. "Surprised that you never ran into him."

You take a step back, your back hitting the door. "What are you doing here, Mingyu?" Your heart is beating a little too fast, a little too loud. You tell yourself it's the surprise, the intrusion. But a small, traitorous part of you knows it's something else.

"Just checking in," he says, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Heard you were entering that carrot. Wanted to see if you won."

"And you thought you'd just... let yourself in?"

"The door was unlocked," he says, his gaze unwavering. "You should be more careful. Never know who might wander in."

"Someone like you?"

"Someone like me," he confirms. He reaches out, his fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from your cheek. The touch is fleeting, but it sends a jolt through you. "You hungry? I got some of your tomatoes from your garden. Hope you don't mind."

You laugh, a small, breathy sound. "You steal my tomatoes, and Seungcheol's horse steals my carrot. Am I running a charity for handsome cowboys and ranchers?"

Mingyu's smile falters for a second, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. "Handsome, huh?" he recovers, his smirk back in place. "So you think Seungcheol's handsome?"

"You jealous, Mingyu?" you tease, enjoying the way the tables have turned.

"Of a guy with a horse named Thunder? Nah," he says, but the slight tightness around his jaw betrays him. He takes another bite of the apple, the crunch a sharp punctuation to his words. "I got Moodini, Moolissa, Eggatha, Goatzart and Woolliam, sweet cheeks. My animals have character."

You can't help but laugh, a real laugh this time, full and bright. It echoes in the quiet of your kitchen, a sound that feels both strange and right. "Moolissa?"

He shrugs, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. "What can I say? I'm a man of simple tastes." He finishes the apple and tosses the core into the sink, the movement fluid and practiced. "So, about dinner..."

"How about next week?" you suggest, pushing off the door and moving past him, your shoulder brushing against his. You can feel the warmth radiating from him, and you force yourself not to linger. "I'm too upset that my carrot has been horse-napped."

Mingyu laughs, a rich, warm sound that fills the kitchen. "Fair enough," he says, watching you as you open the fridge and pull out a bottle of water. "But you owe me. For the tomatoes."

"I owe you nothing," you retort, but you're smiling as you say it. "They're my tomatoes."

"Grown on my land," he reminds you. "Which reminds me, we need to talk about that property line."

"Later," you say, taking a long drink of water. "Right now, I need to wash the fairgrounds off me. And you need to get out of my house."

"I'm going, I'm going," he says, holding up his hands in mock surrender. He walks to the door, then pauses, his hand on the doorknob. "Hey," he says, his voice softer now. "Lock the door this time. Okay?"

You nod, a strange warmth spreading through your chest. "I will."

He gives you one last, lingering look, then slips out into the night, pulling the door closed behind him. You listen to the sound of his boots on your porch, then the low rumble of his truck starting up and driving away.

You stand in the quiet of your kitchen, the bottle of water cold in your hand. You think about Mingyu, about the easy familiarity between you, the constant push and pull. You think about Seungcheol, about the stolen carrot and the promise of a ride, about the way the evening light had caught in his dark eyes.

You walk to your door, the click of the lock loud in the silence. You're a woman who values her independence, who thrives on the quiet solitude of her farm. But as you stand in the moonlight filtering through your kitchen window, you can't help but feel a thrill of something new, something dangerous and exciting. You have a feeling life in this small town is about to get a whole lot more complicated and you're not sure you mind.

A few weeks later and the day arrived with a crisp breeze and a golden sun that painted the valley in shades of amber. Determined to focus on work rather than the distracting thoughts of two remarkably handsome neighbors, you spent the early hours in the greenhouse. Sinking your hands into the cool, damp earth was supposed to be grounding, but every time you reach for a tomato cage, you think of Mingyu’s smirk. Every time you check the root vegetables, Seungcheol’s low, rumbling laugh echoes in your head.

A sudden, sharp whistle shatters the morning quiet.

You wipe your brow with the back of your gloved hand and step out of the greenhouse. Trotting down the gravel driveway is Thunder, looking just as pleased with himself as he had weeks before. Astride the massive horse sits Choi Seungcheol, his Stetson tilted low to shield his eyes from the morning glare.

He pulls back on the reins, bringing Thunder to a gentle halt right at the edge of your garden plot.

"Morning, neighbor," Seungcheol calls out, leaning forward over the saddle horn with that same slow, devastating smile. "I told you Thunder was a thief, but turns out he’s also an addict. He practically dragged me down the creek trail to get back here."

You cross your arms, trying and failing to suppress a smile. "I told you two to bring a trade next time."

"And I’m a man of my word," Seungcheol says. He reaches behind his saddle and produces a brown paper bag, hopping down from Thunder with an effortless, fluid grace. He walks over to the wooden fence separating your driveway from the crops, holding the bag out to you. "One replacement carrot. Grown by my aunt three towns over. It didn't win a blue ribbon, but it's got personality."

You walk over and peek into the bag. Inside is a comical, wildly misshapen carrot that looks like it had grown legs and tried to walk away. You let out a breathy laugh. "It's hideous. I love it."

"Good," Seungcheol murmurs, his dark eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes the morning air feel suddenly warm. "Because it gave me an excuse to see you again."

Before you can think of a witty retort, the distinct, aggressive rumble of a heavy-duty truck engine echoes down the road. A familiar black pickup tears around the bend, kicking up a small cloud of dust before slamming to a halt right behind Seungcheol’s horse.

The door flings open, and Kim Mingyu steps out, wearing a plaid flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He takes off his sunglasses, his eyes scanning the scene, first taking in Thunder, then Seungcheol, and finally settling on you.

"Well, look what the wind blew in," Mingyu said, slamming his truck door shut and sauntering over with a swagger that's entirely uncalled for. "Seungcheol. Didn't know you frequented this side of the creek."

Seungcheol deosn't flinch. He slowly turns around, tipping his hat back just enough to look Mingyu in the eye. "Mingyu. I could say the same to you. Don't you have some award-winning cows to brush?"

"Already brushed," Mingyu shoots back, stopping right next to Seungcheol, effectively using his height to try and look imposing. He turns to you, his smirk firmly in place. "I told you we needed to talk about that property line, sweet cheeks. Didn't realize you were hosting a committee."

You look at the two of them—one a rugged, smooth-talking cowboy holding a deformed carrot, the other a teasing, territorial rancher who has a habit of breaking into your kitchen. The air between them practically crackles with competitive energy, thick and heavy.

You clutch the paper bag to your chest, taking a small step back to enjoy the view. "Well, boys," you say, a mischievous spark lighting up your eyes. "Since you're both here... who wants to help me weed the cabbage patch?"

Mingyu and Seungcheol exchanges a brief, competitive look before both turning their attention back to you.

"Weeding?" Mingyu scoffs, though the corners of his mouth twitches upward as he steps closer to the fence. "Sweet cheeks, I’ve got hands built for heavy lifting, but for you? I suppose I can handle a few weeds. Just don’t cry when I clear my rows faster than the cowboy here."

Seungcheol lets out a low, amused rumble, casually resting his arm on the wooden fence post. "A lot of talk from a guy who spends most of his day chasing Moodini and Moolissa. Gardening takes patience, Mingyu. Something tells me you’re a bit too loud for the quiet life." He looks back at you, his dark eyes twinkling under the brim of his hat. "Lead the way. Thunder can tie up by the oak tree, and I'll show you how a real neighbor helps out."

You can't help but laugh as you turn on your heel, leading the two towering men toward the backyard plots. The contrast between them is almost ridiculous. Seungcheol with his slow, deliberate movements and easy, old-school charm; Mingyu with his restless, playful energy and a smirk that screams trouble.

When you reach the patch, you grab two extra pairs of canvas work gloves from the shed and toss them over. Mingyu catches his effortlessly, while Seungcheol simply slips his own leather riding gloves back on, giving you a knowing wink.

"Alright, rules of the patch," you announce, pointing to the sprawling green leaves. "The cabbages stay. The crabgrass goes. And if either of you steps on my irrigation lines, you're banned from the property."

"Understood, boss," Mingyu says, already dropping down to his knees in the dirt. He rolls his flannel sleeves up a bit higher, exposing his forearms, and immediately went to work pulling weeds with an aggressive amount of enthusiasm.

Seungcheol kneels a few feet away, working with a much more meticulous, steady pace. "You know, you never did answer my question from yesterday," he murmurs, his voice cutting through the sound of rustling leaves. "About that ride."

"What ride?" Mingyu chimes in without even glancing up, yanking a stubborn root from the soil with a grunt. "I can offer you a ride. Four wheels. Air conditioning. No chance of being bitten by your neighbor's overgrown horse."

"I don't know," you muse, watching them both with a smirk of your own. "Thunder seems to have pretty good taste in carrots. Maybe I'll take him up on it." You kneel between them, pulling on your own work gloves. "But neither of you is getting a ride anywhere until this patch is done."

The afternoon sun beats down on the three of you, the air thick with the smell of damp earth and green, growing things. An easy rhythm settles over the cabbage patch, the quiet pull of roots from soil, the soft thud of discarded weeds landing in a growing pile. For a while, the only sounds are the buzz of bees in the nearby clover and the distant lowing of a cow.

Mingyu, true to his word, works fast. He's a whirlwind of motion, yanking weeds with a forceful efficiency that sends tiny clods of dirt flying. For a rancher who claims his hands are built for heavy lifting, he's surprisingly adept at the delicate work, though he grumbles every few minutes about how much easier it would be to "just spray the whole damn field."

Seungcheol, on the other hand, is a study in patience. He works with a quiet focus, his movements deliberate and precise. He'll pull a weed, tap the loose dirt from its roots against his palm, and place it in the pile with a sort of meditative care. Every now and then, you'd catch him watching you, a slow, warm smile spreading across his face when your eyes met.

You find yourself sneaking glances at both of them, a confusing and exhilarating mix of feelings swirling in your chest. There's the comfortable, easy familiarity you have with Mingyu, the playful teasing that has become a normal part of your interactions. And there 's the new, exciting spark with Seungcheol, the mystery and the charm of a man you barely know but are eager to understand better.

"You know," Seungcheol says, breaking the comfortable silence. He holds up a particularly stubborn weed, its roots trailing in the dirt like long, white fingers. "This reminds me of my ex-wife."

Mingyu snorts. "Let me guess. Hard to get rid of? Always popping up where you don't want her?"

"Something like that," Seungcheol says with a wry smile. "She couldn't tell a carrot from a turnip, but she could argue about property lines for hours."

Your head snaps up, your eyes widening slightly. "You were married?"

He nods, his gaze meeting yours. "For about five minutes. It felt like five years. She wanted a city boy, not a cowboy." He tosses the weed onto the pile, then leans back on his heels, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow with the back of his glove. "Turns out a man like me was only good for a little bit of country flavor, not the main course." He says it with a casual shrug, but there's a flicker of something in his eyes, a hint of old hurt, a ghost of a memory.

You want to ask more, to dig into the story behind the words, but Mingyu beats you to it. "Well, her loss," he says, not looking at Seungcheol, his focus still on the weed in his hand. "Some women don't know a good thing when they see it." He rips the weed from the ground with a little more force than necessary, then looks up at you, a challenge in his eyes. "Right, sweet cheeks?"

You choose your words carefully, aware of the subtle shift in the atmosphere, the sudden, sharp edges. "I think," you say, your gaze moving from Mingyu's determined face to Seungcheol's thoughtful one, "that some people are too busy looking for what they think they want to see what's right in front of them."

"And you?" Seungcheol asks, his voice low and gentle. "What are you looking for?"

The question hangs in the air, heavy and unspoken. You think about your life in the city, the constant noise and rush, the feeling of being lost in a crowd. You think about the quiet peace of your farm, the satisfaction of watching things grow, the sense of coming home to a place that's truly yours. You think about the two men kneeling in your cabbage patch, one a familiar, comforting presence, the other a new and exciting possibility.

You smile, a small, secret smile. "I think I'm right where I need to be."

You can't help but notice the way Mingyu looks at you, a softness in his eyes that you haven't seen before. He opens his mouth to say something, but he's interrupted by the sound of a car pulling into your driveway. You all turn to see a small, beat-up sedan come to a stop, and a woman with bright pink hair and a cheerful smile gets out.

"Hey there, neighbor!" she calls out, waving a hand in your direction. "I brought you some of my famous strawberry jam!" She holds up a jar of jam, the deep red of the strawberries glowing in the afternoon sun. "Hope you don't mind me just dropping by. I'm Soojin, by the way. I live just down the road."

You stand up, brushing the dirt from your knees, and walk over to the fence. "Hi, Soojin. It's nice to meet you. I'm..." You pause, realizing you're surrounded by two very different, very attractive men, and you have no idea how to introduce yourself.

She laughs, a bright, tinkling sound. "I know who you are. You're the new farmer who's been putting all the old-timers to shame. I've been dying to meet you." She glances from Seungcheol to Mingyu, a knowing look in her eyes. "And it looks like you've already got the towns finest working your land. Seungcheol, Mingyu, good to see you boys playing nice."

Seungcheol and Mingyu murmur a greeting, their easy rivalry forgotten in the face of this new, cheerful energy. Soojin hands you the jar of jam, her fingers brushing against yours. "It's made with love," she says, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "And a whole lot of sugar. Just like life."

You laugh, the sound genuine and warm. "Thank you, Soojin. I appreciate it."

"Anytime," she says, then leans in closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Listen, we're having a little bonfire tonight at my place. Nothing fancy, just a few drinks, some music, and a whole lot of gossip. You should come."

You look back at Seungcheol and Mingyu, who are both trying to look busy with the weeds but are clearly listening to every word. You think about the quiet solitude of your farm, the long evening ahead with nothing but the sound of crickets and the rustle of leaves. You think about Soojin's cheerful smile, the promise of laughter and community, the chance to see another side of this small town you've chosen to call home.

"I'd love to," you say, a genuine smile spreading across your face. "What time?"

Soojin claps her hands together in delight. "Perfect! Around sunset. Just follow the road down to the old oak tree. You can't miss it." She gives you a wink, then turns and gets back in her car, waving as she drives away. "And you two better be there too!" she calls out, her voice echoing in the sudden silence.

You turn back to the cabbage patch, the jar of jam clutched in your hand. The atmosphere has shifted, the easy camaraderie replaced by a new, unspoken tension. Seungcheol and Mingyu are both looking at you, their expressions unreadable.

"Well," you say, breaking the silence. "It looks like we're all going to a bonfire tonight."

Mingyu is the first to stand, brushing the dirt from his jeans with a practiced swipe. He saunters over to the fence, a smirk playing on his lips. "Guess so. Soojin throws a mean party. Just a heads up, sweet cheeks, her 'little bonfires' have a tendency to get... rowdy."

Seungcheol rises more slowly, his movements deliberate and unhurried. He joins Mingyu at the fence, his gaze fixed on you. "Mingyu's right. They're not for the faint of heart." He pauses, then adds, "I'll make sure Thunder is on his best behavior. And so will I."

You look from one to the other, a thrill of anticipation running through you. You came to this town looking for peace, for a quiet life. But you're beginning to realize that peace doesn't have to mean quiet, and that a little bit of rowdy might be exactly what you need.

"Well then," you say, a challenging glint in your eyes. "I guess I'll see you boys tonight." You turn and walk back to your shed, feeling the weight of their gazes on your back. You put the jar of jam on a shelf, then turn around, leaning against the doorframe. "And you can both see yourselves out. I've got work to do."

As the sun begins its slow descent, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple, you stand before your closet, a battlefield of possibility. You push past sensible flannel and worn denim, your fingers hovering over a simple black sundress, a bold choice that feels both elegant and out of place. You settle on a compromise: dark wash jeans, a soft, fitted tank top, and a light denim jacket you'd roll up to your elbows. Practical, but with an edge. A little bit of city, a little bit of country. Just like you.

The drive to Soojin's is a short one, the narrow road winding through fields bathed in the golden light of dusk. You can see the bonfire from a distance, a bright, flickering flame against the deepening blue of the sky. As you get closer, you can hear the faint thrum of music, the sound of laughter carried on the cool evening air.

You pull your truck onto a patch of grass near a cluster of other vehicles, the engine falling silent with a final, decisive cough. You sit for a moment, the only light the pale glow of the dashboard, the only sound the frantic beating of your own heart. You take a deep breath, the cool night air a welcome shock to your system, and then you get out of the truck, ready to face the fire.

"And here comes our new country girl! Looking like something out of a magazine!" Soojin's cheerful voice cuts through the night. She rushes over, grabbing your arm and pulling you towards the warmth of the fire. "I am so glad you made it. Come on, I'll introduce you around."

And with that, you're swept into a world of bright smiles and easy laughter. You meet Mrs. Ji, who runs the diner in town and makes a mean apple pie; you meet Wonwoo, the quiet, intense owner of the local garage who can fix anything with an engine; you meet Jeonghan and Joshua, the town vets, who regales you with stories of delivering calves in the middle of a blizzard. You're a curiosity, a newcomer who has chosen their quiet corner of the world, and they welcomed you with a warmth that's both overwhelming and deeply reassuring.

But even as you laugh and chat, a part of you is waiting, your eyes scanning the crowd, searching for two familiar faces.

"Looking for someone?" Soojin asks, a knowing smirk on her lips as she hands you a cold beer from a large metal tub filled with ice.

"Just taking it all in," you say, taking a sip and enjoying the crisp, cold taste.

"Uh-huh," Soojin says, her gaze drifting over your shoulder. "Well, you don't have to look any further."

You turn, and your breath catches in your throat.

They're on opposite sides of the fire, two distinct worlds of masculinity framed by the crackling flames.

Mingyu's leaning against an old pickup truck, his flannel shirt unbuttoned over a plain white tee, a beer held loosely in one hand. He's laughing at something someone said, his head's thrown back, the muscles in his throat working. He catches your eye, and a slow, confident smirk spreads across his face. Seungcheol, on the other hand, is sitting on a log, talking to an older man you recognized as the town's mayor. He's listening intently, his brow furrowed in concentration, a small, thoughtful smile on his lips.

"Nothing like a little competition to liven up a Saturday night," Soojin syas, nudging you with her elbow. "They're great guys, you know. Both of them. In their own ways."

"They're a handful," you reply, your gaze still fixed on them. "I'm not sure I'm cut out for all this."

"Nonsense," Soojin says, waving a dismissive hand. "You're exactly what this town needs. And what they need." You give her a curious look and she smiles. "Seungcheol hasn't been with anyone since he came back here," Soojin says, her voice dropping to a more confidential tone, her gaze following yours across the fire. "His ex really did a number on him. He puts on a good show, all charming and smooth, but there's a part of him that's still pretty bruised."

You watch as Seungcheol's companion slaps him on the back before walking away, leaving him alone for a moment. He takes a sip of his beer, his gaze distant, lost in thought. You can see the hint of melancholy Soojin's talking about, a shadow that passes over his features before he catches you looking and replaces it with a quick, practiced smile.

"And Mingyu," Soojin continues, turning her attention to the other side of the fire. "Well, Mingyu's never been serious about anyone. He likes to play, to flirt, to keep things light. He had a girl he liked back in high school, but she moved away. I think he's been waiting for someone to come along and knock him off his feet. Or maybe he's just scared of letting someone get that close again."

You look at Mingyu, who's now making his way toward you, a determined look in his eyes. He moves with an easy confidence, cutting through the crowd with a natural grace. He's a force of nature, bright and bold and unapologetically himself.

"Speak of the devil," Soojin murmurs, giving you a sly wink. "Good luck, sweet cheeks." She melts back into the crowd, leaving you to face Mingyu alone.

"Hey," he says, stopping in front of you, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through you. "I was wondering when you were gonna show up."

"I was here," you answer, trying to sound casual, unaffected. "You were just too busy to notice."

"Never too busy for you," he says, his gaze intense, unwavering. "You look... good. Really good." He takes a step closer, the space between you shrinking, the air growing thick with unspoken words. "So, what do you think of our little shindig? Not as fancy as the city parties you're used to, I bet."

"I like it," you say, and you mean it. "It's... real. People here aren't trying to be anything they're not." You look around at the laughing, talking faces, the simple, honest joy of the scene.

Mingyu's expression softens, a flicker of something genuine and vulnerable in his eyes. "Yeah," he says, his gaze following yours. "That's what I like about this place. You can't hide here." He looks back at you, his smile replaced by a more serious, thoughtful look. "So, you enjoying your new life out here? Or are you already planning your escape back to the big city?"

You take a sip of your beer, the cool liquid a welcome distraction. "I'm not planning on going anywhere," you say, your voice quiet but firm. "This is my home now."

Mingyu's smile returns, slow and warm. "Good," he says, his thumb brushing against your arm, a casual, possessive gesture that sends a jolt through you. "Because I was thinking... maybe we could get out of here for a bit. Go for a walk? See the stars from the top of Carat's Ridge? I hear the view is amazing."

You hesitate, a war of emotions waging within you. Part of you wants to say yes, to get lost in the night with this handsome, charming man who makes your heart race with a single look. But another part of you, a more cautious part, holds you back. You're still getting used to this new life, to the quiet rhythms of the country. You aren't ready to rush into anything, to get swept up in a whirlwind romance that might burn as brightly as the bonfire and then fizzle out just as quickly.

"I don't know, Mingyu," you begin, your words careful, measured. "I..."

"The bonfire will still be here when we get back," he coax, his voice a low, persuasive murmur. "But the stars... they won't wait forever." He holds out a hand, a silent invitation. "What do you say, Y/N? Take a chance on me?"

When your name escapes his lips, it sounds different. Not sweet cheeks. Not some teasing nickname. Just you. You look at his outstretched hand, the strong, capable fingers, the calloused palm. You think about Soojin's words, about a high school girl who moved away and left a mark. You think about your own life, about the risks you've taken, the chances you've passed up. You take a deep breath, the cool night air filling your lungs, and make a decision.

"Okay," you say, your voice barely a whisper. "Let's go."

Mingyu's grin's immediate, triumphant, a flash of pure, unadulterated joy in the flickering firelight. "Alright," he laughs, taking your hand, his grip firm and warm. "Let's go."

He leads you away from the fire, away from the noise and the light and the prying eyes of the town. You walk in silence, the crunch of your boots on the gravel path the only sound. The path grows steeper as you near Carat's Ridge, the air growing cooler, the sounds of the party fading behind you. You can feel the warmth of Mingyu's hand in yours, the steady strength of his grip a comforting, reassuring presence.

When you reach the top of the ridge, the view opens up before you and you see a vast, sweeping panorama of the valley below. The lights of the town twinkles in the distance, a smattering of stars against the dark earth. Above you, the sky's a deep, velvety black, dusted with a billion points of light, so close you felt you could almost reach out and touch them.

"Wow," you breathe, your voice full of wonder. "This is... amazing."

Mingyu's looking at you when you say this. "Told you," he says, his voice a low murmur, his gaze unwavering. "I come up here a lot. When I need to think. To get away from it all." He squeezes your hand, a gentle, reassuring pressure. "I've never brought anyone else up here, you know."

Your heart skips a beat. "No?"

"No," he confirms, his thumb stroking the back of your hand. "Just me. And my thoughts." He turns to face you, the starlight catching the sharp angles of his jaw, the serious expression in his eyes. "And now you."

The space between you shrinks, the air crackling with a tension that's both terrifying and exhilarating. You can see the faint reflection of the stars in his dark eyes, the flicker of something deep and honest and true. He raises his free hand, his fingers tracing the line of your jaw, his touch feather-light, sending a shiver down your spine.

"I've been wanting to do this since the first day I saw you," he whispers, his lips just inches from yours. "Trying to act cool, to play it off... but the truth is, I'm a little scared of you."

"Scared of me?" you ask, your breath catching in your throat.

"Yeah," he says, a small, wry smile touching his lips. "Scared of how much I like you. Scared of messing it up." He leans in closer, his gaze locked on yours. "I don't want to mess this up."

And then he kisses you.

It isn't a rushed, desperate kiss. It's slow, deliberate, full of a quiet, aching tenderness that takes you by surprise. His lips are soft, warm, tasting of beer and the cool night air. He kisses you with a gentle insistence, a patient exploration that leaves you breathless, wanting more. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, your fingers tangling in the soft hair at the nape of his neck. The world around you fades away, the stars, the valley, the distant town, until there's nothing but the two of you, the feel of his lips on yours, the steady beat of his heart against your chest.

When you finally pull apart, you're both breathless, your foreheads resting against each other. You look into his eyes, and what you see takes your breath away all over again. It isn't the playful, cocky smirk you're used to. It's a raw, unguarded vulnerability, a deep, aching need that mirrors your own.

"I think I'm in trouble," he murmurs, his voice a low, husky whisper.

"Me too," you giggle, your own voice barely a breath.

He kisses you again, harder this time, a desperate, hungry kiss that speaks of a longing you both share. You lost track of time, lost track of everything but the feel of him, the taste of him, the overwhelming, all-consuming rush of emotion that washes over you, carrying you away on a tide of pure, unadulterated feeling.

He pulled back from the kiss, but didn't let go of you. "We should probably get back," he says, though he makes no move to leave. He brushes a stray strand of hair from your face, his fingers lingering on your cheek. "They'll send a search party. Soojin will have a field day."

You laugh, a soft, breathy sound. "She would, wouldn't she?" You reluctantly take a step back, the cool night air a welcome shock to your heated skin. "Let's go. Before we give the whole town something to really talk about."

He takes your hand again, lacing his fingers through yours, and you make your way back down the path, the silence between you comfortable, companionable. The sounds of the party grows louder as you approach, the firelight a warm, welcoming glow in the darkness. As you near the edge of the circle of light, Mingyu pulls you to a stop.

"Hey," he says, turning to face you, his expression serious. "This... this wasn't just a walk, Y/N. Okay?"

"I know," you smile, your heart swelling with a warmth that has nothing to do with the fire.

"Good," he nods, a slow, confident smile spreading across his face. He leans in and gives you a quick, hard kiss, a promise of more to come. "Just so we're clear."

You walk back into the circle of light, your hands still clasped, a silent, undeniable statement to the world. Soojin rushes over, her eyes wide with delight.

"Well, well, well," she says, a triumphant smirk on her lips. "Look what the cat dragged in. Or should I say, what the ridge dragged in." She gives you a knowing wink, then turns her attention to Mingyu. "So, Mingyu. How were the stars?"

"Bright," he answers, his gaze fixed on you, a soft, possessive warmth in his eyes. "Really, really bright."

You're so caught up in the afterglow of the kiss, in the heady, intoxicating feeling of Mingyu's hand in yours, that you almost didn't notice Seungcheol. He's still sitting on the same log, nursing a beer, but he's alone now, a solitary figure in the flickering firelight. He looks up as you approach, and for a fleeting second, you see something raw and unguarded in his dark eyes, a flicker of disappointment or a shadow of regret, that's quickly replaced by a smooth, unreadable mask.

Seungcheol gives you a small, tight smile. "Enjoy your walk?" he asks, his voice carefully neutral.

You feel a sudden, inexplicable pang of guilt. "It was... nice," you answer, your gaze dropping to the ground. "The view from Carat's Ridge is beautiful."

He takes a slow sip of his beer, his eyes never leaving yours. "So I've heard," he says, his tone a little too casual. "There's a lot of beauty around here. If you know where to look for it."

Mingyu squeezes your hand, a subtle, territorial gesture. "Looks like Mrs Ji is calling me over," he says, though you see no one beckoning. "Save me a dance later?" He doesn't wait for an answer, just drops your hand and saunters off, leaving you standing alone in front of Seungcheol.

The silence stretches, thick and uncomfortable. You can feel the weight of Seungcheol's gaze, a quiet, probing intensity that made you want to squirm.

"He's a good guy, Mingyu," Seungcheol nods, breaking the silence. He looks over to where Mingyu's now laughing with Mrs. Ji, a picture of easy, confident charm. "Loud, but good. He'll take care of you."

You look at Seungcheol, really look at him. You see the tired lines around his eyes, the carefully constructed mask of the smooth, charming cowboy, and underneath it, a flicker of something else. Something lonely. Something real.

"He seems to think so," you say, your voice quiet. You sit down on the log next to him, a careful distance between you. "What about you, Seungcheol? Are you taking care of anyone?"

He lets out a short, humorless laugh. "Just Thunder and all the other horses I've got no business owning." He stares into the fire, the flames dancing in the deep, dark pools of his eyes. "Guess that's enough for a man like me."

"A man like you?" you probe gently, remembering what Soojin said about his ex-wife, about a country girl who wanted a city boy. "What kind of man is that?"

He turns to you then, a sad, knowing smile on his lips. "The kind who's good for a little bit of fun, a little bit of country flavor," he says, echoing the words he used in the cabbage patch. "But not the kind you bring home to meet your parents. Not the kind you build a life with." He takes another swig of his beer, then sets the bottle down on the ground beside him. "I learned that the hard way."

You think about the city, about the men you dated there—smooth, sophisticated men who talked about stocks and art galleries and vacations in places you could barely pronounce. They were impressive, but they were hollow. They didn't understand the satisfaction of a hard day's work, the quiet joy of watching something grow. They didn't understand you.

"I think you're selling yourself short," you say, your voice soft but firm. "And I think maybe your ex-wife didn't know what she was looking for."

A flicker of surprise crosses his face, followed by a slow, thoughtful look. "Maybe," he looks at you, his gaze searching yours. "Or maybe I'm just not what you're looking for either." He nods in Mingyu's direction. "He's more your type. All bright, shiny and new."

"I wouldn't call him new," you reply with a small smile. "He's been my neighbor for months." You pause, choosing your words with care. "And I'm not sure I have a type. I'm just trying to figure things out. Same as everyone else."

"Is that what you were doing up on Carat's Ridge? Figuring things out?" There's no bitterness in his tone, just a quiet, weary curiosity.

"Something like that," you admit. "It's a beautiful view. It puts things in perspective."

He's quiets for a moment, the crackle of the fire the only sound between you. "The best views always do," he says, his voice low. "There's another one, you know. Not many people know about it. An old logging road that goes up to a fire tower. You can see the whole valley from up there. See the moon rise over the mountains."

You look at him, at the earnest, hopeful expression on his face. You can feel the pull of him, the quiet promise of a different kind of beauty, a different kind of connection. You can feel the weight of the choice you made, the path you had started down with Mingyu, and the allure of the one you hadn't.

"Seungcheol," you begin, but he holds up a hand, a small, self-deprecating smile on his lips.

"It's okay," he smiles. "You don't have to say anything. Just... think about it. That's all I'm asking." He stands up, brushing the dirt from his jeans. "It was good talking to you, Y/N. I'll see you around."

You watch him walk away, his silhouette a lonely figure against the bright, flickering flames. You feel a strange, hollow ache in your chest, a sense of loss for something you never really had. You're a woman who values her independence, who thrives on the quiet solitude of her farm. But as you sit by the fire, the sounds of the party a distant, happy hum, you can't shake the feeling that you're standing at a crossroads, two very different paths stretching out before you, and you have no idea which one to take.

You're so lost in thought that you don't notice Soojin until she's standing right in front of you, holding out a fresh, cold beer.

"You look like you could use one of these," she says, her tone gentle, understanding. You take the beer, the cool glass a welcome relief in your palm. "So," she says, sitting down on the log next to you. "That was... something."

"I don't know what that was," you admit, taking a long swallow of the cold, crisp beer. "This town is a lot more complicated than it looks."

Soojin laughs, a bright, warm sound. "Honey, all small towns are complicated. Everyone knows everyone, and everyone thinks they know what's best for everyone else." She looks over at Seungcheol, who's now talking quietly by the edge of the trees with the town mayor, and then over to Mingyu, who's back to holding court by his truck. "Especially when it comes to two of our most eligible bachelors."

"Eligible bachelors," you snort. "They're more like a force of nature."

"They are," Soojin agrees, a fond smile on her lips. "But they're good men. They just... they have their own histories. Their own baggage." She turns to you, her expression more serious. "Listen, I know it's none of my business, but I like you, Y/N. I think you're good for this town. And I think you could be good for one of them. Or both of them, if you're feeling adventurous."

You nearly choke on your beer. "Both of them? Soojin, are you crazy?"

"Maybe a little," she says with a shrug. "But life is short, honey. You gotta do what makes you happy. You just gotta be careful not to break any hearts in the process. Especially your own." She nudges you with her elbow. "So, which one is it? The bright, shining star, or the quiet, steady moon?"

You look from Mingyu to Seungcheol, a confusing mix of feelings swirling in your chest. You think about Mingyu's confident smile, the desperate, hungry kiss on the ridge, the way he makes your heart race with a single look. And you think about Seungcheol's quiet intensity, the sad, knowing smile, the way he sees right through you, to the lonely, searching person you sometimes try to hide.

"I don't know," you mutter, your voice quiet, honest. "I really don't know."

"Well, you've got time," Soojin says, patting your knee. "They're not going anywhere." She stands up, stretching her arms over her head. "Now, come on. They're about to start the music. And I, for one, intend to dance. And you, my dear, are going to dance with me."

You let out a laugh, the tension of the past few minutes finally breaking. "Alright," you smile, letting her pull you to your feet. "But I'm warning you, I'm a terrible dancer."

"Doesn't matter," Soojin sings, dragging you toward the center of the clearing, where someone is plugging a guitar into a small amplifier. "Around here, it's not about how well you dance. It's about how much fun you have."

The music starts, a lively, upbeat country tune that has everyone clapping and stomping their feet. Soojin grabs your hands and starts spinning you around, her laughter mingling with yours. For a while, you forget about Mingyu and Seungcheol, forget about the complicated web of feelings you'd gotten yourself tangled in. You just dance, letting the music wash over you, letting the simple, unadulterated joy of the moment carry you away.

The next morning, you wake up to the bright, early sun streaming through your bedroom window. You sit up, your body aching in a way that has nothing to do with gardening and everything to do with dancing and staying up too late. You can still hear the faint echo of the music, the taste of beer on your tongue, the feel of Mingyu's lips on yours.

You drag yourself out of bed, pull on a pair of worn jeans and a t-shirt, and head to the kitchen for a much-needed cup of coffee. As the coffee maker gurgles and sputters, you look out the window, your breath catching in your throat. Seungcheol's standing by your chicken coop, a bag of feed in his hand, a sleepy-looking Thunder sniffing around his feet.

You open the back door, the cool morning air a welcome shock to your system. "Seungcheol?"

He turns, a hesitant smile on his lips. "Morning," he lifts a hand up. "Hope you don't mind me just... showing up. I was out for a ride and thought I'd check on you. Make sure your survived the party."

"No, of course not," you say, your mind racing. "Thank you. Come in. I'm making coffee."

"Alright," he nods, but he doesn't move. "I just... I wanted to say I'm sorry. For last night. I was out of line. It's none of my business."

You walk over to him, stopping a few feet away. "You didn't do anything wrong," you say, your voice quiet but firm. "You were honest. And I appreciate that."

He nods, a flicker of relief in his eyes. "Good," he mutters. "Because I'd hate for things to be weird between us. I like you, Y/N. And as... well, as someone I'd like to get to know better. But I'm not going to push. I know you've got... things to figure out." He gestures vaguely in the direction of Mingyu's ranch. "He's a good guy. If he's the one you want, I'll back off. No questions asked."

You look at him, at the earnest, hopeful expression on his face. You can feel the pull of him, the quiet promise of a different kind of beauty, a different kind of connection. You can feel the weight of the choice you had made, the path you had started down with Mingyu, and the allure of the one you haven't yet. You take a deep breath, the cool morning air filling your lungs.

"Seungcheol," you begin, grabbing his hand. He flinches slightly, surprised. "Come join me for coffee." You don't give him a chance to refuse, simply leading him inside your small home.

He settles himself at your small wooden table, his large frame seeming to fill the tiny space. His presence is a warm, solid weight in your kitchen, a stark contrast to the usual quiet solitude of your mornings. You pour two mugs of coffee, adding a splash of milk to your own, and slide one across the table to him.

"I appreciate this," he says, wrapping his hands around the warm mug. His knuckles are scarred, his hands strong and capable. You find yourself staring at them, remembering the feel of Mingyu's hand in yours, the thoughtless strength in his grip. You force yourself to meet Seungcheol's gaze.

"About last night," you start, but he holds up a hand, a gentle interruption.

"You don't owe me an explanation," his tone is quiet, steady. "I'm a big boy. I can handle it."

"Maybe I don't owe you one," you counter, your voice firmer than you expected. "But I want to give you one. This is all... new to me. This town. This life. This... feeling." You gesture vaguely between the two of you. "Mingyu is... a force of nature. He's bright and loud and he swept me off my feet. Literally. And it was... nice. More than nice." You pause, taking a sip of your coffee, the bitter warmth a welcome distraction. "But you're... different. You're quiet. You see things. You see me." You look him straight in the eye, laying your cards on the table. "And I don't know what to do with that. I don't know what to do with either of you. And frankly, it's terrifying."

A slow smile spreads across Seungcheol's face, a genuine, heartfelt smile that reaches his eyes, crinkling the corners. "Terrifying," he repeats, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest. "Yeah, I get that." He takes a sip of his coffee, his gaze thoughtful. "Listen, I'm not asking you to choose. Not today. Not right now. I just... I want you to know that I'm here. If you want to talk. If you want to go for a ride. If you just want someone to sit with you in the quiet." He leans forward, his elbows on the table, the space between you shrinking. "And if you decide that the bright, shiny star is what you want... then I'll be happy for you. From a distance."

Your heart hammers against your ribs, a frantic, wild rhythm. You don't know what overcame you but you're getting up from your chair and closing the distance between the two of you. Seungcheol doesn't move but you can feel the tension in his body as you gently press your lips against his. He's hesitant at first, a soft, questioning pressure against your lips. But then he responds, a low groan escaping from the back of his throat as he deepens the kiss. It's slow and deep and full of a quiet, aching tenderness that was completely different from Mingyu's. This kiss isn't about possession; it's about understanding.

You pull back, your breath catching in your throat, your fingers still resting on the worn denim of his shirt. You search his dark eyes, looking for an answer, a sign, anything to help you make sense of the maelstrom of emotions swirling inside you. What you see is raw, unguarded vulnerability, a mirror of your own confusion and longing. He raises a hand, his calloused thumb gently brushing the curve of your cheek.

"You don't make things easy, do you?" he murmurs, his voice husky.

"You're here," you whisper back, your own voice barely a breath. "I see that." You want to say more, to explain the conflicting desires that warred within you, but the words don't come. You just stand there, caught in the charged silence of your small kitchen, the scent of coffee and fresh-cut grass mingling in the air.

A sudden, sharp knock on the door shatters the fragile moment, making you both jump back as if you'd been burned. You exchanged a panicked look, your heart leaping into your throat.

"Just a minute!" you call out, your voice tight and strained. You run a nervous hand through your hair, trying to compose yourself, to erase the flush from your cheeks. You glance at Seungcheol, who was calmly taking a sip of his coffee, a look of wry amusement on his face, though you can see the tension in the set of his jaw.

You take a deep breath and open the door, your smile feeling stiff and unnatural.

Mingyu stands on your doorstep, a mischievous grin on his face and a greasy paper bag in one hand. He holds it up like a peace offering. "Brought donuts," he says, his eyes twinkling. "Figured you'd be moving a little slow this morning. I know I am." He starts to step inside, but then he stops, his gaze moving past you, landing on Seungcheol, who's still sitting at your table, holding a mug of your coffee.

The cheerful grin on Mingyu's face doesn't falter, but a distinct chill enters the room, a sudden drop in temperature that has nothing to do with the open door. His eyes, bright and playful a second ago, are now sharp, calculating. He takes in the scene—Seungcheol's casual pose, the second coffee mug, the slight disarray of your clothes—and you can practically see the pieces clicking into place.

"Seungcheol," Mingyu mods, his voice deceptively light. "Didn't expect to see you here. Thought you'd be out chasing... wild horses or something."

"Morning, Mingyu," Seungcheol replies, his tone equally casual. He takes another sip of his coffee, completely unruffled. "Just happened to be in the neighborhood. Thought I'd check on the new farmer. Make sure she wasn't overwhelmed by all the... local hospitality last night." He places a subtle, mocking emphasis on the last two words.

You feel like you're caught in the middle of a wildfire, the heat from both of them threatening to incinerate you where you stand. "Mingyu, it's... nice of you to bring donuts," you stammer, taking the bag from him. "Why don't you... come in?"

He steps inside, his movements deliberate, a predator entering a rival's territory. He doesn't look at you. His gaze is locked on Seungcheol, a silent, testosterone-fueled battle playing out in the space between them. He places the donut bag on the counter, then leans against it, crossing his arms over his chest, a clear, possessive stance.

"So," he starts, his gaze finally shifting to you. "Sleep well?"

The question's loaded, a double-edged sword of innuendo and accusation. You can feel the heat rising in your cheeks, a guilty flush that you couldn't control. "I... yes. Fine. Thank you."

"Good," Mingyu says, a slow, satisfied smile spreading across his face. "Glad to hear it." He looks at Seungcheol, who's now rising from his chair, a silent, graceful movement that seems to take up all the space in your small kitchen.

"Well," Seungcheol starts, placing his empty mug in the sink. The soft clink of ceramic against steel is loud in the tense silence. "I should get going. Got a lot to do today." He turns to you, his expression unreadable, but you think you see a flicker of something—regret, disappointment—in his dark eyes. "Thanks for the coffee, Y/N. It was... illuminating."

He walks to the door, his movements unhurried. As he passes Mingyu, he pauses for a brief, electric moment. "Mingyu," he says, with a slight nod.

"Seungcheol," Mingyu replies, his jaw tight.

And then he's gone, the door closing softly behind him, leaving you alone with Mingyu, a bag of donuts, and a whole lot of unspoken words. The silence stretches, thick and suffocating. You busy yourself with the donuts, pulling one from the bag and placing it on a plate, your hands trembling slightly. You could feel Mingyu's eyes on you, a heavy, questioning weight.

"So," he starts, finally breaking the silence. "Illuminating, huh?"

You look up, your gaze defiant. "We had coffee."

"Right," he says, pushing himself off the counter and closing the distance between you. He stops just inches away, a wall of masculine energy that's both intoxicating and terrifying. "Just coffee." He reaches out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his touch gentle. "You don't have to pretend with me, Y/N. I know what it looks like. I'm not stupid."

"I didn't say you were," you reply, your voice barely a whisper.

"I see the way he looks at you," he continues, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw. "And I see the way you look at him. It's the same way you looked at me last night on the ridge." He pauses, his gaze searching yours. "Is that what this is? A competition? A game to see who can win the girl from the city?"

"No," you shake your head, your voice shaking with a sudden surge of anger. "It's not a game, Mingyu. This is my life. These are my feelings. And they're complicated. You don't get to just march in here and... and claim me."

"I'm not trying to claim you," he says, his expression softening, a flicker of hurt in his eyes. "I'm trying to understand you. I'm trying to figure out if last night meant anything to you, or if it was just a... a whim."

"Of course it meant something," you retort, your anger deflating, replaced by a wave of exhaustion. "I wouldn't have kissed you if it didn't."

"So what changed between last night and this morning?" he asks, his voice quiet, pleading. "Was it me? Did I do something wrong?"

You shake your head, a fresh wave of guilt washing over you. "No. You were... perfect. Last night was perfect." You look into his hopeful eyes and knew you can't lie to him, not completely. "Look," you let out a small sigh, "I enjoyed last night. I really did and I'm not trying to lead you on or anything but I need you to understand this is... a lot for me. This town, this... you and Seungcheol. I'm just trying to figure it all out."

"You said yesterday that people are too busy looking for what they think they want to see when it's right in front of them. You said you were where you wanted to be," he counters.

"I am," you say, your gaze unwavering. "I want to be here, on this farm. That's the one thing I'm sure of."

"And what about the rest of it?" he asks, his voice quiet, vulnerable. "The part with people? With me?" He reaches out, his fingers gently tracing the line of your jaw, the same spot Seungcheol had touched moments before. "I can be patient, Y/N. I can wait. But I need to know... am I waiting for something that's never going to happen?" You're caught in his gaze, the raw, unguarded vulnerability a stark contrast to the confident swagger he usually wears. You see the boy from Soojin's story, the one who had his heart broken in high school and had been careful ever since.

You don't have an answer. You open your mouth to say something, anything, but the words won't come. You're standing in your own kitchen, the scent of coffee and donuts and two different men clinging to the air, and you never felt more lost in your life.

Mingyu see your hesitation, and a sad, knowing smile touches his lips. "Right," he says, taking a step back, creating a space between you that feels like a chasm. "I get it." He picks up the empty donut bag from the counter, crinkling the paper in his fist. "You should eat those. They're the best in town." He turns and walks to the door, his shoulders slumped in defeat. "I'll see you around, Y/N."

And then he's gone, the door clicking shut behind him, leaving you alone in the suffocating silence of your kitchen. You sink into a chair, the cold wood a shock against your skin. You look at the two coffee mugs on the table, the the donuts on the counter, and you feel a hot, stupid tear slide down your cheek. You came to this town for a quiet life, for a piece of land you can call your own. You never expected to find this. You never expected to find them. And as you sit there, in the wreckage of your own making, you have no idea how you're ever going to piece it all back together.

You spend the rest of the day in a furious, restless energy, trying to outrun the lingering ghosts in your kitchen. You attack your overgrown tomato patch with a vengeance, the sun beating down on your back, the dirt embedding itself under your fingernails. Each weed you pull is a tangled thought, each sun-warmed tomato a moment of simple, tangible reality you could cling to. You work until your muscles ached and your hands are raw, until the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting long, golden shadows across your fields.

You're wiping the sweat from your brow with the back of your glove when you hear the familiar, low rumble of an engine. You don't have to look up to know who it was. You've been hearing that sound in your dreams for weeks. You straighten up, your back protesting, and watch as Mingyu's truck pulls into your driveway, parking a respectful distance away. He gets out, moving slowly, and walks over to the fence. He's holding something in his hands and it's a small, potted plant with delicate, silvery-green leaves.

"I, uh..." he begins, his voice hesitant, a stark contrast to his usual confident boom. "I brought you this. It's a lavender plant. Mrs. Ji says it's good for... calming nerves. And keeping mosquitoes away." He offers a small, self-deprecating shrug. "Figured you could probably use both."

You walk over to the fence, leaning against the rough wood, your heart a strange, tangled knot of relief and apprehension. "Thank you, Mingyu. It's beautiful." You take the pot from him, your fingers brushing against his. The contact is brief, electric.

"Listen," he says, his gaze fixed on your hands, on the dirt caked under your nails. "About this morning. I was an ass." He finally looks up, and the raw honesty in his eyes take you by surprise. "I'm not... good at this. This whole... feelings thing. I see something I want, and I just... I go for it. I don't always think about who I might run over in the process."

"You're not the only one," you say quietly, your gaze dropping to the lavender plant. "This isn't easy for me either."

"I know," he says, his voice soft. "And I'm not asking for an answer. Not right now. I just... I need you to know that I'm not going anywhere. I like you, Y/N. A lot. More than I've liked anyone in a long, long time. And I'm willing to wait. But I can't compete with him. So if you're going to... to explore that... then you need to tell me. I'll back off. No hard feelings."

You look at him, at the hopeful, vulnerable man standing before you, so different from the cocky charmer you first met. You see the effort it's taking for him to say these words, to lay his pride on the line. You open your mouth to respond, but before you can, another sound joins the evening chorus—the soft, rhythmic thud of hooves.

You both turn to see Seungcheol riding Thunder along the road that borders your property. He dismounts, his movements fluid, leading the horse by the reins. He's holding something too, not a plant, but a coil of new-looking wire and a pair of heavy-duty fence stretchers.

Evening," Seungcheol says, his tone calm, neutral, as he approaches the fence a few yards away. He glances at Mingyu, then at you. "Saw that section of your fence down by the creek is looking a little loose. Thought I'd come by and help you tighten it up before your cows decide to go on an adventure."

Mingyu lets out a short, sharp breath, a sound somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. "Always the hero, aren't you, Cheol?"

Seungcheol ignores him, his attention fixed on you. "Unless, of course, you've already got it handled," he says, his eyes holding a silent challenge.

You look from Seungcheol's quiet, steady presence to Mingyu's hopeful, waiting expression, from the fence stretchers in Seungcheol's hand to the lavender plant in yours. You feel a surge of something, frustration, exasperation, maybe even a little bit of flattered hysteria. All of it is too much.

"You know what?" you say, your voice sharp, cutting through the tension. "No. I don't have it handled. The fence is loose. The tomatoes need pruning. The barn needs sweeping. And my nerves," you hold up the lavender plant, "are shot."

You look at them both, at the two men who had turned your quiet, solitary life into a confusing, emotional battlefield. "So here's what's going to happen. Mingyu, you can put that plant on my porch. Seungcheol, you can bring those tools. And you are both going to help me. Right now."

You don't wait for an answer, just turn on your heel and stride towards the barn, your anger propelling you forward. You're a woman who values her independence, who's used to solving her own problems. But this... this isn't a problem you could solve alone.

You can hear them exchanging a few low words behind you, a tense, masculine negotiation you can't quite make out. Then you hear the crunch of gravel and the thud of boots following you. You turn around, catching them both in the act of trying to look casual, as if they hadn't just been in a silent standoff over you.

"Look," you start, your hands on your hips, your gaze sweeping from one to the other. "I appreciate... I appreciate both of you. I do. But this is my farm, my life, and I am not a prize to be won. I am not a damsel in distress. And I am certainly not going to be the reason you two turn my farm into a shootout." You point a finger at Seungcheol. "You are going to show me how to fix that fence." Then you point at Mingyu. "And you are going to help me finish harvesting. And you are both going to be civil or you can both leave. Are we clear?"

A heavy silence hangs in the air. You can hear the distant call of a bird, the gentle rustle of leaves in the evening breeze. You stand your ground, your heart pounding in your chest, a wild, reckless courage taking hold. You had faced down blizzards and droughts, burst pipes and tractors that wouldn't start. You can handle this.

A slow smile spreads across Mingyu's face, a genuine, admiring smile that reaches his eyes. "Crystal," he says, his tone respectful, even a little awed.

Seungcheol gives a short, decisive nod. "We're clear," he says, a flicker of something, respect maybe even amusement, in his dark eyes. "Let's get to work."

And so they did.

The next hour is one of the strangest of your life. You follow Seungcheol down to the creek, the cool damp air a welcome relief from the day's heat. He's a patient teacher, explaining the tension and the knots, showing you how to use the stretcher with a calm, methodical efficiency that's both reassuring and incredibly attractive. His hands are sure and strong as he guides yours, and you try, and fail, to ignore the current that hums between you, the memory of his kiss lingering in the charged space.

Meanwhile, Mingyu, after placing the lavender carefully on your porch swing, has thrown himself into the harvest with a surprising gusto. He works with a tireless, infectious energy, moving from row to row, his laughter echoing across the field as he tells you stories about the town, about his family, about the misadventures of his youth. He brings up baskets of vegetables, his face smudged with dirt, a proud, triumphant grin on his lips.

The strangest part is that it works. They keep their distance from each other, their interactions reduced to a curt nod or a terse "pass the wire," but they're both there, both working, both helping you. And in the middle of it all is you, caught in the orbit of two very different suns.

As the sun finally disappears below the horizon, leaving behind a canvas of bruised purple and fiery orange, you stand back and survey your work. The fence is taut and secure, the harvest is in and your heart is a complete and utter mess.

"Thank you," you say, your voice quiet, sincere. You look at them both, your two unwilling allies, your two impossible choices. "I really mean it. I couldn't have done it all myself."

"We're your neighbors," Seungcheol says, wiping his hands on a rag, his gaze steady on you. "This is what neighbors do."

Mingyu snorts, leaning against a fence post, a basket of zucchini at his feet. "Neighbors don't usually bring you lavender and then get roped into fixing your fence," he says, a teasing light back in his eyes. "But I guess you're special."

"Look," you say, taking a deep breath, deciding that if you're going to be a mess, you might as well be a direct one. "I like you both a lot. And I'm so confused I can't see straight. Last night with you, Mingyu, was... incredible. And this morning with you, Seungcheol, was... important. And I don't know what to do with that. I don't know how to choose. So I'm not going to."

They both stare at you, their expressions unreadable in the fading light.

"I'm not going to choose," you repeat, your voice stronger now, a sense of calm settling over you, the calm that comes from making a decision, even if it's the most confusing decision in the world. "This is my farm, and my life, and I'm going to live it. If you want to be a part of it, you're both welcome to. But these games, this competition... it ends. We're just going to be... us. And see what happens."

Seungcheol just shakes his head, a small, wry smile playing on his lips. He looks at you, his dark eyes full of a quiet, thoughtful admiration. "You're something else, you know that?" he says. "Alright. No more competition. No more games." He glances at Mingyu, then back at you. "Just... us."

Mingyu pushes himself off the fence post, a slow, calculating grin spreading across his face. He lookes from you to Seungcheol and back again, and you can see the wheels turning in his head. "Alright," he says, his voice a low, rumbling purr. "No games. Just... us." He walks over to you, stopping just a breath away, and gently tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear. "I can live with that." He drops his hand and gives Seungcheol a challenging look. "But don't expect me to join you both if you're in a compromising position in the barn. Unless you want me to."

"Mingyu," you sigh, but you can't suppress the small smile that tugs at your lips.

"Hey," he says, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "You're the one that wants us both." He winks at you, and you find yourself caught between exasperation and a strange, thrilling warmth. You're playing with fire, and you know it. But as you stand there, with Seungcheol's quiet understanding and Mingyu's bold energy swirling around you, you can't bring yourself to care. You're tired of being careful. You're tired of being safe. And for the first time since you'd arrived in this small, complicated town, you feel truly, terrifyingly alive.

The aroma of freshly brewed hazelnut coffee fills Soojin’s cozy kitchen, a vibrant space that perfectly matches her bright pink hair. Sat at the colorful mosaic-tiled table, you wrap your hands around a warm ceramic mug, letting out a long, exhausted sigh that seems to vibrate from the very soles of your boots.

Soojin slides a plate of homemade coffee cake between you both, leaning over the counter with an expression of pure, unadulterated anticipation. "Alright, spill," she demands, taking a seat opposite you. "You’ve been hiding out on your farm for three days practicing a 'new rhythm' with the town's two most stubborn bachelors. I need details, Y/N. How is the ceasefire holding up?"

You take a slow sip of your coffee, letting the bitter warmth ground you before responding. "Honestly? It’s surreal. I thought they were going to tear each other apart, or worse, completely walk away from me." You laugh softly, shaking your head. "But they didn’t. We actually established rules."

Soojin gasps, resting her chin in her hands. "Rules? Please tell me there’s a chore wheel involved."

"Not a chore wheel, but definitely boundaries," you explain, a small smile breaking across your face. "Seungcheol has been coming over in the mornings to help with the heavy lifting and teaching me more about the irrigation lines. He’s quiet, steady, and incredibly respectful. He doesn't push. But then Mingyu shows up in the late afternoons, usually bringing some ridiculous leftover pastries or dinner, and he throws himself into harvesting like it’s an Olympic sport."

"And when they cross paths?" Soojin tilts her head, her sharp eyes studying your face.

"That's the craziest part. They actually behave," you admit, thinking back to the lingering tension that still crackles whenever they share the same dirt path. "There’s a lot of silent posturing. Mingyu flexes a bit more when lifting crates, and Seungcheol tilts his hat and gives these slow, knowing smirks that drive Mingyu crazy. But the petty arguments have stopped. They're both trying so hard to prove they can handle this 'no games' policy."

Soojin takes a bite of her cake, chewing thoughtfully before her cheerful demeanor softens into something more grounded. "I’m proud of you for standing your ground, Y/N. A lot of people would have panicked and forced themselves to make a choice they weren't ready for. But let me ask you... how are you holding up? Emotionally, I mean."

The question makes you pause. You stare down into the dark swirling depths of your coffee mug. "I feel like I'm living in a whirlwind," you confess softly. "When I'm with Mingyu, it's bright and passionate, and he makes me feel so alive and wanted. But when I'm with Seungcheol, there’s this profound comfort, like he looks right through all my walls and just gets me. I’m terrified that I’m going to end up hurting one of them, despite what they agreed to."

Soojin reaches across the table, gently squeezing your hand. "Hey. They are grown men, Y/N. They knew exactly what they were signing up for when they agreed to your terms. They both have baggage. Seungcheol with his fear of not being enough, and Mingyu with his fear of letting people get too close. By refusing to play their game, you're actually forcing them to grow up and be honest about what they want."

You let out a breathy laugh, feeling a massive weight lift from your chest. "So you don't think I'm completely insane for trying to date both of my neighbors at the same time?"

"Insane? Honey, you're living the small-town dream," Soojin winks, her usual mischievous spark returning to her eyes. "Just take it day by day. Enjoy the quiet mornings with your cowboy, enjoy the rowdy evenings with your rancher, and let the dust settle." She lifts her mug in a mock toast. "To a life measured by seasons, sweetness, and a little bit of thunder."

You clink your mug against hers, the clear ring of ceramic echoing in the warm kitchen. "To a little bit of thunder," you agree, finally feeling a genuine sense of peace about the beautiful, complicated mess your life had become.

The kitchen door swings open with a light bang, cutting off Soojin’s laughter. Wonwoo steps inside, his grease-stained mechanic’s jumpsuit tied around his waist and a wrench sticking out of his back pocket. He blinks at the two of you, then at the half-eaten coffee cake on the table.

"Do I need to leave or can a working man get a cup of hazelnut?" he asks, his voice a low, dry rasp.

"Pour it yourself, grease monkey, and don't get your fingerprints on my clean mugs," Soojin shoots back, though her tone is affectionate as she waves him toward the pot. She turns back to you, her eyes gleaming with renewed gossip-fueled energy. "We were just discussing Y/N’s ongoing agricultural experiments. Specifically, the two very large, very competitive weeds currently taking up residence in her backyard."

Wonwoo pours his coffee, taking a slow sip before pulling up a stray stool at the edge of the table. He looks at you through his glasses, his expression entirely unbothered. "You mean Seungcheol and Mingyu?"

You bury your face in your hands. "Does the entire town know?"

"Jeonghan and Joshua were betting on who would fix your fence first at the clinic yesterday," Wonwoo says plainly, referring to the town vets. "Jeonghan bet fifty bucks that Mingyu would accidentally break a post trying to show off, and Joshua bet that Seungcheol’s horse would eat the wire." He shrugs. "When I told them you made them work together, they both lost. You ruined the pool, Y/N."

You can't help but laugh, lifting your head from your hands. "I didn't mean to disrupt the local economy."

"Don't apologize," Soojin laughs, leaning forward. "You gave this town something to talk about besides the weather and the price of livestock feed. But seriously, Wonwoo, you talk to both of them. How are they actually doing? Is the truce real, or are they just playing nice until someone snaps?" The real question hangs in the air. Are they secretly miserable?

Wonwoo takes another long, slow sip of his coffee, a thoughtful silence stretching between them. His eyes, behind the lenses of his glasses, seems to see past the surface of things. "Mingyu complains," he says, finally. "A lot. But not about you. He complains about the feed prices, about the tractor needing new hydraulic lines, about Soojin stealing his good wrenches. When I asked him about the arrangement with you and Seungcheol, he just got quiet and said, 'She's worth the trouble.' Then he tried to sell me a piglet."

Soojin snorts. "Classic Mingyu."

"And Seungcheol?" you ask, your heart doing a funny little flip. You hold your breath, waiting for the verdict.

"Seungcheol doesn't complain," Wonwoo says, setting his mug down with a soft click. "He talks about you." He pauses, letting the weight of those three words settle in the room. "He was in the other day getting a new tire for Thunder's trailer. He just started talking about the way your eyes light up when you talk about your tomatoes, about how you're not afraid to get dirt under your nails. And when I ask about the arrangement with Mingyu, he gets this look. Not angry, just... focused. Like he's looking at a far horizon. He says, 'The best things in life are worth the patience.'"

A comfortable warmth blooms in your chest, chasing away the last of your anxieties. You haven't ruined them. You have, perhaps, force them to be better versions of themselves.

"They're both idiots," Soojin declares, but she's smiling. "But they're our idiots. And they're trying, Y/N. They're trying because of you." She pushes the rest of the coffee cake toward you. "Now, eat up. You're going to need your energy to deal with them today."

She's right. As it turns out, you need more energy than you can possibly get from coffee cake.

The afternoon sun is high and hot, beating down on your back as you wrestle with a particularly stubborn piece of irrigation tubing near the far pasture. The water pressure has been dropping for days, and you suspect a leak. Your fingers, slick with mud and sweat, slips on the connector, and you let out a frustrated sigh, smudging a streak of dirt across your forehead. It's moments like these, when faced with a simple, practical problem you can't solve, that you feel the sting of your own inexperience.

"Looks like you're fighting a losing battle there."

You look up to see Seungcheol leaning against the fence post, a bottle of water in his hand and a lazy smile on his lips. He shed his usual flannel for a simple gray t-shirt that hugs the muscles of his arms and shoulders, the fabric damp with sweat. His gaze is fixed on you, a warm, steady appraisal that makes your stomach do a slow, pleasant roll.

"I think the tubing is winning," you admit, pushing your hair back from your face.

"Let me take a look," he says, vaulting over the fence with an easy grace. He kneels beside you, his proximity a comforting, solid presence. He smells of sun, leather, and clean sweat. "Hmm," he murmur, examining the connector. "The threads are stripped. You need a new coupling."

He went to work, his movements efficient and sure. Within minutes, he replaced the faulty piece with a new one he'd brought in his saddlebags. He turns the water back on, and a steady, satisfying spray burst from the sprinkler head.

"See?" he says, wiping his hands on his jeans. "Nothing to it." He looks at you, and you're suddenly, acutely aware of the mud on your cheek, the state of your dirt-caked fingernails.

"Thank you," you say, your voice softer than you intended.

"You're welcome," he replies, his gaze lingering on your lips. He leans in slightly, and for a heart-stopping second, you think he's going to kiss you, right there in the mud and the sun. "You're dirty," he says, his voice a low murmur. Instead of pulling away, he reaches out, his thumb gently swiping a smear of mud from your cheek. The gesture is intimate, unexpected, and it sends a jolt straight through you. "You should wash up."

"I was just about to," you manage to say, your throat suddenly dry.

"I'll walk you back," he says, and you don't argue. The walk back to the house is quiet, a comfortable silence that spoke volumes. You can feel the unspoken question hanging in the air between you, the one neither of you have been willing to ask since that day in the barn. As you reach the porch, he stops, turning to face you. "Y/N," he begins, his voice hesitant.

You grab his shirt, the soft, worn fabric bunching in your fist. "You need to wash up too." You don't wait for an answer, just tug him toward the door, your heart pounding a frantic, reckless rhythm against your ribs. The screen door slams shut behind you, the sound echoing in the sudden, charged silence of your kitchen.

"You're right," he says, his voice a low, husky murmur. "I am a mess." He leans in, one hand braced on the counter, caging you in. "What are you going to do about it?" His dark eyes are searching yours, a silent, questioning plea. He's giving you the power, letting you make the first move.

You don't hesitate as you rise on your tiptoes, closing the small distance between the both of you, and press your lips to his. The kiss is different this time, slower, deeper, a question and an answer all at once. It isn't a kiss of desperation or confusion, but one of certainty, a quiet acknowledgment of the connection that has been building between you for weeks. His hands come up to frame your face, his thumbs stroking your cheeks, and you melt into him, the world narrowing to the feel of his lips on yours, the solid warmth of his body against yours.

You pull away, breathless, your forehead resting against his. "Seungcheol..."

He doesn't let you finish as he captures your lips again, this kiss deeper, more possessive. He lifts you onto the counter, the cool tile a shock against your skin, and steps between your legs. Your hands tangles in his hair, pulling him closer, and you can feel the hard, muscular lines of his body through the thin fabric of your clothes. The scent of him, sun and leather and clean sweat, fills your senses, intoxicating, overwhelming. You're lost in him, in the feel of him, in the quiet, certain knowledge that this is right.

"Let's go wash up," you whisper against his lips, your voice a ragged breath. "Or we can do that after." You look into his dark eyes, saw the raw, undisguised desire, the gentle, steady affection that's so uniquely Seungcheol.

He smiles, a slow, genuine smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes. "After," he agrees, his voice a low, decisive rumble. "Definitely after." He scoops you into his arms, as if you weigh nothing, and carries you toward the stairs. "Your bedroom. Now." It isn't a demand, but a shared, desperate need. And as he carries you up the stairs, your body presses against his, your lips finding his again and again, you feel a sense of rightness, of coming home, that you haven't felt in years.

You stumble into your bedroom, a tangle of limbs and clumsy laughter, the afternoon light filtering through the sheer curtains, casting a soft, golden glow over the room. He lays you gently on the bed, his body covering yours, a welcome weight that anchors you to the earth. He pauses, propping himself up on his elbows, his gaze searching yours.

"Are you sure?" he asks, his voice a raw, vulnerable whisper.

You reach up, tracing the line of his jaw, your fingers lingering on the stubble that roughens his skin. "I've never been more sure of anything," you say, and you meant it. All the confusion, all the uncertainty, has fallen away, leaving only this: this man, this moment, this perfect, undeniable connection.

He smiles, a slow, radiant smile that transforms his face, making him look years younger, carefree and unburdened. "Good," he says, and then he's kissing you again, a slow, deep, thorough kiss that promises everything, and you know, with a certainty that settles deep in your bones, that this is only the beginning.

His hands, rough and calloused from a lifetime of work, are surprisingly gentle as they trace the curve of your hip, the line of your thigh. You arch into him, a silent invitation, and he accepts, his lips leaving yours to trail a path of fire down your neck, your collarbone, the sensitive skin of your shoulder. He's a methodical lover, thorough and attentive, as if he has all the time in the world to memorize every inch of you.

You fumble with the hem of his shirt, your fingers clumsy with urgency, and he helps you, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside. Your breath catches in your throat at the sight of him, all muscle and sun-bronzed skin, a faint white scar bisecting one shoulder. You trace its path with your fingertips, and he shivers, a low groan escaping his lips. He captures your hand, bringing it to his lips, pressing a kiss to your palm, a gesture so tender it makes your heart ache.

"Y/N," he murmurs, your name a prayer on his lips. "You sure you want this messy, broken-down cowboy with more baggage than a freight train?"

You look up at him, at the raw, unguarded vulnerability in his dark eyes, and you see the boy who'd been left at the altar, the man who'd built walls around his heart to keep from being hurt again. You see the strength and the gentleness, the quiet steadiness and the passionate, protective fire. And you know that you don't want the perfect, polished man you think you're looking for. You wanted this, you wanted him, all of him.

"I want you, Seungcheol," you say, your voice clear and strong. "Messy, broken-down, baggage and all."

He lets out a long, shuddering breath, as if you just gave him a gift he never knew he wanted. He lowers his head, his forehead resting against yours, and you can feel the frantic, hopeful rhythm of his heart against your chest. "You have no idea what you do to me," he whispers.

"Show me," you whisper back, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling him down for another kiss.

Your lips slots with his, and all of his careful, methodical control seems to snap, his hands moving with a new, desperate urgency as he strips away the layers of fabric that separates you, leaving you bare to his gaze. He takes you in with an intensity that's both terrifying and exhilarating. "You're beautiful," he breathes, his hands reverently tracing the curves of your body, as if committing you to memory.

Then he's touching you, really touching you, and the world dissolves into a haze of pure sensation. His hands are everywhere, exploring, learning, claiming, and you respond in kind, your fingers mapping the contours of his chest, the hard planes of his stomach, the powerful muscles of his back. You push him unto his back, your lips trailing down his chest, your tongue tasting the salt of his skin, savoring the low, guttural sounds of pleasure that rumbles in his chest.

"Y/N," he gasps, his hands fisting in your hair as you continue your downward journey, your touch becoming bolder, more confident. "God, woman, you're going to be the death of me."

You look up at him, at the way his head is thrown back, his eyes close in ecstasy, a primal sense of power surging through you. This is Seungcheol, the quiet, stoic cowboy, completely undone by your touch and you're the one doing it to him. You're the one making him lose control. You're the one making him feel this good.

You continue your exploration, your lips and tongue tasting every inch of him, your hands stroking, caressing, learning what makes him gasp, what makes him groan, what makes him shudder with pleasure. And when you reach his cock, hard and heavy, pulsing with need, you don't hesitate, your lips closing around him, your tongue swirling around the head, taking him deep into your mouth.

"Fuck," he chokes out, his hips bucking up to meet your mouth, his hands fisting in the sheets. "Y/N... I..." His words dissolve into a series of incoherent moans as you continue to pleasure him, your movements becoming more confident, more assured, your tongue tracing the sensitive vein on the underside of his cock, your hands cupping his balls, gently massaging them. His length pops out of your mouth with a wet pop, your hands replacing your lips, stroking him with a firm, steady rhythm.

"Hmm? You what?" you ask, your voice a low, husky purr.

He lets out a long, shuddering breath, his chest heaving, his eyes dark with a raw, undisguised need. "If you keep going like that, I'm not going to last," he manages to say, his voice a ragged, strained whisper.

You give him a slow, wicked smile, your hand still stroking him, your thumb smearing the pre-cum over the head of his cock. "That's the idea, cowboy," you mutter, your voice a low, husky murmur. "I want you to cum for me."

"I don't to cum on your pretty face, baby," he says, his voice a low, rough rumble.

"Cum down my throat," you whisper, your lips brushing against his length. "I'll swallow it all for you." You take him deep again, and he lets out a strangled cry, his hands fisting in your hair, holding you in place as he thrusts into your mouth, his movements becoming more erratic, more desperate. You can feel him getting closer, his cock swelling in your mouth, the taste of him, the feel of him, the sounds of his pleasure overwhelming you, consuming you, until with a final, shuddering gasp, he comes, his hot, salty release flooding your mouth. You swallow it all, your lips still wrapped around him, your tongue still stroking him, milking him for every last drop, until he's completely spent, his body going limp beneath you.

You crawl back up his body, your lips finding his, a slow, deep, lingering kiss that tastes of him and of you and of the raw, untamed passion that just exploded between you. He wraps his arms around you, holding you close, his chest still heaving, his heart pounding a frantic, erratic rhythm against your own.

"You're going to be the death of me, woman," he whispers, his voice a low, hoarse rasp. You feel his cock harden again, pressing against your ass, and you let out a soft moan, your hips grinding against him.. "And now I need to be inside you. Need you to ride me." His hands find the curve of your hips, pulling you flush against him, his hardness a promise of what's to come.

You position yourself above him, your hand guiding him to your entrance, and you slowly, deliberately, sink down onto him, taking him deep inside you, a gasp escaping your lips at the sheer, overwhelming sensation of him filling you, stretching you, completing you. You stay there for a moment, your head thrown back, your eyes close, just feeling him, the solid, steady warmth of him, the perfect, undeniable rightness of him.

Then you begin to move, a slow, sensuous rhythm, your hips rising and falling, your body undulating, a dance as old as time itself. He watches you, his dark eyes burning with a fierce, primal intensity, his hands resting on your hips, guiding you, encouraging you, his thumbs stroking the sensitive skin of your stomach. You lean forward, your hands braced on his chest, your lips finding his, a deep, drugging kiss that matches the rhythm of your bodies.

The pace quickens, your movements becoming more erratic, more desperate, as the pleasure built, a slow, steady wave that threatens to pull you under. You can feel the tension coiling in your stomach, the heat building between your legs, a desperate, aching need for release.

"Tell me what you're feeling," you whisper, your lips tracing the line of his jaw. "Tell me how good I'm riding you."

"So good, baby," he groans, his hands tightening on your hips. "Taking my cock so well, so fucking deep. Like you're made for me." He captures your lips again, a fierce, possessive kiss that steals your breath. "Ride me harder, Y/N. Take what you need." You respond, your movements becoming more forceful, more demanding, your body taking over, a desperate, primal rhythm that's all your own.

"Seungcheol," you gasp, his name a prayer on your lips. "Need more. Need you to... please..."

He understands and in one fluid motion, he rolls you over, pinning you beneath him, his body a welcome weight that anchors you to the earth. He looks down at you, his dark eyes burning with a fierce, possessive fire. "I've got you," he says, his voice a low, decisive rumble. "I'll give you everything you need."

He begins to move, a slow, deep, thorough rhythm that hits you in all the right places, that sends shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your veins. He's a masterful lover, attun to your every response, your every gasp, your every shudder, adjusting his pace, his angle, to maximize your pleasure, to push you closer and closer to the edge.

"That's it, baby," he murmurs, his lips trailing a path of fire down your neck. "Let go for me. I want to feel you cum around my cock." His words, low and husky, are your undoing.

"Seungcheol!" you cry out, your body arching off the bed, your flying to clasp his shoulders, your nails digging into the sweat-slicked skin of his back. The world dissolves into a blinding, white-hot flash of pleasure, a wave of pure, unadulterated ecstasy that washes over you, through you, leaving you breathless, boneless, and utterly spent. He follows you over the edge a moment later, his own release a deep, shuddering groan that vibrates through your entire body.

He collapses on top of you, his body a welcome, heavy weight, his head buried in the crook of your neck, his breath warm and ragged against your skin. You lay there for a long moment, tangled in the sheets, your bodies still joined, the quiet, comfortable silence settling over you, broken only by the sound of your breathing, a shared, steady rhythm that's more intimate than any words.

He rolls off you, pulling you into his arms, your head resting on the solid, steady warmth of his chest. You can feel the slow, even beat of his heart beneath your ear, a comforting, reassuring rhythm that lulls you into a state of peaceful, sated contentment. You never felt so safe, so cherished, so completely and utterly right.

"You okay?" he asks, his fingers gently stroking your hair.

"Better than okay," you murmur, your lips brushing against his chest, tasting the salt of his sweat. "I'm... I'm good." You feel a lazy, satisfied smile spread across your face. "Really, really good."

He chuckles, a low, rumbling sound that vibrates through your entire body. "Me too," he says, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. "Me too."

The silence stretches, comfortable and easy. You listen to the sounds of the evening: the distant call of a bird, the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze, the soft, rhythmic hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. They're the sounds of your home, your life, and for the first time, it feels complete.

"Y/N?" he says, his voice quiet, hesitant.

"Hmm?" you murmur, snuggling closer.

"I know we didn't use protection," he says, his fingers still stroking your hair. "And I know... I know we didn't talk about this. But I want you to know that I'm clean. I haven't been with anyone in a long, long time." He pauses, and you can feel the tension in his body, the vulnerability in his confession. "And I'm sorry. I got carried away. I should have been more careful."

You lift your head, your gaze meeting his. You see the worry in his dark eyes, the fear that he has messed up, that he has overstepped. You reach up, gently tracing the line of his jaw, your fingers lingering on the stubble that roughens his skin.

"It's okay," you say, your voice soft, sincere. "I'm clean too. And I'm on the pill. I got carried away too." You give him a small, reassuring smile. "I'm not sorry."

A wave of relief washes over his face, the tension in his shoulders easing. He lets out a long, shuddering breath, and you know that this, too, is a barrier he'd been afraid to cross, another piece of his past he's afraid to repeat.

"Good," he says, a slow, genuine smile spreading across his face. "Because I'm not sorry either." He leans in, capturing your lips in a slow, deep, lingering kiss that's full of unspoken promises. "I just want to be honest with you, Y/N. About everything."

"I know," you say, your forehead resting against his. "And I want that too."

He smiles, a slow, gentle smile that makes your heart ache. "Good," he says, and then he's kissing you again, a slow, sweet, thoroughly intoxicating kiss that makes you forget all about the rules, the baggage, the complications. There's only this man, this moment, this perfect, undeniable connection.

"Let's get cleaned up," you say, your lips brushing against his. "And then I think I need to feed you. You used a lot of energy."

"Is that what the kids are calling it these days?" he teases, a playful glint in his eyes.

You swat him playfully on the chest. "Get up, cowboy. You've got chores to do."

He laughs, a low, rumbling sound that vibrates through your entire body. "Yes, ma'am," he says, rolling out of bed with a grace that belies his muscular frame. He holds out a hand to you, and you take it, letting him pull you to your feet. He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you close for a quick, hard kiss. "But after dinner, I'm coming back to bed. And this time, I'm not letting you out until morning."

You feel a thrill go through you, a promise of more nights like this, more mornings tangled in the sheets, more days spent exploring this new, uncharted territory. "I'll hold you to that," you say, a slow, wicked smile spreading across your face.

You're woken not by your alarm, but by the insistent, cheerful chirping of a sparrow outside your window. You blink your eyes open, the morning light a soft, hazy gold. For a moment, you're disoriented, the unfamiliar warmth beside you a pleasant surprise. Then you remember. You turn your head, your breath catching in your throat.

Seungcheol's asleep beside you, his face peaceful in the soft light, his dark hair falling over his forehead. He looks younger, less guarded, the lines of stress and responsibility smoothed away in sleep. You can't resist the urge to reach out, to gently brush a stray lock of hair from his forehead. His skin is warm, and you feel a surge of affection so powerful it almost takes your breath away.

His eyes flutter open, a slow, sleepy smile spreading across his face. "Morning," he murmurs, his voice husky with sleep.

"Morning," you whisper back, your heart doing a funny little flip. You feel a sudden, pang of anxiety, a flicker of what-happens-now, but he must have seen it in your eyes, because he reaches out, his hand gently cupping your cheek.

"No second thoughts," he says, his tone gentle but firm. "No regrets. Just us."

"No regrets," you agree, leaning into his touch. "Just us."

"Good," he says, leaning in to kiss you, a slow, lingering kiss that tastes of coffee and morning and a new beginning. "Now," he says, pulling away with a sigh. "As much as I'd love to stay in bed with you all day, I have a feeling your farm has other ideas." He sits up, stretching, the muscles of his back rippling in the morning light. "And I have to check on a few things at the ranch." He looks at you, a thoughtful expression on his face. "About Mingyu..."

Your stomach tightens. "What about him?"

"We agreed," Seungcheol says, his gaze steady and direct. "No games. No secrets. I'm not going to hide what's between us, Y/N. But I'm not going to rub it in his face, either." He pauses, choosing his words with care. "And if you wanted to sleep with him too, then I understand." He lets out a breath. "I guess what I'm saying is that I'm not going anywhere. That I'm willing to share you if that's what it takes to keep you." He stands up, stretching again. "But right now, I'm going to go make us some coffee while you take a shower. Sounds good?" He doesn't wait for an answer, just pulls on his jeans and walks out of the room, leaving you staring after him, a strange, dizzying sense of possibility swirling in your mind.

You take a long, hot shower, the steam fogging up the mirrors, the water washing away the last traces of yesterday. You feel clean, renewed, and utterly, terrifyingly free. When you come downstairs, Seungcheol's in your kitchen, two mugs of coffee on the table and a fresh pot brewing on the counter. He's wearing his shirt, but it's unbuttoned, revealing the smooth, muscular planes of his chest. He looks up as you enter, a slow smile spreading across his face.

"Took you long enough," he says, his teasing tone belying the warmth in his eye.

"Sorry," you say, taking a seat at the table. "I was trying to scrub off the evidence of my debauchery." You take a sip of your coffee, the rich, dark brew a welcome jolt to your system. "Thank you. For this. For everything."

"We're in this together," he says, his gaze steady. "Remember that." He finishes his coffee, then stands up, buttoning his shirt. "I should get going. I'll see you later?"

"Later," you promise, and you watch as he walks out the door, a confident, easy stride that speaks of a man who found what he's looking for.

The day is a blur of quiet, contented productivity. You move through your chores with a newfound energy, the sun on your back, the earth under your feet. You feel a sense of purpose, of belonging, that you hadn't felt in years. You were exactly where you were supposed to be.

You're in the garden, picking the last of the summer squash, when you hear the familiar rumble of Mingyu's truck. Your heart gives a little flutter, a nervous, excited thrum that you try to ignore. You hear the truck door slam, then the crunch of boots on gravel.

"Hey," he says, and you turn to see him leaning against the fence post, a lazy, confident grin on his face. "Thought you might be hungry." He holds up a brown paper bag, the tantalizing scent of fried chicken and warm biscuits wafting toward you. "Brought sustenance."

"You're a lifesaver," you laugh, setting down your basket. "I was just about to steal an egg from Eggatha. Again." You wipe your hands on your jeans and walk over to the fence, your heart pounding a frantic rhythm against your ribs. He looks so good, so solid and real, in his worn denim and dusty t-shirt, his hair a little messy from the wind.

"How was your day?" he asks, his gaze sweeping over you, a slow, appreciative appraisal that makes you blush.

"Productive," you answer. "How about yours?"

"Long," he replies, handing you the bag. "But better now." He looks at you, his expression softening, a flicker of something—vulnerability, maybe—in his eyes. "I, uh... I heard about Seungcheol."

You freeze, your hand tightening on the paper bag. "Heard what?" you ask, your voice barely a whisper.

"He was at the feed store this morning," Mingyu says, his tone casual, but you can see the tension in the set of his jaw. "Buying a new coupling for your irrigation. He told Wonwoo he was heading over to your place to fix it." He pauses, letting the silence stretch, thick with unspoken questions. "He looked... happy. Really happy. And I know that look, Y/N. I've seen it before."

You look down at the bag in your hands, at the grease stain beginning to seep through the paper. You feel a fresh wave of guilt, a hot, sickening churn in your stomach. You knew this conversation was coming, but you didn't expected it to be so direct, so soon.

"Mingyu..."

"It's okay," he says, cutting you off, his voice quiet, "You said no games. No secrets. So... tell me." He looks at you, his gaze direct and unwavering. "Is it serious?"

You take a deep breath, meeting his gaze. "It's new," you answer, choosing your words with care. "And it's... it's real. I care about him, Mingyu. A lot."

He nods, a slow, thoughtful nod, as if he's piecing together a complex puzzle. "And what about me?" he asks, his voice low, a raw, vulnerable thread running through the question. "Is there still room for me? Or am I just... the afternoon shift?"

The question hangs in the air, a desperate, heartbreaking plea. You see the boy from Soojin's story, the one who'd been hurt before and was terrified of it happening again. And you know, with a certainty that settles deep in your bones, that you can't let him walk away. Not like this.

You set the bag of chicken on the fence post, then reach out, your fingers gently tracing the line of his jaw. "You are not the afternoon shift," your voice is firm, leaving no room for doubt. "You are... the storm. And the sunrise. You're the one who makes me laugh so hard my sides hurt, the one who challenges me and pushes me and makes me feel so incredibly alive."

You look into his hopeful, waiting eyes, and you make a choice. A reckless, terrifying, wonderful choice. "What I have with Seungcheol is quiet and steady, like a deep, slow river. What I have with you is a wildfire, bright and passionate and unpredictable. And I'm not ready to choose between the river and the fire, Mingyu. I'm not sure I'll ever be."

He's silent for a long moment, searching your face, your eyes, as if trying to find the truth in the depths of your soul. You see a flicker of surprise, then a slow, dawning understanding, followed by a look of raw, undisguised awe.

"You're really serious about this," he says, a statement, not a question.

"Completely," you reply, your heart pounding a frantic, reckless rhythm against your ribs. "So the question is... are you?"

He lets out a long, slow breath, a sound that seems to carry all the weight of his past fears and insecurities. He looks at you, a slow, brilliant smile spreading across his face, a smile that reaches his eyes and lights up his entire being. "You know," he says, his voice a low, rumbling purr, "I always did like a good challenge."

Before you can respond, he closes the small distance between you, cupping your face in his hands and kissing you.

This kiss is nothing like Seungcheol's. It isn't slow or gentle or questioning. It's hungry and demanding and full of a passion so intense it makes your head spin. He tastes of mint and the outdoors, of raw, unbridled energy, and you kiss him back with a matching fervor, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. You're standing in the middle of your farm, the scent of fried chicken and summer squash in the air, kissing two different men in less than twenty-four hours, and you had never felt more free.

He pulls away, breathing heavily, his forehead resting against yours. "Wow," he murmurs, his voice husky with emotion. "Okay."

"Okay?" you ask, a small, breathless laugh escaping your lips.

"Okay," he repeats, a confident, mischievous grin spreading across his face. "This is happening. We're happening." He glances toward the house, then back at you, his eyes twinkling. "So... does this mean I get a proper tour of the house? The upstairs, specifically? I feel like I've been missing out."

You laugh, a real, genuine laugh that bubbles up from your chest, light and free. "Mingyu," you swat him playfully on the arm.

"What?" he asks, feigning innocence. "I'm just trying to be a supportive... co-boyfriend? Is that what we're calling this? What's the protocol for dating the same woman as your oldest, most annoying rival?" He's teasing, but there's a genuine curiosity in his eyes.

"I don't think there's a protocol," you admit, picking up the bag of chicken. "I think we're making it up as we go along."

"Well, in that case," he says, picking you up with a sudden, easy strength and slinging you over his shoulder. You let out a surprised squeal, your bag of chicken dangling precariously. "Let's go make some new rules. Rule number one: I get to carry you into the house."

"Mingyu, put me down!" you laugh, pounding lightly on his back.

"Nope," he says, striding toward the house with a confident, determined gait. "I'm establishing dominance."

"You are ridiculous," you gasp, as he carries you up the porch steps and through the front door.

"And you love it," he says, gently depositing you on your couch. He stood over you, a triumphant grin on his face, a king surveying his new territory. "Now," he said, leaning down, his hands braced on either side of your head. "Where were we?"

You pull on his shirt, bringing him down for another kiss, this one slower, deeper, a quiet exploration of the new, uncharted territory you had just claimed. You can feel the solid warmth of his body, the steady beat of his heart against yours. He's so different from Seungcheol, so bright and bold and overwhelming, and you want to lose yourself in him, to let the wildfire consume you.

"You're thinking about him," Mingyu murmurs against your lips, pulling away slightly. He isn't angry, just observant.

"I'm thinking about both of you," you admit, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. "Is that okay?"

He lets out a long, slow breath, a thoughtful silence stretching between you. "Yeah," he says, finally, a small, wry smile touching his lips. "It's weird. But it's okay." He looks at you, his gaze searching yours. "But if I'm going to be sharing, I need to know what the rules are. Am I allowed to stay the night? Or is that Seungcheol's territory?"

"The bed is not Seungcheol's territory," you roll your eyers, your tone firm, leaving no room for doubt. "It's my bed. And I decide who gets to be in it."

"Good answer," he laughs, leaning in to kiss you again, a slow, thorough kiss that leaves you breathless. "So... can I stay the night?"

You look at him, at the hopeful, vulnerable man hiding behind the confident facade, and you feel a surge of affection so powerful it almost takes your breath away. "Yes," you whisper. "You can stay the night."

He smiles, a slow, radiant smile that transforms his face. "Good," he says, and then he's kissing you again, a hungry, desperate kiss that leaves no room for further conversation. He scoops you into his arms, carrying you toward the stairs, his movements sure and strong. "Let's go break in some new territory," he murmurs against your ear, and you laugh, a wild, reckless sound that's swallowed by his kiss.

You let out a soft laugh against his lips, a giddy, almost hysterical bubble of joy. "This is the weirdest day of my life."

"The best kind of weird," he corrects, setting you down at the top of the stairs. He takes your hand, lacing his fingers through yours. "Show me your room."

You lead him down the hall, your heart pounding a frantic, nervous rhythm. You feel a strange sense of deja vu, a dizzying echo of the day before, but this is different. This is Mingyu, all bright, chaotic energy and unbridled passion. He stops in the doorway, his gaze sweeping over the room, over the unmade bed, the clothes on the floor, the lingering scent of Seungcheol's cologne.

"Smells like him in here," he says, his tone neutral.

"I can change the sheets," you offer, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

"No," he says, pulling you into the room and closing the door behind you. "Don't. I want to know what I'm up against." He turns to you, his eyes dark with a fierce, predatory gleam. "I want to know what he did to you in this bed."

You look at him, at the raw, undisguised desire in his eyes, and you feel a thrill go through you, a dangerous, exhilarating mix of fear and excitement. "Really Mingyu?" you ask, a smirk playing on your lips. "You're a big boy. You can't imagine it?"

"Oh, I can imagine it," he says, backing you up against the wall, his hands on either side of your head. "I can imagine him touching you, kissing you, being inside you." He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear. "But imagining isn't enough. I want to see it. I want to feel it. I want to taste it."

You feel a shiver go down your spine, a fresh wave of arousal pooling in your stomach. You reach up, wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him down for a kiss. "Then stop talking and start showing me," you whisper.

He growls, a low, animalistic sound that sent a jolt of pure desire straight through you. His hands are on your hips, lifting you, and you wrap your legs around his waist, your body pressed against his. He carries you to the bed, tossing you down onto the tangled sheets. He stands over you, his gaze a slow, possessive appraisal that makes you feel like the most beautiful woman in the world.

"You know," he says, a slow, wicked grin spreading across his face. "I've been dreaming about this ever since you stepped foot on the farm."

"Really?" you ask, propping yourself up on your elbows. "And what, exactly, were you dreaming about?"

"Oh, you know," he says, crawling onto the bed, caging you in with his body. "The usual stuff. Ripping that little sundress off you, bending you over this very bed, fucking you until you couldn't remember your own name."

You feel a blush creep up your neck, a hot, prickling heat that has nothing to do with embarrassment and everything to do with the images his words are painting in your mind. "Is that so?"

"Yep," he says, his lips finding the sensitive skin of your neck, his teeth nipping at your earlobe. "But now that I'm here... I think I'm going to take my time. I'm going to explore every inch of you, learn what makes you gasp, what makes you moan, what makes you scream my name." He looks at you, his eyes dark with a fierce, intense hunger. "I'm going to make you forget all about that cowboy, Y/N. I'm going to be the only thing you can feel."

His hands, warm and confident, begins to explore, tracing the curve of your waist, the swell of your hips, the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. He's a bold, assertive lover, his touch a brand that claims you, marks you as his. You arch into him, a silent invitation, and he accepts, his fingers finding the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head and tossing it aside.

"No bra?" he asks, a slow, appreciative smile spreading across his face. "Naughty girl."

"It's my farm," you retort, a playful glint in your eyes. "I can be naughty if I want to be."

"Oh, I know," he says, lowering his head, his lips closing around one of your nipples, a gasp escaping your lips at the sudden, intense pleasure. He's thorough and demanding, his tongue swirling, his teeth grazing, his hands kneading your other breast, sending shockwaves of desire coursing through your veins. "And I'm going to enjoy every minute of it."

He moves lower, his lips trailing a path of fire down your stomach, his tongue dipping into your navel, making you squirm with anticipation. His fingers hooks into the waistband of your shorts, and he looks up at you, a silent question in his eyes. You nod, and he pulls them down, along with your panties, leaving you bare and exposed to his gaze.

He takes his time, looking at you, his eyes dark with a raw, undisguised admiration. "Perfect," he breathes, and then he's lowering his head, his shoulders pushing your legs apart, his lips finding the most sensitive part of you.

You let out a sharp cry, your hands flying to his hair, your fingers tangling in the thick, soft strands. He's a master of this art, his tongue a skilled, knowing instrument that plays your body with an expertise that leaves you breathless, mindless, utterly consumed by pleasure. "Taste so good, baby," he murmurs, his lips still pressing against you. "Better than I imagined. So sweet and so wet for me."

He eats you out like a man starved. His tongue is a firm, insistent pressure, lapping and circling your clit, sending waves of pleasure through you. He slides one finger inside you, then another, crooking them to find that perfect spot deep within, a spot that makes you see stars. You buck your hips against his face, riding the wave of pleasure, your moans filling the room, a symphony of raw, unadulterated ecstasy.

"Mingyu... please," you gasp, your hands fisting his hair, pulling him closer. "I'm so close."

"Then cum for me," he commands, his voice a low, dominant growl. "Cum all over my face. I want to taste it all." He sucks your clit into his mouth, a hard, relentless pressure that sends you over the edge, your body convulsing, a silent scream tearing from your throat as the most intense orgasm of your life rips through you, leaving you a trembling, breathless, boneless mass on the bed.

He doesn't stop. He continues to lick and suck and explore, wringing every last drop of pleasure from your quivering body, until you're a begging, pleading mess, your body still trembling from the aftershocks. He finally pulls away, a triumphant, smug grin on his face, his lips glistening with your arousal. He crawles up your body, capturing your lips in a deep, demanding kiss, letting you taste yourself on him.

"Told you I'd make you scream," he murmurs, a smug satisfaction in his tone.

"Shut up and fuck me," you demand, your hands tearing at the buttons of his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against yours.

He chuckles, a low, rumbling sound that vibrates through your entire body. "As you wish." He strips off his clothes with an efficiency that was both impressive and incredibly sexy, revealing a body that's big and sculpted, a work of art carved from sweat and hard labor. He's hard, his cock long and thick, a bead of pre-cum glistening at the tip.

He settles between your legs, aligning himself with your entrance, and then he's pushing into you, a slow, deliberate, maddeningly thorough invasion that stretches you, fills you, completes you. You gasp, your nails digging into his back, the sheer, overwhelming size of him a painful, exquisite pleasure.

He pauses, giving you a moment to adjust, his forehead resting against yours. "You okay?" he asks, his voice a low, strained whisper.

"You're... huge," you manage to gasp, a breathless laugh escaping your lips.

"Is that a complaint?" he asks, a teasing glint in his eyes.

"No," you laugh, wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. "It's an observation. Now move."

He smiles, a slow, wicked smile that promises everything, and then he begins to move, a slow, deep, powerful rhythm that builds a fire in your blood. He's a dominant, demanding lover, taking what he wants, giving you what you need, a perfect, primal dance of give and take. He's talking to you the whole time, a stream of dirty, delicious praise that makes you blush and burn, that eggs you on, that pushes you to the brink of insanity.

"You're so tight, Y/N," he groans, his thrusts becoming harder, faster. "So fucking wet for me. You love this, don't you? You love my big cock stretching you, filling you up."

"Yes," you cry out, your hips meeting his, thrust for thrust. "God, yes."

He switches positions, lifting your body as he sits on the bed. "Ride me," he demands, his hands on your hips, guiding you up and down on his length. "Take what you need. Show me how bad you want it."

You're a woman possessed. You ride him with a wild, abandoned fervor, your body taking over, a desperate, primal rhythm that's all your own. You lean forward, your hands braced on his chest, your lips finding his, a deep, drugging kiss that tastes of sweat and sex and a shared, desperate hunger. The pace quickens, your movements becoming more erratic, more desperate, as the pleasure built, a slow, steady wave that threatens to pull you under. You can feel the tension coiling in your stomach, the heat building between your legs, a desperate, aching need for release.

"Good?" He asks, his forehead pressed against yours, one hand splayed across the small of your back, the other gripping your hip.

"So good," you whimper, your nails digging into his shoulders. "You feel so good, Mingyu."

"Better than him?" The question is a low, possessive growl, a challenge, a demand.

"Don't ask me that when your cock is this deep inside me, Kim Mingyu," you pant, rolling your hips.

"Fine," he growls, his lips finding your neck, "If I'm making you feel this good, I'll take that as a yes."

He flips you onto your back again without breaking stride, hooking your legs over his arms. The new angle allows him to go deeper, a devastating, perfect angle that hits you in a place that makes you see stars.

"Mingyu," you gasp, his name a prayer on your lips, a plea, a promise. "Need... please..."

"Come for me," he demands, his thrusts becoming erratic, desperate. "Come all over my cock. Let me feel you." His words, low and dominant, are your undoing.

"Mingyu!" you scream, your body arching off the bed, your fingers clutching at the sheets. The world dissolves into a blinding, white-hot flash of pleasure, a wave of pure, unadulterated ecstasy that washes over you, through you, leaving you breathless, boneless, and utterly spent. He follows you over the edge a moment later, his own release a deep, shuddering groan that vibrates through your entire body, a final, possessive claim.

He collapses on top of you, his body a welcome, heavy weight, his head buried in the crook of your neck. You lay there for a long moment, tangled in the sheets, your bodies still joined, the quiet, comfortable silence settling over you, broken only by the sound of your breathing.

"Wow," you finally manage to say, your voice a hoarse whisper. "Just... wow."

He chuckles, a low, rumbling sound that vibrates through your entire body. "Told you," he says, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. He rolls off you, but immediately pulls you into his arms, your back against his chest. He's warm and solid, a living furnace that chases away the last of your post-orgasmic tremors. You can feel the steady, even beat of his heart against your back, a comforting, reassuring rhythm that lulls you into a state of peaceful, sated contentment.

"So," he says, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your stomach. "I had a condom in my wallet."

You let out a laugh. "It's a little late for that information, isn't it?"

"I guess it is," he chuckles, a warm puff of air against your ear. "But I was trying to be a gentleman. A prepared gentleman."

"I'm on the pill," you murmur, your fingers lacing through his where they rested on your stomach. "And I'm clean."

"Me too," he says, his voice quiet. "It's been... a while. For me."

You turn in his arms, your gaze meeting his in the dim light filtering through the window. "Why?"

He's quiet for a long moment, and you can feel the old walls creeping up around him, the shadows returning to his eyes. "It's hard to let people in," he finally says, his voice low, raw with a vulnerability you hadn't heard before. "Especially when you know they're just going to leave."

You reach up, gently tracing the line of his jaw. "I'm not going anywhere," you whisper, and the words feel like a vow, a promise you intend to keep.

He looks at you, a slow, dawning hope in his eyes, a fragile, tentative thing that you're afraid to break. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," you confirm, leaning in to kiss him, a soft, gentle kiss that's full of unspoken promises. "Now, are you going to stay the night or not?"

A slow, brilliant smile spreads across his face. "Try and get rid of me," he says, pulling you closer. You snuggle into him, your head on his chest, the steady rhythm of his heart a lullaby. You're exhausted, sated, and utterly, terrifyingly happy. You drift off to sleep with the scent of Mingyu in your hair, a warm, heavy arm wrapped possessively around your waist.

The next morning, you're woken by the insistent, cheerful chirping of your chickens. You blink your eyes open, the morning light a soft, hazy gold. You're alone in bed, but the space beside you is still warm. You can hear the faint sounds of movement downstairs, the low murmur of voices, the clatter of a pan. You sit up, pulling the sheet around you, your heart pounding a frantic, nervous rhythm. You know who the other voice belonged to even before you heard it.

"So, you're still here," Seungcheol's voice, low and calm, carries up the stairs.

"Looks that way," Mingyu's voice, bright and unrestrained, replies. "Making coffee. You want some?"

There's a pause. "Sure."

You take a deep breath, your hands trembling slightly. This is it. The new reality. You climb out of bed, pulling on your robe, your bare feet silent on the cool wood floor. You pause at the top of the stairs, listening.

"Look," Mingyu says, and you can hear the forced casualness in his tone. "We need to talk about this. About her."

"We do," Seungcheol agrees. "But we do it on her terms. And when she's here."

You take another deep breath, squared your shoulders, and walk down the stairs.

They're in your kitchen, two of the most important men in your life, standing awkwardly on opposite sides of the room like prizefighters in a ring. Mingyu's by the coffee pot, a dishtowel slung over his shoulder, wearing nothing but a pair of low-slung jeans that reveals the V of his hips. Seungcheol's leaning against the counter, arms crossed over his chest, looking stoic and unreadable in his worn flannel and jeans. They both look up as you enter, their expressions a mix of relief, apprehension, and something else you can't quite name.

"Morning," you say, your voice a little too bright.

"Morning," they say in unison.

You walk over to the coffee pot, taking the mug Mingyu holds out for you. His fingers brushes against yours, a small, deliberate touch. You look over at Seungcheol, who's watching you with an intensity that makes your stomach flutter.

"I was just telling Mingyu," he says, his gaze steady and direct, "that the irrigation coupling is fixed. You should be good to go."

"Thank you," you say, your mind racing. "For both of you. For... everything." Silence. It stretches, thick and heavy with unspoken words. "Okay," you begin, setting your mug down with a decisive click. "This is weird. I know it's weird. But it doesn't have to be... bad-weird. It can be... good-weird." You take both of their hands in yours, looking from one to the other, your expression earnest. "I'm not going to choose. I can't. And I don't want to. So we need to figure out how to make this work. At least try to get along. For me?" You squeez their hands, your gaze pleading.

Mingyu looks at Seungcheol, a long, searching look. Then he looks at you, a slow, resigned sigh escaping his lips. "Anything for you," he says, and you knowshe means it.

Seungcheol gives a slow, deliberate nod. "If that's what you want," he says, his gaze never leaving yours. "Then we'll try."

You let out a breath you didn't realize you're holding. "Good," you nod. "That's a start." You let go of their hands and pick up your coffee mug. "Now, who's going to make me breakfast?"

You never know who you would wake up to. Some mornings it's Seungcheol, quiet and steady, bringing you coffee in bed and tracing patterns on your skin. Other mornings it's Mingyu, bright and boisterous, cooking you a ridiculously elaborate breakfast and serenading you with off-key songs on the radio. And sometimes, on the rarest of occasions, you wake up alone, the space beside you empty but still warm, a silent reminder of the complicated, wonderful life you had built for yourself.

Your "no games" policy has become the foundation of this strange, new existence. It manifested in small, practical ways. Mingyu leaves a spare toothbrush in your bathroom, right next to Seungcheol's. Seungcheol keeps a bottle of Mingyu's favorite hot sauce in your pantry for the late-night meals Mingyu would inevitably bring over. They never try to one-up each other with grand gestures. Instead, they fall into a rhythm, a quiet, unspoken truce that's far more intimate than any competition.

The town, however, is still trying to figure it out. You're at Mrs. Ji’s diner on a brisk Tuesday morning, waiting for a takeout order of blueberry pancakes, when the quiet hum of the bell above the door chimes.

Jeonghan and Joshua walks in, their vet scrubs slightly dusty, immediately spotting you at the counter.

"Well, if it isn't the woman rewriting the local zoning laws on romance," Jeonghan says, sliding into one of the booths with a cat-like grin. "I hear the creek property line has never been better maintained."

Joshua offers a softer, more apologetic smile, though his eyes twinkles with equal amusement. "Don't mind him, Y/N. We're just glad to see Seungcheol smiling more. And frankly, Mingyu has been so distracted trying to bake the perfect pastry for you that he hasn't complained about his livestock feed once."

You laugh, taking the heavy paper bag from Mrs. Ji, who gives you an encouraging wink from behind the register. "I'm glad my love life is improving the town's overall morale."

"We have a pool going," Jeonghan says, leaning in conspiratorially. "Not on who you'll choose, that's too volatile. Our money's on the next grand, romantic disaster. Wonwoo bet fifty bucks that one of them tries to surprise you by remodeling your chicken coop and it ends up with a chicken in your bedroom."

"It was one chicken!" a familiar, booming voice shouts from the doorway. You turn to see Mingyu, holding a wicker basket filled with fresh bread and cheese, looking entirely unashamed. "And Eggatha looked very cozy on my pillow. Didn't she, babe?" He walks over, presses a quick, warm kiss to your temple, and sets the basket on the counter. "Brought Mrs Ji some of that goat cheese she likes. See? I'm not all chaos and destruction." He wraps an arm around your waist, a clear, easy gesture of possession that makes both vets raise their eyebrows.

Just then, the bell chimes again. Seungcheol steps inside, a small, black toolbox in one hand and a bag of feed for Thunder in the other. He takes in the scene—you, Mingyu’s arm around you, the two vets watching with rapt attention—in a single, steady glance. He doesn't stiffen, he doesn't glare. He just walks over, places a soft, deliberate kiss on your other cheek, and sets the toolbox on the floor.

"I got the parts to fix the squeak in your barn door," he says, his voice low and calm. "Figured it was driving you crazy." He nods politely to Jeonghan and Joshua. "Morning, all."

Mrs Ji smiles before sliding a plate of bacon and eggs onto the counter for Seungcheol, and then another identical plate for Mingyu. "On the house," she says. "For keeping our girl on her toes."

"Mrs Ji!" You protest, your face flushing.

"What?" she says, shrugging as she wipes down the counter. "It's better entertainment than the soaps."

Mingyu just grins, grabbing a piece of bacon from Seungcheol's plate and popping it into his mouth. "See? Community approved."

Seungcheol rolls his eyes, a small, fond smile playing on his lips, and doesn't even protest the stolen bacon. He just picks up a fork and starts eating, standing beside you like it's the most natural thing in the world. And you realize, with a jolt of pure, unadulterated happiness, that it is. It's your new normal.

That afternoon, you find a rare moment of peace alone on your porch swing, a book forgotten in your lap as you watch the clouds drift by. The screen door creaks open, and Soojin steps out, two glasses of iced tea in hand.

"I come bearing sugary sustenance and an insatiable curiosity," she announces, handing you a glass and sinking into the chair beside you. "Okay, so I heard the diner scene played out like a charmingly bizarre sitcom. How are you really holding up? Not the brave face for the town, not the 'everything is fine' speech. How is Y/N's heart doing in all this?"

You take a long sip of the sweet, cold tea, letting the condensation drip onto your fingers. "My heart feels... stretched," you say, trying to find the right words. "In the best possible way. Like it's being expanded to make room for more than I ever thought it could hold. I don't feel like I'm choosing between them, Soojin. I feel like I'm choosing... me. The fullest, most authentic version of myself that I can be."

Soojin studies your face, a soft smile touching her lips. "And them? Are they really okay with this?"

"Remarkably," you say. "Last night, Seungcheol and I were on the porch, and he was talking about wanting to learn how to bake bread, just because Mingyu mentioned it once and he wanted to understand what he loved about it. Then this morning, Mingyu was up at dawn, not because he had to be, but because he wanted to help Seungcheol muck out a stall before he went to his own ranch. They're not just tolerating each other for my sake. They're... building something. A friendship, maybe. A very, very strange, competitive friendship."

Soojin lets out a low whistle. "Wow. Okay. I may have underestimated the situation. I thought you were just managing two egos. It sounds like you're fostering a commune."

You laugh, the sound light and free. "Something like that. It's a constant balancing act. A dance. Some days I feel like I'm flying, and other days I worry I'm going to fall and break everything."

"Well, if you fall," Soojin said, her tone turning serious, "you fall. We'll all be here to help you pick up the pieces. But from where I'm sitting, Y/N... you're not falling. You're learning how to fly."

Her words echo in your mind later that evening. You're in your kitchen, making a stew, when the back door opens. It's Seungcheol, his hair damp from a shower, a familiar, gentle smile on his face.

"Smells good," he says, coming up behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder. "Need any help?"

"Always," you reply, leaning back into him. "You can chop the carrots." You're a tangle of limbs and quiet laughter, moving around the small kitchen with an easy, practiced grace. You can feel the solid, steady beat of his heart against your back, a comforting, grounding rhythm that makes you feel safe, cherished.

The back door opens again. "I smell stew," Mingyu announces, stepping inside with a bottle of wine in one hand and a bag of salad in the other. He takes in the scene—you and Seungcheol in a close embrace—and a slow, easy grin spreads across his face. "Well, don't you two look cozy. Am I interrupting?" There was no hint of jealousy in his tone, only a warm, genuine amusement.

"Nope, just in time for onion chopping duty," you say, untangling yourself from Seungcheol. Mingyu sets the wine and salad on the counter, rolling up his sleeves with a flourish.

"Onions, huh? That's a test of a man's character," he declares, grabbing a knife and an onion with a dramatic flair. "Watch and learn. I don't tear up. I am a rock." He starts chopping, making a show of stoicism, while Seungcheol calmly and efficiently chops the carrots beside him, a small, fond smile on his lips. You watch them, two completely different men, moving through your small kitchen in a strange, harmonious dance, and you feel a surge of overwhelming, breathtaking love for both of them.

Dinner is a microcosm of your strange, new life. Mingyu, true to his word, didn't shed a single tear while chopping the onions, but he made a theatrical show of it, narrating his emotional fortitude like a sports commentator. Seungcheol, in contrast, had chopped his carrots in serene, methodical silence, occasionally offering a quiet, dry remark that would send Mingyu into a fresh peal of laughter. You were the anchor, the steady presence between them, passing spices and stirring the pot, your heart so full it felt like it might overflow your ribs.

"I'm just saying," Mingyu says, gesturing with his wine glass, a splash of red arcing perilously close to the white tablecloth you put out for the occasion. "If you're going to name a goat, it should be something like Goatzart or Van Goat."

"What is with you and pun intended names for your livestock?" Seungcheol asks, a genuine look of perplexity on his face.

"I think it's cute," you mutter in defense. "I mean where will you find another handsome gentleman like Woolliam?"

"See? Y/N gets it," Mingyu says, pointing a finger at Seungcheol. "She's cultured."

Seungcheol snorts. "There's a difference between cultured and having questionable taste."

"The question," you say, cutting them both off before the argument could escalate into a full-blown debate, "is not whether the names are good, but whether Mingyu can remember to feed the goats he so lovingly named."

Mingyu clutches a hand to his chest in mock offense. "I am an excellent goat-dad. Goatzart wants for nothing." He spears a piece of potato from the stew and pops it into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. "This, by the way, is phenomenal. A+ work, chef." He winks at you.

"It's a group effort," you say, but you feel a warm glow of pride.

"It always is," Seungcheol says quietly, and you know he isn't just talking about the stew. He meets your gaze across the table, and in that look, there's a universe of understanding—gratitude for this strange, hard-won peace, and a deep, abiding affection that's both quiet and impossibly strong.

"You guys are ridiculous," you say, your voice full of a fondness you no longer try to hide.

"You love it," Mingyu laughs.

"I do," you admit, and you watch as Seungcheol's lips curve into a soft, almost shy smile.

And you really did love it, love them. You're sure of it. It feels like a confession you've been waiting your whole life to make. You love Seungcheol's steady quietness, the way he makes you feel safe and seen. And you love Mingyu's brilliant, messy energy, the way he makes you feel alive and bold. And the most terrifying, wonderful part is that one love didn't cancel out the other. It just makes more room.

Mingyu stretches his arms overhead, yawning dramatically. "Alright, that's my cue. The early worm gets mocked by the rooster, or something." He comes over to you, wrapping you in a warm, tight hug that smells of hay and soap. He presses a soft, lingering kiss to your lips, a silent, easy promise. "Lock the door behind me," he whispers.

"Stay the night?" you ask, the question now as natural as breathing.

He pulls back, a considering look on his face. He glances over at Seungcheol, who's quietly putting away the last of the clean dishes. "Nah," he says, shaking his head with a small, genuine smile. "Tonight's a quiet night. A Seungcheol night."

"But what if i wanted quiet and loud? What if I want you both?" The question comes out of you before you can stop it, a raw, honest truth. You bite your lip, watching Mingyu's eyes widen slightly, then a slow, mischievous grin spread across his face. You look over at Seungcheol, who stop moving, his back still to you, a statue in the warm kitchen light.

"Is that so?" Mingyu murmurs, his voice a low, interested purr. He looks from you to Seungcheol and back again. "Well. That's a new rule."

Seungcheol turns around slowly, leaning back against the counter. He isn't smiling, he isn't frowning, he's just... watching. His gaze is intense, thoughtful, like he's assessing a sudden change in the weather. "A new rule," he repeats, his voice a low, calm rumble. He crosses his arms over his chest. "And what are the terms of this new rule?"

You feel a flush climb your neck, a mix of boldness and sudden, acute shyness. You're standing in your kitchen, propositioning two men at the same time. The sheer audacity of it, the rightness of it, steals your breath for a second. "The terms," you mutter, your voice a little shaky but clear, "are that neither of you has to leave."

The silence that follows is thick, charged. The only sound is the hum of the refrigerator and the frantic thumping of your own heart. You look at Mingyu, whose confident grin has soften into something more genuine, more searching. You look at Seungcheol, whose dark eyes hold an unreadable mix of surprise, desire, and a deep, careful consideration.

Mingyu breaks the silence, stepping forward and taking your hand. His is warm, calloused, a perfect fit. "Y/N," he starts softly, "are you sure? This is... this is a lot." He's looking at you, but you know he's also talking to Seungcheol, a silent, unspoken check-in.

You look at Seungcheol, giving him the space to speak, to set a boundary. His gaze holds yours for a long moment, a silent conversation passing between you. You see him weigh the implications, the potential for awkwardness, for jealousy, for everything to fall apart. But then, you see something else. You see a flicker of trust, a quiet decision.

"Okay," Seungcheol says, his voice barely above a whisper. The single word lands in the silent kitchen with the weight of a promise. He pushes off the counter and walks over, stopping beside Mingyu. He doesn'tt touch you, not yet. He just looks at you, a deep, searching look that seems to see right through to your soul. "We'll figure it out," he says, and you know he's talking about tonight, and tomorrow, and all the days after.

The relief that washes over you is so powerful it almost makes you weak in the knees. Mingyu squeezes your hand, a brilliant, blinding smile spreading across his face. "Well, alright then," he says, his cheerful energy returning full force. "Guess we're having a sleepover." He lets go of your hand and starts unbuttoning his shirt. "I call the left side of the bed."

Seungcheol rolls his eyes, a small, fond smile touching his lips. "Of course you do." He looks at you, a soft, tender light in his eyes. "Are you tired?" he asks, his tone gentle, a stark contrast to Mingyu's boisterous energy.

"No, I've got other ideas," you whisper, letting your fingers trail down Mingyu's chest as he shrugs off his shirt. His skin's warm, the muscles firm under your touch. You turn to Seungcheol, reaching out to trace the line of his collarbone over the fabric of his shirt. "Are you tired?"

He shakes his head, his gaze darkening with desire. "Not at all."

Mingyu laughs, a low, husky sound. "Well, then. Lead the way."

You take them both by the hand, one in each of yours, and lead them up the stairs. The walk is a strange, surreal procession. You're flanked by them, two different kinds of warmth, two different kinds of strength. You can feel Mingyu’s restless energy vibrating next to you, and Seungcheol's calm, steady presence on your other side. You're the conductor, the focal point, and the power of it is intoxicating.

In your bedroom, the atmosphere shifts. The playful energy from the kitchen melts away, replaced by a charged, electric intimacy. The moonlight filters through the window, casting a soft, silvery glow over the room. Mingyu goes to the window, pulling the curtains slightly, while Seungcheol turns on the small lamp on your nightstand, bathing the room in a warm, golden light. They're making themselves comfortable in your space, and the rightness of it is staggering.

You stand in the middle of the room, your heart pounding a frantic, nervous rhythm. You're suddenly shy, uncertain. You started this, but now that the moment is here, you feel a flicker of fear, a what-have-I-done moment of panic. As if sensing your hesitation, they both turn to you. They don't speak. They just look at you, their expressions a mix of desire, concern, and a deep, unwavering affection. They're waiting for you, letting you set the pace.

You take a deep breath, and you take control. You walk over to Seungcheol, wrapping your arms around his neck, and pull him down for a kiss. It's a slow, deep, deliberate kiss, a taste of the familiar and the cherished. His hands came to rest on your hips, pulling you closer, a quiet, possessive gesture that made you melt. Then you turn to Mingyu, who's watching you with a dark, hungry gaze. You wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him too. It's a different kind of kiss, a clash of tongues and teeth, a wild, passionate tangle that leaves you breathless and wanting more.

You step back, looking from one to the other. Seungcheol's eyes are dark with desire, a quiet fire burning in their depths. Mingyu's are bright, a brilliant, almost feral gleam in their depths. They're two different kinds of beautiful, two different kinds of dangerous, and you want them both.

You reach for the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head in one smooth motion, exposing your naked breasts to their hungry gazes. You hear their sharp, simultaneous intake of breath, and you feel a surge of power, a heady, intoxicating rush of feminine pride.

"God, you're beautiful," Mingyu breathes, his eyes darkening with a raw, undisguised hunger.

"So beautiful," Seungcheol echoes, his voice a low, strained whisper.

You reach for your jeans, unbuttoning them, letting them fall to the floor, leaving you in nothing but your panties. You stand before them, naked and unashamed, a goddess in her own temple.

Mingyu's the first to move, closing the distance between you in a single, powerful stride. He lifts you into his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist, and carries you to the bed, laying you down on the soft, cool sheets. He's over you in an instant, his body a heavy, welcome weight, his lips finding yours in a searing, possessive kiss.

Seungcheol isn't idle. He moves to the bed, sitting on the edge, his hand coming to rest on your thigh, a warm, steadying presence. He watches you and Mingyu, his gaze a slow, smoldering fire that's just as potent as Mingyu's hungry passion.

Mingyu's lips are a trail of fire down your neck, his hands a knowing, expert exploration of your body. He's a demanding, insistent lover, taking what he wants, giving you what you need, a perfect, primal dance of give and take. Seungcheol's touch is a slow, deliberate counterpoint. His fingers trace lazy patterns on your skin, a gentle, calming caress that soothes even as it arouses. He's watching you, his dark eyes filled with a deep, tender affection that makes your heart ache.

You're lost in a sea of sensation, a storm of pleasure. You have one hand in Mingyu's hair, the other gripping Seungcheol's, your body writhing under their combined assault. They're a perfect, devastating duo, a symphony of passion and tenderness, and you're the willing, eager instrument they play.

Mingyu's lips travel down your body, a hot, wet path that promises a world of pleasure. He moves to lie between your legs, his shoulders pushing your thighs apart, his lips finding the most sensitive part of you. You let out a sharp cry, your hands flying to his hair, your fingers tangling in the thick, soft strands. Seungcheol moves, leaning over you, capturing your lips in a deep, drugging kiss, a slow, sensual exploration that's a stark contrast to Mingyu's hungry, demanding assault. You're caught between them, a delicious, agonizing pleasure that's almost too much to bear.

Mingyu's a master, his tongue a knowing, expert instrument that drives you to the brink of insanity. He's talking to you the whole time, a stream of dirty, delicious praise that makes you blush and burn, that eggs you on, that pushes you to the brink of ecstasy.

"You taste so fucking good, Y/N," he growls, his tongue flicking against you, a rapid, relentless rhythm that's driving you wild. "So sweet, so wet for us. I could do this all night."

You break away from Seungcheol's kiss, your head falling back against the pillows, a long, low moan escaping your lips. "Mingyu," you gasp, your hips bucking against his face. "God, Mingyu."

"Let go for me, baby," he commands, his voice a low, dominant growl. "Come for me. Let us feel you."

His words are your undoing. The pleasure builds, a slow, steady wave that threatens to pull you under. You can feel the tension coiling in your stomach, the heat building between your legs, a desperate, aching need for release.

"Mingyu," you cry out, your body arching off the bed, your fingers clutching at his hair. "Seungcheol." His name's a prayer on your lips, a plea, a promise. The wave crests, a blinding, white-hot flash of pleasure that washes over you, through you, leaving you breathless, boneless, and utterly spent.

You lay there for a long moment, your chest heaving, your body trembling with the aftershocks of your orgasm. Mingyu moves up your body, capturing your lips in a deep, possessive kiss, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. Seungcheol's watching you, his gaze a slow, smoldering fire that's just as potent as Mingyu's hungry passion.

"Good?" Mingyu asks, a smug, satisfied grin on his face.

"So good," you manage to say, your voice a hoarse whisper.

"Good," he nips at your lower lip. "Because we're not done with you yet."

Seungcheol positions you above him, your hands braced on his chest, your thighs straddling his hips. He's thick and hard beneath you, a silent, patient promise of pleasure to come. You sink down onto him slowly, a long, slow, deep slide that makes you both groan. He's a perfect, aching fit, filling you up in a way that's both comforting and deeply, intensely erotic.

You start to move, a slow, deep, rocking rhythm that's all your own. You're in control, a powerful, dominant goddess, and they're your willing, eager subjects.

Mingyu comes up behind you, his chest against your back, his arms wrapping around your waist, his hands cupping your breasts. His lips are on your neck, a hot, wet trail that makes you shiver with desire. "You're so fucking beautiful," he breathes, his teeth scraping against your earlobe. "Riding him like that. So fucking perfect."

You lean back against him, your head on his shoulder, your body a conduit for their combined passion. Seungcheol's hands are on your hips, guiding you, a steady, grounding presence that anchors you in the storm of pleasure. Mingyu's hands are on your breasts, his fingers a knowing, expert exploration that makes you gasp and moan.

"More," you gasp, your hands gripping Seungcheol's shoulders, your nails digging into his skin. "Please, more."

"What do you want, baby?" Mingyu asks, his voice a low, dominant growl. "Tell us what you want."

"I want... everything," you cry out, your body a live wire of need. "I want both of you. Inside me."

The words hang in the air, a raw, honest confession. Mingyu lets out a low, guttural groan, a sound of pure, unadulterated desire. Seungcheol's eyes darkens, a slow, deliberate fire burning in their depths.

"Are you sure?" Seungcheol asks, his voice a low, strained whisper. He's still, a statue in the warm, golden light, a picture of control even as you can feel the desperate, aching need thrumming through his body.

"So sure," you whisper, your gaze holding his. "Please."

Mingyu doesn't need to be told twice. He moves away, reaching for the nightstand, rummaging through the drawer for the bottle of lube you keep there. He's back in an instant, his hands gentle, sure, a knowing, expert preparation that's both intimate and incredibly arousing.

Seungcheol stills beneath you, his hands on your hips, a steady, grounding presence. He's watching you, his dark eyes fills with a deep, unwavering affection that made your heart ache. "Tell us if it's too much," he says, his voice a low, calm rumble. "We'll stop. Just say the word."

"I will," you promise, your voice a little shaky but clear. "I want this. I want you. Both of you."

Mingyu's behind you again, his body a warm, solid presence. He's slow, deliberate, a careful, meticulous preparation that's both respectful and incredibly, intensely erotic. "Relax for me, baby," he whispers, his hands a soothing, calming caress. "Let me in."

You take a deep breath, forcing your muscles to unclench, to surrender to the overwhelming sensation. Mingyu starts to press into you, a slow, steady, insistent pressure that's both intimidating and incredibly, intensely arousing. You feel a sharp, stinging stretch, a delicious, aching burn that makes you gasp.

"Okay?" Seungcheol asks, his hands on your hips, a gentle, grounding touch.

"Okay," you breathe.

"Almost there, baby," Mingyu whispers, his lips on your neck, a hot, wet trail that makes you shiver. "Just a little more." He pushes forward, a final, deliberate movement that seats him fully inside you.

You let out a long, low moan, a sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure. You're full, so incredibly, deliciously full, stretched to your limits in the most exquisite way. You can feel them both, a perfect, aching fit, a deep, intimate connection that's almost too much to bear. The feeling's intense, a little painful, but mostly it's just an overwhelming, all-encompassing pleasure that steals your breath. You're sandwiched between them, a willing, eager participant in this strange, beautiful, and intensely erotic dance.

"God," Mingyu breathes, his forehead resting on your shoulder, his body trembling with the effort of holding still. "You feel... incredible."

"You're incredible," Seungcheol counters, his hands on your hips, a gentle, guiding touch. "Look at you. So brave. So beautiful."

You're lost in a sea of sensation, a storm of pleasure. You're impaled on them, a willing, eager sacrifice on the altar of their combined passion. You can feel their hearts beating, a steady, frantic rhythm that matches your own. You can feel their breath on your skin, a hot, wet caress that makes you shiver with desire.

"Move," you gasps, your hands gripping Seungcheol's shoulders, your nails digging into his skin. "Someone move."

They start a slow, deep, rocking rhythm, a perfect, synchronized dance that's both intimate and incredibly, intensely erotic. They're a perfect, devastating duo, a symphony of passion and tenderness, and you're the willing, eager instrument they play. One pushes in as the other pulls out, a slow, steady, deep slide that sends waves of pleasure washing over you, through you, leaving you breathless and wanting more.

You're a mess of writhing limbs and desperate, needy sounds. Your head's thrown back, your body arching, a silent, pleading supplication. You're lost in a haze of pleasure, a blinding, white-hot flash of sensation that consumes you, body and soul.

They'res talking to you, a stream of dirty, delicious praise that makes you blush and burn, that eggs you on, that pushes you to the brink of ecstasy.

"You're so tight, baby," Mingyu growls, his hands on your breasts, his fingers a knowing, expert exploration that makes you gasp and moan. "So fucking tight for us."

"So good," Seungcheol breathes, his hands on your hips, a gentle, guiding touch. "So fucking good. You're taking us so well." He's looking at you, his dark eyes filled with a deep, unwavering affection. "You're everything."

The pleasure builds, a slow, steady wave that threatens to pull you under. You can feel the tension coiling in your stomach, the heat building between your legs, a desperate, aching need for release. It's a slow, deliberate ascent, a careful, meticulous climb to the peak of pleasure, and you're clinging to them, your nails digging into their skin, your body a live wire of need.

"Mingyu," you cry out, your body arching, a long, low moan escaping your lips. "Seungcheol." Their names are a prayer on your lips, a plea, a promise.

The wave crests, a blinding, white-hot flash of pleasure that washes over you, through you, leaving you breathless, boneless, and utterly spent. You come with a hoarse, desperate cry, your body convulsing, a series of sharp, intense spasms that wracks your entire body. It's a long, drawn-out orgasm, a slow, lingering release that leaves you trembling and gasping for air.

They follow you over the edge, a series of low, guttural groans, a final, desperate release that leaves them panting and spent. For a long moment, no one speaks. The only sound is the ragged, synchronized rhythm of your breathing, the frantic, fluttering beat of your hearts.

"God," Mingyu breathes, his forehead resting on your shoulder, his body trembling with the effort of holding still. "That was... wow."

"Wow," Seungcheol agrees, his hands on your hips, a gentle, grounding touch. "Are you okay?"

"So okay," you manage to say, your voice a hoarse whisper. "More than okay. I'm... I'm perfect."

They pull out of you, a slow, careful, deliberate movement that leaves you feeling empty and aching. You collapse onto the bed, a boneless, sated heap, your body a delicious, pleasant ache. Mingyu collapses beside you, pulling you into his arms, a warm, heavy weight that's both comforting and deeply, intensely possessive. Seungcheol moves to your other side, pulling the covers over all three of you, a quiet, thoughtful gesture. He's a quiet, steady presence, a calming balm on your frayed, overstimulated nerves. He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you close, a gentle, possessive gesture that makes you feel safe, cherished.

"I love you," you whisper, the words a raw, honest confession. You aren't sure who you're talking to, but you know you meant it for both of them.

Mingyu's arms tightens around you, a silent, easy acceptance. "I love you too, Y/N," he whispers, his lips on your forehead, a soft, tender kiss. "More than you know." He's quiet for a long moment, then he says, "You know, for a guy who doesn't talk much, you're pretty good at this." He's looking at Seungcheol, a smug, satisfied grin on his face.

Seungcheol rolls his eyes, a small, fond smile touching his lips. "Shut up, Mingyu," he says, but there's no malice in his tone. He leans over, pressing a soft, tender kiss to your other cheek. "I love you too, Y/N," he whispers, his voice a low, calm rumble. "More than you know."

You drift off to sleep, a boneless, sated heap, a smile on your face, your heart a frantic, nervous rhythm in your chest. You're a tangle of limbs and sweat and heat, a beautiful, chaotic mess in the soft, golden light of your bedroom, and you're happier than you have ever been in your entire life.

When you wake up the morning, both sides of the bed are empty. The spaces beside you are still warm. The sun's just beginning to rise, casting a soft, hazy glow over the room. You can hear the faint sounds of movement downstairs, the low murmur of voices, the clatter of a pan. You sit up, pulling the sheet around you and make your way downstairs. In your kitchen, you find them, and your breath catches in your throat.

Mingyu's at the stove, flipping pancakes with a flourish, singing a ridiculously cheerful song to himself, a dishtowel slung over his shoulder. He's a whirlwind of energy, a bright, beautiful chaos that you can't help but smile at. Seungcheol's at the table, a cup of coffee in hand, a newspaper open in front of him, a picture of quiet, thoughtful contentment. They're a perfect, impossible pair, and your heart aches with a fierce, protective love.

"Morning, sunshine," Mingyu turns from the stove with a brilliant, blinding smile. "Sleep well?"

"I did, actually," you nod, pulling out a chair and sitting down beside Seungcheol. "You guys make a surprisingly good mattress." Seungcheol reaches out, pulling the sheet closer around you, a quiet, thoughtful gesture. "Thanks."

Mingyu sets a plate of pancakes in front of you, a mountain of fluffy, golden perfection, topped with a generous dollop of butter and a cascade of maple syrup. "Eat up," he says, leaning over to press a quick, warm kiss to your lips. "You're going to need your energy."

"Really," you raise n eyebrow, a slow, mischievous smile spreading across your face. "And what, pray tell, do you have planned for me today?"

"First," Seungcheol says, putting down his coffee cup and taking your free hand. "We should feed Eggatha, Woolliam and all the other animals." He gives your hand a gentle squeeze, a small, fond smile touching his lips. "Then Mingyu and I have a surprise for you."

"A surprise?" you ask, your curiosity piqued. "What kind of surprise?"

"A good surprise," Mingyu winks at you. "Now eat your pancakes."

You finish your breakfast, and you all went out to the barn to do your morning chores. It's a strange, surreal procession. You're flanked by them, two different kinds of warmth, two different kinds of strength. You're feeding the chickens, their loud, raucous clucking a familiar, comforting sound. Mingyu's chasing a runaway goat, a whirlwind of laughter and profanity, and Seungcheol's mucking out a stall, a quiet, methodical efficiency that's both calming and incredibly, intensely attractive.

You're leaning against the fence, watching them, a soft smile on your face. "You know," you start, your voice a little dreamy. "If you told me a year ago that I'd be here, with both of you, I would have said you were crazy."

"We are crazy," Mingyu jogs over to you, a grin on his face. "But you love us for it."

"I do," you admit, your gaze drifting to Seungcheol, who's leaning on a shovel, watching you with a dark, tender light in his eyes. "I really, really do."

"Good," he pushes off the shovel and walks over to you. "Because we're not going anywhere." He takes your other hand, and you stand there, a human bridge between the two of them, your heart so full it felt like it might overflow your ribs. "Ready for your surprise?" he asks.

"Ready," you nod, your voice a little shaky but clear.

Mingyu grins, a brilliant, blinding smile that makes your heart skip a beat. "Close your eyes."

You do as you're told, your hands held tightly in theirs. They lead you away from the barn, their steps a slow, careful rhythm on the uneven ground. You can feel the sun on your face, the breeze in your hair, the solid, steady presence of them on either side of you. You can hear the birds singing, the distant hum of a tractor, the familiar, comforting sounds of your farm.

"Okay," Seungcheol says, his voice a low, calm rumble. "Open your eyes."

You open them, and you let out a small, surprised gasp. They led you to the old, neglected corner of your property, a spot you'd always meant to do something with but never had the time or the energy. They cleared away the overgrown weeds and brambles, leveling the ground and laying down a simple stone patio. In the center of the patio, they built a simple, elegant pergola, the wood still raw and new, the crossbeams a perfect, geometric pattern against the bright blue sky. They hung a simple, rustic swing from one of the beams, a comfortable-looking cushion on the seat. The entire structure was shaded by the old, gnarled apple tree that atnd sentinel in the corner of the yard, its branches heavy with unripe fruit.

"Oh my god," you whisper, your gaze sweeping over the scene, taking in the details, the care, the sheer, overwhelming effort they put into this. You turn to them, your eyes wide with disbelief, your heart a frantic, nervous rhythm in your chest. "You... you did this? For me?"

"It was Seungcheol's idea," Mingyu says, a rare, uncharacteristic shyness in his tone. "He's the brains of the operation. I'm just the brawn. And the comic relief." He nudges Seungcheol with his elbow, a small, affectionate gesture.

"I had the idea," Seungcheol agrees, his gaze a slow, smoldering fire that's just as potent as Mingyu's hungry passion. "But Mingyu did most of the work. He's a surprisingly good carpenter. For a guy who thinks 'Goatzart' is a good name for a goat."

"Hey," Mingyu protests, a mock-offended look on his face. "Goatzart is a great name. And I'm a great carpenter. I'm a great everything."

You look from one to the other, your heart aching with a fierce, protective love. "It's beautiful," you say, your voice a little shaky but clear. "It's the most beautiful thing anyone has ever done for me."

"We know how much you love it out here," Seungcheol takes a step closer, his gaze a deep, tender light in their depths. "We wanted to give you a place to sit, to read, to... just be."

"A place for you," Mingyu adds, his own voice soft, uncharacteristically serious. "A place that's just for you."

You walk over to the swing, running your hand over the smooth, cool wood. You can feel the rough, calloused grain of the wood, the solid, sturdy construction. You can feel the love they had poured into this, the sweat, the effort, the sheer, overwhelming affection. You sit down, the swing creaking softly under your weight, a gentle, soothing sound that makes you smile.

"It's perfect," you look up at them, your heart a frantic, nervous rhythm in your chest. "It's absolutely perfect."

Yeah, life's good. Life's strange, and messy, and complicated, but it's good. And you have a feeling it's only going to get better.

[scarletwinterxx]

location unknown - choi seungcheol imagine pt. 4 final

hiiii~ and she's here🤍 tysm for staying with me on this fic, honestly when i started writing this it felt too heavy even for me. that breakup scene i cried but i really needed it and i'm glad i was able to make something beautiful out of it.

hope you love this, tysm🌻✨

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE

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All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2026 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(pic not mine, credits to rightful owner)

Seungcheol settled into your life so quietly it almost felt dangerous.

Not because it was sudden. That would’ve been easier, but this wasn’t that. It happened in small pieces. In the kind of consistency that sneaks up on you because it doesn’t ask for attention. It just… stays.

The first morning after the hospital, you woke to the sound of voices in the kitchen.

You were still half-groggy, throat sore, body heavy in that weird post-illness way. For a second you forgot where you were, why your chest still felt tight when you inhaled too deeply, why the room smelled faintly of smoke no matter how much you’d showered.

Then memory hit. The fire. The hospital. Seungcheol.

You blinked at the ceiling and heard Jaehyun laugh softly in the kitchen.

Then Seungcheol’s voice.

You sat up so fast you nearly regretted it.

By the time you padded out of the room, Seungcheol was standing by the counter, a paper bag of breakfast in one hand and a coffee tray in the other. Jaehyun, already dressed in uniform, was leaning against the sink looking entirely too amused by the situation.

Both men turned at the sound of your footsteps.

Seungcheol’s expression changed first. Immediately softer. Sharper too, somehow, like his eyes were already checking if you looked tired or uncomfortable.

“You’re up, he said

You looked between him and the food in his hands “Why are you here at…” you squinted toward the microwave clock “Seven-thirty in the morning?”

“Because you’re bad at taking care of yourself when left unsupervised, Jaehyun answered before Seungcheol could

You turned to him in betrayal “Whose side are you on?”

Jaehyun grinned, pushing off the counter “The side that gets to leave for work knowing you won’t survive the morning on iced coffee and vibes”

Seungcheol, traitor that he was, looked not even remotely apologetic.

“I brought porridge,” he said instead, setting the food down “And something lighter in case your throat still hurts.”

You stared at him. He stared back, calm and infuriatingly composed, as if showing up at your temporary apartment with breakfast was the most normal thing in the world.

Jaehyun looked at the two of you, then at the clock, then at his watch.

“Well,” he said, grabbing his luggage, “I’m suddenly very late and also not interested in being here for whatever weird divorced-but-not-divorced domestic thing this is.

“Jaehyun,” you hissed

“What?” he said innocently “He brought breakfast and coffee. I like him.”

“You’re a weak man” you glared at him

Seungcheol had the nerve to hide a smile.

Jaehyun only laughed, kissed the top of your head on his way past, and paused by Seungcheol at the door. The look he gave him was brief but meaningful.

“You know where the meds are,” he said quietly “She’ll say she’s fine even if she isn’t. Don’t listen.”

“I know” Seungcheol replied.

Jaehyun nodded once, satisfied, then pointed at you. “Bye, baby. Be nice to the man who’s clearly doing a better job taking care of you than you are”

Then he was gone.

And just like that, it was only you and Seungcheol standing in Jaehyun’s kitchen at seven-thirty in the morning with takeout porridge between you and a history too big for the room.

“If you want to throw your shoe at him, I won’t be opposed to it” you point at the door as if really telling him he could do it and Seungcheol just chuckles

You folded your arms “Did you bribe him?”

Seungcheol glanced at the door, then back at you “Not yet”

“Cheol.”

He hummed and started unpacking the breakfast containers “Sit down”

You found yourself sitting at the counter while he spooned porridge into a bowl 

“Do you have work?” you asked

“In an hour”

“You came here before work?”

He gave you a look over his shoulder that said obviously.

“You don’t have to do this"

“I know. No hesitation. No guilt-tripping. Just I know.

That should have made it easier to argue.

It didn’t.

Because the thing about Seungcheol was that even when he was being impossibly stubborn, he was never careless with your pride. Never made you feel like a burden being managed.

He just set the bowl in front of you, slid a spoon over, and said, “Eat while it’s hot.”

By the third day, it had somehow become a routine.

He dropped by every morning before work. Sometimes with breakfast from your favorite place. Sometimes with fruit, or tea, or one of those little pharmacy bags because he’d picked up extra throat lozenges or the inhaler the doctor had prescribed “just in case.”

Always with that same maddening attentiveness that made it impossible to hide when you were tired or uncomfortable.

If Jaehyun was home, he’d let Seungcheol in with the kind of easy acceptance that told you he’d made his peace with this dynamic faster than you had.

The first morning he’d raised a brow at Seungcheol lingering by your door.

By the second, he’d stopped asking questions.

By the third, he was greeting him with, “She coughed twice in her sleep around three but says she’s fine,” like Seungcheol had been part of the household all along.

He never overdid it in a way that felt performative. He wasn’t trying to impress anyone. He wasn’t forcing long conversations or acting like one week of caretaking erased the three years between you.

He just showed up.

And stayed.

If he had meetings all day, lunch would appear at your door through a delivery app with a text that said eat all of it or I’m calling Jaehyun to snitch.

If he had a late night at work, he’d still stop by after to drop off dinner he’d cooked himself because apparently the man who once lived on convenience store meals and protein shakes now made actual, edible food.

And if you told him you were fine he would nod, accept it, then still ask three follow-up questions to verify.

By the end of the week, you were well enough to leave the apartment more comfortably. The cough had mostly faded, your breathing didn’t hurt anymore, and the worst of the exhaustion was finally loosening its grip.

Still, Seungcheol hovered. Not in a suffocating way. In a Seungcheol way.

Tonight, you were at his place.

He’d texted after work asking if you wanted dinner, and you had gone over under the very reasonable excuse that you were bored, hungry, and Jaehyun had gotten called in for another flight. 

Nothing weird about that. Nothing dangerous. Just two people who used to know everything about each other sharing dinner because one of them happened to be a very good cook now.

You sat at his kitchen island while he moved around the stove.

The place was beautiful.

Not in a flashy, expensive way—though it was obviously nice—but in a thoughtful one.

Big windows. A kitchen you could actually cook in. A living room with enough space to breathe. A hallway leading to rooms you hadn’t seen but somehow already knew would be neat and practical and warm.

Homey.

That was the word.

And for one dangerous, stupid second, your mind betrayed you. If things had gone differently, you thought, you would’ve lived here.

You would’ve been in this kitchen with him, arguing over seasoning and stealing bites off the spoon. Your mugs would be in that cabinet. Your books somewhere in the living room. Your shoes by the door.

Your laundry in the second room maybe, before it turned into a nursery one day or an office or something ordinary and shared and yours.

The thought hit so hard you had to look away

“What?” Seungcheol’s voice cut through it

You blinked “What?”

He glanced over his shoulder, still stirring something in the pan “That look"

You frowned “What look?”

“That one.” He pointed the wooden spoon at you “You’ve been staring at the apartment like it insulted you personally”

You let out a short laugh and shook your head “I was not"

“You were”

“I was just looking”

“Mm” He lowered the heat and turned fully toward you, leaning one hip against the counter “And what did all that looking conclude?”

You shrugged, trying for casual and probably failing “It’s nice”

He studied you for a second too long.

Then, because Seungcheol had always been unfairly good at reading you, he tilted his head and said quietly, “That’s not all you were thinking”

Seungcheol turned off the stove.

He plated the food without speaking for a minute, moving with that same quiet steadiness he’d had all week. Then he set a bowl in front of you, another for himself, and took the seat beside you at the island instead of across from you.

For a while, you ate in quiet. It wasn’t awkward, that was the dangerous part.

If anything, it felt too easy. Like the years between you had folded strangely in on themselves, leaving behind something softer than you knew how to handle. He still nudged the less spicy side dish closer to himself because you’d always teased him for his pathetic spice tolerance. You still pushed the mushrooms from your bowl to his because you hated the texture and he had always stolen them anyway.

Some habits apparently outlived heartbreak.

You were halfway through dinner when Seungcheol set his chopsticks down.

You looked at him.

He was already looking at you. There was no tension in his face, exactly. But there was something serious there. Intentional.

And suddenly you knew this was it.

Just the conversation you’d been circling for days now, both of you too aware of it to name it first.

Seungcheol glanced down at his hands for a second, then back up.

“I need to tell you something,” he said

Your heart thudded once, hard “Okay”

He nodded slowly, like he was still deciding where to begin.

“I spent a long time thinking if I ever got the chance to say this to you, I’d do it perfectly.” He let out a small, humorless laugh “Turns out I still don’t know how to do that”

“So I’m just going to say it plainly”

Something in your chest tightened, Seungcheol looked at you directly

“Back then,” he said quietly, “when we were together… I loved you. I know you know that. But I wasn’t loving you well”

He kept going, voice even, eyes steady on yours.

“I thought being scared and being careful were the same thing. I told myself I was just trying to be responsible, that I didn’t want to promise something I wasn’t ready for, that if I couldn’t say everything with complete certainty then it was better not to say it at all”

He gave a tiny shake of his head, disgusted with himself “What I was actually doing was hiding. From the conversation. From my own fears. From you.”

Your fingers curled slowly in your lap.

Seungcheol’s gaze dropped there for a second, then rose again.

“That night, when you asked me if there was a future for us…” His voice roughened almost imperceptibly “I heard what you were really asking. And instead of answering you honestly, I panicked. I made you feel like after nine years, after growing up together, after building a whole life with me, you were still standing there waiting to be chosen”

His jaw tightened “I can’t tell you how much I hate that I did that to you"

You looked down because your eyes had started burning and you refused to cry over dinner in your ex-boyfriend’s very nice apartment like some kind of tragic drama heroine.

“You deserved the truth,” he said softly “Even then.”

Your lashes fluttered “What truth?”

For a second, he just looked at you then he answered.

“The truth was never that I didn’t see a future with you. The truth was that I saw one so clearly it terrified me”

You went very still.

“I saw marriage. I saw a home. I saw kids, eventually. I saw all of it, and every single version had you in it so completely that I couldn’t separate my future from you anymore.” He let out a slow breath “And instead of being honest about that, I got scared of how big it felt. Scared of doing it wrong. Scared of promising you forever and somehow failing you halfway through”

Your vision blurred. He noticed immediately.

His voice softened.

“I’m not saying any of this because I expect something from you now.” He shook his head “I’m not trying to use the fire or the hospital or this week to make you forgive me. That’s not what this is”

“Then what is this?”

His expression changed just enough that your chest hurt looking at him

“It’s me finally giving you what I should’ve given you three years ago” he said “An honest answer”

The room felt too quiet.

Seungcheol’s fingers flexed once against the counter, like he was fighting the urge to reach for you and didn’t know if he had the right.

“I went to therapy after you left,” he said “Not immediately. I wish I could say I was that self-aware, but honestly the first few months I was just… surviving badly” 

A tiny, self-deprecating smile touched his mouth “Mingyu can confirm I was one skipped meal away from being declared legally stupid”

That startled a weak laugh out of you. He smiled too, briefly, then the seriousness returned.

“But eventually I got tired of being a man who only understood his own feelings after he’d already wrecked something precious.” His gaze held yours “So I worked on it. On the shutting down. On the running. On the part of me that always thought silence was safer than honesty.”

You stared at him, listening so hard your chest hurt.

“I learned how to say when I’m scared instead of punishing the people I love with distance.” He swallowed “I learned that not having every answer doesn’t excuse leaving someone alone in the questions. And I learned that loving someone isn’t just about what you feel when it’s easy. It’s also what you choose when it’s uncomfortable, when you’re afraid, when you have to be seen clearly and still stay.”

The last part landed somewhere deep enough to ache.

He glanced away for the first time then, eyes dropping to the apartment around you.

“This place,” he said quietly, almost to himself, “I picked it a year after we broke up"

You looked around instinctively, Seungcheol huffed a laugh through his nose.

“Yeah. Exactly.” He gestured vaguely “The windows, the kitchen, the extra room… all of it. I told myself I was just choosing something practical, something brighter than the old place" 

then his eyes came back to you “Truth is, I kept thinking about what you’d like. Even when I had no right to.”

Your throat tightened so hard it hurt “Cheol…”

He shook his head once, gently stopping you.

“I’m not asking you for anything tonight.” His voice had gone low, stripped clean of pretense “I mean that. I know I hurt you. I know I don’t get to come back into your life after three years and one traumatic week and act like loving you now erases what I did then.

Your eyes stung.

“But I needed you to know that it was never a maybe for me.” He looked at you like he needed you to believe him, like this mattered more than whether it made him look pathetic or weak or too late “You were never some vague possibility I kept on a shelf until I was ready. You were it. You were always it. I was just too much of a coward to say that out loud when it mattered.”

A tear slipped before you could stop it. You swore under your breath and scrubbed at it immediately, mortified.

Seungcheol’s whole body reacted, his hand lifting an inch off the counter before stopping, his face tightening like it physically hurt him not to wipe the tear away himself.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and this time there was nothing polished about it. No careful phrasing. Just raw truth. 

“I’m so, so sorry for making you feel unloved by me. Or uncertain. Or like you had to beg for a future I already wanted.”

Your lips trembled.

“You really hurt me,” you whispered, the words were quiet. Not angry.

Seungcheol closed his eyes briefly “I know.”

“No, I mean…” You laughed once, watery and broken “You really did. I kept thinking maybe if I’d just waited a little longer, maybe if I hadn’t pushed, maybe if I’d asked differently—”

“Don’t.” His voice came sharp with pain, not anger “Don’t do that to yourself.”

You looked at him, he was already shaking his head.

“That wasn’t on you. None of it. You asked for clarity from the man you’d spent nine years loving. That’s not too much. It was the bare minimum, and I failed you.”

Another tear slipped down your cheek. This time Seungcheol did move. He stood from the stool and crossed the small distance between you, stopping close enough that you could feel his warmth but far enough that you could still step back if you wanted.

His thumb brushed under your eye, wiping away the tear with such impossible gentleness it nearly undid you.

“I’m not asking you to trust me right away,” he said “Or to decide anything. I just… I needed to stop letting you live with the worst version of my silence. You deserved the truth, even if it came late.”

You stared at him, your heart doing something painful and unsteady in your chest.

“Do you still…” You swallowed “Do you still want those things?”

His expression didn’t even flicker.

“With you?” he asked. You nodded once.

Seungcheol looked at you like there had never been another answer.

“Yes.” The word was quiet. Absolute.

“No hesitation. No maybe. No ‘someday if the timing works.’” His eyes held yours “Yes. If it’s you, yes.”

The room went silent again. Just full of too much truth at once.

You looked down because you didn’t know what to do with the ache building under your ribs. Because some stupid, hopeful part of you wanted to crawl into his chest and live there, and another part of you still remembered packing your bags while he stood in the doorway too stunned to stop you.

You loved him. That had never really been the problem.

The problem was that loving someone and trusting them not to break your heart again were not the same thing.

Seungcheol seemed to understand that without you saying it.

Then he lowered himself in front of you.

One knee first, then both, until he was kneeling there, close enough that you had to look slightly downward to meet his eyes.

Almost unfair, how vulnerable that position made him look.

His hands stayed carefully to himself at first, resting loosely against his own thighs, like even now he was holding back every instinct to reach for you before being allowed.

And when he spoke, his voice had lost all of its earlier steadiness 

“Tell me to go, and I will.”

No hesitation. No drama. Just plain truth.

“If you tell me there’s nothing here, I’ll accept it.”

His eyes stayed fixed on yours like he wanted you to see that he meant every word, even if it broke him.

“I’ll stay gone.”

A breath.

“Leave. Disappear if that’s what you need.”

Your throat tightened immediately because he sounded like a man already preparing himself for pain while still choosing honesty anyway.

Then softer “But if you…” His voice almost failed there but he forced himself through it “If there’s anything left here for us…”

That was enough because by then your vision had already blurred. Your hands, folded tightly on your lap to keep them steady, gave up pretending restraint mattered.

You reached for him before he finished. Fast enough that surprise flashed across his face only briefly before instinct took over.

He rose immediately from kneeling lower to both knees properly so he could catch you halfway and then you were in his arms.

Your arms around his shoulders. His around you instantly, firm and careful all at once, one hand at your back, the other cradling the back of your head like he was afraid even now that too much pressure might hurt you.

“Hey—” The word came almost startled, the first tear touched his neck and all concern sharpened at once

“Sorry—no, hey—don’t cry” His hand moved gently through your hair. Again and again.

“Don’t cry, please.” The apology came out instinctively, over and over, because he assumed tears meant pain. That he had pushed too far. That maybe he had said too much too late.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry—hey—”

But you shook your head against him immediately. Not sadness. Not pain.

And when you finally managed words, your voice trembled only because there was too much relief tangled inside it.

“I’m not crying because I’m sad.”

Ffor the first time, truly, you were no longer trying to protect either of you from what was real.

All the truths you had spent years arranging into safer versions suddenly felt impossible to soften anymore.

“I cried because I spent years teaching myself not to expect this. I convinced myself if I ever saw you again, I’d be fine.”

A small breath broke unevenly “That I’d smile, be polite, move on like whatever happened had already settled.”

He said nothing. Only held you tighter because now he understood these tears were not breaking.

They were release.

“I hated that one look from you could undo yearss of pretending I came back stronger than I actually was.”

His gaze softened so visibly it almost hurt.

“But even then, with all of that. I still hated not being without you the most. I healed, yes. I learned how to deal with life with just me, yea I learned that too” you let out a low laugh

“But it’s like there’s this empty space in the shape of you, there were days when I went home after work and something went good or bad and you were still the first person I wanted to call” A tear slipped down before you wiped it quickly, almost annoyed at yourself.

Your eyes drifted to the jar of pasta sauce he'd opened earlier. The bright red label. The loosened lid resting beside it.

Something about it tugged at an old memory.

Before you realized it, a quiet laugh escaped you. Just a small, breathy chuckle.

Seungcheol immediately looked over "What?"

You looked up "Hm?"

"You laughed."

You looked back at the jar, smiling to yourself. WIping the tears away "I just remembered something. It actually involves pasta."

His eyebrows lifted "Pasta?"

"Specifically..." You nodded toward the jar "...a pasta sauce jar."

He looked from the jar back to you, clearly confused. You exhaled through a small smile.

"It was... maybe a month after we broke up."

His face changed almost imperceptibly.

You noticed "I'm okay," you reassured gently "It's not a sad story anymore."

He nodded once "Okay."

You looked down at your hands "I was staying with Jongin."

One afternoon, determined to stop surviving on instant noodles and cereal, you'd decided to cook.

"I remember thinking..." you said with a soft laugh, "'I'm twenty-seven years old. I can make pasta. So I bought pasta. Butter. Garlic."

You pointed toward the jar "And pasta sauce"

He listened quietly.

"I got everything ready. I filled the pot with water. I even peeled the garlic."

Then you looked at the jar again "And then I couldn't open the sauce"

He blinked "...What?"

You laughed louder this time "I couldn't open it. It was sealed ridiculously tight. I tried everything. My hands hurt, I even used a towel, I hit it against the counter like people do."

"And?"

You smiled "And nothing."

"So... I sat down. I told myself I'd rest for a minute."

Your fingers slowly stilled against the countertop "But then… I started crying."

The smile on Seungcheol's face disappeared

"It wasn't about the jar."

You looked up at him "I knew that even then. I just... for almost nine years...I'd never had to."

The silence that settled wasn't uncomfortable. It was simply full.

"I always handed those things to you."

"So there I was sitting on Jongin's kitchen floor crying over a pasta sauce jar."

You smiled with a tiny shake of your head "And Jongin came home. He walked in, looked at me sitting there with red eyes, then looked at the unopened jar."

You laughed "He didn't even ask questions. He picked it up and opened it first try. And then he looked at me and instead of making fun of me, he just sat down beside me on the kitchen floor."

Your eyes softened "He didn't tell me to stop crying, didn't say I'd get over it."

"He just...sat there. I think that was the day everything really hit me.I realized I wasn't crying because I couldn't open the jar.I was crying because for the first time in almost a decade, I couldn't instinctively reach for you."

"And I remember sitting there thinking..."

You inhaled slowly "'I have to learn how to do these things myself now.'"

You looked back at him "And honestly, I'm glad I did. I learned. I figured it out. I can open stubborn jars now, I struggle but I get it done”

He gave a tiny smile.

"And look at you, you cook full meals now. you have this great apartment, you went to therapy. We both… we grew up."

"And I think….that's why I don't hate that memory anymore."

He listened without interrupting.

"It broke me.It really did but it also became the day I realize I couldn't spend the rest of my life waiting to become okay. I had to build a life that still belonged to me."

You smiled "So I did."

He looked at the jar then back at you. For a long time, he didn't speak.

A long silence settled over the kitchen.

Seungcheol looked at you with an expression you'd never quite seen before.

Not guilt. Not exactly. Something gentler. Almost... admiration.

"You know," he said eventually, "three years ago..."

He looked around his own kitchen "...if someone had told me I'd be standing here making pasta…” He laughed quietly "I would've asked them if they'd confused me with Mingyu."

You laughed.

"I hate..." He paused, choosing his words carefully "I hate knowing you were on that kitchen floor crying..."

His eyes met yours "...because of something I did."

"But look at us now." You glanced around the apartment gthen you looked back into his eyes.

"And every single day this week..." Your smile grew softer "...you've quietly shown me the kind of man you've become."

His throat bobbed.

"I notice those things too, Cheol." The words seemed to steal the air from him.

You continued gently "You didn't just say you changed. You did. I see it every morning when you show up before work. I see it every time you ask how I'm feeling instead of assuming. I see it every time you actually tell me what's on your mind."

Another silence settled. Comfortable. The kind that no longer demanded to be filled.

"I wish I could go back," he admitted quietly

"I know."

"I would've opened every jar."

You smiled, tears threatening despite yourself "I know you would've."

His thumb brushed lightly over the back of your hand "But..."

You squeezed his fingers gently "I'm kind of glad I learned how to open them myself."

He nodded slowly "So am I."

His smile was small but unwavering "Because the woman sitting in front of me now..." his eyes never left yours "...she's stronger than she ever should've had to be."

"And I'm endlessly proud of her."

Emotion caught in your throat then he smiled just a little wider.

"But..."

He glanced toward the unopened jar of parmesan sitting on the counter "...if you ever happen to find another impossibly stubborn lid..."

You laughed through the tears gathering in your eyes.

"...you can hand it to me now. You don’t have to worry about that anymore. I know you can, but if you let me I’ll be there"

This time, when you laughed, it wasn't because the memory hurt anymore. It was because somewhere between the kitchen floor three years ago and this quiet dinner tonight, both of you had become the people you needed to be.

Not to erase the past but to finally deserve the future that had once frightened you both.

= 

The following evening, you heard the familiar knock just after six.

You didn't even need to check the peephole anymore.

"Come in," you called. The door opened almost immediately.

Seungcheol stepped inside, still dressed from work. His sleeves were rolled neatly to his forearms "Hey"

"Hi"

He slipped off his shoes, you noticed he was carrying dinner in one hand and a small brown paper bag in the other.

Your eyes immediately went to it "...What's that?"

He glanced down as though he'd forgotten he was holding it "Oh."

His ears turned faintly pink "It's... nothing."

You narrowed your eyes "You bought me something."

He walked over, holding the paper bag out toward you "It's really small."

You accepted it carefully. The bag wasn't heavy, so you peak inside it

"...Huh?"

Inside were several colorful silicone rings with textured grips. There were different sizes. Some looked like little rubber circles, others were flat mats with raised patterns and there was even one with a handle attached.

You blinked then looked up at him "...What am I looking at?"

"They're jar openers."

Silence. You looked back into the bag then back at him.

"...You bought me..."

He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly looking oddly self-conscious.

"...Jar openers."

His gaze stayed fixed somewhere around your shoulder instead of your face.

"I remembered what you said yesterday so I passed a kitchen store during lunch."

He let out a tiny laugh "I went in thinking I'd just get one. Turns out they make... an alarming number of jar-opening devices."

You couldn't help smiling "I had no idea there were options."

"There are apparently many."

"I stood there for..." He frowned thoughtfully. "...Honestly? Probably fifteen minutes."

You looked up, amused "Fifteen?"

"I was comparing reviews."

That made you laugh "You read reviews?"

He shrugged “I was committed. One woman said the blue one opened pickle jars better."

You burst into laughter "You researched jar openers?"

"I wanted to get you a good one."

He really had stood there comparing them.Thinking about it made something inside yourchest squeez in a good way.

You looked up "You didn't have to do this."

"I know." He smiled softly

"I also know I’m still literally ten steps away. If you need someone to open a jar you can knock on my door."

He glanced down at the colorful silicone grips in your hands "I just thought..."

He paused, choosing his words carefully. "...you'd probably want to try yourself first."

Your chest tightened 

"So..." He pointed lightly toward the bag "Those are for trying."

Then his eyes met yours again "But if they don't work or if you just don't feel like fighting with a particularly stubborn lid that day..."

He shrugged "...I'm here."

There was no weight behind the words. No expectation. No hidden meaning demanding anything from you.

Just...

I'm here.

You smiled gently "You listened."

Silence settled between you.

Then, before you thought too much about it, you reached forward and wrapped your arms around him.

It wasn't dramatic. It wasn't desperate.

Just a hug. A quiet thank you.

Seungcheol froze for the briefest second then his arms came around you just as carefully, as though he still couldn't quite believe he was allowed to hold you again.

His chin rested lightly against the top of your head.

Neither of you spoke.

The paper bag still sat open on the coffee table, colorful silicone grips peeking out from inside.

Such a small, ordinary gift but somehow it carried a promise much bigger than itself.

Not that he would solve every problem for you, he knew now that you could stand on your own. He'd seen the woman you'd become.

The woman who had learned to open her own jars, build her own life, and find herself again after heartbreak.

He wasn't trying to take that strength away. He was simply offering something he'd once failed to give.

A hand beside yours instead of in front of you. A quiet reminder that independence and being loved were never meant to cancel each other out.

You could still do things yourself.

And if one day you were tired or frustrated or simply didn't feel like wrestling with a stubborn pasta sauce lid, there would be a knockable door just ten steps away and a man on the other side of it who had finally learned that loving someone wasn't about doing everything for them.

Sometimes, it was simply making sure they always knew they never had to do everything alone.

=

Slowly, quietly, stubbornly—you found your way back to each other.

Not in one grand moment. Not in a cinematic declaration that magically erased three years of hurt.

It happened in the in-between.

In the way Seungcheol stopped by your door without knocking because by now Jaehyun had long since started yelling “it’s open” from somewhere inside whenever he heard his footsteps in the hallway. In the way your day naturally ended up spilling into his, and his into yours, until talking to him felt less like trying and more like breathing again.

Some nights you stayed at his place until well past midnight, curled up on the couch while he finished work emails and you complained about your landlord or your coworkers or the fact that Jaehyun kept buying the wrong yogurt. Then when the hour got too late and your eyes started drooping, Seungcheol would walk you the ten whole steps across the hall to Jaehyun’s apartment anyway, like the hallway was a dangerous wilderness and not, quite literally, a ten-second journey.

You made fun of him for it every time.

He did it every time anyway.

And the most important part—the part that made it different from before—was that neither of you pretended the bad years hadn’t happened.

You didn’t bury it under flirtation and routine and the relief of being close again.

When something hurt, you said it.

When a memory from before came back sharp and ugly, you didn’t smile through it and let it rot in silence. You brought it to the surface, awkward and unfinished and all, and sat with it together until it stopped feeling like a ghost between you.

Sometimes that meant Seungcheol pausing halfway through dinner because you’d gone quiet after he casually mentioned a wedding venue one of his coworkers had booked, and he knew immediately from the look on your face where your mind had gone.

Sometimes it meant you catching the way he tensed whenever you said things like it’s okay, I’ll just go home after a disagreement, because some part of him still heard luggage wheels on hardwood and the sound of your front door closing for the last time.

So you learned.

He learned that “I’m fine” in your voice didn’t always mean you were fine, but now instead of waiting for you to drag it out of him, he’d ask, “Do you want comfort or honesty right now?” and stay put until you answered.

You learned that when Seungcheol went quiet, it wasn’t always him shutting you out anymore. Sometimes it was him trying—really trying—to choose the right words instead of the safest ones. So instead of panicking, you’d ask, “Are you thinking or are you spiraling?” and he’d huff out a laugh and tell you which one.

It was messy in a real way. Tender in a real way too.

You would tell him, “When you said maybe back then, it made me feel like I’d imagined our whole life by myself.”

And instead of getting defensive, he’d nod and say, “I know. And I hate that I made you carry that alone.”

He would tell you, “When you left, I kept thinking if I’d just answered one minute sooner, maybe you would’ve stayed.”

And you’d sit beside him on the couch, fingers laced through his, and say softly, “Maybe. But you didn’t. So we deal with what happened, not the version we wish happened.”

It wasn’t always pretty.

Sometimes you cried. Sometimes he did too, though Seungcheol always looked vaguely offended by his own tears like his body had personally betrayed him. Sometimes the conversation ended with the two of you sitting in silence, emotionally wrung out, sharing a bowl of cut fruit because neither of you had the energy to cook anymore.

But every single time, you came out the other side a little clearer.

A little safer.

A little more certain that if you were going to do this again, it would not be by pretending you were still the same two people who had broken each other three years ago.

And just like that, a few more weeks passed.

Tonight, you were sprawled across Seungcheol’s couch in one of his old university hoodies while he stood in the kitchen slicing fruit after dinner.

You had one leg tucked under you, phone in hand, and the expression on your face had gone from mild irritation to full theatrical suffering over the last ten minutes.

Seungcheol glanced over from the counter.

“That bad?”

You looked up from your phone with the exhausted despair of someone who had seen war.

“I’m going to commit a crime.”

He didn’t even flinch. “Against who?”

“My landlord. He delayed it. Again.”

Seungcheol paused mid-slice “The move?”

“Yes, the move, what else?” you groaned, flopping back against the couch cushions. “He said the unit just needs ‘final touch-ups’ and it’ll be ready next week.”

Seungcheol’s brows lifted. “Didn’t he say that last week?”

“He said that two weeks ago"

He set the knife down slowly “And before that?”

“He said there was a plumbing issue”

“And before that?”

You stared at the ceiling “That the painter had the flu”

Seungcheol blinked once “Your landlord sounds made up”

“I know.” You turned your head to look at him, scandalized. “Do you know what Jaehyun said to me this morning?”

“I’m almost afraid to ask”

“He looked me dead in the eye while eating cereal and said, ‘At this point I’m gonna start charging you rent and emotional damages.’”

Seungcheol barked out a laugh

You pointed accusingly “Don’t laugh, he was serious.”

“He was not serious”

“He absolutely was. Then he said if I keep using his expensive face wash, he’s adding a surcharge”

Seungcheol leaned one hip against the counter, shoulders shaking with quiet laughter as he looked at you “Did you use his face wash?”

“Once”

“You’re a liar”

“Okay, maybe like… four times”

“Baby”

“It was an emergency”

“What kind of emergency requires stealing a pilot’s skincare?”

You crossed your arms “My skin was dry, Cheol. I was in need.”

He was still laughing when he picked up the fruit bowl and brought it over, setting it on the coffee table before taking the seat beside your legs on the couch.

“Did you tell the landlord you need an actual date?” he asked.

“I did. He said he’ll ‘update me shortly.’”

“Which means?”

“It means he’ll vanish into the night like a Victorian ghost and reappear with another excuse.”

Seungcheol clicked his tongue in disapproval and handed you a slice of apple. You took it automatically.

“He can’t keep doing that,” he said

“He can, apparently. He’s been doing it professionally.”

You bit into the apple and glared at your phone again. “I’m serious, if he delays one more time, I’m going to lose my mind. I’ve been living out of a suitcase for months. Jaehyun’s apartment is nice, but I know where exactly three things are at any given time and one of them is his coffee machine.”

Seungcheol smiled faintly “The other two?”

“My charger and your apartment”

That slipped out so naturally you didn’t even register it at first. The corner of his mouth twitched, soft and fond in a way that made your stomach do something embarrassing.

“You know,” he said carefully, “for someone allegedly suffering in temporary housing, you spend an impressive amount of time here”

You narrowed your eyes “Are you charging me rent too?”

“Depends. How much of my hoodie inventory do you plan on stealing?”

You looked down at the oversized grey hoodie you were currently drowning in and had the decency to look only a little guilty.

“This one was abandoned”

“It was in my closet”

“Exactly. Unused.”

He laughed under his breath and reached over to tug lightly at the sleeve pooled over your hand “You’ve got very creative standards for theft”

“Thank you”

“That wasn’t a compliment”

“It sounded like one”

He shook his head, still smiling, and settled back into the couch.

For a minute, the room went quiet in that easy way you’d grown used to again. The TV was on mute, some random travel show flickering across the screen without either of you paying attention. Outside the big windows, the city was already dark, lights glowing warm against the glass.

You ate fruit out of the bowl in companionable silence.

Then Seungcheol spoke “If the landlord delays again…”

You looked at him. He wasn’t looking at you yet, just turning a grape between his fingers thoughtfully.

“You can stay here.."

Your heartbeat did a very stupid thing. He said it casually. Too casually. Like he was offering you an umbrella, not rewiring the entire atmosphere in the room.

You blinked “Cheol.”

Now he looked at you and whatever casualness had been in his tone, it didn’t quite make it to his face.

“I mean it,” he said “You don’t have to keep waiting around at Jaehyun’s if it’s stressing you out.”

You opened your mouth, then closed it.

Because on paper, it was a practical suggestion. A reasonable one, even. You were across the hall half the time already. He had the space. Jaehyun would probably throw a parade in celebration if it meant getting his bathroom counter back.

But both of you knew this wasn’t just practical. Or rather, it wasn’t only practical.

Maybe that was why neither of you spoke for a second.

Seungcheol must have seen something flicker across your face, because his expression softened and he held up a hand before you could spiral.

“I’m not saying it like…” He exhaled, searching for the right words “I’m not trying to rush you. Or push us into something because it’s convenient. I know it’s not a small thing.”

He continued, voice gentler now “I just hate the idea of you feeling unsettled somewhere else when you know you’re okay here.”

That landed somewhere low and tender in your chest.

You traced a thumb over the seam of his hoodie sleeve “You make it sound very simple.”

“It can be simple,” he said

You laughed softly “Since when do we do simple?”

A smile touched his mouth, sad and fond at once. “Fair.”

He reached over and took your phone from your hand before you could keep glaring at the landlord’s messages like that would somehow fix them. He set it on the coffee table out of reach, then turned back to you fully.

“You don’t have to answer now,” he said “I’m serious. Think about it, don’t think about it, tell me no, tell me maybe. Whatever you need.”

You looked at him for a long moment.

At the man who once shut down so badly he lost you, and who now sat in front of you offering space without pressure, care without condition, room to choose without punishment.

Three years ago, this conversation would’ve terrified you for all the wrong reasons.

Now, somehow, it terrified you for the right ones.

Because you wanted it. Not just the convenience. Not just the nearness.

You wanted this. Him. The quiet way he made space for you in his life like he’d been waiting to do it properly. The way he no longer flinched from the hard conversations.

The way you could say that hurt me and he would say I know instead of disappearing behind a wall.

“Jaehyun’s going to be insufferable if I move out before he gets to charge me emotional damages.”

Seungcheol let out a laugh, relief loosening something in his shoulders “That sounds like a yes-adjacent answer.”

“It’s a ‘my pride needs a minute’ answer.”

“Mm.” He leaned a little closer, eyes war  “Should I ask again in five business days?”

“You’re annoying.”

“And yet.”

You smiled despite yourself, ducking your head.

He nudged your knee lightly with his. “For the record, I’m not offering because I think it fixes anything.”

You looked back up “I know.”

“I’m offering because if you’re going to be in limbo, I’d rather you be in limbo somewhere with decent food and someone who already knows how you take your coffee.”

“You’re really leaning into this domestic thing, huh?”

You were still laughing when you leaned into him, forehead knocking lightly against his shoulder. He huffed but wrapped an arm around you automatically, pulling you in against his side until your laughter quieted into breathless little giggles.

And then, because the universe apparently liked testing both of you, the laughter faded and neither of you moved away.

His arm stayed around you. Your cheek stayed against his shoulder.

The room softened around the silence.

Seungcheol’s voice, when it came, was low “I know we’re still figuring this out.”

You nodded against him “I know.”

“And I know moving in—even temporarily—isn’t nothing.”

“I know.”

He turned his head slightly, just enough that if you looked up, your faces would be too close.

“I’m okay with taking this slow,” he said “As slow as you need.”

You lifted your head then. His gaze dropped to your mouth for half a second before returning to your eyes.

“But,” he added quietly, “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like the thought of you here.”

The honesty of it stole the air from your lungs.

You looked at him, the steadiness in his face, the care, the patience, the hope he was trying very hard not to let turn into expectation.

And because this was what the two of you did now, because this was the whole point of trying again, you told the truth too.

“I like the thought of being here”

His hand at your waist tightened once, almost imperceptibly. Then he let out a slow breath, like he’d been holding it for much longer than either of you realized.

“Okay,” he said softly

You smiled a little “Okay.”

You tucked yourself closer into his side and reached for another slice of apple.

=

By next weekend, he asked if you could help him with something in his apartment. You didn’t know when he asked he meant clearing out the extra room. 

At the moment, you were sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of one of the boxes, folding old clothes into neat piles while Seungcheol carried things in and out of the extra room at the end of the hall.

It had started with him saying he’d “just clear a few things out.” Then that had somehow turned into him hauling storage bins, spare bedding, old gym equipment, and one deeply questionable lamp into other corners of the apartment while you sat trying to clear out the boxes that apparently have been here since he moved in.

The room itself was nice.

Bigger than you expected, actually. Bright too, with one wide window that let the afternoon sun spill across the wooden floor. Right now it was mostly empty except for a desk pushed to one wall, a low bookshelf, and a few boxes Seungcheol clearly hadn’t decided what to do with yet.

You’d assumed it was an office at first.

But then you noticed the desk looked barely used, there weren’t really any work things in there besides a laptop charger and a couple of books, and the closet was almost completely empty.

Which meant, naturally, your curiosity got the better of you.

You folded one of his shirts, set it aside, then raised your voice just enough for it to carry into the hallway

“Why’d you get an apartment with an extra room anyway?”

From where he was crouched near one of the boxes by the dresser, Seungcheol paused

You glanced up.

He had his back half-turned to you, one hand on the lid of a storage bin, and for some reason he went very still.

You tilted your head “Was it for an office?”

No answer. That, more than anything, made you suspicious.

You watched as he reached for another stack of things with a little too much focus, like maybe if he looked busy enough the conversation would evaporate on its own.

Slowly, a smile pulled at your mouth.

“Cheol.”

Nothing.

“Choi Seungcheol.”

He made a low sound in the back of his throat that was dangerously close to don’t start. Which, of course, only made you want to start more.

You got to your feet and padded over, stopping just a few steps away from where he was still very obviously pretending to be deeply invested in reorganizing a box of winter blankets.

And then you saw it. The faint red creeping up the tips of his ears.

Your brows shot up “Oh my god.”

Seungcheol closed his eyes.

“Oh my god, why are you blushing?”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m literally not.”

“You literally are,” you shot back, grinning now. “Your ears are red”

He kept his eyes on the box “Maybe it’s hot.”

You looked around the room with exaggerated confusion “In this air-conditioned apartment?”

He reached for another blanket. You took one more step closer, hands behind your back, smile turning positively wicked.

“Cheol.”

Nothing.

So you nudged his calf lightly with your socked foot.

“Cheol,” you repeated, dragging his name out in that deliberately sweet tone you knew got under his skin.

He exhaled through his nose 

“Why are you acting weird?”

“I’m not acting weird"

“You absolutely are”

“I’m cleaning”

“You’re avoiding”

“I’m busy”

“With one blanket?”

Seungcheol shot you a look then, finally, and it only made your grin widen.

Because yes—his ears were red. Actually red.

And the second he realized you’d fully caught him, his jaw tightened in that way it always did when he was embarrassed and trying to cover it with annoyance.

You leaned your shoulder against the doorframe of the room and crossed your arms.

“So?” you prompted. “Why the extra room?”

He straightened up to his full height, blanket still in hand, and gave you a bland look that fooled absolutely no one.

“It’s just an extra room”

You stared at him “Cheol”

“What?”

“That is not an answer”

“It is technically an answer.”

“You know what I mean.”

He muttered something under his breath and moved past you toward the bedroom, clearly attempting escape. You followed immediately.

“Oh my god,” you said, delighted now, “you do have a reason.”

“I have lots of reasons.”

“Name one”

“It’s useful”

“For what?”

“For… things.”

You stopped in the middle of the room and stared at his back in open disbelief.

“Things?” you repeated “That’s what you’re going with?”

Seungcheol set the blanket inside one of the bins with a little more force than necessary. You folded your arms tighter and watched him with narrowed eyes.

He knew that look. You knew he knew it too, because the second he turned around and saw you standing there waiting, he actually sighed

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re about to cross-examine me.”

You blinked innocently “I would never.”

He gave you the flattest look imaginable. You smiled.

“Cheol,” you said again, softer this time but no less relentless “Why’d you get a two-bedroom if it was just you?”

He looked at you for a second too long. Then away and that was all the confirmation you needed.

Your expression changed instantly.Not teasing now. Curious.

Something in your chest softened because the answer was suddenly there, hanging between you without him actually saying it. Not in full, not clearly, but enough.

This apartment had always felt chosen. Every part of it. The big windows. The light. The kitchen. The extra room. You had noticed that weeks ago.

Your voice gentled without you meaning it to “Was it…” You hesitated

“Did you just want the space?”

Seungcheol dragged a hand over the back of his neck. The tips of his ears somehow got redder.

You stared at him then your eyes widened

“Oh my god,” you whispered

“Don’t.”

You covered your mouth “Seungcheol.”

“Don’t.”

“Was this for a family?”

He made a strangled noise. You burst into helpless laughter.

“No way,” you said, staring at him in absolute disbelief “No way.”

He looked horrified, which only made it worse.

You stepped closer, eyes huge. “You got an extra room because you wanted—”

“Can you not say it like that?”

“Like what? Like you’re secretly a suburban dad trapped in a very buff thirty-two-year-old man’s body?”

“Please stop talking.”

“You were thinking about kids?”

He groaned and turned away, but the damage was done. You could see the back of his neck turning pink now too, and the sight was so absurdly endearing you had to clutch your stomach to keep laughing.

“Cheol,” you wheezed, “that is the cutest thing I’ve ever heard in my life.”

“It was not supposed to be heard at all.”

“You literally bought real estate around a hypothetical baby.”

“It is an apartment.”

“You bought an apartment with a nursery in mind!”

He turned back so fast you nearly laughed again “I did not say that.”

“You didn’t have to” you beam at him

“You are making a lot of assumptions.”

“And they’re all correct.”

Seungcheol stared at you like he was genuinely considering whether he could physically put you into the box you’d unpacked out of.

You were still smiling, softer now, because underneath the teasing was something else entirely.

A warmth you didn’t quite know what to do with.

Because there was something unbearably intimate about it, finding out he’d built parts of his future around the shape of a family he never stopped wanting, even when he thought he’d lost you for good.

You didn’t know whether he’d imagined it with you still. You suspected maybe he had but you also knew better than to force him to say it before he was ready.

So instead, because you were still you and he was still him and there was no universe in which you were going to let him off the hook this easily, you stepped right into his space and tilted your head up at him with a grin.

“Wow,” you said softly “So domestic.”

He squinted at you “You’re enjoying this too much.”

“I’m enjoying the fact that you’re blushing over a room”

“I’m not blushing”

“You are literally the color of a tomato.”

“I am not”

“You are”

“I’m really not”

You leaned in slightly, hands clasped behind your back “Your ears are still red.”

He held your gaze for one long second. Then another.

The air changed so subtly you almost missed it. the teasing still there, but underneath it now, a low current of something warmer. He looked at you differently all of a sudden. Not exasperated.

Focused.

Your smile faltered just a little.

Seungcheol noticed. He took one slow step closer until there was barely any space left between you, and your pulse immediately betrayed you.

“Are you done?” he asked quietly

You swallowed “Depends.”

“On?”

“Whether you’re going to answer properly.”

He stared at you then his mouth curved, just barely. Dangerous. “No.”

You gasped “Seungcheol—” “You asked.”

 “And you answered like a criminal.”

He stepped closer again, close enough now that you had to tip your chin up to keep looking at him.

“You’re very annoying, you know that?”

You smiled, because if he was going to stand there looking at you like that, then two could play this game

“You like me anyway.”

His eyes flicked to your mouth. That tiny movement was enough to make your breath catch.

“I do,” he said, so quietly it almost didn’t sound intentional

Your heart stumbled over itself. For one terrifying, electric second, neither of you moved.

Then, because your brain apparently had a death wish, you opened your mouth and said, “So was it for one kid or two—”

Seungcheol kissed you.

Just to shut you up. At least, that was probably the excuse he’d use later.

But there was nothing casual about the way it happened.

One second you were smirking up at him, fully prepared to keep tormenting him over his hypothetical nursery, and the next his hand was at your jaw, warm and firm, and his mouth was on yours before your gasp could even turn into another word.

It was not a shy kiss. Not hesitant. Not uncertain.

It was a kiss from a man who had been patient for weeks, who had listened and waited and let you laugh at him in his own bedroom, and who had finally decided he’d had enough of your mouth for one afternoon.

Your back hit the edge of the dresser softly as he backed you up half a step, not enough to startle, just enough to pin you there with the solid heat of him in front of you.

You made a muffled sound against his mouth—half surprise, half laughter—and Seungcheol’s free hand landed beside your hip on the dresser as if to steady himself, or maybe steady you, and then he kissed you deeper.

And oh.

Oh.

Your hands found his shirt without permission, fingers curling into the fabric at his waist as your brain short-circuited completely.

He tasted like toothpaste and coffee and the stupid fruit you’d both been eating while unpacking, and the hand at your jaw slid to the side of your neck, thumb brushing just beneath your ear in a way that made your knees feel alarmingly unreliable.

You kissed him back on instinct. On want. On three years of loving him in silence and the last few weeks of carefully pretending that every look, every touch, every almost-moment didn’t feel like standing too close to a live wire.

Seungcheol made a quiet sound into your mouth when you tugged lightly at his shirt, like he’d been trying very hard to keep himself under control and was losing that battle by the second.

The sound alone nearly ruined you.

When he finally pulled back, it was only far enough to breathe. His forehead dropped to yours. His chest rose and fell once, twice. Your own breathing was no better.

For a second all you could do was stare at him.

His lips were a little swollen. His hair had fallen into his eyes. And his ears were still, humiliatingly, a little red.

You let out a shaky laugh.

Seungcheol closed his eyes like he regretted everything and nothing at the same time.

“You were talking too much,” he muttered

You blinked at him, still holding onto his shirt “Did you just kiss me to shut me up?”

“Yes.”

“That is—” You had to stop to catch your breath “That is so rude.”

His mouth twitched “You’re not exactly complaining.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it.

“I actually can’t believe you just did that.”

“I can.”

“You’re insane.”

“And yet,” he said softly, eyes dropping to your mouth again, “you kissed me back.”

You tried for dignity and got nowhere. “Well. You were already there.”

He huffed out a laugh, forehead still resting against yours “That’s your defense?”

“It’s all I have.”

“Mm.”

For a moment, neither of you moved away. Your hands were still bunched in his shirt. His hand was still warm at the side of your neck.

You looked at him, really looked at him, and whatever teasing had been there before softened into something else.

“Cheol,” you said quietly

His eyes lifted to yours immediately.

You hesitated. Not because you didn’t know what you wanted to ask. Because you did, because the tenderness of it scared you a little.

“When you got this place…” You swallowed “Did you still… see me here? with you?”

His hand slipped from your neck to your waist, resting there carefully like he was aware of every inch of contact.

“Yes,” he said.

Just yes.

Your chest tightened. He held your gaze and kept going, voice low and steady.

“I tried not to, at first.” A small, self-conscious smile touched his mouth. “I told myself I was just looking for a place with more light. A better kitchen. More room.”

Your eyes stung a little, though you didn’t know why. Maybe because you already knew what was coming and it still felt like hearing it for the first time.

“But every place I saw,” he said, “I kept thinking about what you’d like. If you’d hate the cabinets. If the windows were big enough. If there was room for…” He stopped, exhaled through his nose, and looked briefly embarrassed again. “For a life that didn’t feel temporary.”

You stared at him.

“I didn’t know if you’d ever come back,” he said “I didn’t expect you to. But I think…” He laughed quietly at himself “I think some part of me still built around you anyway.”

There were a hundred things you could’ve said. Something witty. Something lighter. Something to keep the moment from pressing so hard against your ribs.

But all that came out was the truth “That’s terrifyingly romantic.”

Seungcheol blinked. Then he laughed, head dropping briefly to your shoulder as if the force of you was too much.

You smiled, “It is,” you insisted, quieter now “It’s also a little insane. But mostly romantic.”

He lifted his head again, still smiling “I’m glad that’s your takeaway.”

“What, did you want me to focus on the part where you apparently designed a future nursery in your head?”

He groaned softly “We were having a moment.”

“We still are.”

“No, you ruined it.”

You grinned 0“You kissed me.”

“I know.”

“Very aggressively too.”

His eyes dropped to your mouth again  “Do you want me to apologize?”

You should have at least pretended to have standards. Instead you looked at him, at the warmth in his eyes and the hand still resting at your waist, and said the dumbest possible thing.

“Maybe do it again first so I can decide.”

Seungcheol stared at you. Then he smiled—that slow, devastating smile that always made you feel like the floor had tilted under your feet.

“You really don’t know when to stop, huh?”

“Not particularly.”

“Dangerous habit.”

“Do something about it then.”

His brows lifted. You held his gaze, trying very hard to look brave and not like your heart was about to beat itself clean out of your chest.

For one long second, he just looked at you.

Then his hand slid from your waist to the small of your back, warm and sure, and he murmured, “Gladly,” before kissing you again.

And there in that room, one where he pictured a life with you even on the years you were apart, you two began again. Years ago the very same thought broke you apart, the thought of family, marriage, kids. And here he is now. 

He worked hard to be a better man, a better one for you. Built a home you’d love, with room for a heart you’ll both create one day. 

[neocrias]

RUNRUNRUN (teaser) remastered

synopsis: Where you never realized your bodyguard was watching you.

Being the senator's daughter means having eyes on you at all times, and because of that, you were used to being watched. There were cameras, reporters chasing after you, and security guards behind you like shadows. It was nothing now.

You thought he was just another bodyguard hired to control you.

Seungcheol knew better.

pairing: bodyguard!Seungcheol x spoiled heiress!reader

warnings: a bit of stalking; fem reader, dark themes; use of alcohol; obsession; dacryphilia (that was a thing for me back then); begging; prey/hunter kink; overstimulation; oral (f receiving); pet names; tw's may change. MDNI

The hallway was so dark that you could barely see your own hands in front of your face. You couldn't turn on your phone's flashlight either. That would give away your location, and he would easily find you.

You’re not that dumb, come on.

You're a daddy's girl, used to the easiest life. Everything you may want was within reach at the snap of your fingers. You would’ve never dreamt of being chased after inside your own house – that wasn't even a possible scenario in your mind.

Poor naive girl.

You used to think of him as a stranger. Just another employee of your father, another bodyguard hired to make your life unhappy and miserable.

You barely knew him, cut that out. You didn't know him at all, not even his name.

He was a stranger.

. .

.

To you.

Seungcheol knew you very well.

He had every detail of her extensive routine memorized. Seungcheol knew your college schedule by heart, and the Pilates days, and the nights of the debate club.

Nothing escaped his sharp gaze.

Seungcheol knew who all your friends were. He had a list of all your ex-lovers and the severity of each breakup as well. He knew who you hung out with, who you spoke to, and who you hated. If there was one thing Seungcheol knew how to do, it was his job.

He was the best bodyguard in the country.

That's why he was hired, and also why he was able to keep his job for so long – and believe it, you had tried to get him fired at all costs.

This is the main reason why you’re in this current situation.

When you were invited to a club opening by your group of equally spoiled friends, Seungcheol knew that would be the end of him.

There’s a limit of what a “patient” man can endure.

A/N: so I had this Johnny fic where he was a stalker, and he kinda hunted the yn, but the thing is, I hated that fic. I wrote that when I was trying to do explicit scenes (which I still am), but that went BAD. I was trying some wild stuff and dark themes – and I had just read haunting adeline, so I thought,

"why not try to write something like this too?"

...what a fucking bad decision. I definitely shouldn't have, because that shit was awful. So here I am again, doing the right thing and rewriting that fic in a better way – with Scoups now, because Viola is working on something special with my man.

[slut4min9yu]

would LOVE to see Mingyu x reader who’s the sister of like one of the members!!! do whatever you want wit it :)

Warmed up || Kim Mingyu x Hong!reader

A/n: ahhhh love the request I hope u enjoy :)

Wc: 1,419

Warnings: Mingyu smoking, slightly suggestive

MASTERLIST

-

The bass was so loud it felt like it was vibrating through the floorboards.

Someone had connected to the speaker and was blasting Super for the third time that night, and the irony of it wasn’t lost on anyone.

Vernon glanced around the crowded room, his brows furrowed. He leaned closer to Joshua, who was lounging on the couch with a half empty beer in hand.

“Where’s Mingyu? Haven’t seen him all night,” Vernon shouted over the noise.

Minghao barely looked up from where he was scrolling on his phone. “If he’s not in the kitchen, he’s with her.”

“Her” didn’t need clarification.

Because everyone knew.

Joshua leaned back on the sofa, arms folded, expression suspiciously calm. “If he’s upstairs,” he said coolly, “I’m going to have a conversation with him.”

“Relax,” Minghao muttered with a smirk. “They’re grown.”

Joshua shot him a look. “That’s my sister we’re talking about here.”

Just as he said it, the sight of you and Mingyu caught Vernon’s attention, and Joshua turned his head.

Mingyu appeared first, one hand laced firmly with yours as he guided you down the stairs like you might float away without him.

His hair was slightly messy, lips pink, expression smug in the most Kim Mingyu way possible.

You followed half a step behind, cheeks warm, fingers intertwined with his.

Your lipstick was slightly faded. Your legs looked a little unsteady.

The subtle tension between you didn't go unnoticed.

"Where were you guys?" he started, though a moment later he held up a hand.

"Actually, don't answer that. I value my peace.”

Joshua groaned, his eyes narrowing as he sank deeper into the couch, clearly regretting the question.

Mingyu only grinned wider as he slid his free hand to the small of your back, pulling you flush against him.

“What?” he said innocently. “We were talking.”

“Upstairs?” Dino called out.

“Yes,” Mingyu replied without shame.

Joshua scoffed, bringing the beer up to his lips before speaking again. “Talking.”

You cleared your throat, trying not to laugh. “Don’t start.”

“Don’t start?” Joshua repeated, glancing at you before staring at Mingyu. “You disappear with my sister for forty-five minutes and you want me not to start?”

Mingyu pulled you gently into his lap once he sat on the couch.

You settled against him, your body fitting into his like second nature, the faint scent of his cologne mingling with the alcohol in the air.

“Hyung,” he said calmly, “I respect you.”

Joshua scoffed. “You don’t respect me.”

“I do,” Mingyu insisted, tightening his hold on you. “I respect you a lot.”

"Yeah, sure, whatever." He took another sip of his drink, clearly unimpressed with the scene unfolding in front of him.

You glanced at your brother, trying to lighten the tension.

You tried to redirect. “Where’s that girl you were seeing? The one from the gallery opening?”

Joshua’s expression flattened. “We’re not talking about me.”

There was a chill to his words that left an awkward silence between you, broken only by the sound of the party continuing in the background.

You exchanged a quick glance with Mingyu, who simply shrugged, his expression unbothered, like the drama swirling around him barely registered.

Mingyu’s fingers, however, were far more interested in the hem of your dress, teasing the fabric between his fingers as he leaned in closer.

“I'm having a smoke. You coming?” His voice dropped lower, intimate, a subtle invitation.

You glanced towards the patio door, the thought of stepping into the cold night air making you hesitate.

"But it's so cold out there," you pouted, your lips curving into a playful smile.

Mingyu chuckled, his eyes dropping to your legs as he gave your thigh a teasing pat.

"I told you it wasn't a good idea wearing this dress," he murmured, his voice filled with amusement as he traced lazy circles on your skin with his thumb.

“Oh, so it was a bad idea?” you shot back, tilting your head slightly, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of your lips as you met Mingyu’s gaze.

Before Mingyu could even open his mouth, Joshua let out another loud groan from across the couch, dragging a hand down his face like he physically couldn’t deal with the sight anymore.

“Oh my god, get out of here,” he complained, waving a hand at the two of you.

“Seriously. I do not need to sit here and watch my best friend and my little sister acting all lovey-dovey.”

He rolled his eyes so dramatically it looked like he might actually leave the room just to preserve his sanity.

Vernon leaned forward slightly from where he was sitting, lowering his voice toward the two of you with a lazy shrug.

“He’s way too sober for this right now,” he said flatly.

You couldn’t help it, a giggle slipped out.

“Alright, alright,” you laughed, holding your hands up in surrender as you slid off Mingyu’s lap. “We’re going.”

Mingyu stood, wrapping an arm around your waist, tugging you closer as the two of you made your way outside.

The night air hit you immediately, crisp and cold, but Mingyu didn't seem to mind, pulling you against him as if he could keep you warm just by being close.

Mingyu leaned back against the side of the house, the dim glow of the porch light casting shadows across his features.

A cigarette hung loosely from his lips, the faint trail of smoke curling lazily into the cool night air as he gazed down at you.

He wasn't really paying attention to the words spilling from your mouth, your voice a pleasant hum in the background, but his eyes were locked on you specifically, the way your glossy lips moved as you talked.

You leaned casually against the wall, your phone in hand, gesturing lightly as you rambled on about the latest gossip.

Your voice was animated, each detail about who hooked up with who and which petty argument had exploded at the last party spilling out with dramatic enthusiasm.

Mingyu, however, was only half listening.

His attention kept drifting back to you, more specifically, to the soft curve of your lips as you talked.

Under the dim porch light they caught a faint shine from your gloss, moving with every word, every little expression you made.

He took a slow drag of his cigarette, the ember glowing briefly in the dark as his gaze lingered there a moment longer before slowly drifting downward.

From your lips to the delicate line of your collarbone, to the neckline of your dress.

Whatever story you were telling had clearly taken over your full attention, your voice rising and falling with excitement as you scrolled through your phone for proof of the latest drama.

But Mingyu wasn’t really following any of it anymore.

To him, the words were just background noise while he watched you, quietly amused, like your presence alone was more interesting than any gossip you could possibly share.

Mingyu took another drag, tapping the ash lazily off the edge before replying, his tone casual and distracted.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “She’s an idiot.”

His gaze never really left your face.

You sighed, finally noticing the lack of enthusiasm in his responses, lowering your phone slightly as you shot him a playful glare.

“Are you even listening to me?” you asked.

He smirked, letting the cigarette hang loosely from his lips before finally lifting his gaze to meet yours.

“I’m listening,” Mingyu drawled, his voice low with amusement. “I just don’t care about half the people you’re talking about.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning a little closer to him. “I just like watching you get all worked up about it.”

He flicked the cigarette away, letting it fall to the ground as his attention shifted fully to you.

You sighed, tucking your phone in his back pocked before crossing your arms over your chest.

A shiver ran through you as the cold night air settled in.

“Can you hurry up?” you complained, stepping closer and pressing into his side. “I’m freezing my tits off out here.”

The night air was biting, and the flimsy dress you'd chosen was doing nothing to help.

Mingyu smirked, wrapping an arm casually around your shoulders and pulling you against him.

“Quit whining,” he teased, glancing down at you with that familiar playful look. “I already warmed you up earlier.”

His hand rested comfortably on your hip, the cocky tone in his voice making you roll your eyes.

[gyuswhore]

Sit Down

anniversary event [closed]

kim mingyu x reader

prompt(s): getting aroused by the other's jealousy/obsession with them, "Could he/she/they do it like this?”, “you're sexy when you're angry”

word count: 5.1k

warnings: smut (MINORS DNI), fluff, potter!mingyu, they're married, reader discovers jealousy, oral (m.rec), penetration (unprotected!!!), kissing, breast play, clit stimulation, they're nasty as hell idk what to tell you

synopsis: It isn't your fault that you feel this way, especially as you watch her hands trace over your husband's own.

It isn't your fault that you can barely go on with your day with that cursed image replaying in your mind like a broken record.

And it certainly isn't your fault that you find yourself completely naked on your husband's lap while his clay-clad hands cannot touch you.

[a/n]: @highvern at the scene of the crime as always, we all have to thank her for her service as she betas for me and encourages my tomfoolery. enjoy this and let me know your thoughts in the rbs, comments or send me an ask!!!!!

masterlist

The grip you have on the file is proving to be detrimental to the cheap plastic covering. Not that you could blame yourself as you watch your husband through the window of his pottery studio, leaning over to help a student with her discombobulated salad bowl. 

It was a beautiful morning, the beach across from the boardwalk sparingly occupied with delighted tanners and swimmers, the low buzz of waves reaching the shore sending a calming draft across the area. Envious as you were of Mingyu and his impeccable real estate choices, especially right now as your heel clad feet ache to take a dip in the waters, you couldn’t help but feel all the more irked that this was the background the image inside the studio was sitting against. 

Through the large glass windows, Mingyu is pressing his foot over top of his very pretty student’s on the pedal to force the pottery wheel to spin, hands over her own as he guides her fingers to put pressure on the wet clay. A spiteful part of you pushes a thought in your mind, that your husband was attempting to fix a lost cause, especially when his student seemed quite insistent in her soft smiles and keeping her gaze on the fingers that cover her own, rather than actually fixing the abomination on the pottery wheel. 

You don’t know how long you’ve been standing there by the time he’s done, straightening his back to turn his attention to the other students that make their attempts at their half done projects. Mingyu catches your figure through the window and immediately breaks into a big smile, clay covered hand coming to wave at you. 

Taking it as your cue to walk into the studio, you return neither his gorgeous smile or his occupied wave as you strut through the glass doors. Your husband meets you on the other side of the open space, hands now washed clean as he leans over to place a kiss on your cheek. 

“Hey, you,” he says in greeting, hands drying on a towel. 

All you can think about is if that salad bowl girl can see you, and you thank goodness you wore your nice top today. 

“Here.” You merely push the slightly crumpled file of documents to his chest, jaw set and lips tight. 

“Oh, thanks,” he comments as he grabs the papers pushed towards him, smile dropping a little at your abrupt attitude. “Is everything alright?” 

“Hm? ‘Course,” you answer, adjust the strap of your bag. “I have to get back to work. Be careful about your paperwork next time, I can’t keep making trips across town for this.”

You bite your tongue as soon as you say it, the words tumbling out before you can help it. Can’t keep making trips across town for this? Last time you checked, you were looking for passive excuses to make the trip to your husband’s studio just to see him during the day. 

“Oh.” His brows are furrowed, the frown apparent on his face. “I–I didn’t think you’d be too busy today, you said you’d be done early so—I—nevermind. I’m sorry I pulled you out of work for this, I’ll be careful next time.”

There’s a pang in your heart as you hear him apologise, immediately mad at yourself for going on and ruining his mood. What were you annoyed at? That he was doing his job? 

Your gaze lands behind him where most of his students are occupied with their projects, but just one whose eyes dart between you and Mingyu. 

Taking a step back, you’re about to walk out before you feel him grab your wrist. “D’you wanna have dinner at the new restaurant down the pier after work? We can watch the sunset too, haven’t done that in a while.”

You want to scream yes. Of course you want to watch a beach sunset with your husband. Of course you want to eat at the restaurant you’ve been waiting eagerly for with your husband. And you aren’t entirely sure if this reaction is simply because you’ve been stressed lately, but the sticky feeling is pushing you to make your claim in some way, somehow. 

Biting back another strangely snarky reply, you make an attempt to fix your stoic face and walk back to Mingyu. Leaning up, you kiss the corner of his mouth in what you hope is slightly reassuring. 

“I’ll see you in a few hours.”

Kicking off your heels is the first thing you do once you make it back to your desk, taking no time to punch the power on button on your computer. You pull a file from the stack next to you, one that sits at the bottom, with a harder than necessary yank. Bad idea, because as you scramble to stop the pile from tipping over entirely, you can only think of other ways your day could get worse. 

Before the worst of it can hit the floor, you find a second set of hands catching the strewing papers. 

“Thanks, Han,” you say as you attempt to reorganise the documents, taking the extra ones off his hands. 

“Have the laws of physics forsaken you? Or do you just like reorganising paperwork?” Hansol asks, sipping on something from the stupid horse mug Mingyu had made for him in light of his promotion. 

Huffing, you only haphazardly stuff the files to the corner to be done with it, opening the file you need as your computer finally boots up. “Don’t you have manager stuff to do?” 

“Being a manager means I can put off doing manager stuff,” he states. “Besides, I’m taking care of my peers, can you imagine the catastrophe that could’ve been if I didn’t swoop in to save you?”

“Papers on the floor? How catastrophic indeed,” you monotone as you click away at trying to find a particular excel sheet. 

“How was Mingyu?”

Stiffening, you want to curse Hansol at reminding you of the very thing you did not want to think of right now. 

“He was fine.”

“You were back earlier than usual, thought you would’ve had lunch with him.”

That was your plan, but clearly the universe had other ways for you to go about your day. Like thinking about an overly flirty student and her all too oblivious teacher. 

“He…he had a workshop today,” you simply comment. 

“Okay, Elsa, who shoved an ice cube up your ass?” You can hear the sneer in his voice, the judgmental stare. 

Groaning loudly, you can only slam your forehead onto your desk in an all too dramatic fashion. “Can you drop it? Please?”

“Ah,” he drags. “Trouble in paradise. Understood. I will be at my desk if you want to complain about your husband like Margaret from Finance.”

Margaret from Finance. The woman who’s entire catalogue of marital issues would be solved if she and her husband simply spoke to each other once in a while. Perhaps even held hands on occasion. 

You wince as you envision yourself becoming as stuck up and miserable as that, Hansol’s harmless comparison sending you into yet another spiral. It wasn’t that serious, this was all because your brain was stressed, horny and in love. The fact that your husband looked like how he did wasn’t really helping either. 

With a little more aggression than you usually would’ve done with, you attempt to skim through the files as quickly as humanly possible, flicking through the useless filler pages to get to the ones that actually required your attention. 

You send a passive aggressive email to Hansol entailing his job to keep things precise. 

Shoving forkfuls of salad into your mouth, your mouse clicks louder than anyone else in the area, having gone back to change your cursor speed about thrice since you turned your computer on. 

Your phone dings. Closing your eyes, you count to ten before turning to look at the illuminated screen beside you. 

[Gyu <3]: did u have lunch?

[Gyu <3]: i wanted us to get sum together but u zoomed off : (((

[Gyu <3]: im done with my classes for the day. The students were asking ab you earlier when u came in heh

[Gyu <3]: cant wait to see u tonight i looooooveee u <333

God, he makes it hard to stay mad at him. 

Snapping your head back to your monitor, you close your eyes once again as you question the war in your head and chest. Why were you mad at him? There was nothing to be mad about. Did you expect him to go about his day covered in plastic wrap and a neon ‘OFF LIMITS’ sign all day? The ring on his finger was supposed to do the job just fine. 

You sigh as you force yourself to text him back something that wasn’t entirely passive aggressive. Typing and erasing, and typing again and erasing again. A smiley face to seal it into something you were not feeling, and send. 

It’s late in the afternoon by the time you’re done, the sun less blaring as it pours through the office windows. You flick the last file shut, power off your computer and spring up to your feet, immediately gathering your things. Phone, ID, keys, and the last plastic file in your hands, you stalk towards Hansol’s desk and slam the papers next to his computer. 

He nearly chokes on his pocky stick as you spit out your final notes in rapid fire, not caring if you were indecipherable in the slightest. Hansol’s eyebrows remain in the air by the time you’re done, spinning on your heels and walking straight towards the elevators. 

“See you, Monday!” you finally hear him call out and you don’t turn to return his goodbye. Something that might have given you a strike but you could threaten him to take it off all the same. 

Besides, you had somewhere to be, and the idea churning in your brain didn’t seem like it wanted to wait. 

The sun is setting by the time you get to the beach boardwalk, climbing the steps to the line of establishments that overlook the significantly more occupied shore. Everything is perfect. Warm just the right amount, the sunlight forcing everything in its path into an incandescent glow. 

What you would’ve given for a nice lie on one of the beach chairs to release an entire day’s worth of tense muscles. But alas, you trudge straight down the boardwalk and walk the way to Mingyu’s studio. When you’re nearly there, you see the glass door of the studio open from a distance, immediately recognising the part timer leaving for the day. 

You cross paths as he walks towards you in the opposite direction, lighting up as he recognises you through your work attire. 

“Oh, hi!” Chan chirps, arm raised in a half wave. 

“Hi! Clocking out?” you ask as you stop to greet him. 

“Uh—yeah, Mingyu let me go early.” He’s grinning. 

“Good to hear. You enjoy the rest of your night, alright?” 

“Yeah–uh, you too!” he stutters once again as he continues to smile wide. You think nothing of it and continue your short walk to where the studio doors were. 

Coming round, you find the large glass door and walls have been blocked out with the blinds, the blaring CLOSED sign right at the entrance. 

You stand there in front of the door like a fool, taking a deep breath, eyes closed as you gain your bearings. Grabbing the shiny handle, you push the unlocked glass open. 

The bell at the top jingles, signalling a customer, and you watch your husband sitting at one of the turntables, clearly occupied. The studio is completely empty except for him, the whirr of the spinning table coming to a halt as he turns to tell whoever came in that they were closed for the day. 

It’s revolting. He’s wearing his usual black tee, stained with months of splattered clay, his hair tousled like he’d run his hands through it before he started his project. The sun seeps in through the neglected edges of the top of the glass walls, past the blinds that cover most of them, casting him in an unbelievable light. It’s revolting, he’s done nothing and it’s making your head reel; revolting. 

“We’re—oh, you’re early!” There it is, that stupid smile he can’t help but flash at every last person he sees, directed straight at you laced with nothing but love. 

Reaching behind you, you push the metal lock on the door to click it shut, locking the both of you inside, and the rest of the beach and boardwalk out. Right after, you begin to kick off your heels. 

“I already made the reservations for an hour from now, let me change and wash up so we can go to the beach till—”

“Sit down.”

He was halfway out of his seat as he was talking, ready to leave his half done work on the turntable to leave with you. Your words come out firm, a strange tone like you were giving him a command. 

It works, and the shock has him immediately falling back into his chair. The force pushes the chair away from the turn tables, now half facing you.  

Dropping your bag, you shuck your long coat off and leave it on the floor. Eyeing his hands, they’re covered in wet clay, suspended away from his body so as to not ruin his clothes more than they already are, speckled with dried clay and paint. 

He recovers quickly, confused as he watches you fiddle with the buttons on your bottoms, rising out of his chair once again. 

“What are you—” 

“I said,'' you grunt as you finally push your bottoms down so they hit the floor. “Sit down.” 

The shift in his face makes it obvious it has clicked in his head, staring at you as you walk towards him in just your blouse as the situation escalates faster than he can keep up with. 

“Right now? Can you at least let me—”

Through his blabbering you’ve reached him and swung a leg over his lap, seating yourself on his clothed thighs as he moves his hands away, making sure not to get clay all over your blouse. 

His hands may be occupied in a different sense, but you choose to busy yours in other ways. Taking his face in your hands, you lock your mouths in an open mouthed kiss, rendering him speechless. 

Taking no time to think, nor to let him think, you push your hips down to meet his own in a deep grind, panty clad pussy making contact with the rough of his jeans right over his bulge. The feeling is so sudden, spiking throughout your system as you hear him take a sharp inhale still pressed into your mouth.

That was you. That was you getting that reaction out of him, no matter how small it was. The thought has you gripping the back of his head, fingers making home in the short strands of his hair as you let go from the kiss. 

Wasting no time, you push his head back and stick your tongue out, licking a stripe from the base of his throat right up to his jaw. He shivers beneath you, and it only muddles your mind even more. 

You can feel his bulge beneath you growing larger and larger by the second, pressing into your inner thigh as his breathing grows exponentially heavier in your ear. Locking eyes with him, you trail your other hand down to graze over the front of his shirt, pressing into the bumps and ridges that lie beneath.

Reaching his buckle, you hook your finger underneath the gap and pull at the metal. As you let go, it snaps back into place with a resounding cling! Keeping the eye contact, you drift even lower, your fingers find the growing tent in his jeans as you cup the bulge. Moving your hands in the way you know he likes it, you curb your speed to drag out the feeling for him. 

“Fuck,” you hear him curse lowly. 

It’s becoming impossible for him to keep his composure, especially to keep his hands away from your body that sits on him. He gets close, fingers brushing the white of your blouse in a moment of confusion, instant brown on the surface as his wet, clay hands ruin your shirt. 

“If you really can’t keep your hands to yourself,” you say, halting your movements on his crotch. “I guess this’ll have to go too.”

Not bothering to undo all the buttons, you tug the first couple ones unfastened and pull your blouse over your head, throwing it somewhere behind his head. Quickly, you reach behind and unclasp your bra, flinging it away in the same general area. You’re now almost entirely naked while he remains clothed head to toe. 

Your nipples harden as they meet the air in the studio, Mingyu’s eyes set on your mounds as he takes them in. 

Before he has the opportunity to do anything, you slip off of your seat in his lap, knees slamming the floors in your haste as you kneel before him. Hands flying, you tug at the buckle of his belt, undoing it despite your hurried motions. 

“You’ve been off today, are you sure everything’s alright?” Mingyu asks from, still wide eyed as he watches helplessly as you yank his jeans enough to reveal the final layer of his underwear. It doesn’t take you long to take his entire length out of there too, needing him in front of you.

“Do not ask me about my feelings when I’m trying to fuck you.”

“What on earth–shit!”

You’ve taken his now fully hard length into your hand, licking a strip from the base of his cock up to the bulbous head. The tip of your tongue teases the head ever so lightly, and Mingyu watches as his head and your tongue match in their reds. He watches the way your tongue dips into the pooling white of his precum, pushing into his slit as the tip of your tongue wiggles slightly. 

The fact that he cannot touch only heightens the effects of your teasing, clayed hands balling into fists just to feel something on his fingertips. 

Soon, your lips have wrapped around the head of cock as you let it rub against the beginnings of the inside of your soft mouth. Letting go, you take him in again, this time running your tongue over his slit, feeling his hips twitch beneath you as you continue to take him in and out, only to take him back in again. 

In one motion, you sink your mouth lower onto his dick, feeling the head of his cock run against the roof of your mouth. Mingyu hisses audibly amidst his very loud and heavy breathing. 

When you feel him hit the beginnings of your throat, you pull back, bringing your hand to curve around the base to cover what you couldn’t fit, pumping him up and down as you continue to pull his member in and out of your mouth. 

He’s moaning loud, the echoes resonating off the walls as you hear your name slip from his mouth over, and over, and over again. It only encourages you as you move down deeper, his cock touching the back of your throat in more familiarity than before. 

Everything is wet; the spit and precum turning into a shiny gleam on his cock and on the lower half of your face, the heat between your legs that makes you feel oh so empty. Clenching around nothing, you resist the urge to bring a hand down to relieve yourself. 

“Are you ovulating or something, why are you suddenly…suddenly, fucking hell I don’t know.” 

Releasing him from your mouth with a loud pop, you rear your head to look up at him, the lower half of your face covered in a wet glisten. Your hand continues to pump him as you watch his face remain contorted in pleasure.

In a daze, you don’t realise what you’re saying as you blab. “Could she do it like this?”

“What?”

“Could she do it like this?” you repeat like a mantra, needing to hear his answer. “Could she make you feel like this?”

“What are you talking about?” It’s taking Mingyu every bit of his soul to form coherent words. 

In one swift motion, you’ve hoisted yourself back on your feet, nails digging into his thighs through his pants. 

Hovering over his lap, you take his shaft once again, but this time you push your panties aside with your hand and bring it close to your heat, brushing the head of his cock over your wet folds, using him to feel the pleasure that builds. 

“God, you’re so wet,” he blabs as he throws his head back at the feeling. “I wanna touch you, fuck I need to get this clay off, I need to touch you.”

He’s brought his mouth to latch onto your nipple, evoking a loud gasp from you as feel him circle your nub with his tongue before sucking. Letting go, he sticks his tongue out as his only weapon, flicking it repeatedly as you continue to rub his wet cock over your equally wet cunt. 

Lining him up with your entrance, you sink onto his head as you let out a loud moan, feeling the tip stretch you out in the familiar way you’ve been craving all day. It’s like your brain is buffering as you recover from the bout of pleasure, barely registering that he’s continued to assault your other nipple now. 

Your free hand comes to toy with your relieved tit, twisting your spit covered nipple between your fingers as his dick pushes further and further inside you. 

Fully sheathed, you pull your husband’s face away from your breast as you bring his lips to your own, kissing him deep as you clench around his hard cock.

“Don’t. Do that,” he hisses against your lips, hands suddenly closing in your waist, so close before he realises he can’t. “‘M gonna fucking come, I’m so serious.”

The news is enlightening, especially as it encourages you to lift your hips ever so slightly, and curl back back down in an initial thrust. Again, and again, and again till you’re moving your hips at a swift pace, striking down on his length as you both moan into each other's mouths.

The feeling is electrifying, and the borderline pornographic noises your husband is making is only making it all the more easier to gush around his member, to move your hips faster as you feel the knot in your abdomen tighten and loosen. 

“You feel amazing, so fucking good,” he grunts as he mouths the column of your throat. “My baby, my darling, my wife.”

And when the burn in your thighs becomes more than just a mental battle, your hips slowing despite the mind boggling feeling and the choked sobs that come out of you, you feel Mingyu’s hips lift from the chair he’d been trapped in, pushing into you instead. 

His still dirty hands have taken hold of the top of the back legs of the chair, helping himself push off his seat to thrust into you rapidly. 

“Touch yourself, baby,” he says. “Rub your clit for me.”

Who are you to deny him, one hand on one of his broad shoulders while the other flies down to the mess that’s becoming of your cunt. Rubbing two fingers over your clit, you throw your head back in a loud moan as you feel yourself beginning to close in.

Mingyu is watching the apex of your thighs; the way your fingers work against your swollen clit, the way his dick disappears inside you, a ring of sinful white foaming at the base of his cock. He twitches inside you, a clear indication that he was also close. 

Your breasts are a sight to behold, and the scene before him is enough to make him bust entirely. Bouncing tits that he cannot touch, perfectly red, puffed pussy he cannot touch, the beautiful curves and dips of your waist and thigh, barely illuminated by the setting sun, that he cannot touch. He curses the wretched idea to make a last minute thing on the turntable before you arrived, curses the fact that he should be able to feel all of you. 

He might lose his mind, and he does when your walls clamp down on him like a trap, your moans so loud he’s sure he’ll be hearing them in his ears for weeks. 

“G–Gyu, I’m cumming,” you whimper through the pure brain fog. 

Mingyu fucks you through your orgasm, finally letting himself release his own load into you when he simply can’t take it anymore, dick spasming as he shoots white hot cum into your hole. The added slick makes it easier to slip in and out faster as his orgasm holds out far longer than it usually does, both of your hips twitching like you’d been zapped as you come down from your highs. 

It’s become near impossible to hold up your own weight, slumping against his large frame as you unclench every pinched muscle and joint. Forehead on his shoulder, you take pleasure in the afterglow, breathing in his scent with your nose pressed into the sliver of skin that reveals past his shirt. Sweat, the earthy odour of clay, and the calm familiarity of him.

“I don’t know what I did to have you acting like this,” he breathes into your ear. “But whatever it is, I need to do it more often.”

Sluggishly, you lift your head to look at him. His head is leaned back on the chair, face glowing as you stare into the eyes you fell in love with so long ago. 

“You haven’t done anything,” you sigh. “It was…stupid.”

“That’s the worst thing you could say to me right now.”

You whine, rolling your neck. “What do you want me to tell you?”

He stares. “Who do I need to thank for creating this monster?”

It was a joke, clearly, but you couldn’t help but feel the little pool of pride swell within you anyway. 

“Salad bowl girl.”

“And I’m supposed to know what that means? Do you want a salad bowl? I can make you one.”

“No. The girl in your class this morning with that god awful salad bowl,” you huff. “It looked offensive, she was too busy burning holes into you.”

“Oh no,” he whispers, eyes wide, mouth turning it the beginnings of a hysterical laugh. “My pretty little wife is jealous.”

“If you’re gonna rub it in, I'm getting off.” You try to remove yourself from his lap, slipping his now soft member out of you. 

You’re stopped when you feel the two points of his elbows locking you at the waist, pushing you down. He’s grinning like a fool. “You’re sexy when you’re angry.”

“I’m not angry—”

“Your hello was my dick in your mouth.”

“So you didn’t like it?”

“I’d fire myself in the kiln before I ever say that.” He locks his elbows harder, pulling you closer. “Besides, I think this means I’ve won.”

“Won what?”

“Like you’ve never noticed Chan looking at you like…like he’s got some puppy dog crush on you. I’ve won the battle of composure.” 

You guffaw, “What are you—stop it, he does not!”

He merely leans forward and kisses you, “I don’t blame him. My wife is the most gorgeous thing anyone could ever see.” 

Grabbing him by the elbows, you break free of his hold and get off of his lap, attempting to gather the clothes you’ve scattered across the studio. 

“Can you at least help me put my dick back inside my pants, these are my cleaner jeans!”

Snapping the elastic of your bra back on, pantied adjusted, you walk back to him. He’s looking at you with those stupid stars in his eyes and it makes it hard to focus on readjusting his jeans for him. 

Leaning down, you take in your hands his still wet cock, smothered in your spit and arousal, complete with his own release. You can’t help it when you dip further to take his head into your mouth, the groan coming from above you near automatic. 

“Oh, you’re evil.”

You grin as you wrap your mouth in a harsher suck, feeling him harden slowly, still quicker than you’d thought. Giving him a few more generous sucks, you run your tongue over his slit before moving back. 

He’s breathing heavily, leaning close as you pull his waistband up. “You know, they say you should lay down afterwards if you want to be successful. I think we might have to go again later on a real bed to do the trick.”

“You can stay horny, I’m getting dressed for some real food.” 

“I think we kinda need to be horny to do what we’re trying to do,” he lowtones, moving his face back and forth to meet your drifting eyes. 

You sigh once again, “Why can’t just getting off birth control be enough?”

“Are you not having fun?”

“I’m literally buttoning your pants for you, it was fun until now.”

Mingyu raises his hands in both surrender and pointed regard, the clay now dried and cracking over his hands and forearms. “I digress.”

 It annoys you that he’s right, so you lean in to give him a kiss as a distraction. It works. 

“It’s alright,” he smiles into your kiss. “This is the one thing I won’t mind breaking my back for.”

The giggle escapes you before you can help it, and you feel him kiss at your cheeks, placing one last one on the tip of your nose.

“Now, if my lovely wife will let me wash my hands…?”

“Go,” you chuckle.

“We should name our baby Salad Bowl in this honour.” He’s way at the handwash station by now, water running as he scrubs off all the dried up clay.

“So sad our baby will have to grow up without a father.”

 “I love you,” he yells. 

“I’ll be sure to tell our child.” 

“You’re insufferable,” he says, suddenly behind you as you pull on your blouse. Wet hands grasp your waist and you squeal at the feeling. 

“Mingyu!” 

“I love you,” he drags, spinning you around to face him. 

“I thought I was insufferable.”

Your husband groans, simply pulling you into him with his own two hands to kiss you. 

“I think we’re late for our reservation.”

“You’d better hurry then.” You eye his clay speckled shirt.

“Don’t miss me.” He turns around to find his cleaner shirt, all while you drift over to see the incomplete project still on his table.

A mug still clay-brown and half done, but one that looks suspiciously similar to your favourite one you broke last week. 

[neocrias]

diet pepsi

synopsis: When a ride home becomes something much more... interesting.

Your interactions with Mingyu have been getting weird during the last group meeting. There’s a certain tension in every act of kindness he does for you — it could be you overanalyzing friendly acts, or maybe Kim Mingyu wants you as much as you want him.

pairing: mingyu x reader wc: 3,6k

warnings: unprotected sex; kinda public car sex; dry humping; fingering (f receiving); loss of virginity; cock riding; mating press?; Mingyu is a teasing little shit; slight size kink; huge man in cars; dacryphilia perhaps?; mentions of alcohol; inappropriate language. MDNI.

You don't know when you started feeling this way about Mingyu, but lately he's been... different. He's hot, but you already knew that. Everybody did.

Mingyu is tall, tanned, has a charming smile and beautiful sparkling eyes that goes along with the sweet and patient personality he always has when he's with you and the boys. But something is different.

You don't know what happened, but Mingyu's every attitude seemed different tonight and what would normally be “your friend's caring and concerned way” was making you crave his attention in a way you've never felt before.

Post by @neocrias · 3 images

💬 3  🔁 237  ❤️ 3331 · diet pepsi · synopsis: When a ride home becomes something much more... interesting. Your interactions with Mingyu hav

[cheolliecherie]

she loves me, she loves me not

inspired by Tyler Joseph in Twenty One Pilots - Festival Series: Episode 5. The clikkie in me is showing again.

a/n: hi!! I'm back for a bit! this is a cute little something I wrote just now because tøp uploaded that yesterday and I was momentarily distracted in my attempts at writing the extra for LL. I couldn't stop thinking about it. I love tøp, I love tyler and I love cheol and of course I found my ways on bringing all that together lol. While writing it my mind summoned this pouty boy talking nonsense complaining about his cute squishy cheekies and that's how that picture ended there jaja. I'm not feeling my greatest both physically and mentally but I'm pushing through.

wc: 338

genre: fluff, pouty cheol if that counts (?)

cw: none

6:55 p.m.

There's a lull in conversation in the group's dressing room as the members stare at their oblivious leader who's calling you right this moment. Seungcheol fidgets in place, fiddling with the chains hanging from his pants where he stands fully clad on his stage outfit.

One ring,

two rings,

three rings…

It doesn't connect. He visibly deflates, walking back towards the boys and placing his phone down on the small table in the middle of the sitting area. He keeps staring at its screen, turning when he feels the pressure of everyone's eyes curiously on him.

"She didn't pick up." Seungcheol says sheepishly.

"She's probably busy." He continues, although nobody's asked him for explanations, but he's being completely serious by the pout set on his face. "She always answers otherwise." He nods to himself. "Because she loves me."

The others stare besides themselves, nodding as well and finding the situation the most amusing thing in the world.

"It's not like she would ignore me..."

"Yeah, she's probably busy." Joshua agrees appeasingly, and Seungcheol's pouting almost stops. "The time difference is like…" he trails off.

"It's like five in the morning." Mingyu sniggers. "She's busy sleeping, and you're being clingy." Apparently someone had no sense of self preservation today.

But the oldest member doesn't react. Instead, he's regretting having called you at all, thinking he might've bothered you so early.

"Five minutes!" someone counts down before it's time for them to go out on stage.

And just at that moment, his phone screen lights up with your contact, there's a picture of you and at least three different heart emojis. Seungcheol's face lights up too, almost dropping the phone in his haste to pick it up before he's heading into the hallway. Noise filters out as the others start to whoop and tease at his display of being down bad.

The door closes behind him, but not before they can make out Seungcheol's voice turning impossibly softer as he answers your call,

"Hi, baby. Did I wake you up?"

-

thank you for reading <3

divider by @strangergraphics-archive

[sanakiras]

PRIVATE ✧˖°

PAIRING ✧˖° kim mingyu x fem!reader

WORD COUNT ✧˖° 20k

SYNOPSIS ✧˖° for several generations, there’s been bad blood between two competing families running ancestral firms in the shipbuilding business. when an accident happens during a joint venture, the families are forced to work together to cover it up, and what better way to do so than with an unexpected marriage?

TAGS ✧˖° arranged marriage/fake dating, explicit sexual content, dilf!mingyu, age gap (20s + 40s), slight size kink, this was supposed to be more porn than plot but i got carried away and made them lovers™ instead, angst, mc has shitty parents which is a Big Thing

♫ ✧˖° private by the nbhd ✧ freak by lana del rey ✧ kiss it better by rihanna ✧ big feelings by ariana grande

NOTE ✧˖° so i finally got around to watching akotsk recently and baelor targaryen now lives in my head day and night. hot intelligent caring soft spoken older man who gets things done…. needthat 😁😁 which is why his character kinda became the main inspiration for gyu in this fic. ramble over enjoy folks

YOU ARE YOUR FATHER’S DAUGHTER. you’ve heard it plenty of times throughout your life.

stand-offish, detached, decorum-obsessed. you and your older brother are carbon copies of the man who raised you, his norms and values remaining imprinted in your heads. not that your mother’s any different.

what you clearly care about most in life is two things: money and status.

luckily, you were born into a prominent, wealthy family that allowed you to have both of those things. your grandparents founded a shipbuilding company that’s grown to be one of the largest in the world, and to this day, the company is still in your family’s hands.

your father, as the ceo, sits at the helm of the company. your mother is a private equity investor, a terrifyingly good one. your brother, wonwoo, is about five years older than you and set to take over your dad’s position as soon as he retires.

being the second-born means ranking lower in the pecking order. not that you really mind — you work hard, you deliver good results, and you already know a stellar position in the company is waiting for you as soon as wonwoo becomes the man in charge.

your family is known to drive business more ruthlessly than others. a stark contrast to the family business that’s posed the biggest threat to yours for multiple generations now.

kim mingyu leads his family’s company in a way you never would. more personal relationships with their staff, dressed relatively casually for a ceo, radiating nothing but warmth and approachability.

or so you’ve been told, anyway.

your father believes it’s the main reason they’ll never make as much money as you, even if most people in the same business has always spoken rather highly of them. where the competition between your two companies came from or what led up to it, you don’t know, but it was already there when your grandparents were still running things. something personal, clearly.

and, as it turns out, old habits really do die hard. it’s the main reason you’ve been hostile to each other for so long.

though, in all fairness, it’s not nearly as bad as it used to be. most of your current rivalry has been reduced to mere dirty glances, low blows, bad mouthing one another and trying to take each other’s clients. not very professional, no, but a necessary evil sometimes.

one of the clients of theirs you tried to poach from them — a man of solid status, who both your families tried your hardest to impress — decided he simply couldn’t choose which of the two companies he wanted to get into business with. so to your worst nightmare, he put out the idea for a joint venture. since the profit and other benefits from the proposal were too good to turn down, both kim mingyu and your father agreed to it.

in hindsight, however, you kind of wish you hadn’t.

four months into your partnership, an accident occurred on one of the wharfs. a result of gross negligence that could be blamed on either of your families, and as it turns out, you might not be the only ones aware of it.

which brings you to your current situation — an emergency meeting between the only people allowed to hear of it.

“we have footage of a person taking evidence. for all we know, it could be an employee. it’s too delicate to see the light of day,” your father says.

wonwoo steals a look at you from under his thick-rimmed glasses before turning back to the paperwork in front of him.

mingyu sighs, one hand supporting his chin, that silver ring he always wears on his pinky glistening in the sunlight that’s shining through the windows. “yes, and we’re gathered here because you said you had an idea how to handle it.”

“we talked with our lawyers, who ended up advising the old-fashioned approach,” wonwoo begins, twirling the navy ballpen sitting between his thumb and index finger. “people love a new subject to talk about, right? simple gossip easily becomes the talk of the town. like a relationship, for example.”

mingyu’s sister, coo of their company, raises a brow. “between who?”

“someone from your family, with someone from ours.”

“i’d agree, except most of us are spoken for,” she adds, gesturing to the ring on her finger.

it’s a fair point. your parents are married, your brother engaged, mingyu’s sister is also married. which, technically, leaves him, and—

he appears genuinely confused for a moment — until his eyes meet yours.

for someone with such a presence, you know exactly how to draw attention to yourself at the right moment without saying a word. you shoot him a catlike smile, waiting for him to figure it out, full-on smirking once the realization visibly dawns on his face.

“are you implying what i think you’re implying?” mingyu asks, his mouth running dry.

“unless you’ve got some secret younger brother walking around somewhere, yes, it’s gonna be you and me.”

he’s baffled that you’re being so casual about it. “and you’re happy with this?”

a question you don’t hear quite often. still, you pay it little mind.

“well, it was my idea,” you cross your arms, immediately speaking up again once you catch those raised brows of his. “don’t flatter yourself. you’re the last man i’d willingly take to be my husband under normal circumstances.”

mingyu shakes his head. “this is deranged.”

“look, think of the damage it would do to both our reputations if the press got a hold of it,” wonwoo cuts in, folding his hands together. “it wouldn’t be permanent. how about a three-year contract? you can claim to be a private couple, you just gotta show your faces together every once in a while to keep up appearances. once three years have passed, file for divorce. it’d probably fly by.”

the idea isn’t unheard of, he’s aware of that. plenty of pr firms are very much in favor of fake relationships, even fake marriages. it’s one of the things he dislikes about that circle of society his job has forcibly put him in.

and now that he’s thinking about it, the press would have a fucking field trip with this relationship. he’s gotten media attention for his good looks before, and he knows you’re quite popular as well, having acquired a bit of a socialite status — in the eyes of any pr agency, you’d be a perfect match.

still, mingyu stares at you, his lips parted, brows knitted in something awfully close to horror, choosing to voice his thoughts; the elephant in the room.

“and how old are you, again?” he hears himself ask, the question almost rhetorical. he could’ve sworn you were, what, twenty-five? twenty-four?

“twenty-three,” you answer curtly, at which his eyes widen.

christ. as if this couldn’t possibly get any worse.

you’re just so… young. too young. an adult, obviously, but still. he’s got no business being married to some girl your age at forty-one. the press will undoubtedly agree. hell, they’ll make a full-blown scandal out of it.

he’s pulled out of his thoughts once more when he hears that low, silky voice of yours. “if it’s any consolation, i’ll be twenty-four by the time we get married.”

finding your eyes again, he takes a good look at you.

god, look at you, for christ’s sake. you might as well be a porcelain doll — flawless makeup, dangly pearl earrings, bouncy princess-like curls, clothes tailored perfectly to your body.

sure, he thinks you’re a pretty girl. he’s not blind. but your beauty hides a design; it’s a shame the rest of the world can’t see you for who you really are. the same goes for the rest of your picture-perfect family.

“if i were to agree to something like this,” he hesitantly begins, “we’d have to make it believable. a public outing every two months wouldn’t cut it. we’d have to commit to it, live together, even do public displays of affection—”

again, he meets your gaze, this time to gauge your reaction. you’re as unimpressed as ever, shrugging your shoulders before taking a sip of your water. does he really think you didn’t come up with that already?

“we have an estate just on the city border. secluded, big enough to lead your own lives,” your father suggests. “people would be none the wiser.”

a mere glimpse of his sister’s expression is enough for him to know she doesn’t think it’s a bad idea, and with that in mind, he bites his lower lip, putting the company’s best interests above his own.

“i’ll consider it. send over the paperwork. you’ll have my answer by friday.”

it’s a good enough answer for now. you all shake hands, and when your father and brother exit the conference room, mingyu gestures for his sister to escort them to the entrance, making sure you stay behind.

you’re still seated several spots away from him, symbolizing how big the distance is between you. today marks, what, the second time you’ve talked to him? the third? you’re practically strangers to one another. all you’ve ever done is watch each other from the sidelines.

emphasizing the extent of this possible future agreement again, he says, “you know that a couple of pictures for the press wouldn’t cut it. we’d have to make it look real.”

your voice sounds less cutting this time. “i’m a great actress, y’know.”

a scoff leaves his mouth. “i don’t doubt it.”

“so what’s on your mind?” you ask, fingers itching with the growing urge to crack him open. maybe it’s the fact that he’s not scared to speak his mind, not afraid of a little honesty — a quality hard to find in the people around you these days.

“we’d be exclusive for three years. no under-the-radar affairs, they always get out.”

all you do is shrug.

he pushes his tongue against the inside of his cheek. “and your dad’s completely fine with you living in the same house as a man nearly twice your age?”

his choice of words causes you to tilt your head. “well, he wasn’t a huge fan of the idea. but it’s the company above everything else, at the end of the day. besides,” you push a little, “i’m sure you’ll behave like a perfect gentleman, won’t you?”

there’s a soundless chuckle rolling past his lips. he answers your rhetorical question with a simple nod of his head.

not like you expected a different answer from him anyway.

you get up from the leather chair with an extended hand. his dark eyes swiftly look you up and down now that he’s got you standing before him in all your glory.

he rises from his seat, drawing your attention to his striking height and broad shoulders. when he shakes your hand, both of you maintaining eye contact a little longer than necessary, he wonders what the hell that prominent feeling sitting deep in his gut is — or more importantly, why you’re making him feel it.

FOR ALL HIS FLAWS, there is something about mingyu that intrigues the fuck out of you.

he has a masculine presence that is hard to come by in men, you find. level-headed, sharp, intelligent, confident. his voice, calm and soothing, commands the attention of any room he’s in. it’s almost bizarre to see how easily people flock to his demeanor. despite all the nasty stories your family has told you about your husband, you quickly begin to understand why he’s so respected by everyone around him.

kim mingyu is a man who could crack the world like an oyster if he wanted.

and, for what it’s worth, he makes good on his promise to be a gentleman to you. he’s just as chivalrous behind closed doors, something you didn’t expect but welcome wholeheartedly.

the first time you’re reported to be dating following a meticulously planned public outing together, it gathers a wide range of mixed reactions from the general public; revulsion, disapproval, curiosity. either way, it means your mission of steering people’s attention toward the union is working.

rather well, actually.

obviously, you’re not surprised by the negativity. an age difference of nearly two decades was bound to be considered controversial.

but mingyu is an unexpectedly strong actor. it’s mostly because of him that a massive group of people that was previously negative about your relationship turn around.

he knows exactly how to present himself as a man in love, managing to keep that mysterious allure to your dynamic while making everyone believe you make him the happiest man on earth.

the first turning point comes when he tells some journalist at an event that he’s itching to go home to you, his fiancée. based on the article that came out the next day, he couldn’t stop gushing about you.

he sways even more people in the right direction by talking about you and complimenting you to some reporters and papparazzi bugging him in the city. the videos are uploaded and widely shared on social media within mere hours, leading to his handsome, chiseled face circulating on every platform.

in hindsight, he might’ve been the perfect choice for this arrangement, given him being your polar opposite, as people keep pointing out.

as a result, everyone wants to know everything; how you met, what you love about him and he loves about you, how long you’d been going out before he put that huge rock on your finger, what the wedding plans are. the combination of your reputation and status with his struck some kind of gold.

by the time you finally get married, the vast majority of the public has turned positive about your relationship.

and so, as expected, your wedding makes it to the front page of every single newspaper and tabloid. all the national social media platforms are flooded with the wedding photos you managed to make incredibly convincing. the deal turns out to be more profitable than anticipated — stock prices in each of your companies see some of the biggest growth in a while.

the first couple months of living together are strange, filled with both of you adjusting to a new lifestyle and home. the estate you moved into together is, indeed, big enough for you to miss each other most of the time, so avoiding one another is hardly necessary.

you both spend lots of time in your own studies, or at the offices of your respective companies. in your spare time, you can often be found in the library, outside by the pool or in the city. your husband thoroughly enjoys working out, cooking — even baking from time to time. which, admittedly, he’s a little too good at.

on the few occasions that you do spend time together, there’s this constant, palpable tension between you, and you can’t quite put your finger on the reason for it.

thankfully, the awkwardness between you’d already vanished into thin air before you got married; back when you went to your favorite restaurant to stir up the first romance rumors.

ever since, your conversations usually go the same. some banter, along with you taunting him with that razor blade of a mouth and him rolling his eyes in response — he accidentally called you sweetheart once and never quite let it go when he noticed you didn’t dislike it — and whenever you’re in public, it always ends with that quick peck on the lips.

you’re three months into your marriage when you spend a week on the italian coast together; the perfect spot to keep to yourselves while the press gets the lucky opportunity to get a photo or two, but only from a distance.

in your shiny blue bikini, you lie on your stomach, turning your head to him.

“can you put some sunscreen on my upper back?” you ask. “i can do the rest myself.”

he glances at you, the sunglasses on his head pushing his dark locks away from his face. “i could also just do your entire back.”

of course, he can already spot that raised brow of yours before it’s even there. “for the pictures?”

“is the idea of me doing something out of the kindness of my heart so hard to wrap your head around?”

you roll your eyes. “alright, we get it, you’re such a gentleman—”

“exactly,” he responds in the same tone, teasingly tapping his hand on your back, gesturing for you to lie down so he can put the sunscreen on. “don’t forget it.”

“how could i ever?”

putting the thick liquid on his palm, he rubs his hands together. his gaze is fixed on your back, particularly so when you swiftly reach back and undo the clasp to give him better access.

trying to ignore the clear increase of his heartrate, he massages the sunscreen into your skin, slowly making his way down your spine.

his voice sounds uncharacteristically hoarse when he asks, “want me to do the rest, too?”

the rest being your lower body.

with a huff, you come across more uninterested than you really are. “sure.”

behind you, you hear him grab the necessary extra sunscreen, and he starts with your calves, big hands sliding upward, to the back of your thighs.

he subconsciously holds his breath when his hands move even higher. for a man who prides himself on control, you affect him remarkably easily, and he detests it.

almost as much as he is desperate to bask in the feelings you give him.

eventually, his hands cup your ass, and it has you biting your lip to stop yourself from making noise. you’re not this sensitive in general. you blame it on the fact that you’re not actually together, as well as the raging sexual tension that’s been lingering in the air since you agreed to the marriage in that damn meeting.

it takes every ounce of strength in him to pull his hands away. his cock is fucking throbbing at this point, and he prays to whatever god is out there that you won’t take notice of it.

luckily for him — or so he thinks — you’re more occupied with the little group of photographers on a nearing boat. it prompts you to look back at him over your shoulder, meeting his eyes.

“you should kiss me,” you tell him, subtly gesturing to what you’ve just seen. “it’s only fitting.”

his dark eyes flick back and forth, from the boat in the water to your face. he hums something before pressing his lips against yours, and you’re almost taken aback by the intensity of it.

you feel his hand brush past your neck, ending up on your jaw, and you come to the horrifying conclusion that the man you should hate kisses you like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do.

reality kicks in for him when your fingers trail past his bicep. he shouldn’t be doing this — much less enjoy it.

still, it feels like a damn crime to pull away from you.

“i think,” he mutters, taking the loose strings of your bikini and tying them into a knot on your back, not visibly reacting to the clear goosebumps erupting on your skin as a result, “you should do my back too.”

you stifle the chuckle of excitement rising in your throat. “so much for good publicity, huh?”

all he gives in response is a cheeky tilt of his head.

frankly, you don’t have a clue what either of you are trying to do here — whether it’s making your relationship convincing for the tabloids, pushing one another to see who does the best job at it while remaining completely unfazed, or acting on the mutual attraction without having to admit that it’s there.

but the whole thing does make your head spin a little. even if you can’t stand your husband, it’s not like he isn’t strikingly good-looking. it borders on annoying how his dark locks always perfectly fall into place, how handsome he looks even in those clothes you consider too ordinary for a man like him, how his muscles flex when he’s working out.

oh, who are you kidding? he’s hot as fuck. and it pisses you off.

you’d never tell him — or anyone else — but you like how tall he is. you like that he’s so much bigger than you, that his hand always seems to sit on your lower back, that he walks around with such a natural sense of confidence. you like his age.

one of the things that turned you away from his ridiculous good looks in the beginning was his unwavering warmth. his weakness, in your eyes, and those of your family’s.

but you quickly discover how wrong you were to think so, because as it turns out, his warmth is not unwavering, and he is far from weak. one should not trespass too much on his hospitality.

occasionally, your husband can be a bit of a stoic. you’re not sure what you find more baffling — the way he remains shockingly calm when angry, or the fact that his voice still manages to come across this domineering.

it’s why you pretend to scroll on your phone whilst curled up on the couch, a barely concealed smile sitting on your face.

mingyu stands in the living room, lecturing someone from the company over the phone. his voice is low and sharp and completely stable. very subtly, you glance up at him, biting back a grin as you cross your legs and lean into the armrest.

you just can’t tear your gaze off him. the tight jaw, the deep breath through his nose, the narrowed eyes, the flex in his forearm, the frown etched into his forehead.

halfway through, he catches you staring. neither of you shy away from the eye contact that follows.

it takes a good fifteen minutes before he ends the conversation and hangs up the phone.

“what’re you smiling about?”

naturally, you don’t feel the need to acknowledge his question. “nothing. what’re you frowning about? you want those lines in your forehead to get worse or something?”

“just a situation at the wharf,” he scoffs, “and excuse you. are you calling me old?”

“aging is nothing to be insecure about, really—”

“you’re horrible.”

“you always say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“it is. you’re the only one who keeps acting like it isn’t.”

you roll your eyes, getting up from the sofa. “whatever, old man.”

oh, he’s so much fun to push around. if anything, he does the same to you the entire time, so it’s entirely mutual.

you have lunch in the city together a few days after, and much to your annoyance, the weather forecast of the day was clearly sorely mistaken, the unexpected heavy rain leading to your cherished, expensive suede pumps being ruined.

and, as he knows to expect from you by now, your opinion on things is quite visible on your face. not like you haven’t been grumbling about it since you sat down at the restaurant ten minutes ago.

“what’re you fussing about? they’re just shoes,” he says a little too casually, immediately knowing it was the wrong move given the glare you so kindly send his way.

“they’re not just shoes, you prick. they’re dior. that’s over twelve-hundred bucks for a pair of pumps.”

“well, maybe you shouldn’t be wearing shoes that cost more than other people’s rent.”

“you know, if i wanted your opinion,” you lean back in the velvet green chair, pausing, “well, i don’t know what i’d do, because, quite frankly, it’s never happened.”

“would it really kill you to be a little less tough for a single day?”

“yes. which would suck for you and your cute little company, ‘cause you’d no longer have a wife, and we all know the revenue i’ve gotten you already.”

“don’t spin the narrative. it’s not like we were a sinking ship before this marriage,” he states, quickly adding, “no pun intended.”

still, you chuckle, a soft sound that drifts somewhere between genuine and malicious. “maybe not on paper, but you’ve been in hot water in the past.”

somehow it’s never occurred to you just how many excellent puns you can make for the shipbuilding business.

“after which i took over and got us out of it.”

a true statement. “doesn’t change that you hit the jackpot with me tied to your reputation now.”

it draws a laugh from his mouth. he can’t resist teasingly using your words against you. “on paper, maybe.”

you scoff. “and here i thought you were supposed to be a gentleman.”

“i am,” he mindlessly retorts, scanning the menu. “i can reserve an extra half hour to take you for some new shoes. or is that not up to your standard, princess?”

despite the mocking undertone to his voice, he’s clearly serious, so you grab a hold of your own menu, flipping it open. “well, it’ll do.”

it makes him smile to himself. for a girl representing everything he’s been raised to disapprove of — classist, a little too excessively focused on personal appearance and the opinions of others — he doesn’t find you as unlikeable as he anticipated.

not at all, maybe.

CONTRARY TO PREVIOUS EXPECTATIONS, mingyu doesn’t utterly detest living with you.

would he admit it out loud? no, you’d never let him hear the end of it.

slowly but steadily, he begins to learn your mannerisms, daily habits, little tics.

your regular coffee order is a capuccino with a teaspoon of sugar, and you have it twice a day. dark chocolate always seems to worm its way into your daily diet, in any shape or form. you have a set of favorite gold jewelry you don’t leave the house without. you get your nails done every two weeks, more often than not opting for darker colors instead of bright ones.

whenever you get cranky — usually halfway through the evening — it goes from zero to a hundred all at once, showcasing itself in constantly furrowed brows and curt answers. it takes a good half hour for you to properly wake up in the morning, and both he and the staff know not to ask anything of you during that time.

you’re high maintenance; he didn’t expect you not to be.

witty remarks aside, you’re not a very chatty person. he’s not sure if it’s a matter of personality or circumstance. both, probably.

you’ve been particularly snappy over the past couple weeks. he doesn’t know why. doesn’t know how to ask about it without crossing that invisible boundary between you, either.

for a girl who seems to have everything she could ever desire, you seem unhappy. unhappy and tired.

what shocks him is your relationship with your family. how they treat you. so formal, so impersonal — he tries to remember if he’s ever seen them give you a hug, or a compliment, or a genuine smile. nothing comes to mind.

a scolding from them makes you crumble.

here and there, he catches glimpses of the girl hidden underneath that aloof and cold exterior you’re so damn keen to uphold. he catches the quirk of your lips when you think no one is paying attention, the little muscle by your cheekbone that visibly tightens when you’re angry but pushing it all down so it doesn’t come out.

a recipe for disaster, of course.

he’s just arrived home, closing the front door behind him, when he hears you talking on the phone from the kitchen, not having to listen long to know your father’s at the other end of the line.

an argument. he’s not sure what it’s about.

the conversation ends abruptly. mingyu figures he should just leave you be, until he hears glass breaking, and a chilling shrill leaving your mouth.

he rushes into the kitchen, finding you there with a nasty slash across the palm of your hand and the shards of a broken wine glass all over the counter and tiled floor.

“what are you doing here?” you ask, a little bewildered, “thought you had a conference in the city tonight.”

“it got cancelled,” is all he answers with. you’re acting awfully calm for someone with a fresh wound. “jesus, your hand. you’re bleeding.”

“yeah, it just, um—i don’t know what happened.”

he doesn’t believe it. you know he doesn’t. he’d be an idiot if he did.

not that it matters. he steps over to you, gently taking your hand to inspect the damage.

it hardly takes a degree in medicine to tell it needs stitches. it wouldn’t surprise him if small pieces of glass got into the wound as well. “that’s way too deep to treat here, we gotta go to the hospital for this.”

“the hospital?” you ask as he’s reaching into one of the drawers for the first aid kit, pulling out some clean gauze. “no. no, we can just—we can just call my doctor. he’ll be here—”

“it’s two in the morning. driving you to the hospital would be twice, probably three times as fast,” he insists while wrapping the gauze around your hand, the blood immediately staining it red.

his statement is fair, logical — but he doesn’t understand your reasoning, and the last thing you want to do right now is explain it to him.

you hiss in pain. “no, i’ll wait.”

“absolutely not.”

“i don’t wanna go to the hospital.”

“why not?”

you refuse to give him an answer. “mingyu. i mean it, i’m not going.”

“there’s most likely several pieces of glass in your hand. that needs to be taken out as soon as possible.”

“we can—i can wait.”

in any other situation, he’d respect your wishes. this is different. why on earth are you so hellbent on staying here?

still, he tries to find the middle ground. “what am i gonna have to do to get you into the car with me?”

you inhale sharply, wincing. “unless you throw me over your shoulder and quite literally carry me out of here, i won’t go with you. so quit it already.”

“you don’t think i’d do that?”

“no, you wouldn’t,” you retort, looking around to find your phone so you can make the call.

giving you a blank stare, he purses his lips.

should he leave you be? perhaps. but just this once, he firmly believes he knows better.

it takes a few seconds before he’s made up his mind. he steps over to you, leaning down to hook his arm behind your knees, and you’re thrown over his shoulder before you can comprehend it.

“what the hell are you—let go of me!”

“quit being so stubborn. we’re going to the er, whether you like it or not.”

“like hell i am. put me down!”

“you scared of the hospital or something?”

“i’m not a child, you asshole,” you grumble, using your good hand to push against his arm. “put me down or i’ll—”

“you’ll what?”

he finds out what your plan is when he feels a sharp pain in his arm. it hits him so suddenly that he accidentally lets go of you, and you hit the floor with a loud thud.

“son of a—” he groans, looking down at his arm, “you bit me?”

the fall doesn’t make you any less willing to talk back to him. “you dropped me—”

“christ, you bite hard.” a huff leaves him before he regains his senses. you watch him getting on one knee to help you up to your feet. “i’m sorry. are you okay? you didn’t fall on your hand, did you?”

you clench your jaw. why is he even apologizing? the only reason you bit him was to force him to let go of you. “yeah, fine.”

using your good hand, you take his, and you both stand up.

“my parents would—” you start, cutting off your words, “no, never mind.”

he doesn’t let you. “they’d what?”

god, you’re going to regret this. you’re going to regret this, is all that runs through your head. “they’d never let me hear the end of it if i went to the hospital for some damn stitches. too public for something minor.”

odd reasoning, he finds. very odd. what kind of person could find it in themselves to be more worried about the front page of the newspaper than the wellbeing of their own child?

“so this is about bad publicity?”

“it always is.”

you hold the wrist of your injured hand, trembling from the pain, almost too afraid to look at him.

mingyu is unsure whether to be more concerned about the blood running down your arm or the expression on your face.

he takes both of your coats from the stand, turning back to you. “a friend of mine is an er doctor. i’m pretty sure his shift just started. i can call him from the car, make sure we take a back entrance. no one will know.”

a part of you hates how convincing he manages to be. with a sigh, you nod, agreeing to it.

the drive to the hospital is quick but quiet. upon your arrival, you take notice of his constant asking the attending doctor and nurse whether it’s gonna be okay, how many stitches you need, whether it’ll hurt or not, if he can help in any way. he offers for you to hold his hand while getting them. you refuse with a glare.

you end up clenching his hand regardless, and he lets you.

it’s possibly, in your experience, the first time someone gives you such treatment without expecting anything in return. almost like he cares about you.

no, you don’t quite like that feeling. it’s rather unsettling, actually.

during the drive home, you thank him, and it sounds different compared to all the times he’s heard you say it before.

he looks into your eyes and sees humanity staring back.

your makeup all smudged, hair frizzy and a bit disheveled, splatters of your own blood on your shirt — it’s the most messed up he’s ever seen you.

“can i ask you something?”

you only hum.

“were you actively trying to hurt yourself?”

he listens to you letting your breath out. “no, it was an accident. just got angry.”

while he hasn’t known you for a long time, he believes your answer to be truthful, but he still keeps the possibility of it being a lie in mind.

“please don’t do that again. for both our sakes,” he mutters gently, not to scold you, but to emphasize he doesn’t want you to injure yourself.

with your good hand sitting underneath your chin, you turn your head to him. “i’ll ask the driver next time. so you don’t have to bother.”

“i didn’t say it was an inconvenience. it wasn’t. i just don’t want you getting hurt again.”

“why do you care?” you ask with an unnatural softness to your voice.

it takes him a moment to answer. he’s not sure he can give a proper one. “well, we’re married. your mess is mine, isn’t it?”

the statement registers as a sour pinch in your gut. “not even a little.”

“then maybe we should start being more open with eachother,” he shrugs a little too casually for your taste. “i know what we have is only a business agreement, but... during the time we’re together, we might as well make it easier for both of us, right?”

it violently rips a tear from your eye, which you wipe away before it has the opportunity to roll down your cheek.

you don’t want to be open with him at all. it’d be the opposite of easy, even if you did trust him.

“right,” is all you quietly respond with, unconvinced but too tired to argue about it.

he glances your way. you don’t meet his eyes.

to make sure the conversation ends on a better note, he jokes, “you really do bite hard, y’know.”

“i guess. sorry about that.”

waving it off casually, he laughs, creating a little clarity in the mess of your mind.

“no, it’s fine. at least i now know your bite is the same as your bark.”

“oh, god,” you snort, cracking a smile at the comment, and he instantly feels more at ease.

the incident isn’t mentioned again, save for the repeated question how your hand feels throughout the days that follow. you clearly don’t feel like discussing it, so for now, he chooses to leave it.

but it feels wrong to. he’s always been one to take care of those around him, and no one has ever rejected that or treated it like a bad thing.

but you’re actively fighting back, making sure not to let him in even when you’re vulnerable, and he despises it.

another three months go by, and to make things worse, you’re hit with the news of your father’s sudden passing.

mingyu’s just arrived in another country for an important business trip when he’s informed of it. it immediately prompts him to jump on the plane back home.

he returns to the house late that night, finding you alone, sitting in front of the fireplace, the corners of your mouth downturned and a glass of hard liquor on the coffee table beside you.

in spite of your mournful state, you still find it in you to scowl at him.

“what the hell are you doing here?”

he puts his travel bag down on the floor. “i heard what happened. i’m sorry.”

genuinely confused by his presence, you mention, “but the funeral isn’t in another three days.”

“so?”

“so, you cancelled the rest of your trip for nothing. not like anyone’s seeing this.”

mingyu scoffs. did you genuinely believe he’d only show up back home for the funeral, only for the moments you’re publicly seen together? just to make sure he’d be on your side for the photos?

“i’m here because you just lost your dad. you shouldn’t be alone right now.”

for someone as intelligent as you are, it takes an embarrassing amount of time to catch onto his reasoning.

he flew in because it’s the human thing to do. how very like him. you’re not sure you would’ve done the same for him. does that make you a bad person?

after all, this thing between you is nothing more than business. mere contractual obligations that ought to be carried out.

letting out a humorless laugh, you say, “it’s funny. had the situation been reversed, my dad would’ve advised me to fly in solely to attend the funeral.”

every time he thinks your eyes can’t possibly get any darker, any meaner, you prove him wrong.

still, he finds something hidden underneath that casual cruelty of yours. kneeling in front of you, he lowers himself so you no longer have to look up at him.

downing the bit of alcohol left in the glass, you chuckle again, a clear lump sitting in your throat. “it’s kinda stupid when you think about it. he’s got access to the best doctors in the world, and he dies of a fucking heart attack, in less than an hour. now my brother’s gonna have to take over, and i’ll have to take on more work, too—”

you sniff, cynically going on about work in an attempt to push out the realization that the man who raised you, the man you’ve always looked up to, is gone.

mingyu moves to sit next to you, infiltrating that personal space you’ve always kept whenever you’re at home, and he takes you in his arms.

it’s a risky move — he half expects you to shove him away.

it takes a second for your body to adjust to his embrace. how long has it been since someone hugged you out of free will, to offer comfort? you’re not sure. the feeling of his arms around you paired with his hand rubbing on your back is enough to forcefully pull the first sobs out of you.

your crying is painful, heavy, cathartic. it flows out of you like a dam breaking, and he knows these tears aren’t just from the loss of your father.

he can’t help but wonder — how long have you been holding that in?

“it’s okay,” he murmurs into your hair, fingers threading through it. “it’s okay, sweetheart.”

you weep in the crook of his neck for what feels like hours. the next day, you don’t acknowledge anything that happened between you.

during the funeral, you lean into his chest, your head against his shoulder. he knows it’s not for show — and his hand finds your back once more, staying there throughout the ceremony.

he finds you hard to read, hard to understand. you walk on eggshells around humanity. it’s something you won’t dare touch, not even with a ten-foot pole.

yet whilst your gratitude remains unspoken, he feels it. you cling to him, showing that you need to be held just this once, and he’s able to reach for your hand without worrying how you might react. his fingers intertwine with yours like you’ve been doing it for years.

he’s so genuine, so disgustingly sincere about all of it. it makes you wonder why he’s constantly on your side when you’ve never been on his.

MINGYU MUST BE KEEN TO GET AWAY. at least, that’s what you assume.

he’s been as helpful and supportive as one could be since your father’s passing. it’s been a few months since the funeral, and it slowly but steadily feels like your life is getting back on track.

at this point, a good nine months since your wedding, the company wants him to go abroad for the business trip he’d cut short to go home to you.

it’s an extended trip, too. three months. three whole months.

he’s got every right to go, of course. he’s sweet enough to check with you if it’s okay before agreeing to it. out of everyone around you, he’s the one who pulled you through all the shit that happened. he wouldn’t even have considered the trip if he didn’t think you were feeling better again.

yet something still makes your stomach flip when he asks you. not in a good way.

which is a little strange. these were the moments you looked forward to when you got married — him being far, far away from you, leaving you able to breathe again.

after all, that’s how you’ve always felt in relationships. like you’re being suffocated.

admittedly, you haven’t felt like that with mingyu. the first months were a little strained, obviously, but even then discomfort wasn’t how you’d describe being around him.

not that you’d say so out loud. you think you’d rather get shot than tell him you don’t mind his presence.

so you say goodbye to him at the airport, finding yourself checking his flight status while he’s on the plane, a sense of relief hitting you when he’s arrived at his destination safely.

and throughout those three months that he’s away, you’re both more than a little miserable. for what it’s worth, it sells the story to the people around you — ultimately, you’re supposed to be faking your love.

your house, massive as it is, feels incredibly quiet and hollow without the sound of his voice, without seeing him walk around. you try to focus more on other things to pull yourself out of it, but even you notice the way your heart jumps a little whenever you get a text or a call from him.

mingyu feels worse. he’s been on edge since he left the country. it’s hard to believe he’s feeling this cranky over the fact that his beautiful wife isn’t in the same room as him, rolling her eyes at one of his terrible jokes, cussing him out or throwing some snide little comment his way.

so he feels better with every day that passes. the sooner he can go home again, the better.

at least your calls make it more bearable. you both come up with shitty excuses to pick up the phone; work, your families, a missing kitchen utensil that just happens to be essential that day — anything other than the truth. and the excuse itself is always long forgotten when you’re an hour into the call.

you tell him about your day while sitting on the sofa, mindlessly fiddling with your wedding ring. by now, you’re used to someone in your circle always being in a different time zone. you’re enjoying your saturday morning as he’s about to go out to dinner with a friend.

thankfully, he’s set to complete the business trip and take the flight home tomorrow, and fuck are you itching for him to come back to you.

hansol has been raiding the mini fridge in his large hotel room for the past twenty minutes — not a regular occurence, since they’re normally both very punctual, but mingyu can no longer consider himself such since he’s started this ritual of calling you a little too often.

“sweetheart,” he murmurs in the microphone, kind of annoyed that his friend is here already, even though he was the one to suggest meeting at this time, “i gotta go. hansol’s waiting for me, and if i’m any later, the restaurant’s gonna cancel our reservation.”

you smile to yourself at the nickname, and you sound remarkably loving for a girl who claims not to give a damn about her husband. “don’t let me keep you. enjoy your dinner.”

hansol is barely within earshot at this point, much less listening in on the conversation, yet the line he’s said to you so casually so often still rolls off his tongue.

“i love you.”

technically, he doesn’t have to wait for your answer — it’s not like hansol can hear what you’re saying, and for all he knows, you’re by yourself, so it’s not like you’d have to pretend—

“love you too.”

your reply doesn’t quite reach his brain until he hears the familiar noise of the connection being shut off.

it’s not the first time you’ve said it to him, of course. you’ve had to say it countless times in the presence of others to make the show believable. those times, it never meant anything, never held any actual weight.

this time, he doesn’t know what to feel.

you look at your phone with deeply furrowed brows, pushing it away as if it’s suddenly become radioactive.

you don’t say things like that. every time you’ve said it to mingyu so far has only been to sell the show. you had no reason to say it this time around, you didn’t need to pretend. you could’ve said bye and it would’ve been fine.

the embarrassment kicks in next. what are you gonna say to him? fucking hell, he comes home tomorrow. how on earth are you gonna look him in the eye and explain this?

god, you even agreed to pick him up from the airport — good for publicity and all — and you severely regret doing so.

all kinds of shitty excuses run through your head into the following evening, when you’re waiting for him in the arrivals hall.

the moment you meet his gaze, his eyes light up, and he looks surprisingly well-rested for someone who just had an intercontinental flight.

your voice is lost on you when he lets go of the suitcase to wrap his arms around your body, anchoring you in place, and it takes a second for you to reciprocate the gesture. he’s got his hand on the back of your neck when he moves to kiss you.

every nerve in your body buzzes with excitement. your day-to-day life felt so empty without him, and now that you have him back, you can’t stomach the idea of him leaving again.

“hi, sweetheart,” he breathes out, not at all caring if anyone’s watching. “missed you.”

there’s a little too much pressure on your chest when you mutter a quiet missed you too.

but he doesn’t give the reaction you were afraid of. instead, he gives you another kiss, one that might not really be necessary for the public eye but certainly isn’t unwelcome. you feel like a lovesick teenager when he eventually pulls away, not able to resist cracking a smile at the realization that you would’ve kept kissing him.

it might be the first time you properly look at his face.

his dark brown eyes have so much warmth in them — beautiful, compassionate, kind eyes with that small crinkle at the corners.

it doesn’t matter that you don’t know what to do with all he expresses, because he puts his arm around you, asking if you can take him home, and the only thing you can do is oblige.

pictures of your reunion hit social media platforms the same day, the newspapers the next; it solidifies your relationship to the outside once more.

back home, you swiftly return to the routine you had before he left. he finds his life considerably more worth living when he finds you doing your makeup every morning.

at one point, when you’re running late for some event, he offers to do your hair. it earns him a very raised brow, and he’s genuinely a little offended that you’re making this assumption of him that there is something out there he cannot do.

“gyu, if you fuck up my hair, i will kill you. like, actually kill you,” you deadpan, still unwilling to hand him the curling iron.

deadpanning a stare, he merely beckons with his fingers as if to say give me that, and you hesitantly give in, proceeding to do your makeup while he gets started.

surprisingly, your nervousness slowly settles down when you see him seperating your hair in parts, and once he does the first curl perfectly, you feel comfortable enough to let him handle it.

when he eventually receives a phone call from someone at the office, he pushes his phone to sit between his ear and shoulder, keeping it there as he continues to do your hair.

it’s a bit funny, really — you already know he’s irritated when he narrows his eyes like that, but handling whatever incompetence needs to be dealt with today doesn’t stop him from focusing on the task at hand.

he hangs up after a while, shaking his head to himself. “the mind-numbing day-to-day detritus of this job. god.”

it makes you snort. “everything okay?”

“yeah, just something going on at the office up north. nine out of ten times, it’s got something to do with nothing more than paperwork, meetings… you know the drill,” he shrugs. “same as always.”

in the meantime, he puts the curling iron to the side, and you’re seriously impressed with the way your hair turned out.

“so? up to your standards?” he asks, making eye contact with you through the mirror.

“not bad. do i want to know where you learned how to style hair like that?”

“when i was sixteen, there was a period where i had to take my sister to dance class every week, but she was always late from school right before, so she had to rush everything. asked me to do her hair a couple times, when she had a performance scheduled.” he smiles faintly at the memory. “i still remember her saying over and over to twist the barrel away from the face. just stuck with me, i guess.”

“cute,” you mutter. “my nanny’s always done it for me. i would’ve never trusted wonwoo with something like that at sixteen.”

he reaches underneath the tabletop to pull the curling iron’s plug out of the wall. “we had to do it ourselves. didn’t have a nanny.”

“never?” you ask with a frown. his parents had plenty of money, so that couldn’t have been the issue.

“nope. i mean, when i was too young to care for my sister, the neighbor’s kid would watch over us, but that was only for a few evenings a year. our parents always made sure one of them was home to take care of us.”

it sounds like an impossible mission. you know for a fact that his parents were just as busy as yours have always been. big careers, long days — you didn’t believe it was possible to successfully juggle that with kids.

god knows your parents didn’t.

to this day, your nannies might feel more like family than your blood relatives ever have. they did a better job at raising you than your mother and father did.

“were you and your sister happy at home?” you hear yourself ask, voice a little strained.

he nods, and it only makes you feel worse.

LOOKING AT YOURSELF IN THE MIRROR, you’re putting in your earrings when there’s a knock on your door.

“yes?” you say, giving him permission to come in.

your husband opens the door, standing in the doorway of your walk-in closet.

for a brief moment, neither of you move. his eyes look you up and down — taking in the dress, the heels, the makeup, the jewelry that gives you an elegant touch. there’s an emotion you can’t pinpoint flickering across his face.

god, that dress hugs every curve of your body perfectly.

his voice comes out strangled. “going out?”

you can practically feel your heart beating in your throat. “yeah, i’m having drinks with an old friend.”

“anyone i know?”

“i doubt it,” you say. “he and i went to college together.”

mingyu feels his own demeanor shift a little. “he?”

“something you’re trying to say here, mingyu?”

the way his heart skips a beat when his name rolls off your tongue is a little ridiculous. “am i not allowed to know the whereabouts of my wife?”

oh, he just loves calling you that. a bit too much, maybe.

feeling his eyes on you, you reach into a drawer for your favorite necklace, changing the subject. “put it on for me?”

he looks particularly handsome tonight, even in his plain long-sleeved shirt and the loose sweatpants sitting low on his hips. he runs a hand through his black hair to keep it out of his face, the gold wedding ring that binds you together remaining on his finger day and night.

his breath hits the back of your neck as he takes the two ends of the necklace between his fingers, sending a shiver down your spine. the smell of your perfume floods his senses, making him dizzy.

it’s such a signature scent that he gets a rush every time he smells it. through half-lidded eyes, he watches you turn around and look back up at him.

he wonders what it’d be like to kiss you, really kiss you — not like those split seconds his lips touched yours merely to keep up appearances. the closest he’s gotten to it is that time you picked him up at the airport.

“you look nice,” he mutters softly.

for this one time, you shoot a genuine smile his way. “thanks.”

casually grabbing your coat, you throw the garment on, giving yourself one last glance in the mirror.

“want me to drive you there?”

it’s not an unusual offer for him to make. he always volunteers to take you if he’s free, though you doubt it’s purely out of the kindness of his heart this time around.

“no, it’s okay. the driver should already be out front.” you press a kiss to his cheek, which he instinctively leans into. “i’ll see you later, yeah?”

forcing himself to push his jealousy aside, he nods and says, “yeah. have fun.”

you pass him, leaving him behind in your room, and he’s suddenly engulfed by a deafening silence.

in a way, he believes you bring out the worst in him. the urge to hop in his car and follow you, watch you and your friend to see if that’s truly all he is to you, has never been stronger.

he resists. not easily.

your night out with james passes as agonizingly slowly for you as it does for your husband back home.

you like him, of course; he’s a good friend.

but you saw the look on mingyu’s face when you left. you were pushing his buttons a little, getting that first glimpse of jealousy as a result — which you, very shamelessly, crave more of.

so when you eventually get back home, you’re surprised to find both the kitchen and living room void of human presence.

you find him in the large backyard, sitting by the pool, huffing out the smoke of his cigarette as you approach him. “home so soon?”

he spreads his legs, leaning back in his spot on the chair, almost like he’s inviting you to get in his lap. almost.

“what, am i disturbing your peace and quiet?”

“not today,” he jokes, shifting in his place. “so? how was your date?”

you cross your arms. “wasn’t a date. not to me, anyway.”

intrigued, he glances at the spot next to him, waiting for you to sit. he’s positively surprised when you do.

without having to ask for it, he’s already handing you his cigarette, letting you take a drag. you wonder how he can read you so seamlessly — if anything, it kind of unsettles you.

“was it a date to him?”

“i don’t know. maybe. he just kept going on about the way we used to be in college, even though he knows i’m married.”

there’s a subtle twitch of his eyelid. “do you like him?”

“as a friend, yeah. nothing more than that. i’d never go out with him romantically.”

good, mingyu thinks to himself as you return the cigarette to him, and you stand up again.

the sound of a zipper being undone makes him look up. your dress slides down to your ankles, the beaded garment hitting the dark grey tiles of the patio with a soft thud, and you sit at the edge of the pool, proceeding to lower yourself into the water.

he keeps his gaze fixed on you the entire time. you feel him with every move you make.

it’s not like he hasn’t seen you in a bikini plenty of times before — but lingerie is different.

his eyes trail along the black bra with its small silk bow and tiny jewel at the centre, and it looks so pretty with your necklace that he should probably divert his attention if he doesn’t want the bulge in his pants to become any more prominent.

if this is your way of teasing him, it’s working.

you tilt your head back to dip your hair in the water. when you eventually lock eyes with him again, you still find him staring at you, the lighting from the bottom of the pool reflecting on his face.

there’s a new, freshly lit cigarette between his teeth. whether he decided to have another ‘cause he needed it or he just wanted an excuse to spend more time with you, he’s not sure.

“so what’s the deal with you?” you ask, at which he raises a brow.

“what?”

“well, not to call you geriatric or anything,” there’s a brief pause when he snorts at your choice of words, “but why were you still single when we got married?”

“why were you?” he teases.

your shake your head. “don’t switch the subject. we’re talking about you here, not me.”

mingyu tries to force the smug little expression off his face. “if i answer, you gotta do the same.”

that familiar roll of your eyes tells him enough.

“let’s just say i was married to the job before i got married to you,” he shrugs. “i mean, i occasionally went on dates and everything, but... i’ve always been a workaholic. the company used to be my dad’s. he was so proud of my achievements after he stepped down, and i didn’t ever want to stop expanding. the women i dated admired that until it meant i didn’t really have much time or space for them in my life. understandably so, i guess.”

it’s as honest an answer as he can give, that much is obvious.

“you don’t come across as a workaholic to me. maybe in the beginning, but…”

“i used to hate coming home, ‘cause all i had there was an empty apartment, an empty house.” slowly but steadily, he’s treading into dangerous territory. “and now my house isn’t empty anymore.”

since that time you cut your hand, he’s been home more often to keep an eye on you, spending more time with you, indirectly forcing himself to take his mind off work and do other things. which, frankly, is doing wonders for him.

“fair enough,” you say. he hums as if to say your turn now, and you have no choice but to make good on your promise. “well, i haven’t been with that many guys, but… i don’t know. they all wanted to go faster than i did, or they couldn’t communicate, or they got annoyed that i value my career in the company more than the relationship… and i’m not perfect, so it’s not like it was all them. i know that. but they just couldn’t give me what i was looking for, i guess.”

you shrug your shoulders, and mingyu watches the crinkle between your brows as you recall your former relationships with clear annoyance.

it makes him chuckle. “i’d say that’s valid.”

“you’re being weirdly sensible about this.”

“yeah, you’d be surprised,” he retorts, narrowing his eyes at you. “so does that mean you’ve sworn off love?”

it’s a good question — also one you don’t have a definitive answer for. “i’m not sure. i know i’m not looking for it.”

good, he thinks. a wise mindset to have, in his opinion.

“so what would you look for?” he pushes his tongue against the inside of his cheek. “in a guy? you got a type?”

older, you’d probably say, but that would be a little too transparent. “not to be predictable, but i’ve always liked the tall, dark, handsome type. too bad they usually disappoint in the personality department.”

he has to bite back a grin. “do i fit your criteria?”

“tall, dark hair, dark eyes, lacking personality… yeah, i guess you’re my type, if you look at it that way.”

“wow,” he muses, “tough crowd, huh?”

you laugh this time, a wonderfully bright sound that briefly pulls some clarity into this lustful haze you’re both clearly in.

but that clarity doesn’t last long.

“aren’t you gonna join me?” you ask, looking up at him, and he flicks the ash off the cigarette.

“not tonight,” he replies. “for now, i’m content watching you.”

your gaze drifts past his crotch, and it’s hard to tell in the darkness, but you’re convinced he’s as turned on as you are. the sexual tension reverberates in every sentence, in every motion, it’s been lingering in the fucking air since you left earlier.

at this point, you’re sure kim mingyu wants to fuck you — and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to fuck him, too.

COCKTAIL PARTIES ARE A WASTE OF TIME, in mingyu’s opinion, but he finds them more bearable since he started attending them with you.

at the end of the day, he’s a simple man. he enjoys having a beautiful woman on his arm, and luckily for him, you love to flaunt your handsome, charming husband.

even when he’s talking to other people, his eyes are secretly glued to you. he glances your way whenever he has the chance, his heart blooming in his chest at the sight of you smiling and laughing.

or, at least, that is what happens usually.

currently, as he’s emerged in a conversation about a new engine screw design that sounds genuinely interesting to incorporate in his company, he catches you talking to and laughing with a young man at the other side of the room, which stirs up something in his gut.

you’re still talking to him when you suddenly feel mingyu’s hand on your lower back.

“hey. i was just talking about you,” you say, your palm sliding up to his shoulderblades. “james, this is my husband, mingyu.”

james. a familiar name.

it hits him immediately — this is the guy you went out to get drinks with a while ago.

“nice to meet you,” mingyu shakes his hand, the hand that’s still sitting on your back not moving an inch. “you two know each other?”

“we went to college together,” james answers, and your husband has to refrain from childishly sending him a glare that he was clearly talking to his wife, not him.

“james’s father is on our company’s board. i think wonwoo’s introduced you to him a while ago,” you elaborate, noticing a hint of annoyance in his attitude that disappears once his gaze is back on you.

“must’ve slipped my mind.”

james nods, not caring much for your husband’s answer. “i’m sorry i couldn’t make it to the wedding. i was working abroad at the time. hard to make a change of plans on short notice, unfortunately.”

mingyu has to bite his tongue not to throw out a petty remark, but not even you spare your so-called friend from the occasional razor-sharp retort. “several months isn’t really that short of a notice, though, right?”

an awkward chuckle rolls past your friend’s lips. the sight of you two clearly judging him together certainly has his mouth running a little dry. in this moment, you and mingyu prove to be more of a united front than the guy anticipated.

but james also has a massive ego — and a massive crush. he’s been raised to be just as, if not more spoiled than you are, and he’s always gotten what he wanted. the fact that you’re married doesn’t matter to him.

in your clutch, you feel the vibration of your phone. pressing a kiss to mingyu’s cheek, you tell him you need to take a call, after which you excuse yourself.

james thinks he’s subtle when he glances at your backside as you’re walking off to a quiet corner without guests, and it’s in that exact moment your husband decides to do something about this pest of a boy.

with his hands in his pockets, mingyu moves a bit in his spot, blocking the view on purpose.

“you know, she never mentioned you to me,” he starts, forcing himself to sound civilized, “at all.”

“well, i’m sure she had her reasons not to,” james counters, mimicking your husband’s act of putting his hands in the pockets of his trousers.

mingyu nods, very briefly looking your way. “she looks nice tonight, doesn’t she?”

“yeah, like a dream.”

something dark flickers across his face. “like yours?”

the sudden bluntness catches the younger man off guard. “what?”

“does she look like your dream?” mingyu flatly repeats, and james becomes increasingly aware of the tightness of his jaw.

“we’re just friends.”

“i didn’t ask if you were friends. i’m asking if you want her.”

james swallows, debating whether he should answer truthfully or not. mingyu knows how to come across as intimidating when he needs to. “it sounds like you already know the answer to that.”

your husband steps a little closer to him in warning, managing to do so without drawing any unwanted attention. “i want you to stay away from her.”

“i can’t just do that.”

a baffled scoff escapes him. “i think you can.”

“you may love her,” his tone changes into something close to taunting, “but she doesn’t love you back, does she?”

mingyu inhales sharply. it’s a complicated situation; he constantly has to remind himself that he’s not in a real marriage, not in a real relationship. which is why he probably shouldn’t feel possessive over you.

but you’re his wife. he’s grown not just fond but also quite attached to you, and even if you’re not in love with him, he knows for a fact that you’re definitely not in love with this kid.

he’s not worried in the slightest you’d even entertain the idea to the guy. but when someone is shamelessly trying to go after his girl — fake relationship be damned — he can only let so much slide.

“who knows,” your husband shrugs, his head cool. “but if you truly believe she’s in love with you, you don’t know her at all.”

a beat of silence.

“you’re—”

the guy cuts off his own sentence. mingyu presses him to say whatever truth he’s clearly holding back. “i’m what?”

“you’re old enough to be her father.”

funny.

“and yet she proudly wears the gold ring i gave to her,” he contests, as if this wasn’t one of his own concerns when the marriage was first brought up in that damn meeting. “i don’t know how else to make it clear to you, buddy, but if she actually wanted to come home to you, she would. so i suggest you take a hint.”

somehow, his voice continues to sound as controlled as ever, despite the racing of his heart. he’s never felt like this, never acted like this in previous relationships. it’s as if he can feel the possessiveness spreading through his every vein, all the way to his fingertips.

he turns his head to find you in his field of vision, and he instantly relaxes. he suddenly remembers once again how much he hates cocktail parties — you’re the only good part about them, really.

leaving your wannabe-lover behind with a last stern but dirty glance, he walks up to you, sliding his arm around your waist. you’ve just hung up the phone, so he seizes the opportunity to ask, “can we get out of here already?”

you hardly need to lay eyes upon your friend to know your husband was being less than pleasant to him.

if mingyu thinks he’s the only one keeping his eyes on you the whole time, he’s very much mistaken. your gaze wanders back to him even when you’re talking to other people, always.

glancing at james from the corner of your eye, you raise a brow. “what’d you say to him? he’s looking a little pale all of a sudden.”

“nothing he didn’t already know.”

you narrow your eyes at him. “right. that clears everything up.”

“the fact that he’s in love with you is one thing,” he elaborates, “but publicly sizing you up the whole damn time is another. so i told him to leave it and take a hint.”

there’s a mischievous glint in your eye that he just misses by looking away from you. you’re a little shocked this is getting under his skin so much. and, as always, you like to push his buttons.

“just because he’s kissed me in the past doesn’t mean he’s in love with me.”

as you’d hoped, his gaze snaps back to yours. “he kissed you—when?”

“not recently, if that’s what you’re worried about. back in university.”

his eyes are blazing with something new. you resist the rising smirk by acting like this isn’t an important topic of conversation at all, even though it’s obvious he’s dying to know every little detail.

“you didn’t date him though, did you?”

“well, not exactly, no.” upon the sight of him growing increasingly frustrated with every vague answer, you add, “gyu, are we really going to have this conversation in a room full of people?”

a good point that leads exactly to the outcome you thought it’d have.

“no. but we need to talk about this, privately.”

“fine,” you tell him, feigning annoyance, “let’s go home, then.”

you head towards the entrance and he immediately follows suit. your coats are handed to you by the clerk, and you’re back in the car you came with in mere minutes.

the tension in the car is so utterly palpable that you’re close to trembling in your seat. you silently thank the universe that the drive to your house is only a few minutes.

he’s parked the car in the driveway before you know it, and you unlock the door, suddenly increasingly aware of his presence looming behind you — like you can practically feel his eyes burning into your back.

throwing the keys on the cabinet in the hallway, you kick off your heels, leaving them on the floor.

“this is ridiculous, mingyu,” you huff, walking into the living room, warm lighting reflecting on your skin.

with dark eyes, he throws off his suit jacket. his tie quickly follows. “can’t say i agree.”

“i don’t recall having to give my dating history before we got married.”

“so he is your ex?”

an awfully humorless chuckle is pulled out of your throat. “i already told you he’s not. and even if he was, why do you care?”

“i care because you’re married to me, and that prick was looking at you like you were his,” he talks back, rolling up the sleeves of his white dress shirt before he opens the top two buttons.

“is that what this is really about? you’re jealous of some guy i know from college?”

a muffled grunt leaves him. opening the bottle of scotch sitting on the coffee table, he pours himself a glass, proceeding to down it in one go.

you’re leaning against the wall, watching him with crossed arms and knitted brows.

he doesn’t respond at first.

with heat creeping up the back of his neck, he steps closer to you. “you’re married to me.”

he’s being remarkably straightforward tonight. you look up at him, the corner of your mouth curled up in that devious little way he’s grown so stupidly fond of.

you’re riling him up on purpose. you both know it.

“and yet that guy has seen more of me than you have.”

little distance remains between you when he takes another step. his left hand touches the wall, and with his arm beside your face, you feel your cheeks burning up. still, you act unimpressed.

“did you fuck him?”

for a man that doesn’t curse often, it sure sounds good rolling off his tongue.

“no.”

“then what happened between you?”

for a moment, you’re rendered breathless. his thumb grazes past your lip, moving down to your jaw. “all we… we only made out once in our last year in university, when the whole class went on a summer trip together. i was already in my bikini, so…”

the proximity causes you to trail off. he urges you to continue, muttering, “so?”

you scratch your throat. “so we kissed, and he put his hand under my top. it was nothing more than that.”

in hindsight, you don’t even regret kissing james that day. you both wanted it at that time. the only problem is that he still seems to harbor feelings for you — though you believe he’s more in love with the idea of you rather than you as a person — whereas you’ve never had those feelings to begin with.

with mingyu, it’s different. you don’t know what you feel for him. but you’ve wanted him to kiss you, really kiss you, for a long time now. that and a lot more.

“so your little fling has seen more of you than your own husband,” he says, almost sounding a little mean when does. “we should change that, shouldn’t we?”

the air between you feels thick, charged, and his eyes drop again, this time to your mouth, then lower to where your nipples have tightened under the thin fabric of your dress.

“yeah,” you hum, barely audible.

his voice is just as quiet. “good.”

contrary to your expectations, he backs away from you, leaving you flustered and clothed against the wall.

he takes a few steps and sits down on the velvety chair, leaning back lazily while gesturing at your clothes. “so… show me.”

“show you what?”

“you could start with whatever’s underneath that dress.”

the words briefly throw you off balance. for a man who’s not once made it this abundantly clear he wants you, he’s being damn upfront about it now.

he’s been such a gentleman all this time — maybe that’s why the difference in attitude is making your head spin. sure, he’s made a cheeky comment here and there, but fucking hell, it’s like the man sitting in that chair is a completely different person.

with his legs spread, he leans his head back, watching you through half-lidded eyes. slowly, you step forward, and he flexes his hips, lifting off the couch slightly as he spreads his legs wider.

you reach for the zipper of your dress to pull it down. once the fabric hits the floor, a downright filthy smirk begins to rise to his face, which he slightly suppresses by clenching his jaw.

you’d be lying if you said it didn’t make you buzz with excitement.

you’re not close enough for him to touch you. it makes him clench his fists, as if to restrain his fingers from reaching out to feel your skin.

“pretty,” he gets out a little more breathlessly than intending to at the sight of your matching set of lingerie — god, he might be fucking sweating from this.

it elicits a smile from you. “i figured you liked lace.”

“did you?”

“lucky guess.”

god, lucky guess is an understatement. he’s a sucker for it. still, he gestures to your lingerie, because as pretty as you look in the dark fabric, he’s going insane at the idea of you without it. “gonna take that off, too?”

it’s a little mean of him — making you undress completely while he hasn’t shed as much as a single piece of clothing.

then again, you’d be lying if you said it didn’t turn you on.

so you take two steps over to him, practically standing between his thighs. you push your underwear down before reaching back to undo the clasp of your bra, and once you’re completely naked, his hands finally move to your body, settling on your hips.

the first kisses are pressed to your stomach, trailing down to your navel, and he pulls you into his lap. getting to touch your bare skin makes him feel intoxicated, and the only thing he wants is to indulge.

“james,” you say, and his eyes snap up to meet yours at the name, “what’d he say to you?”

with a hoarse voice, he gives his answer.

“he said i was too old for you. that i could’ve been your father.”

when you sit in his lap, you feel him twitch against your leg. “sounds like he got one thing right.”

the vision of you biting your lower lip is the last thing he sees before you kiss him, and he pulls you tighter, almost getting so lost in the embrace that he forgets you’re completely naked in his lap.

goosebumps begin to appear on your skin when his hands travel up your spine.

you have to force yourself to break the kiss, and he’s already leaning in again, looking like he’s about to pout when you don’t.

instead, you push against his chest, his back flush against the chair.

“let me do this,” you breathe out, getting out of his lap to sit on your knees, right between his legs, and he can’t pinpoint whether it’s a question or a command, but you don’t wait for a reaction from him.

you undo the zipper of his trousers, leaving his pants on as you take his cock out of his underwear.

he fails to hold back a soft moan when your tongue runs over the bulbous tip of his cock. it’s slow, tentative, torturously gentle.

you love watching him fall apart just as much as the other way around, and right now, as you take him in your mouth for the first time, he looks like he could cry.

“shit—” he gasps, fingers digging into the soft armrests of the chair. in a fleeting moment, he realizes what he’s pined after for god knows how long is finally happening, and it feels so right.

his mind is reeling. you affect him so easily; the sheer amount of times he’s touched himself late at night to the idea of having you under him, thinking how pretty you’d sound moaning his name, is a little embarrassing.

it takes every ounce of effort not to buck his hips. you take notice of it.

you don’t make it any easier for him.

his hips shift beneath you, and a low rumble vibrates in his chest.

with blown pupils, he watches your left hand moving down to your clit, and you fucking hum around him in ecstacy.

no, he can’t come already, not this soon—

gently pushing you back, he almost stutters from edging himself. “fuck. baby, stop, stop—”

with parted lips, you can’t resist cracking a joke. “what, too much for you, old man?”

“you’re infuriating,” he retorts, kissing you a little breathlessly before he says, “get on the couch. on your back, c’mon.”

even if he’s been aching to touch you the entire time, it’s not impatience that drives him to put his hands on you already. with his big hand on your stomach, he pushes you back, a bit annoyed by the tight fabric of his clothes but too occupied with you to do something about it.

and every thought that was lingering in the back of his head utterly evaporates when your pussy is fully on display for him.

he drags his finger down your wetness, hypnotized by your body’s immediate reaction to the touch.

“are you gonna fuck me?”

instead of giving a reply, he moves to hover over you, licking a long stripe from your stomach up to your neck, trapping you beneath him.

clearly, he’s toying with you — suddenly taking his time, slowly exploring every inch of you while painfully aware of the way you keep clenching around nothing.

you didn’t want to beg, but if he keeps this up, you might have to.

“gyu—” you cut yourself off mid-sentence to swallow at the feeling of his warm breath against your nipple, “i want you to fuck me.”

“is that a nice way to ask for things?”

oh, so this is his payback for that little comment you made.

unfortunately, it really fucking turns you on. to make things even worse, he’s rubbing his cock against your pussy, so close to slipping in that you might as well be on the verge of tears.

“ask me to fuck you, nicely,” he emphasizes by grinding against you once more, “and i will.”

he’s not the only one who can be a tease, you prove. “i could just get on top of you and do what i want.”

“try me.” his voice is so unbelievably mocking that it’d piss you off if he didn’t look so attractive right now.

ever defiant, you try to regain control and move from underneath him, but you both know it’s useless. he’s a big man, with such strength that caging you in his hold is stupidly easy for him.

still, he appreciates your clear effort.

he eventually chooses to place his right hand on your wrist, and you stop your struggling. with his left, he guides his cock to your hole, pressing just the tip in, and you shiver under him.

“ask me.”

you finally give in. “fine, fuck—please fuck me—”

he’s sheathing himself inside you before you can comprehend it, briefly knocking the wind out of your lungs. the girth of him makes you feel so full that you nearly have trouble breathing.

when he puts his hand on your thigh, you lock your legs around his waist, letting out a whimper.

“my favorite girl,” he grunts, “you look so fucking pretty like this.”

you’re so full, it’s nearly painful — but it evaporates almost instantly when he gently rocks his hips against you.

all you can do is hold on to him, head falling back against the sofa as he gives you everything he has. it’s rough, nearly brutal, but fuck is it good.

the hand on your thigh travels, moves upward, only for his thumb to press against your clit. the touch is a shock, one that sends your pussy fluttering around him. he grunts, stills, keeps toying with your clit until your thighs quiver and everything in you begins to clench down.

then it all disappears as he pulls his thumb away and resumes thrusting.

you push yourself up on your elbows in disbelief.

“you think i didn’t know what you were doing by insinuating you’d fucked that friend of yours?” he smirks, referring to the things you said to make him go home early with you.

wow. he’s fucking teasing. toying with you.

“not like you were protesting it, though, were you?” you reply sharply, chest hot with both irritation and arousal.

your husband laughs, grinds against you, pulling forth a moan you’ve never made before.

“just can’t help yourself, can you?” he muses, “always gotta be a little brat.”

the chuckle that leaves your mouth quickly turns into a moan when he adjusts the position a little, hitting the spot that makes you see stars.

“oh my god—” your voice is strained, feeling every motion of his hips. his cock is so perfectly sheathed into you, hands keeping a firm grip on your hips.

he buries his face in the crook of your neck, kissing your skin, a fresh rush of adrenaline pumping through him when your sharp nails dig into his back.

“fuck,” he groans. “i’m gonna come inside you, yeah? be a good girl and keep it all in once I’m done.”

you nod, eager for it. his head falls against the side of your face, and his lips press against your ear. your body twitches again when he brings his finger back to your clit.

he comes inside you with a groan, and you’re already so strung out from your previous orgasm that the next one is on you like an animal biting at your ankles. it’s sharp and fast and it overwhelms.

his hand is a little shaky when it takes a gentle hold of your chin, and he leans down to kiss you, content.

you lie there with him beside you, starting to relax, chest no longer heaving from the exertion.

“i can’t believe it took us over a year to have sex.”

he chuckles. “you didn’t make it easy for me.”

with a cheeky little smile, you tease, “not my fault you practically get a hard-on whenever i walk into the room.”

mingyu rolls his eyes, always seeing your witty little quips coming from a mile away. “always so humble, aren’t you?”

“oh my god, you can’t even deny it!”

“well, you can’t deny i just gave you the fuck of a lifetime either, so i think we’re square.”

“the fuck of a lifetime? you’re giving yourself a little too much credit here.”

“right. i must’ve misheard the part where you begged me to touch you.”

“lapse of judgement.”

staring dryly at you, he’s met with a broad smile from you, and you have the audacity to scrunch your nose like you’re so cute — which you are, to be fair — and he cracks, not able to resist the corners of his mouth curling up.

SINCE THAT NIGHT, it’s as if the two of you are on your honeymoon.

a funny thing, considering you pretended to be such slightly over a year before, when you’d just spoken your vows.

you both even take an entire week off by calling in sick — something about both of you catching food poisoning. how horrible for both of you to be sick at the same time.

by now, you must’ve had sex in every damn spot in the house. the shower, the backyard — even the dining room table, which has easily become a big favorite.

things are good at home. you enjoy living with him, both of you are happier.

when the doorbell rings one night, mingyu is met with an unexpected face.

your brother doesn’t even try to crack a smile. so much for good manners. “hi. i wanna talk to my sister, is she home?”

“no, you just missed her. she’s getting drinks with friends,” he replies. when wonwoo hums in disappointment, he suggests, “wanna come in for a beer?”

sharing a drink is one of the many things they’ve never done before, despite being brothers-in-law. mingyu knows how much wonwoo disapproves of his work mentality, but he also knows how to spot someone who needs to get something off their chest.

they end up in the backyard. insects rasp from the trees below, the air thick and warm with the fresh scent of the hills after a day of sun.

“so, is living with my sister still bearable?”

mingyu takes another drag of his cigarette, choosing to answer truthfully. not like he has anything to hide. “i’ve grown to enjoy her company a lot, actually.”

“since when?”

“a while.”

“i thought you hated her. i thought she hated you.”

“i never hated her. she’s... vibrant, funny and loving.” mingyu smiles to himself at the thought of you.

wonwoo frowns. “are we talking about the same person?”

“i mean, she was different in the beginning. i know that. but she’s… she’s special to me. i get fucking miserable at the idea of not having her around me. and we still clash at times, we still argue, it’s not perfect. but i love her to death.”

your brother still has that frown on his face. he doesn’t know what he finds uncannier — the way mingyu describes your character and relationship, or the fact that he doesn’t recognize this at all in his own situation.

“you really love her?”

“yeah, i do.”

“wow, i didn’t... know that was happening,” he breathes out, finding it more curious than anything. “how long did it take? to get to this point, i mean.”

“a while. we had a bit of a rocky start, but given our history, that was only natural. and then things gradually shifted, i guess. why?”

“no reason in particular, i just... my marriage is different, i suppose.” when your husband raises a brow, wonwoo shrugs his shoulders. “don’t get me wrong, i love my wife, i do. i just didn’t think that — what you have with my sister — was possible.”

“depends on the person you’re with. and the effort you’re putting into it. i mean, if you weren’t married, would you choose to get with her again?”

the speechless stare into the distance says enough. the corner of mingyu’s mouth quirks up into something of amusement, and so your brother weakly defends himself. “it’s just—you know, she was from a good family, and my parents loved her from the start—”

“but you’re not in love with her.”

wonwoo sighs. “so you’re saying you would? if you weren’t married, you’d seriously marry my sister again?”

“in a heartbeat,” mingyu responds, bringing the cigarette back to his lips, and your brother sinks deeper into his seat, not sure what to do with himself.

a few weeks later, you’re seated in the church with mingyu beside you, both of you dressed up. it’s the first time you’re attending a wedding as a couple.

“something wrong?”

you huff, shifting on the uncomfortable wooden bench. “no, it’s just not a very comfortable seat to have for a couple hours. i swear, anyone willingly doing their wedding ceremony in a church...”

he frowns at that. “need i remind you that we got married in a church?”

“keyword in my statement was willingly.” you shake your head, and when he still appears confused, you lean closer to him, making sure no one hears your conversation. “i didn’t even want to get married in a church. or in the summer. and god, don’t even get me started on that atrocious wedding bouquet—”

mingyu stifles a chuckle. “is there anything you did like?”

as if forcing yourself to remember the event, you narrow your eyes. “you were wearing a nice suit. my dress was alright. not my first pick, but still pretty.”

“well, you looked gorgeous. but why didn’t you say anything about those things? it was your mother who arranged most of it.”

the blank stare sent his way is enough of an answer. still, you add, “she just wanted something that’d appeal to everyone. you have no idea how much i had to fight just to wear a dress i remotely liked.”

it sparks an interest in him. “so, if we got married again, and you were allowed to determine everything, what would you want?”

you tilt your head in thought. “i’d want a smaller amount of guests than before. a fall wedding sounds nice, though spring is also beautiful. a different dress, different food, something more intimate. more personal. having dinner and drinks in a garden, candles on the tables... something dreamy and romantic, i’d love that.”

“sounds beautiful,” he murmurs, imagining it, lifting your hand so he can press a kiss to the gold wedding band you’ve got on your finger.

it won’t be there forever. every day that passes is a day closer to the expiration date written in your contract, which he’s really starting to dread.

“i don’t wanna be divorced from you,” he whispers, the first time he addresses what you’ve been holding off all this time.

“i don’t either,” you tell him earnestly, “but you know how it is. we’ve got contractual obligations to carry out. i’m sure my mother has already set her eye on a new man for me, once everything’s done.”

it’s obvious you couldn’t be any less happy about it. he can’t stand it — the grip your family has on your life. it’s the one thing that constantly tries to pull you away from one another, and once the divorce rolls around, it will.

with his chest tightening, he sighs. “yeah, i know. it’s what we agreed to, but... it’s gonna be hard.”

you nod, squeezing his hand.

in a year, you’ll no longer be his, and that thought alone makes him feel sick.

he puts his arm around you, pulling you closer to him, hoping it will make the knowledge of what’s bound to happen go away, even for a little while.

THE DIVORCE IS, unfortunately, front page news.

shock, surprise, and a group of people cleverly throwing around the classic i-told-you-so comment — it seems to be the main topic of conversation everywhere, even though you’d planned to handle it discreetly.

things between you and mingyu end on a strange note. using the term end doesn’t feel right, since it doesn’t feel like either of you decided to actually put an end to it.

you both remain quiet about the reason for the divorce, even giving vague answers to those in your social circle. no one gets it; you’re divorced, so why are you continuing to be seen talking to one another at social events?

it sparks questions, of course. your mother highly disapproves, and the moment wonwoo accidentally mentions that your marriage turned out to be more real than it was ever supposed to be, she knows she needs to take measures to steer you back in the right direction.

little does she know her actions only lead you into the opposite.

she picks out a new guy for you to be sweet on like a pair of gold earrings to add to her already extensive collection, and naturally she picks the one guy you’d never get together with.

james.

it’s such a laughingly bad choice that it’s almost funny. you and him look perfect together on paper, sure, with your families being good friends, you and him being the same age and having attended the same private schools.

what makes the whole thing even lousier is that this isn’t an agreement like it was with mingyu. you actually have to pretend you like him, act like you and your husband weren’t a good match.

it’s fucking horrible. you’ve never had this strong of an urge to stab yourself with a dinner knife, so you should give it to the guy — that is quite the accomplishment, given the sheer amount of bullshit everyone keeps throwing into your lap.

it makes you tired of everything. you only look forward to social outings because it’s the only opportunity you have left to see mingyu again.

whenever you speak to one another now, it’s mostly banter. you’re not the type to actively voice how much you miss eachother, not like that. but you both feel it. it lingers in every shared drink, every conversation.

james, the insecure little man that he is, still doesn’t like how much you keep talking to your ex-husband. doesn’t mingyu see that you’re his now? that he won?

clearly not, he finds, because in spite of mingyu being the plus-one of a beautiful woman at the party tonight, his gaze is still locked on you the whole time.

you’ve noticed his presence, as well as his date’s, and pure jealousy rushes through you. even if you haven’t told him your relationship with james is only a thing because your mother wanted it to be, you sure hoped he understood.

to show up at an event hosted by your family’s company, uninvited, with another woman, is a bold statement. one that makes you want to claw at his face, if you’re being honest.

you’re ordering a drink at the bar, and very subtly, mingyu intends to walk over to you, only to find the one and only person he’d hoped to avoid tonight standing right in front of him.

and the boy already speaks before he can get a socially acceptable greeting out of his mouth. “you’re not wanted here.”

your ex remains unmoved by it. “i wasn’t aware you’re handling the guest list tonight.”

“i don’t want you talking to her.”

the mere mention of you causes him to stiffen, but he plays it off smooth enough to make it untraceable. “she’s a grown woman, i’m pretty sure she can decide that herself.”

quite a hypocritical response to give, mingyu realizes, since he said almost the same thing back when you were still his.

but he’s too far into this to admit it. or to care.

“or you could just listen to me, her boyfriend, when i say she doesn’t want anything to do with you.”

mingyu pushes his tongue against the inside of his cheek. “how was she? my wife, when you slept with her.”

james is taken aback by the bold question, simply not enough of a quick thinker to come up with a proper reply rather than the stutter that leaves him.

but your ex doesn’t give him the time of day. “she used to tense, right in the middle of fucking, and she’d come and get those… electric shocks. i miss that. did she do that?”

whatever it is that flashes behind the boy’s eyes, it’s anything but recognition, which confirms what he already thought; you haven’t had sex with him.

good.

“she’s—we’re fine.”

taunting him, mingyu slowly nods, no longer interested in continuing the conversation now that he’s gotten what he needed. like clockwork, you appear right in his field of view, standing out in the crowd of people, and he shoots a curt excuse me to your boyfriend before leaving him alone.

several faces across the room turn when mingyu approaches you. a shiver goes down your spine as he comes closer, an effect none of your other romantic partners have ever had on you.

god, you almost forgot how masculine he is. the broad shoulders, the confidence in his walk — though he looks particularly handsome tonight.

“oh, i don’t trust that look,” is the first thing you say to him, and it immediately makes something flourish in his chest. it proves that this is all he came here for tonight. you.

“what look?”

“the one you’ve been giving me all night. like you know exactly what i’m thinking.”

“so you’ve been looking at me all night?” his hands sit in his pockets, and he makes sure to hold eye contact with you. “i mean, we both know you’ve hardly paid attention to your little boyfriend.”

“oh, wow. you really have been staring at me for the whole evening.”

“well, we were married for three years. i’ve always looked at you.”

“we’re not married anymore,” you tell him, putting your hands behind your back, “and i pay enough attention to james.”

“do you?”

“yes,” you hiss, irritation subsiding as quickly as it came, and you force yourself to look away from him. “he’s great. really great.”

“trying to convince yourself or me?”

you narrow your eyes at him. “why would i need to convince you of anything?”

“probably ‘cause i’m the only one who knows you well enough to see through you.”

“for now.”

“you know, he just came up to talk to me, all territorial about you,” he says as he takes a step closer, “and i couldn’t help but wonder why you haven’t slept with him yet. if he’s so great like you claim.”

you scoff. “who says we haven’t?”

“hey, i get it. he’s insufferable.”

“mingyu, you’re my ex-husband. i’m not gonna discuss my sex life with you.”

“well, we don’t have to discuss it.”

with a smug smile, he peers down at you, and you hate the effect it has on your body, not to mention what he’s implying. “you’re not serious.”

“i’m dead serious.”

“he’s—i have a boyfriend.”

he lowers his voice. “i’ll leave you alone if you can tell me, truthfully, that you like him in the slightest.”

several guests around are still stealing glances at the pair of you, and with him clearly not backing away from you either, you feel the incessant need to get away from the crowd.

“come with me,” you gesture, turning your back to him, and he follows you out of the room.

the only benefit of the party being hosted on your turf means you know exactly where to go if you don’t want to be disturbed.

in this case, that means your office, which is located on the floor above you.

you all but shove him inside as soon as you’ve reached the top of the stairs. slamming the door behind you, your chest moves rapidly, up and down. “you’ve lost your fucking mind to drop by at an event where you’re obviously not welcome. and with a goddamn date too. it’s only been a couple months since our divorce—”

“says the girl who has a boyfriend already,” he cuts in, “and the only reason i came in with that woman — who is nothing more than an old friend — was to see you.”

“well, i don’t really wanna see you if you pull stunts like that.”

“we both know that’s not true.”

“god, you need to stop.”

“stop what?”

“you keep talking to me, about us, about my fucking sex life with my boyfriend—” you make the mistake of briefly glancing at the wooden desk, your voice lost on you when you have to inhale sharply.

and he sees it happen. “i’ve fucked you over that desk. you remember?”

“what?”

“i can see you thinking about it.”

“i wasn’t,” you tell him, “and for the record, you didn’t just fuck me, i’d say i was an active participant.”

he fucking loves that you still find it in you to talk back to him when you’re so obviously flustered by the entire ordeal. “usually, yes, you were very active, but occasionally, you preferred it being done to you. this was one of those times.”

unfortunately, he’s right. but you’re not willing to give in so easily.

“why would you mention that?”

his voice is suave and sharp. “why would you think about it?”

the all-black attire is a criminally good look on him. his shoes are neatly laced and polished, his slacks perfectly pressed and free of wrinkles. the buttons of his dress shirt remind you how good his massive forearms look when his sleeves are rolled up. your gaze scans his entire body, entirely focused on how the top two buttons of his shirt are undone, revealing a bit of dark chest hair.

you’re so lost in your own thoughts that his movement toward you startles you out of your lustful thinking.

you gulp, unable to stop the memory of him touching you on your desk from replaying in your head. “i didn’t even think about it until you reminded me of it.”

he doubts it. but if you want to play this game, sure, he’ll play. “your boyfriend probably thought about fucking you here too. then again, that might be a little too much for him.”

“how would you know?”

“well, i told him how pretty you look when you come,” he answers truthfully, “and he didn’t strike me as a guy who knows what to do with you.”

it’s been months since you had sex, and it’s left both of you awfully pent up, clearly. just standing near one another in a room full of people was enough to feel it.

and now that you’re alone, it’s even worse.

you decide not to deny it anymore. “no, he wouldn’t know what to do with me.”

the cold wood of the desk suddenly touching the back of your thighs brings you to realize he’s been cornering you this whole time, getting you right where he wants you.

if you couldn’t remember why you always found his demeanor so attractive, you sure as hell do now. he’s ridiculously good at it — the way he crowds you, looking down at you, following your every move with his eyes. and he’s fucking smug about it, too.

you look up at him, challenging him, because you knew exactly what you were doing by bringing him up here.

the kiss is frantic, messy, a blur of sensation as your body presses closer to his, desperate for more. a soft gasp slips from your lips, mingling with his, and in your frantic fervor, you bite down on his lower lip, hard enough to taste copper.

he has to bite back a moan at the mere taste of your lipstick.

god, he wonders how the hell he made it through the past months without this, without you.

the familiar smell of your hair nearly sends him into overdrive. he touches you like a man starved, too greedy to take his time with you the way he’s always done.

his hands are everywhere, roaming down your hips, fondling your breasts. when his lips leave yours, they trail down your neck, nipping at the skin above your collarbone, and the sweet kiss on your stomach is the only warning you get before he hikes up your dress and dives in between your legs.

“shit,” you choke out, sounding so pornographic that it makes his cock twitch.

sucking in a breath, it’s too much at once, and you’re not sure whether to pull him closer or to push him away.

he only lifts his head to scold you. “hold still.”

your breathlessness isn’t enough to stop you from defying him. “you’ve never held still during all those times i sucked your dick, either.”

yeah, he’s missed you. “maybe you wouldn’t be such a brat if you had your hands tied.”

infuriatingly, your body betrays how you feel about the suggestion. his eyes briefly flick down at the sight of your thighs clenching together.

when he looks back up at you, you shrug, taunting him by nodding at his belt. “maybe.”

he doesn’t have to think it over for another second. while you pull your dress over your head, discarding it on the floor, his belt comes off in the blink of an eye, wrapped and neatly secured around your wrists. he pushes the small stack of documents and pens off the desk, laying you down, and you shiver from the coldness of the polished hardwood against your back.

you can feel his fingers moving, hooking his finger under your panties to pull them down, the cool air hitting your exposed skin only spurring on the wetness collecting between your thighs.

his tongue dips in abruptly and you inhale sharply, trying not to jerk up a bit from the sudden sensation. he licks a slow stripe along the length of your slit, puffy folds swollen with arousal.

the words are stolen from you as he starts to probe with his tongue, lapping at your arousal and groaning softly before licking teasingly on your clit.

he doesn’t stop when looking up at you, finding you exactly as desperate and wanting as he expected.

“so now,” you choke out, voice strained, “you decide to take it slow?”

the comment drives him to wordlessly push two thick fingers into your pussy. you clench around him with a moan, head falling back to expose your throat. he groans, runs his sticky lips over your neck as he sets a pace with his fingers. with it, he presses his thumb to your clit, pressing and swirling.

it’s embarrassing how fast he gets you to be a whimpering, moaning mess under him. your hair is everywhere, lipstick smudged, sweat beading on your forehead.

above you, mingyu is losing his composure just as much as you are. the grip of his hand on your thigh is harsh, digging into your flesh, and he’s aching for you to fall apart, to be inside you.

“fuck,” he murmurs, his mouth back on you, sucking your clit into his mouth. it’s a sharp ache that bursts behind your eyes — you nearly jump off the desk from it. he’s enthusiastic, eating you without care for himself. he chases and chases until you’re done, crying.

“fuck. please, gyu—” your thighs tighten around his head, and he smiles against your pussy, continuing.

your entire body shakes, lifting off the desk, curling forward, clawing at mingyu’s arms. when he releases your clit, his arms go around you, dragging you to the edge of the desk.

his hips roll against yours, and despite still shaking from the orgasm, you can’t help leaning into his every touch.

jesus, you want him to fucking use you until you’re both empty.

“bend over the desk. i want you to hold onto it,” he orders, manhandling you into the position. with your chest against the flat surface, you hear a zipper sliding along its track, the shuffle of clothes, and he sinks inside you.

“gyu,” you murmur, and the sound he makes in response goes straight to your pussy.

he lightly nods his head, hands squeezing tighter on your hips. “i know, sweetheart, i know.”

he keeps you in place, leaving you unable to move much as he snaps his hips against you, his cock hitting so deep you feel him in your stomach. the sound of your bodies coming together over and over again is loud in the room, nearly swallowing up his harsh grunts and your breathy moans of pleasure.

“perfect,” he groans. “made for me.”

he goes all in, fucking you until every thrust punches the air from your lungs and your knuckles turn white from gripping the table beneath you.

with his left hand still holding onto the desk, he uses his right to tilt your chin up, his nose buried in your hair. “tell me you need me.”

arching your back, you try to catch your breath, having to force yourself to focus on anything other than the way he feels inside you.

he grunts when you clench around him. “tell me.”

“need you,” is what immediately comes out of your mouth, the words dragged out in a soft, whiny sound.

it nearly makes him spiral. he’s completely lost in it, his pace changing as he struggles to stay afloat.

keeping one hand on your throat, he reaches between your legs to play with your clit, adding a bit of tension in the way he holds onto you. it only takes a few gentle circles of your clit before you’re clenching hard around him.

he grinds forward, a guttural moan escaping him as he stills, his hips slammed flush against yours.

the whimpered cry that rolls up your throat and bursts forth from between your lips is unobstructed. your pussy squeezes around him even as he continues to move inside you. his actions only prolong it, drawing it out, seeking more as your hips writhe in time with him.

the aftershocks are the worst part. not because they’re painful, but because the muscles in your thighs won’t stop twitching. his smile against your neck tells you all you need to know — he’s smug, downright satisfied with how you fell apart for him.

there’s a brief pause of silence before the grip of his hand eases up on your throat. he slides out of you, causing you to whimper at the loss. he eases you down on the flat surface, your limbs almost giving out.

your bound hands are dangling off the edge of the desk. another little aftershock hits you when he leans over your body, raising his arm to remove the belt from your wrists.

he turns you around to be able to look at your face, and you sit up, fingers resting at the opening of his shirt. he feels your hand slip underneath the fabric to touch his chest.

he doesn’t stop you. instead, he leans into your touch, claiming your mouth. you only pull away from each other to catch a breath.

“was it too tight?” he hears himself ask upon the sight of the leather’s strain marks on your skin, ears still ringing a little from his orgasm.

“no, it was good. i was just… pulling on it a lot,” you say, wincing a little when you finally get to lay your arms beside your body after having them above your shoulders the entire time.

reaching down, he picks up your dress, handing it back to you. putting it on again feels horrible. your body aches more from the separation of your bodies than what he did to you.

you’re adjusting the skirt when he lifts his hand to fix your hair. his index finger brushes past your cheek, and he smiles at you, remembering just how much he misses waking up next to that pretty face of yours.

fuck, you’re dreading leaving this room.

but you can’t stay here, you’ve been gone too long already. it’s rather surprising no one has stopped by your office to check where you are.

on the interior balcony overlooking the ground floor, you glance at the guests below whilst all of them are blissfully unaware of your presence above them.

you lean against the doorpost, and mingyu notices the sudden stiffness of your jaw. “hey, what’s wrong?”

with a sigh, you shake your head. “i just don’t wanna go down there.”

your ex-husband shrugs. “so don’t.”

easy for him to say. “the last time i told my mother i didn’t feel like attending, she said i was lazy and ungrateful. spoiled. you know how she gets.”

this time, he’s the one who clenches his jaw. “you’re none of those things.”

“i am spoiled. everything i have was handed to me on a silver platter.”

“you’ve had a lot handed to you,” he agrees, “but you work hard. you do your best. you’re smart.”

“and where has that gotten me?” you ask, repressed anger pouring out. “i’m still stuck under my family’s thumb, still treated like a child, or a pawn to use in some business strategy. the only reason i have a high-ranking position in the company is because she still controls me.”

“you could resign. with your connections, you could get a position like that elsewhere in minutes,” he suggests. “hell, i’d kill to have someone like you in my company.”

“you’re just saying that ‘cause of our history.”

“i’m not. you’re competent and reliable. when are you finally gonna start believing that?”

you swallow hard, refusing to look him in the eye.

“i’d go back to you in a heartbeat, you know that?” you whisper. it’s the first time in a long time that your voice breaks.

mingyu wonders if you’ve been aching to return to him as much as he’s been waiting for you to show up at his doorstep with your things. “everything in the house is the same. you could move back in today if you wanted.”

it causes a tear to roll down your cheek, because fuck, you’re ready to call the movers to arrange it right now.

“i want to. but you know how things are.”

he does. he also knows they need to change. “what’re you gonna do when they ask you to marry him?”

“i doubt it’ll come to that.”

“you know it’ll come to that.”

with trembling fingers, you push a strand of hair away from your face. “i don’t know how to get out of it. they won’t accept no for an answer.”

obviously, he could offer you a position in his own company, or fix one for you through his network, but it wouldn’t be right, and you both know it.

“go back to james, to your family. play the part. find a new position in a different company, build your own career, become independent.”

“that’s easier said than done. they’d cut me off entirely, disown me, probably launch a fucking smear campaign against me. god, i’d lose everything.”

“no, you’d gain everything. you’ll have your freedom, you’ll no longer have to walk on eggshells around them, do their bidding. you’re deserving of more respect than they give you.”

“i know that, but i just don’t... i don’t wanna end up alone.”

it’s scary to step away from everything you’ve ever had. he understands that. but you need to do this if you ever want a shot at happiness.

“sweetheart, you’ll always have me. there will always be someone here for you.”

even with tears threatening to spill from your waterline, you’re rolling your eyes at him. “i kind of hate that you always have the best possible response for everything.”

he smiles at you. “that’s why i need you to knock me down a peg. can’t let it get to my head, right?”

“right,” is all you say, mirroring his expression, and your hand finds his, his thumb gently stroking your skin.

PERHAPS YOU SHOULD’VE BEEN CEO, wonwoo thinks to himself at some point. he’s not bad at the job, his leadership is steady and secure. but it’s something that has secretly always lingered in the back of his mind.

the moment you break the news to him that you’ve broken things off with james and plan to resign at your family’s company to start working for another, he’s shocked, to say the least.

he doesn’t feel at ease or at home in the company like he did before, when you were working by his side.

the family is no longer a united front — in terms of business, anyway.

to say your mother is fuming about it would be a severe understatement. she uses every manipulation tactic known to man to try and change your mind, and unsurprisingly, she cuts you off financially, expecting you to run back to her.

chaos ensues when you don’t.

days of waiting for it turn into weeks, and weeks turn into months.

every answer you give to the press about your decision to leave the company oozes composure and class. launching a smear campaign against you is such a bad move, according to the pr agency, that it might even backfire.

wonwoo, being his mother’s favorite, gathers courage he didn’t know he had in him to tell her to stop her relentless pursuit and petty revenge.

and, surprisingly enough, she halts whatever plan she was going to set in motion. not exactly willingly, definitely not out of the kindness of her heart. but she stops.

still, she breaks off all contact with you. it feels heavy at first, but quickly you understand how much of a weight it lifts off your shoulders. perhaps, you think, you should’ve done this sooner.

wonwoo is proud of you for making the decisions that you have. from the sidelines, he watches you build your own career, your own name, with your own talent. the public eye seems to commend you.

finding a replacement for you in the company is no easy feat. you’re not as expendable as your mother thought, a terrible realization that wonwoo continues to feel on a daily basis.

he doesn’t know how to fix it, or if he ever will. he doesn’t know if his mother has it in her to recognize her flaws and faults and rekindle her relationship with you.

regardless of the answer to those questions, he knows that you’re happy and doing well. you’re still private, blunt, severe — you haven’t turned into a completely different person. but you’re happier.

you’re somewhat surprised when he breaks the news of his divorce to you, but given that you’ve found love in the unexpected, he thinks that maybe, it’s possible for him too. time will tell, he supposes.

a good year after you’ve left the company, wonwoo looks through the mail with a coffee mug in hand, and when his eyes catch the wedding invitation, all he can do is smile at himself.

love me a cheesy good ending sorry. like yes do whatever u want live your life the world is ur oyster x

® SANAKIRAS — do not repost, remake or copy my work in any way whatsoever.

[coupsalchemy]

hide & seek

summary: the one where you ran away from your boyfriend, playing hide and seek for months, only for him to win the game he created.

genres: boyfriend!Seungcheol x f.reader, gangster au, cheol is the leader of a gang, angst, angry cheol, some little fluff (?), some comedy

warnings: swearing, mention of a gun, gangs, killing, angry cheol, asshole cheol, one instance of reader slapping cheol (he asked for it), and a vague drabble (?), cheol crying

word count: 2.6k

c's note: hey anon, i hope you like this version of your request /sweats profusely/. it seems like i have forgotten my english behind along with my enthusiasm for life so this kinda sucks. and since its a drabble (in which dictionary a drabble contains of 2k words one might ask but we won't be asking those questions here) it is not fully developed.

but man imagine cheol searching for you like a dog

divider credits to the @/saradika-graphics

The rag in your hands screams for help as you keep scrubbing the same spot from the past twenty minutes. 

“Do you have vendetta against that table?” Chan slides in next to you, smiling. The dull orange fluorescent lights in the restaurant only amplifies his warmth more. “Let it breathe.” 

He grabs the crumpled rag from you, “look at those red fingers,” he gently cradles your hand, moving it this way and that way in the light, clicking his tongue, "I told you not to push yourself. Look what happened.” 

You pull your hand away, turning to the almost empty restaurant with only a couple and a stranger occupying the corner tables. The closing time is in thirty minutes, and the staff has already begun on the closing tasks. 

“It’s fine.” You rub your rough palms against your apron, a dull red fabric with the restaurant’s name written on the chest. “I need to,” you point your thumb over your shoulder, “go.” 

Chan chews on his lip, the warmth dripping into frustration. He knows you are done with your assigned tasks and idling away scrubbing the tables. “Okay,” bless him for not pointing you out for the millionth time, “I only have one customer at my table,” he nods his chin to the man sitting in the darker area of the dining area, “I can drop you off after he leaves? Hmm?” 

Chan’s eyes shine in hope. A one hundredth try in getting to know you personally, to learn where you are actually from and possibly your opinions on the state of the country—anything at this point. 

“Sorry, I have to stop by somewhere else,” you decline politely, “and it is out of your way. I don’t want you to spend the night driving me around after a long day. You need rest, more than me.” 

The hope in his eyes dies and your stomach turns itself inside out in guilt. With a parting smile, you head back to the staff only room ready to leave for the day. The door swings shut behind, you untie the apron, looking back at the door separating you from a dejected Chan. His friendliness, and care towards you should melt your heart, let him in your world. A world you are actively trying to run away from. 

It’s been two months since you are on the run, taking up temporary jobs and changing cities, towns if you ever sniff the presence of a jean jacket and a certain cologne. Better to be safe than sorry. If the man ever catches you, the thought alone has you break out into sweat. You hang the apron and grab your bag, hiking it onto your shoulder, you leave through the back door, pulling your hood on.

You have completely changed yourself, forfeit your pastel colored soft dresses to dark old hoodies and baggy clothes. The long hair is cut short. Now you are called with a different name in each town you move to that it takes a minute to get accustomed to your new persona each time. 

The walk from the restaurant to the grocery store is short. You grab a basket starting from the first aisle wanting to relieve yourself from stress by walking around aimlessly. A habit you have carried since your childhood. It is a safe space you run to whenever the house gets darker and your mom is doing extra time. Rows of colorful snacks are something that has kept you company. Until him. 

You pause at the dry fruits section, contemplating between cashews and almonds when it hits. You snap your head to the empty aisles, and to the cashier who is trimming her nails, chewing on a bubblegum. You rub your nose with the sleeve, you might have mistaken it, there’s no way he is here. This town is on the other end of the country, and he should be too busy running his gang. 

But the scent of his cologne only gets stronger. You drop the cashews box, walking away from the dry fruits to the snacks aisle, a well-lit place with a customer giving you company. Your heart hammers inside your chest, anxiety pricking your skin at the thought of him finding you. 

You shake your head, no, anyone can have the same cologne as his’, and you are not that important to him for abandoning his tasks to come to a remote town. He made sure of that,  your place in his life, his priorities and you are nowhere in that list. 

The scent is stronger. You move closer to the stranger, nothing will happen under the bright lights and a stranger here to witness. You hope. 

What if he did come? Or sent his lackeys? Jeonghan was set about stealing the cologne for himself. 

The rule with gangs is, once you have entered into a gang you are bound for life. Death is the only way to get out of the ring. And you ran away the minute you found a loophole. Will they have mercy on someone who betrayed the leader? Will he? You have seen him dealing with betrayers and you would rather die in the hands of enemies than in his. 

The stranger whistles his way out of the aisle. You grab a random cookie box and drop it into your basket following the stranger. 

“Just cookies?”

You freeze listening to his voice, your palms sweating around the handle of the basket. The footsteps are louder in your ears than your heartbeat. Seungcheol found you. And he is right behind you. 

“Uh uh,” he grabs your shoulder just when you are about to make an escape, he pulls the hood off of you, pausing for a second noticing the difference in your hair.

Seungcheol towers over you, his fingers digging into your shoulder as his eyes run all over your face. You take a step back, and another, only to hit someone’s body. 

Jeonghan is behind you, bending to look at the chips options. Seungcheol grabs your chin pulling you towards him. The basket slips from your hand dropping on his shoes, he merely glances at the fallen cookie box before dragging you out of the grocery store. 

An ocean of feelings floods past you seeing his broad back in that damn jean jacket. You wiggle out of his hold. 

“One squeak others will pay the price.” He growls, yanking you closer, your face slams into his thick arm. “Chan was it?” He sneers the name in utter disgust. 

Your stomach twists, “Seungcheol—” 

“Hey!” The cashier calls, “leave her.” 

“Just these, please.” Jeonghan puts down the chips pack and the cookies box waiting for the cashier to bill him. “And a secret.” He sets down a gun next to the snacks with a cheshire smile that has the cashier moving, her hands shaking as she puts the snacks into a cover. 

Seungcheol drags you out to the parking lot having confidence in his men to handle the situation. You break free from his grip stumbling into his car door. 

“Get in.” 

You rub the tears of frustration, mumbling a weak, “no.” 

Seungcheol barks out a laugh. The leader Choi Seungcheol is standing in front of you, not your boyfriend. This man is nowhere near your boyfriend, almost a stranger. 

“No she says,” he cracks his neck, licking his lips.

You have to do it now or you will never be able to. “I’m not your girlfriend.” The words are wobbly, as weak as your anger. “You and I are..” 

He is hovering over you, his eyes sharpens, crazed over as he warns, “if I were you I won’t complete that sentence, baby.” 

You try your best to suppress the cry in your throat, you really do but you fail. “Why? Didn’t you say you are tired of me? That I vex you? No, no,” your voice breaks, you clear your throat, “what was it? You regret being with me. So now why are you here? I gave you what you wanted? You wanted to get rid of me. I did. Now what? You wanna get rid of me completely? Stay loyal to the rules you fucking made?!” 

Seungcheol steps back at your words, he cups his mouth, holding his waist with the other hand as he looks away. The jean jacket sits snug on his broad shoulders, an ever present article during important moments in his life, or when he is nervous. 

Silence entertains you two for a minute. 

“Yo.” Jeonghan throws the cookie box to your once boyfriend and now a person struggling whether to keep you alive or kill just the way he usually does. 

Seungcheol catches your snacks easily, and salutes his friend off. Jeonghan returns it with a lazy wave, giving you an impressed smile, “it was a good hide and seek you played. Had the man running around like a dog.” 

The said man flips him off, barking, “leave.” 

You grab the snacks from him tailing behind Jeonghan to his car. A bark of laughter followed by Seungcheol holding your hoodie and dragging you back. He holds you hostage watching Jeonghan drive out of the parking lot and into his happily ever after. 

Your anger is boiling inside you, you swear it was. Until you saw your man the rolling hot anger is now coming to a simmer. A mix of emotions overpower you. He has this power over you that he can switch your emotions in seconds. Anger to longing, longing to regret, regret to hatred, hatred to love. In the end, he is your man. And it’s been so long since you last saw him. 

“I don’t wanna die.” You mumble into your possibly last cookie in this lifetime. “Why should I die if you lost interest in me? It’s not like I asked you to share me the details of your dealings…” 

The shadow on you grows longer evidently makes you shut up. Seungcheol’s scent is all over your senses, the once used to be your safe space, triggering the memories of time spent in his embrace, hinting the arrival of him even before you can see him, and the countless nights he spent drilling into you how much he loves you—manhandling you roughly but still. 

Until he came in one night, pissed at his lackeys for failing a simple task resulting in him losing a huge amount of money. Your attempts to pacify him only led him to cut your heart into a thousand pieces just with his words. You know angry Seungcheol is dangerous but you never thought you would be at the receiving end. 

Seungcheol opens the car door, pushing you into his car. “Buckle up.” He grabs your snacks and bag, winces at the rumpled state of your bag, and throws it into the backseat. 

He crosses over to the other side of the car, getting into the driver seat, and pulls the car out of the parking lot. 

You steal a look at him before inputting a wrong address into the GPS, trying your luck in escaping from him again. 

Seungcheol stops at the red light, he zooms out the map, studying the route tonguing his cheek. He glares at you before completely exiting the GPS. 

Fuck. He knows. 

Of course he knows, how can you expect him out of all to be dumb. He tracked you down despite playing one of the tricks you learned from him—erasing your traces. 

He drives to your apartment in complete silence. You consider your options of jumping out of the running car, Seungcheol hits your thigh with the back of his hand in warning knowing what’s running in your head, and you sit still staring straight ahead. You give up. 

The car stops before your building, and he turns off the car. “Get out.” 

You take your time in enjoying the last moments, seeing the worn out road and tired security sleeping through the stranger forcefully dragging you into the building. 

You wiggle your hand out of his. He doesn’t let go of you until he has you pushed into your apartment and locks the door behind him. 

The minute he lets go of you you run to the other corner of the apartment—not so far considering you live in a shoebox. You grab a dull knife pointing it at him. 

“Leave.” You find your courage you lost eons ago, “leave me alone. I don’t want you anywhere near me.” 

Seungcheol tilts his head, scoffing. He rubs his chin watching your cowering hand holding the butter knife against him. He has fading scars from bullet wounds. He still entertains you. 

He removes the jacket, throwing it on the old chair. He navigates the apartment as if he has lived here. 

“You broke in,” you realise, “you..you..” 

He plucks the butter knife out of your hand, slides the used to be sharp end over his finger, and shows you his perfectly good skin. “Yes, I broke in. Do you wanna know when?” 

He takes a step, you take one back. “Wanna know when I picked your lock, entered this garbage dump, and slept in your bed? Beside you?” 

You gasp, cupping your mouth in shock. That wasn’t a dream?!

He shrugs, nodding to himself, “but gotta say, you learn well. That was a good game.” You are cornered now with him hovering over you, he rests his arm against the wall, caging you in, the other hand playing with your hair, “good spots to hide, and quick to leave. Disguised yourself,” his fingers run down your hair, mourning the lost length, “but,” he presses his body against you, “how can you forget I created this game, hm?” 

“Why?” You mumble into his chest. “Why do you care? You don’t need me remember? You..you,” you push his chest, “were supposed to be my person, whom I confide in. But you used my vulnerability against me, belittling the sacrifices I made for you. To be with a man that can die any day and not be found. And what did you do?” 

“I had a really long day. I vented my frustration on you, I shouldn’t have but,” he drops his head, “if you are angry come to me, yell at me, or slap me.” 

You slap him, hard. And realise belatedly. 

“Don’t kill me.” 

Seungcheol flexes his jaw, pressing his red cheek, a sliver of anger striking his face and disappearing as he closes his eyes, laughing. 

“I’m angry at you,” you look into his eyes, remembering the look on his face from that night, “I am scared of you.” 

Your confession strikes him, his eyes widened, and stumbling back. You drop your head, fumbling with the sleeves of your hoodie, “fuck,” you wipe away a stray tear, “I was shit scared you are gonna kill me.”

“Why in the fuck would I do that?” Each word comes out strained, and hurt. 

“I don’t know. You told me you will never regret being with me. But you do. Similarly, you might want to get rid of me since I know a lot—”

Seungcheol grabs your chin. You gasp at the unshed tears sitting in his eyes. He never cries. Not when his comrades are in a critical state or when he almost lost half of his business. Will he get angry? Yes. But never shed a tear. 

“That’s—” he chokes up, “How?” He pulls you into a hug, your face squished in his chest, his hand gently cradling your head, “I might kill, but never you. How can you even think that? Do you think I will be searching for you, running around like a dog to find you if I want to kill you? Do you know what the last two months were like?”

His hand on your waist squeezes you harshly, pulling you closer, unable to breathe in his tight embrace. 

“Any hand that raises to kill you, will be cut off.” He promises, “even if those are mine.”

[coupsalchemy]

Honestly I’m still feeling the summer heat so perhaps a Drabble of a normal day with your bf Seungcheol in your apartment or whatever & you’re both dying bc of the #heat but it’s ok because they both have eachother? Or vacation vibes? Like I’m missing July 2025 dearly

genre: boyfriend! Seungcheol x f.reader, fluff

warnings: some suggestive talk (are we surprised)

word count: 855

c’s note: thank you for sending this! I tried to write a normal day with your bf during summer heat. Something fluffy and lighthearted :)

The cicadas hum in the background. Angry afternoon sun glares at the earth, particularly zooming in on your neighborhood and your house.

You hunch in your office chair, peeling your sweaty thin shirt off your skin, fanning your hand inside your shirt in hopes it helps cool you down.

It doesn’t.

You rub your eyes in frustration, starting to lose your composure because of the summer heat. The AC in your house has conveniently broken down during desperate times. The community maintenance guy is busier than the CEO of your company having you on the waiting list from the last two days. You swear you saw him humming around the lot yesterday.

Your laptop comes alive as a work message slides in, a colleague asking for your help to complete a task that should have been done by now. You wipe the sweat off your forehead, shutting your laptop close before you lose your last two percent of patience and snap at your coworker.

The house is silent except for a few sounds the wood and windows make from being under the crackling sun for hours, your footsteps echoing your arrival to your boyfriend.

Seungcheol is sitting on the couch with his own work laptop. Your lips twist in displeasure and in pleasure at the sight of his bare chest adorned beautifully with sweat. It’s unfair considering how handsome he looks even in the moments of disaster.

You make your way towards the couch, resisting yourself at the last minute falling over him. Any physical touch in the last two days has met with a frown and more sweat. You leave a respectable space between you two, pulling the long oversized thin tee down your thighs.

Seungcheol pauses typing a mail midway, he wiggles his hand between your pressed thighs, squeezing your inner thigh in greeting. You spread your legs, slapping his hand away, “it’s hot.”

“Not hotter than you.” Seungcheol’s gaze travels down your body, loving the summer heat as he gets to see you dressed as lightly as possible. “I told you to remove this shirt, you know, more air, less sweat.”

You roll your eyes unimpressed. “You would love that now, wouldn’t you.”

He bites his lip, imagining you walking around naked. “Yeah.”

You slap his chest earning a fake howl of pain. “I think I might die from this heat,” you grab his small portable fan from the coffee table, aiming it towards your face, not heeding your boyfriend’s protests. “Ah, peace.”

He grumbles under his breath, scooching towards you to get at least some of the air from the fan. “I told you I will buy you one.”

“Well, Mr. Choi, I didn’t dream we would be stuck in this scorching heat with no AC. It would be pointless to have one now, since the maintenance can be here any minute.”

He scoffs, “I don’t think so.”

“Let a girl dream, will you?” You scowl.

He grumbles under his breath saying something about unrealistic dreams as he resumes completing the abandoned mail. You sit in silence watching him type, aiming the fan towards him for two seconds from the kindness of your heart but it only irritates him further. You stifle a giggle letting him attend his impromptu work call all the while you idle beside him.

Once the call is done Seungcheol gives you his piece of mind regarding your cruel plays (how you show him paradise and snatch it away before he can fully enjoy it), you bug him to bring over the soda from the fridge.

He stares at you incredulously, “not a word went into that head of yours.”

You giggle, pushing him off the couch with your feet, “please, please, please.”

Seungcheol groans, glaring at you while he pushes his laptop onto your lap, standing up, his bones cracking from moving after a long period of time.

“Oldie,” you snicker under your breath, you swear you said that to yourself but Seungcheol isn’t that old enough to not hear you yet.

He pinches your cheek causing you to flap like a bird. “I’m sorry!”

The apology eases his frown, leaving you alone to bring your soda. You resist the urge to play around his work laptop remembering the time you once undid his report, and saw a new side of Seungcheol that night. Never again.

He is back within a few minutes, grabbing his laptop and sets it down on the coffee table before handing you the soda tin.

“You are feeling hot, right?”

You open the tin, drinking the liquid that spills out, looking at him with a question mark. “Yeah?” You lick the sweet taste off your lips.

“I found a solution.”

“Are we moving into the refrigerator? I don’t think we can fit into—no! Seungcheol! No! Where is it!”

Seungcheol runs away after grabbing the collar of your already stretched tee, dropping ice cubes inside your tee. You spring up from the couch, soda spilling onto the floor, maybe onto the couch but you are busy dancing to get the ice off your body and chasing your man to get your revenge.

[kalisburnerphone]

Sauvignon Blanc || Choi Seungcheol

Summary: Drunk you has no filter and your husband has always been a weak, weak man when it comes to you. He just didn’t expect your family planning conversation to awaken the caveman part of his brain or a raging breeding kink in both of you.

Warnings: smut!MDNI, established relationship, trying to conceive, pregnancy, soft dom!cheol, domestic fluff, humor, healthy communication, breeding kink awakening, enthusiastic consent, multiple + creative locations and one very smug husband who knocked you up in paradise, married life, baby fever, hormone-induced chaos, obsessed husband!Cheol x obsessed wife!reader, as usual I might be missing something.

W.C: 18.1k

Sometimes being married to Choi Seungcheol felt like a fever dream as you often wondered how you managed to bag a man that ticked every box. He had his moments, his little beige flags as you liked to call them, but you knew that man loved you which is why you’re seeking him out as soon as you stumble through your front door. You had an itch only your husband could scratch and if you were right, he would still be holed up in the home office.

Seungcheol had been reading reports in his home office when he heard the front door slam. A quick look at his watch alerts him to the time, 1:47 AM.

His eyes narrowed. Why didn’t you call him to come pick you up? He gets out of his chair when he hears the unmistakable sound of heels being kicked off carelessly and soft humming.

“My husband!” your voice singsongs from the down the hall. “Where are youuu?”

He barely has time to make it to the hallway before you stumble into the room seconds later, eyes glazed and clutching your purse like it’s plotting against you.

“Babyyyy,” you gasp, “There you are.”

His brows draw together. “You’re drunk.”

You blink at him, smile growing. “Nuh-uh, just a tiny bit tipsy.” You measure with your fingers before breaking into a fit of giggles. Seungcheol can count on one hand how many times he’s seen you drunk—it’s still one hand—as you can hold your liquor very well.

You walk—well, sway—across the room and launch yourself at him. He stumbles half a step back, catching you as your arms wrap tightly around his waist, face burying into his chest.

“You smell expensive and…sexy,” you mumble.

“What happened?” he asks, voice low.

“Work has been shit,” you whisper. “Needed a—” you hiccup, “—a break.”

He exhales slowly before his hand finds its way to your back. His grip tightens as he studies your lightly smudged eyeliner and flushed cheeks. The scent of your favorite wine lingers on your breath but beneath it lies your usual perfume, brown sugar, coconut, vanilla.

“You’re a mess,” he murmurs, though there’s no bite in his tone.

You giggle against his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his dress shirt. “You married this mess.”

A beat of silence passes before his lips twitch despite himself. “What am going to do with you, huh?”

The weight of you against him is familiar, grounding even, despite the alcohol-fueled abandon in your movements. Seungcheol’s hand moves in slow, deliberate circles against your back, a habit he’s developed over the years; one that always seems to settle you.

“Do with me?” you repeat, pulling back just enough to look up at him through your lashes. Your eyes are glassy but focused entirely on him, pupils blown wide. “I have some ideas.”

He catches the shift in your tone immediately, the way your fingers stop their aimless fidgeting and instead trace deliberate paths along his chest. His jaw tightens.

“You’re drunk,” he repeats, firmer this time, even as his treacherous body responds to your proximity.

“In loveeeeee” you respond as you attempt to sing lyrics from Drunk in Love.

Seungcheol’s resolve wavers as you butcher the Beyoncé song, swaying in his arms with unselfconscious joy. Despite everything—the late hour, the worry that had knotted in his chest when he heard the door slam, the very valid concern about your current state—he feels his lips curve into a reluctant smile.

“You’re ridiculous,” he says, but his hands have already moved to steady you, one sliding to your hip while the other cups the back of your head.

“Ridiculously in love with you,” you counter, poking his chest for emphasis. The motion throws off your already questionable balance, and you stumble forward again.

He catches you easily, muscle memory from years of being your safety net. “Alright, come on. Let’s get you to bed.”

“Ooh, bed,” you waggle your eyebrows in a way that would be seductive if you weren’t also hiccupping. “See? You do have ideas.”

“To sleep,” he clarifies, already guiding you toward the bedroom with his arm firmly around your waist. “We’re going to bed to sleep. You’re going to wake up tomorrow wondering why you thought drinking on a work night was a good idea.”

“Tomorrow me’s problem,” you declare, then immediately contradict yourself by clinging tighter to him. “Don’t you dare leave me alone tonight, Choi Seungcheol.”

Something in your voice—beneath the alcohol and the playfulness—sounds small. Vulnerable.

His expression softens. “Never,” he promises quietly. “Now come on, let’s get you changed.”

“Would you still love me if I was a worm?” You stop and ask randomly as he sits you on the bathroom counter and tries to remove your makeup.

Seungcheol blinks. This was getting more surreal by the second. You were sitting before him, arms hanging off his shoulders with your head tilted with genuine curiosity and you wanted to know if he’d love you…as a worm? He’s quiet for a moment. Then, his hands curve around your waist.

“A worm?” he repeats, deadpan. “Seriously?”

“Yahhhh, you wouldn’t?” You pout.

Seungcheol sighs, the kind of deep, put-upon sigh that somehow still sounds fond. He reaches for the micellar water and a cotton pad, tilting your chin up with two fingers so he can start wiping away your makeup.

“Hold still,” he murmurs, ignoring your question as he gently swipes at your eyeliner.

“You’re avoiding the question!” you accuse, though you do hold still,mostly. “That means you wouldn’t love me. You’d just…leave me in the dirt somewhere. Alone. A poor, lonely worm—”

“I would build you a terrarium,” he interrupts, deadpan, moving to your other eye. “With the best soil money can buy. Organic, the expensive kind.”

You gasp, eyes flying open and nearly getting makeup remover in them. He gently presses them closed again with his thumb.

“I said hold still.”

“You’d really build me a terrarium?” Your voice has gone soft, touched, as if he’s just promised you the moon.

“Mhm.” He’s focused on removing your mascara now, touch careful and practiced. “With a heated lamp. Perfect pH balance in the soil. I’d probably hire someone to monitor your…worm health.”

“You’re making fun of me.”

“I’m answering your question.” His lips twitch as he tosses the used cotton pad aside and reaches for another. “You’d be the most spoiled worm in existence. I’d make sure of it.”

You’re quiet for a moment and when he glances at your face, you’re smiling at him with such open adoration it makes something in his chest squeeze tight.

“I love you,” you whisper.

His hand pauses mid-swipe. Then he leans forward and presses a kiss to your forehead, soft and lingering.

“I love you too,” he murmurs against your skin. “Even if you ask me stupid questions at two in the morning.”

“Not stupid,” you mumble but you’re already melting into him again, arms tightening around his shoulders. “Important worm logistics.”

“Right. Very important.” He pulls back just enough to finish cleaning your face, his touch impossibly gentle. “Now let’s get you into pajamas before you ask me what I’d do if you were a dolphin.”

“Ooh, would you—”

“No.”

You cup his cheeks in your hands squishing them together, looking at him with those eyes before you kiss him. “Please, Cheollie? Want you?”

“Not tonight, princess.” It’s utterly amazing, the way you switch from asking him unhinged shit to asking him to fuck you. It should give him whiplash but it’s not the first time it’s happened.

“‘m not drunk…” you pout. “Can’t a girl just want her hot husband?”

Seungcheol’s jaw flexes under your palms, his eyes darkening despite his best efforts to maintain composure. He gently pulls your hands away from his face but doesn’t let go, instead intertwining his fingers with yours.

“You can,” he says, voice lower now, rougher around the edges. “And you will, tomorrow. When you’re sober and won’t regret it.”

“I would never regret you,” you protest, leaning forward until your forehead rests against his. “Not possible. Scientifically impossible.”

“Scientifically impossible,” he repeats and there’s amusement threading through the restraint in his tone. “Is that so?”

“Mhm.” You nod seriously, the motion making you slightly dizzy. “Did research. Very thorough.”

His thumb traces circles on the back of your hand; that same grounding gesture, keeping himself anchored as much as you. “Your research involved how much wine exactly?”

“Irrelevant data,” you whisper, then press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “The conclusion is still valid.”

He inhales sharply and for a moment you think you’ve won. His free hand comes up to cup your face, thumb brushing your bottom lip but then he’s pulling back, putting necessary distance between you even as everything in his expression says he doesn’t want to.

“I’m not doing this while you’re drunk,” he says firmly. “I don’t care how much you pout or how many times you tell me you’re fine. This is non-negotiable.”

You study him for a long moment, his set jaw, his dark eyes that are clearly affected despite his iron will, the way his hand trembles just slightly against yours.

“You really won’t?” you ask, quieter now.

“I really won’t.” His expression softens. “Ask me tomorrow. When you can look me in the eye without the room spinning. When you’ll actually remember every detail.” His voice drops to something almost possessive. “Because when I do touch you, I want you to remember all of it.”

The promise in his words sends heat pooling low in your stomach despite your alcohol-hazed state. You bite your lip and his eyes track the movement with dangerous focus before he deliberately looks away.

“Evil man,” you mutter. “Making me wait.”

“Responsible husband,” he corrects, then slides you off the counter and scoops you up bridal style in one smooth motion. “Now come on. Pajamas, water, bed, in that order.”

“Fine,” you sigh dramatically, letting your head fall against his shoulder. “But I’m picking the pajamas.”

“As long as you actually put them on instead of trying to seduce me again.”

“No promises.”

He huffs what might be a laugh as he carries you toward the bedroom. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Y’know everyone thinks I married you for your status and money.” You say switching the subject again as he starts unbuttoning your shirt.

“No, you didn’t. You had no idea who my family was when we met so I know it’s not that.”

“I married you for that fat ass.” you reply, hands drifting down and grabbing his ass. “don’t need your money.” You grin at the look on his face.

“God, I forgot how handsy you get with alcohol in your system.”

“Horny too but I guess I don’t do it for you cause…what kinda hisb—” you hiccup “husband doesn’t like his wife t-throwing herself at him? Is it Jeonghan? Is Hannie prettier than me?”

Seungcheol freezes mid-button, his eyes snapping to yours with an expression caught somewhere between exasperation and disbelief.

“Did you just—” He stops, takes a breath, then continues with strained patience. “Did you seriously just ask me if I want Jeonghan?”

“Well, you don’t want me,” you say, bottom lip trembling in a way that would be more effective if you weren’t also still squeezing his ass. “He’s got nice hair,” you say defensively, words slurring slightly. “And that whole…pretty boy thing going on. Maybe you like that better than—”

“Jesus Christ woman,” Seungcheol mutters, catching your wandering hands and firmly moving them to your sides. “Okay, listen to me very carefully.”

He cups your face with both hands, forcing you to meet his eyes.

“First of all, Jeonghan is my best friend and I love him like a brother, which means the thought of anything else makes me want to bleach my brain.” His thumbs stroke your cheeks as he continues, voice firm but gentle. “Second, I always want you. Every single day. Sometimes so much it’s inconvenient, like in the middle of board meetings when you text me something cute.”

“Really?” you sniffle.

“Really.” He leans in, pressing his forehead to yours. “The reason I’m not touching you right now isn’t because I don’t want to. It’s because I respect you too much to take advantage when you’re drunk. Do you understand the difference?”

You’re quiet for a moment, processing. Then, “So, you do think I’m prettier than Hannie?”

A laugh bursts out of him, unexpected and genuine. “You’re completely ridiculous, you know that?”

“But am I prettier?”

“You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen,” he says and the sincerity in his voice cuts through your alcohol-fogged brain. “Drunk, sober, first thing in the morning, all dressed up, doesn’t matter. It’s always you. Only you.”

Your eyes well up. “Cheollie…”

“Oh no.” He recognizes the signs immediately. “No crying. We’re not doing drunk crying tonight.”

“But you’re so nice to me,” you warble, tears already spilling over. “And I love you so much and you built me a theoretical worm terrarium, and you think I’m pretty—”

“I think we need to get you in pajamas right now,” he says, already reaching for the shirt buttons again with renewed determination, “before this spiral gets worse.”

“’m not spiraling,” you protest, even as another tear rolls down your cheek. “Just got a lot of feelings about my hot, respectful, worm-loving husband.”

“Worm-loving,” he repeats under his breath. “What is my life?”

“Your life is amazing,” you inform him, helpfully (unhelpfully) trying to unbutton your own shirt and just making the process more difficult. “You have me. And my ass. Which is also amazing.”

“I’m aware,” he says dryly, gently batting your hands away so he can actually finish unbuttoning. “I married it, remember?”

You gasp, delighted. “You do remember! See, we’re perfect for each other. You married my ass, I married your ass—”

“That’s not how marriage works.”

“—it’s like…ass-tronomy. No, wait. Ass-trology? We’re ass-trologically compatible.”

Seungcheol pauses, shirt halfway off your shoulders, and just looks at you. “Did you just—you can’t just put ‘ass’ in front of words and expect them to make sense.”

“Ass-olutely can,” you say with complete conviction.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, clearly praying for strength. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that.”

“You love it,” you singsong, finally cooperating enough to let him pull your shirt off. “You love meee and my drunk ass puns.”

“I love you despite your drunk ass puns,” he corrects, reaching for one of his old t-shirts from the drawer. “Arms up.”

You obey, lifting your arms like a toddler as he slides the shirt over your head. It’s enormous on you, falling nearly to your knees and smells like his cologne and laundry detergent. You immediately burrow into it with a happy sigh.

“Now pants,” he says, reaching for your waistband.

“Ooh, taking my pants off. Scandalous.”

“We’re literally married.”

“Still scandalous.” You boop his nose as he efficiently unbuttons your pants. “You’re being very professional about this. Very doctor-y. Do you do this for all your patients?”

“You’re my only patient and you’re testing my patience,” he mutters, helping you step out of your pants. “Other leg. Good.”

“Such a good caretaker,” you coo, patting his head as he kneels in front of you. “Gonna leave you five stars on MangoPlate. ‘Husband refused to have sex with drunk wife. Very responsible. Would recommend.’”

He looks up at you with an expression of pure suffering. “Please never write that review.”

“‘Also has a great ass,’” you continue thoughtfully. “‘Ass-ceptional, even.’”

“I’m begging you to stop.”

“‘Ass-tounding restraint—’”

He stands abruptly and just picks you up, cutting off your commentary as you squeal in surprise. “Okay. That’s enough. Water and bed. Now.”

“You can’t silence me!” you declare, even as you wrap your arms around his neck. “The people deserve to know about your ass!”

“The people know plenty,” he says, carrying you toward the bed with the long-suffering patience of a saint. “Now drink this.”

He somehow manages to grab the water bottle from the nightstand one-handed and present it to you. You take it obediently, suddenly realizing how thirsty you are.

“Good girl,” he murmurs and even in your drunk state, you don’t miss the way his voice dips on those words.

You lower the water bottle, eyes narrowing. “You can’t just say things like that and then refuse to—”

“Drink,” he interrupts firmly, tipping the bottle back up toward your lips.

You drink, plotting your revenge but the cool water actually does help clear some of the fog. When you’ve had enough, he sets the bottle aside and carefully deposits you onto your side of the bed.

“Stay,” he commands, pointing at you like you’re a mischievous puppy.

“Woof,” you respond because apparently the filter between your brain and mouth has completely dissolved. He huffs what might be a laugh and disappears into the bathroom. You hear water running and then he’s back with a damp washcloth, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Come here,” he says softly, and when you scoot closer, he gently wipes your face; getting the spots he missed earlier, cooling your flushed cheeks. It’s tender and intimate in a way that makes your chest ache.

“Cheol?” you whisper.

“Mm?”

“’m really glad I married you. Not just for your ass.”

His lips twitch. “Good to know.”

“For your heart too. And your face. And the way you take care of me even when I’m being ridiculous. Oh, and that dick, can’t forget about that.”

“Woman, I swear to—”

“Just lemme keep it warm, please?” Your hand moves to rest low on his stomach. There you go trying to get him to fuck you, again.

“Baby, no. We both know you won’t stop there.”

You open your mouth to protest—to make very compelling arguments about your self-control and how you would totally just keep things innocent—but he cuts you off by pressing his thumb gently against your lips.

“Don’t,” he warns, though there’s affection in his eyes. “Don’t make promises drunk-you can’t keep. I know you.”

You deflate slightly because, fine, he’s right. Sober-you has minimal self-control around him. Drunk-you has absolutely none which is exactly why you keep asking.

“Just wanna feel you inside, promise I’ll behave.”

Seungcheol’s composure cracks visibly, his breath hitches, his grip on the washcloth tightening as his eyes darken with want. For a moment, you think you’ve finally broken through his resolve.

Then he closes his eyes, jaw working and when he opens them again his expression is pained but firm.

“You’re killing me,” he says roughly. “You know that?”

“Good,” you mumble, though you’re already yawning. “Suffer with me.” You say pressing your lips to his.

“I shouldn’t have to deal with my ovulation alone.” And suddenly the wheels are turning in Seungcheol’s head. He goes completely still against your lips, his brain clearly short-circuiting as he processes what you just said.

“Your…what?” He pulls back to look at you, eyes wide.

“Ovulation,” you repeat matter-of-factly, like you’re discussing the weather. “Why d’you think I’m so horny? It’s science, Cheollie. Biology. Nature.” You wave your hand dramatically. “My body wants a baby and it’s making me crazy and you’re—you’re just sitting here looking all hot and responsible and—”

“Okay,” he interrupts, voice strangled. “Okay, we’re not, you can’t just drop that information on me while you’re drunk and expect me to—”

“To what?” You tilt your head, genuinely curious despite the alcohol. “Finally give your wife what she wants?”

His eyes flutter closed and he takes several deep breaths, clearly fighting an internal battle. When he opens them again, there’s a new tension in his expression; want, restraint, and something darker all tangled together.

“That’s not fair,” he says roughly. “You can’t use the ovulation card. That’s playing dirty.”

“Everything’s fair in love and baby-making,” you counter, then giggle at your own modification of the phrase.

“We are not having this conversation right now,” he says firmly, even as his hand unconsciously tightens on your hip. “We’ll talk about this tomorrow. When you’re sober, when we can have an actual discussion about—about family planning and—”

“Already know I want your babies,” you interrupt, cupping his face. “Known that for years. Since like…our third date probably.”

“Third date,” he repeats faintly.

“Mhm. You were wearing that gray sweater and you laughed at my joke and I just thought—” you sigh dreamily, “—‘yeah, I want tiny humans with his laugh and dimples.’”

Something shifts in his expression; it goes soft and vulnerable in a way that makes your heart squeeze even through the alcohol haze.

“You’re not playing fair at all,” he whispers.

“Don’t wanna play fair,” you whisper back. “Want you. Want your baby. Want—” another yawn interrupts you, “—want you to stop being so responsible and just…”

But exhaustion is finally catching up with you, the alcohol and emotional rollercoaster of the evening taking their toll. Your eyes are getting heavier despite your best efforts.

Seungcheol notices immediately, his expression gentling. “There we go,” he murmurs, carefully maneuvering you under the covers. “Finally.”

“’m not tired,” you protest weakly, even as you burrow into the pillow.

“Sure you’re not.” He slides in next to you and immediately you roll toward him, seeking his warmth.

“Cheol?” you mumble against his chest.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Tomorrow…we can talk about it? The baby thing?”

His arm tightens around you, and you feel him press a kiss to the top of your head. “Tomorrow,” he promises. “We’ll talk about everything tomorrow.”

“And you’ll actually consider it? Not just…say we’ll talk and then avoid it?”

There’s a pause, and then, “I’ve been considering it for months,” he admits quietly. “I just wanted to wait for the right time. When we were both ready.”

You manage to pull back just enough to look at him, suddenly feeling more alert. “Months?”

He smiles, a little embarrassed. “Why do you think I cleared out the guest room last month? I’ve been planning…thinking about turning it into a nursery. Eventually.”

“You—” your eyes well up again, “—you sneaky, wonderful man.”

“Don’t cry,” he says, but he’s smiling as he wipes away the tears with his thumb. “Save it for tomorrow when you can properly yell at me for not telling you sooner.”

“Gonna yell and cry,” you inform him. “And then jump your bones.”

“Looking forward to it,” he says dryly. “Now sleep. You’re going to feel terrible in the morning.”

“Worth it,” you mumble, already drifting. “Got you to admit you want babies…”

“I want your babies,” he corrects softly. “There’s a difference.” 

But you’re already asleep, a small smile on your face, wrapped securely in your husband’s arms. Seungcheol lies awake a little longer, looking down at you; his drunk, ridiculous, beautiful wife who just ambushed him with baby talk and ass puns in the same conversation.

“What am I going to do with you?” he whispers, echoing his earlier question.

But this time, he’s smiling as he says it. Tomorrow, he thinks. Tomorrow they’ll talk—really talk—about the future. About expanding their family. About all the things he’s been too cautious to bring up, worried about timing and readiness and a thousand other factors.

But tonight, you’re here, safe and warm and his, talking about wanting his babies since the third date.

Yeah. Tomorrow is going to be interesting.

He presses one more kiss to your forehead before settling in, keeping you close. His ovulating, drunk, perfect disaster of a wife. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

The next morning, you wake up to three things; a pounding headache that feels like a marching band has taken up residence in your skull, blinding sunlight streaming through curtains you thought you closed and the smell of coffee and something sweet wafting from the kitchen.

You groan, throwing an arm over your eyes. Your mouth tastes like something died in it and when you try to sit up, the room spins just enough to make you regret every life choice that led to this moment.

“Oh god,” you mutter, flopping back down.

Fragments of last night start filtering back through the haze. Coming home late. Seungcheol’s concerned face. The bathroom counter. Worm terrarium? You definitely said something about worms. And then—

Your eyes fly open.

“Oh no.”

The baby conversation. The ovulation announcement. Your very detailed commentary about your husband’s ass. The—you bury your face in your hands—the begging.

“Kill me now,” you whisper to the empty room.

“Can’t do that, I’m afraid.”

You nearly jump out of your skin. Seungcheol is leaning against the doorframe, holding a mug of coffee and wearing an expression that can only be described as deeply amused.

He’s already somewhat dressed for the day in a simple white t-shirt and gray sweatpants, hair slightly damp from a shower, looking infuriatingly well-rested and attractive. Meanwhile, you’re pretty sure you look like a gremlin who lost a fight with a bottle of wine.

“How long have you been standing there?” you croak.

“Long enough to hear you bargaining with God.” He pushes off the doorframe and walks over, setting the coffee on the nightstand. “How’s the head?”

“Like I deserve it,” you admit, gratefully reaching for the mug. “How much did I—” you pause, coffee halfway to your lips, “—how bad was it?”

His smile grows. “On a scale of one to ten?”

“Cheol.”

“You asked if I’d love you as a worm,” he says, sitting on the edge of the bed. “You accused me of wanting Jeonghan. You made approximately ten puns involving the word ‘ass.’ And—” his expression shifts to something more heated, “—you made some very compelling arguments about baby-making.”

You choke on your coffee. “Oh my god.”

“Also, apparently you decided you married me for my ‘fat ass’ and not my money or status, which is good to know.”

“I hate everything,” you moan, setting the coffee down so you can bury your face in your hands again. “I’m never drinking again. I’m becoming a nun. I’m moving to a remote island where I can’t embarrass myself—”

“Hey.” His hand wraps around your wrist, gently pulling your hands away from your face. His expression is soft now, affectionate. “You were cute.”

“I was a disaster.”

“A cute disaster.” He coils a loose curl around his finger. “You always are when you drink. It’s part of your charm.”

“There’s nothing charming about drunk me telling you I want to—” you can’t even finish the sentence, heat flooding your face.

“Keep me warm?” he supplies helpfully. “Just want it inside you, you’d behave, you promised?”

“Seungcheol.”

He’s grinning now, clearly enjoying your mortification. “Or was it the part where you said your ovulation shouldn’t be a solo activity?”

You grab the nearest pillow and smack him with it. He laughs, catching it easily and tossing it aside before catching both your wrists in his hands.

“I’m just saying,” he continues, eyes dancing with mischief, “you were very…articulate about your needs.”

“I’m going back to sleep,” you announce, trying to pull away. “Wake me in ten years when I’ve died of embarrassment.”

“Can’t do that either.” He releases one wrist but keeps hold of the other, his thumb tracing circles on your pulse point. “We have things to discuss. Remember?”

Your heart skips. The amusement in his expression hasn’t faded, but there’s something else there now; something serious and warm and a little nervous.

“The…baby thing?” you venture quietly.

“The baby thing,” he confirms. “But first—” he reaches over to the nightstand and retrieves two pills and a glass of water you hadn’t noticed, “—pain meds. Then breakfast. Then we talk.”

“Cheol, I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable or—”

“You didn’t.” He’s firm about that, waiting until you take the medication before continuing. “You surprised me, yeah. But uncomfortable? No.” He pauses. “Turned on while trying desperately to maintain my morals? Absolutely, but not uncomfortable.”

Despite everything, you feel a smile tugging at your lips. “I really tried to break you, huh?”

“You almost succeeded,” he admits. “The ovulation thing was a low blow.”

“It’s true though,” you say, then immediately want to take it back because…

“I know.” His voice drops, eyes darkening. “I checked the calendar while you were sleeping. You’re right in the middle of your fertile window.”

The air between you shifts, charges. You’re suddenly very aware that you’re in bed, wearing only his t-shirt and he’s looking at you like,

“Breakfast first,” he says firmly, standing up. “You need food and hydration. Then we’ll talk. Really talk. About timing, readiness and what we both want.”

“And if we decide we want the same thing?” you ask, unable to help yourself.

He leans down, bracing one hand on the mattress beside you, bringing his face close to yours. “Then I clear my schedule for the rest of the day,” he murmurs. “And give you exactly what you were begging for last night.”

Your breath catches.

“But sober,” he adds, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before straightening. “And enthusiastically consenting to every single detail.”

“That’s—” you have to clear your throat, “—very responsible of you.”

“Someone has to be.” He heads toward the door, then pauses. “Oh, and baby? For the record?” He looks back with a devastating smile. “I’ve been ready for months. I was just waiting for you to catch up.”

Then he’s gone, leaving you sitting in bed, headache temporarily forgotten, heart racing with possibilities. From the kitchen, you hear him call, “French toast or pancakes?”

“French toast!” you call back, already scrambling out of bed.

Suddenly, you’re feeling much better about facing this day and the conversation that could change everything.

You pad into the kitchen after finishing your morning routine. He’s plating the last of breakfast before sitting down and as you go to take your place beside him, he pulls you onto his lap.

“Cheol?”

“You asked me to keep it warm last night,” he whispers. “Think you can do that while we sit and have breakfast, love? Bet I’d be able to slide right in.”

You freeze, every nerve ending suddenly awake and hyper-aware. Your headache? Gone. The lingering nausea? Vanished. There’s only Seungcheol beneath you, solid and warm, his breath hot against your ear.

“I…what?” Your voice comes out embarrassingly breathy.

His hands settle on your hips, fingers slipping just under the hem of his t-shirt you’re still wearing. “You heard me.” His voice is low, rough in a way that sends heat pooling low in your belly. “You wanted this last night. Said you’d behave. That you just wanted to feel full.”

“I was drunk,” you manage, even as your body is already responding, already leaning back against his chest.

“And now you’re sober.” His lips brush the shell of your ear. “So, I’m asking properly. Do you want this? Want to sit here, keeping me warm while we eat breakfast and talk about our future?”

Your breath hitches. This is…it’s obscene. It’s intimate in a way that makes your head spin and you want it so badly you can barely think straight.

“What about the talking?” you whisper. “The responsible conversation?”

“We can still talk.” One hand slides up your spine, settling between your shoulder blades. “I can be very articulate, even when I’m buried inside you. Question is, can you?”

It’s a challenge. One you’ve never backed down from.

You turn your head just enough to meet his eyes. They’re dark, intense but there’s a question there too. Real consent. Making sure this is what you actually want and not just lingering drunk decisions.

“Yes,” you breathe. “I want this.”

His grip tightens. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You shift in his lap, feeling him already half-hard beneath you. “Want you. Always want you.”

He makes a low sound in his throat. “Lift up a little, baby.”

You obey, bracing your hands on his thighs as he shifts beneath you. You hear the rustle of fabric, feel him pushing his sweatpants down just enough, and then,

“No underwear?” His voice is strained as his fingers trace up your bare thighs, discovering you came to the kitchen in just his shirt and nothing else.

“Seemed inefficient,” you manage, gasping when his fingers brush where you need him most.

“Fuck,” he mutters, and you feel him stroke himself once, twice. “You’re already so wet.”

“Told you,” you say breathlessly. “Ovulation. Biology. Can’t help—oh—”

He’s guiding himself to your entrance, letting you feel the blunt pressure of him. “Slow,” he murmurs. “Take your time. We’ve got all morning.”

You lower yourself gradually, inch by torturous inch, feeling the stretch and burn and perfect fullness of him. His hands are steady on your hips, helping you and his breathing is harsh against your neck.

“That’s it,” he encourages roughly. “Just like that, baby. So good for me.”

When you’re fully seated, both of you still for a moment. You’re trembling slightly, overwhelmed by the intimacy of it; sitting in his lap in your bright kitchen, completely joined, the morning sun streaming through the windows.

“Okay?” he asks, voice strained.

“So okay,” you breathe. “So…Cheol, you feel—”

“I know.” He presses a kiss to your shoulder. “I know, baby. Now—” he reaches around you for the plates, sliding them closer, “—breakfast.”

You laugh, slightly delirious. “You can’t be serious.”

“Completely serious.” He picks up a fork, cutting a piece of French toast. “Open.”

This is insane. You’re sitting on your husband’s lap in the kitchen, full of him, while he feeds you breakfast like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

You open your mouth and he slides the fork in. The French toast is perfect, crispy outside, soft inside, with just the right amount of cinnamon and syrup. You chew slowly, hyper-aware of every small movement, how even that makes you shift slightly on him.

His breath catches. “Don’t,” he warns.

“Don’t what?” You shift deliberately, just a little and feel him twitch inside you. “I’m just eating breakfast.”

“You’re playing with fire,” he growls but he’s already cutting another piece. “Now, let’s talk about this baby thing.”

You nearly choke on nothing. “Now? You want to have this conversation now?”

“Why not?” His free hand settles possessively on your lower belly, thumb stroking just above where you’re joined. “Seems like the perfect time. Can’t run away. Can’t deflect. You’ve got my undivided attention.”

His voice is teasing but there’s an edge of seriousness underneath. He really does want to talk about this. Like this. Your utterly insane, wonderful husband.

“Okay,” you manage, reaching for your coffee with shaking hands. “Okay. Let’s talk.”

“So,” Seungcheol says, his voice remarkably steady despite the situation, “you said last night you’ve wanted this since our third date.”

You take a sip of coffee, trying to focus on the conversation and not the fact that you can feel every minute shift of his body. “I—yeah. I mean, not immediately, obviously but I knew. Knew that I wanted a future with you. Kids. All of it.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” His hand is still on your belly, thumb tracing idle patterns that are absolutely not helping your concentration.

“I don’t know. Timing? We were building our careers, and I didn’t want to pressure you, and—” you gasp softly as he shifts slightly beneath you, “—are you doing that on purpose?”

“No,” he says but you can hear the smile in his voice. “Just getting comfortable. Keep talking.”

“You’re evil.”

“You’re stalling.” He offers you another bite of French toast. “Come on. I want to hear this.” You accept the bite, chewing while trying to organize your thoughts, which is nearly impossible when you’re so acutely aware of him inside you, stretching you, filling you so completely.

“I was scared,” you finally admit. “That maybe you didn’t want the same things. That I’d bring it up and you’d feel trapped or obligated and then months kept passing and it felt like the moment never came up naturally and—” you laugh shakily, “—I guess drunk me decided to just rip the bandaid off.”

“Drunk you has terrible timing but good instincts.” His lips brush your shoulder. “I’ve been wanting to have this conversation for months too.”

“Really?”

“Really.” He sets down the fork, both hands coming to rest on your hips now. “I meant what I said earlier. About clearing out the guest room. I’ve been thinking about it constantly…what it would be like. You, pregnant. A baby. Our baby.”

Your heart stutters. “Cheol…”

“I think about you with a bump,” he continues, voice going rougher. “About feeling them kick. About watching you become a mother.” His hips shift up slightly, making you gasp. “About putting a baby in you.”

“That’s—oh god—that’s not fair,” you whimper, fingers digging into his thighs.

“What’s not fair?”

“Saying things like that when I can’t move, can’t—”

“Who says you can’t move?” His grip tightens on your hips. “I said sit still during breakfast. We’re done eating now.”

Your breath catches. “Are we?”

“Mhmm.” One hand slides up to cup your breast through the thin t-shirt, thumb brushing over your nipple. “I think it’s time for dessert. Don’t you?”

“Seungcheol—”

“Tell me what you want,” he demands, voice dropping to that commanding tone that never fails to undo you. “Use your words, baby. Sober words.”

You’re trembling now, desperate. “Want you. Want this. Want—” you break off as his other hand slides between your legs, finding where you’re joined.

“Want what?” he presses. “Say it.”

“Want you to fuck me,” you gasp out. “Want you to put a baby in me. Want…please, Cheollie, please—”

“There she is,” he murmurs approvingly. Then his grip shifts, and he’s lifting you slightly before pulling you back down, finally, finally giving you the friction you’ve been craving.

You cry out, head falling back against his shoulder as he sets a devastating rhythm. The breakfast dishes rattle on the table with each thrust and you distantly think you should care about the mess you’re probably making but then he angles his hips just right and all thoughts scatter.

“That’s it,” he growls against your neck. “Take it. Take all of me.”

“Yes, god, yes—”

His hand on your breast squeezes while the other works between your legs and the combination is overwhelming. You’re already close, wound too tight from sitting still for so long, from the filthy intimacy of it all.

“Gonna fill you up,” he pants. “Gonna give you exactly what you want. What we both want. You want that, baby? Want me to get you pregnant?”

“Yes,” you sob and you’re not even sure if it’s the hormones or the moment or the fact that this is your husband, your partner, your person and you’re finally talking about this, finally doing this…

“Come for me first,” he demands. “Let me feel it. Show me how much you want this.”

His fingers press harder and that’s all it takes. You shatter, clenching around him, crying out his name as pleasure crashes through you in waves.

“Fuck, baby—” his rhythm falters, becomes erratic and then he’s following you over, groaning against your neck as he pulses inside you, holding you tight against him. For a long moment, neither of you move. You’re both breathing hard, trembling, still joined together as aftershocks roll through you.

“So,” Seungcheol finally says, voice rough and satisfied, “I think that’s a yes? We’re doing this?”

You laugh breathlessly, turning your head to kiss him. “Yeah, we’re doing this.”

“Good.” He nuzzles into your neck. “Because I meant every word. I want this. Want you. Want our family.”

“Even though I ambushed you while drunk?”

“Especially because you ambushed me while drunk.” You can feel his smile against your skin. “Shows you trust me. Even when you’re not in control.”

You shift slightly and he groans. “Don’t move yet. Just…let me hold you like this for a minute.”

So, you do, sitting in your dining room in the morning sunlight, still connected, still close, talking softly about the future you’re going to build together.

About nursery colors and baby names and how you’ll tell your families and whether you want to know the gender or be surprised. About all the beautiful, terrifying, wonderful possibilities ahead and when he finally, reluctantly slips out of you, he immediately scoops you up and carries you back to the bedroom.

“Again?” you ask, surprised but definitely not opposed.

“We’re optimizing our chances,” he says seriously but his eyes are dancing. “It’s just good planning.”

“You’re a fein.”

“You’re ovulating,” he counters, laying you gently on the bed. “And I have months of baby-making fantasies to work through. So,” he crawls over you, settling between your thighs, “we’re going to be here a while.”

“What about our schedules?” you tease. “Don’t you have meetings? I have work.”

“Cancelled everything,” he says, leaning down to kiss you slowly, deeply. “Told them I have important business with my wife.”

“Very important business,” you agree, gasping as he enters you again.

“The most important,” he murmurs against your lips. He flips you on your hands and knees first, arched just the way he wants you.

“Stay just like that,” Seungcheol commands, his hands spreading across your lower back, pressing down slightly to deepen the arch. “Perfect. So, fucking perfect.”

You’re trembling already, forehead pressed against the sheets, completely exposed to him. You feel vulnerable like this, open, but the way he’s looking at you; you can practically feel the heat of his gaze dragging over every inch of exposed skin.

“Cheol—” you start but the word cuts off into a moan as he runs his hands up your sides, thumbs tracing your spine.

“Shhh,” he soothes, though there’s nothing gentle about the way he’s positioning you, adjusting your hips exactly where he wants them. “Just feel.”

One hand wraps around your hip while the other slides between your legs, finding you still wet, still sensitive from before. You jerk at the contact and his grip tightens, holding you steady.

“Still so ready for me,” he muses, almost conversational, like he’s not currently destroying your composure with just his fingers. “Even after I just filled you up. You really do want this, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you gasp into the sheets. “God, yes, please…”

“Please what?” He’s teasing now, the head of his cock brushing against you but not entering, just barely there, making you crazy.

“Please fuck me,” you whimper, trying to push back against him, but his hand on your hip keeps you in place. “Please, I need—”

“Need what, baby? Use your words.”

“Need you inside me,” you practically sob. “Need you to…to get me pregnant, need you to—oh fuck—”

He slides in with one smooth thrust, burying himself completely, and the angle is devastating. You can feel him so deep like this, stretching you, filling every inch.

“This what you need?” His voice is strained now, control slipping. Both hands grip your hips hard enough to bruise and you hope they do, want to see the marks tomorrow, proof of this.

“Yes, yes, don’t stop—”

“Not stopping,” he growls, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in. “Not until you’re dripping with me. Not until I know it took.” The pace he sets is brutal, desperate, his hips snapping against yours with a force that has you crying out with each thrust. One hand leaves your hip to fist in your hair, not pulling, just holding, grounding you.

“Gonna look so good pregnant,” he pants. “Gonna love watching your belly grow. Knowing I did that. That you’re carrying my baby.”

“Cheol—” you’re incoherent now, can only hold on as he takes you apart.

“Say it,” he demands. “Tell me what you want.”

“Want your baby,” you gasp out. “Want you to…to come inside me, want—god—want everyone to know I’m yours.”

His rhythm stutters at that, becomes somehow even more intense. “Mine,” he agrees roughly. “Always mine. My wife. Mother of my children. Mine.”

The possessiveness in his voice, the certainty, sends you spiraling. Your second orgasm hits harder than the first, whiting out your vision and you feel yourself clench around him rhythmically.

“Fuck—baby—” he groans and then he’s there too, pressing as deep as he can go, holding you against him as he fills you again. This time when he pulls out, he immediately maneuvers you onto your back, grabbing a pillow and shoving it under your hips before you can protest.

“Elevate,” he explains breathlessly and you can’t help but laugh.

“You really did research.”

“Told you.” He collapses partially on top of you with his head resting on your chest. “Months of thinking about this. I’m prepared.”

Your fingers find his hair, feeling satisfied and tender and so completely loved. “How long do I have to stay like this?”

“Twenty minutes at least.” His hand finds your belly again, splaying possessively across it. “Maybe thirty to be safe.”

“And what are we doing for the next twenty to thirty minutes?”

His eyes darken again and you feel him already starting to harden against your thigh. “Well,” he says thoughtfully, “I can think of a few ways to pass the time. After all—” he rolls you on your side carefully, mindful of the pillow, settling behind you and lifting your leg up and over his hip, “—we should really make sure we’re being thorough.”

“Thorough,” you repeat breathlessly.

“Very thorough,” he agrees, kissing down your neck. “It’s important to be thorough about these things.”

“You’re insatiable.”

“You’re irresistible.” He nips at your collarbone. “And ovulating. And my wife. Who I’m trying to get pregnant. So yes—” he enters you again, slow and deep, making you both groan, “—insatiable sounds about right.”

And as he begins to move again, slow and intimate and perfect, you think that maybe drunk you had the right idea after all.

Sometimes the best conversations happen in the most unexpected ways.

Seungcheol folds you with both legs to your chest and you know your body is going to complain about it later.

“Wait, Cheol—” you gasp as he pushes your knees toward your chest, folding you in half.

“Trust me,” he murmurs, his hands hooking under your knees, spreading you open as he presses them down. “This angle—fuck, baby, you have no idea—”

And then he’s sliding back in, and oh—he’s right. The angle is incredible. Overwhelming. He’s somehow even deeper like this, hitting spots that make stars explode behind your eyelids.

“Oh my god—” you can barely breathe, pinned beneath him, completely at his mercy.

“That’s it,” he groans, watching where you’re joined with dark, hungry eyes. “Take it. Take all of me.”

Your flexibility has never been your strong suit and you can already feel the strain in your hips, your thighs protesting the position but the pleasure overrides everything else; the way he’s grinding against you with each thrust, the delicious pressure, the intimacy of being folded completely under him.

“You’re so deep,” you whimper, fingers scrabbling for purchase on his forearms. “I can’t…it’s too much—”

“Not too much,” he counters, but there’s a question in his eyes even as he maintains the brutal pace. “Color?”

“Green,” you gasp immediately. “So green, don’t stop, please don’t—ah—”

His thumb finds your clit, circling with perfect pressure, and you nearly scream. Everything is heightened like this, every nerve ending on fire, every thrust punching the air from your lungs.

“Gonna keep you just like this,” he pants, sweat dripping down his temple. “Gonna fill you up so deep it has to take. You want that?”

“Yes—yes—Cheol, I’m—”

“I know, baby. I can feel it.” His movements become more purposeful, grinding deep rather than thrusting, the friction against your clit constant and maddening. “Come for me. Squeeze my cock. Show me how much you want my baby.”

The combination of his words, his thumb, the relentless pressure against that spot deep inside, it’s too much. You shatter with a cry that’s probably too loud for the morning, clenching around him so hard you see white.

“Fuck, just like that—” Seungcheol’s rhythm falters, his hips jerking erratically as he follows you over the edge for the fourth time, groaning your name like a prayer as he empties himself inside you.

He stays buried deep for a long moment, both of you panting, trembling. Then carefully—so carefully—he releases your legs, helping you straighten them out with gentle hands.

“Ow,” you whimper immediately as your hips protest, muscles cramping.

“Sorry, sorry—” he’s already massaging your thighs, pressing kisses to your knees. “I got carried away.”

“Worth it,” you manage, even as you wince. “But I’m definitely going to feel that tomorrow.”

“I’ll give you a massage later,” he promises, still working the tension from your muscles. “A proper one. With oil and everything.”

“You better.” You reach for him, pulling him down into a kiss. “I’m going to be walking funny for days.”

“Good,” he says against your lips, unrepentant. “Let everyone wonder why.”

“You’re terrible.”

“You love it.” He rolls to the side, immediately pulling you with him, tucking you against his chest. His hand finds your belly again; it’s apparently his new favorite spot. “Think it worked?”

“Cheol, we can’t possibly know that yet—”

“But do you think it worked?” he insists, almost childlike in his eagerness.

You soften, covering his hand with yours. “I don’t know, maybe. We’ll have to wait and see.”

“And if not?”

“Then we try again,” you say, smiling. “And again. As many times as it takes.”

His answering grin is devastating. “I love this plan. Best plan we’ve ever had.”

“Of course you love it,” you tease. “You’re getting sex on demand.”

“I’m getting to start a family with the love of my life,” he corrects, suddenly serious. “The sex is just a bonus. A really, really good bonus, but still.”

Your throat tightens with emotion. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” He kisses your forehead. “Now, twenty more minutes with your hips elevated, and then I’m running you a bath.”

“And then?”

“And then lunch. Hydration. Maybe a nap.” His smile turns wicked. “And then round whatever we’re on.”

“Again?!”

“Baby,” he says solemnly, “we’re not leaving this bed until tomorrow. I told you, I’m being thorough.”

You should protest. Should remind him you both have lives, responsibilities, that you can’t spend an entire day having sex no matter how appealing that sounds but then his hand starts tracing patterns on your belly again and he’s looking at you with such love and want and hope that all protests die in your throat.

“Thorough,” you agree weakly. “Right, very important.”

“The most important,” he confirms and as he settles beside you, already planning the rest of your day—which apparently consists entirely of various positions and strategic pillow placement—you think that maybe, just maybe, drunk you deserves some credit.

After all, she got the conversation started, even if her methods were…unconventional. Your husband certainly isn’t complaining and neither—despite your aching hips and the knowledge that you won’t be able to walk straight tomorrow—are you.

The shower was supposed to be innocent, just washing off, getting clean, maybe some gentle aftercare. That lasted approximately three minutes before Seungcheol’s hands started wandering from “helpful” to “decidedly unhelpful.”

“Choi Seungcheol,” you warned but it came out breathless as his fingers traced your hip. “We’re supposed to be cleaning up.”

“We are cleaning up,” he murmured against your neck, pressing you forward until your palms hit the cool tile. “Very thoroughly.”

“That’s not—oh—”

His hand slid between your thighs from behind, finding you still sensitive, still wet with more than just water. “Still ready for me,” he observed, voice dropping an octave. “Even after all that.”

“It’s the hormones,” you managed, even as you arched back into his touch. “I told you, ovulation makes me—fuck—”

“Makes you what?” He was already lining himself up, the head of his cock pressing against your entrance. “Insatiable? Desperate? Willing to let me fuck you against the shower wall?”

“All of the above,” you gasped as he pushed in, the slide easy despite how much you’d already taken him today.

This time was different, harder, more primal. The tile was cold against your breasts, your cheek, contrasting with the hot water and his body pressed against your back. His hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing lightly, keeping you in place as he took you apart.

“This is what you do to me,” he growled in your ear. “Walking around, talking about my baby, being so fucking perfect—”

“Cheol, baby please—”

“Please what?”

“Please don’t stop,” you begged. “Please, I need—”

“I know what you need.” His other hand found your clit, and you nearly sobbed. “Need me to breed you. Need me to pump you so full—”

You came with a sharp cry, clenching around him, and he followed immediately after, groaning against your shoulder as he held you pinned to the wall.

The water was starting to run cold by the time you both caught your breath.

You genuinely thought he’d be tired after the shower. Thought maybe you’d eat, cuddle, take that nap he’d mentioned.

You made it halfway through your sandwich.

“Come here,” Seungcheol said suddenly, pushing his chair back.

“I’m eating—”

“You can finish later.” There was something almost feral in his eyes as he stalked around the table toward you. “Right now, I need you bent over this table.”

“Choi Seungcheol—” but you were already standing, already letting him turn you around, already bracing your hands on the polished wood as he flipped up the oversized t-shirt you’d thrown on.

“No panties again,” he noted with approval. “It’s like you want me to fuck you at every opportunity.”

“Maybe I do,” you shot back, then gasped as he entered you in one smooth thrust.

The angle was perfect, the table the ideal height and he took full advantage of it. His fingers dug into your hips as he set a punishing rhythm, the sound of skin slapping against skin obscenely loud in your quiet dining room.

“Look at you,” he panted, gathering your hair in one fist. “Taking it so well. So eager for it. Bet you’d let me fuck you anywhere right now, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, god, anywhere—”

“Kitchen counter? Bedroom floor? Against the windows where the neighbors might see?”

The thought shouldn’t be as hot as it is, but combined with his relentless pace, it pushes you over the edge. You came with a strangled moan, and he wasn’t far behind, but he didn’t give you time to recover. Just pulled out, ignored your whimper, and guided you to the couch.

“Hands on the back,” he instructed. “Ass up.”

You were shaking as you obeyed, gripping the back of the couch as he positioned himself behind you again. This angle was even deeper, and you could feel him in your belly with each thrust.

“Too much,” you whimpered, but you didn’t use your safeword, didn’t actually want him to stop.

“Not too much,” he countered, one hand sliding up your spine. “You can take it. You can take everything I give you.” And you did, you took it until you were crying with pleasure, until your legs gave out, until he had to hold you up as he finished inside you for the—you’d lost count at this point.

When he finally pulled out, your legs couldn’t support you. You collapsed onto the plush living room carpet, and he followed you down, immediately positioning you on your hands and knees.

“One more,” he said, voice rough. “Just one more, baby, and then we’ll rest.”

“Can’t—” you protested weakly, but your body was already responding, already arching for him.

“You can.” He slid in easily, and the stretch was almost too much on your oversensitized flesh. “You’re doing so well. Taking me so perfectly. Gonna make such a good mother.”

The praise broke something in you. You dropped to your elbows, pressing your face into the carpet as he took you with long, deep strokes. There was something almost desperate about it now, like he couldn’t get deep enough, close enough, like he was trying to merge you into one person.

“Love you,” he panted. “Love you so fucking much. Gonna give you everything. Everything you want. Everything you deserve.”

You were too far gone to respond with words, could only moan and take it and feel yourself building toward yet another impossible orgasm.

When it hit, it was almost painful in its intensity. You felt him swell inside you, felt the warmth as he came again, and then everything went soft and hazy.

You came back to yourself slowly, aware of gentle hands cleaning you with a warm cloth, of being lifted and carried, of soft sheets against your skin.

“Did I pass out?” you mumbled.

“Just for a minute.” Seungcheol sounded worried now, the feral intensity finally broken. “I’m sorry, I got carried away—”

“Don’t apologize.” You caught his hand, pressing it to your cheek. “That was…I didn’t know you had that in you.”

He laughed shakily. “Neither did I. I just—when you said you wanted a baby, something in my brain just…short-circuited.”

“Clearly.” You shifted, wincing at the soreness. “I’m going to be feeling this for a week.”

“I’ll take care of you,” he promised immediately. “Bath, massage, whatever you need. I’m sorry—”

“Stop apologizing.” You pulled him down beside you. “I liked it. Loved it, actually. I just…didn’t expect the conversation about trying for a baby to turn my usually controlled husband into…that.”

“Into what?”

“Into someone who fucks me in every room of the house,” you say bluntly. “Who can’t go an hour without being inside me. Who looks at me like he wants to devour me.”

He flushed. “The ovulation thing wasn’t helping. Knowing you’re fertile right now, that any of these times could be the one—” he broke off, shaking his head. “It did something to me.”

“I noticed.” You traced his jaw. “For the record? I’m not complaining. I’m just surprised and very, very sore.”

“Nap now,” he decided. “Then massage. Then dinner. And then—”

“If you say ‘and then round whatever number we’re on,’ I’m divorcing you.”

He grinned, unrepentant. “I was going to say ‘and then we’ll see how you feel.’”

“Uh-huh. Sure you were.”

“But if you’re feeling up to it…” His hand slid to your belly again. “We should probably maximize our chances.”

You stared at him. “You’re actually insatiable.”

“Only with you.” He kissed your forehead. “Only ever with you.”

And despite the soreness, despite the exhaustion, despite the fact that you’d had more sex in one day than most couples have in a month, you found yourself smiling because this was your husband. Your partner. The father of your future children and if his method of “trying for a baby” involved fucking you in every room of the house until you couldn’t walk straight?

Well.

You’d had worse problems.

“Fine,” you conceded. “But after a nap and a massage, you’re carrying me everywhere for the next week.”

“Deal,” he agreed immediately, already pulling you closer.

Nothing came from that day of marathon sex but with how feral your husband had gotten that day you knew something had awakened in him that would be hard to reign in which is how you found yourself in your current position, bent over the balcony of your bedroom at the Airbnb that had been booked for his work trip to Hawaii which he insisted you come on. Something about a second honeymoon.

You should have known something was up when Seungcheol insisted you come on his work trip.

“It’s Hawaii,” he’d said, showing you the booking confirmation with an innocence that should have been your first warning. “We’ve never been. Plus, my meetings are only in the mornings. We’d have the afternoons and evenings together.”

“A second honeymoon,” he’d called it with that devastating smile.

What he’d failed to mention was that the “trying for a baby” conversation had apparently permanently rewired something in his brain.

You’d learned this over the past few weeks. The man who used to be controlled, measured, professional in every aspect of his life had developed a hair-trigger when it came to you. A lingering glance, your hand on his thigh at dinner, the way you bit your lip while concentrating—any of it could result in him finding the nearest private surface and bending you over it.

The office after hours? Check.

The car in the parking garage? Check.

The fitting room at the boutique where you’d been shopping for maternity clothes (optimistically)? Very much check.

But this—this was a new level, even for him.

“Cheol,” you hissed, gripping the balcony railing as he pressed against your back, his hands already pushing up your sundress. “We’re outside. Someone could see—”

“The nearest villa is hundreds of feet away,” he murmured against your neck, teeth grazing your pulse point. “No one can see unless they’re in a helicopter.”

“That’s not the point—”

“The point,” he interrupted, one hand sliding between your thighs to find you already wet—because of course you were—your body had learned to anticipate him now, “is that you’ve been walking around all day in this dress. This tiny, barely-there dress. Bending over to pick up seashells. Stretching in the sun. Driving me insane.”

“We were on the beach,” you protested weakly, even as you arched back into him. “What was I supposed to wear?”

“Nothing.” His fingers hooked into your panties, pulling them aside. “Preferably nothing.”

You were about to respond when he pushed inside you in one smooth thrust, and all coherent thought fled. Your fingers tightened on the railing as he set a deep, rolling rhythm that had you biting your lip to keep quiet.

“That’s it,” he encouraged, one hand gripping your hip while the other slid up to cup your breast through the fabric. “Take it. Take all of me.”

The view from the balcony was stunning; turquoise water stretching to the horizon, white sand beaches, palm trees swaying in the breeze. The sun was setting, painting everything gold and pink. It should be romantic.

It was romantic. Just also obscene.

“God, you feel so good,” Seungcheol groaned, picking up his pace. “So perfect. Made for me. Made to take my cock. Made to carry my baby.”

There it was, the thing that set him off every time. The baby talk. Ever since that day, since you’d opened that door, he couldn’t seem to help himself. It was like the idea of getting you pregnant had become an obsession.

“Cheol—” you gasped, trying to keep your voice down even as pleasure built in your core. “Someone might hear—”

“Let them hear.” His hand slid from your breast to your throat, tilting your head back. “Let them hear how good I make you feel. How well you take me. How desperate you are for my baby.”

“You’re insane,” you managed, but it came out more like a moan.

“You made me this way.” His lips brushed your ear. “Walking around, talking about wanting my babies, being so fucking perfect—you broke something in me, baby. Can’t think straight anymore. Can’t function unless I’m inside you.”

His hand left your throat to slide down your body, finding your clit with practiced ease. The dual sensation—him inside you, his fingers working you expertly—was too much.

“That’s it,” he encouraged as you started to tremble. “Come for me. Come on my cock while I fill you up. Maybe this time it’ll take. Maybe in nine months you’ll be here with my baby in your belly.”

The image he painted—you pregnant, round with his child—combined with his relentless pace pushed you over the edge. You came with a cry you couldn’t quite muffle, clenching around him and felt him follow seconds later with a groan. He stayed buried inside you for a long moment, both of you breathing hard, the sound of waves crashing below mixing with your racing heartbeats.

“We need to talk about this,” you finally said, even as you melted back against his chest.

“About what?” He pressed a kiss to your shoulder, still not pulling out.

“About this—” you gestured vaguely, “—thing that’s happened to you. This breeding kink you’ve developed.”

You felt him smile against your skin. “Is it a kink if we’re actively trying for a baby?”

“Cheol, we’ve had sex multiple times everyday in the last week. Everyday.”

“You’re counting?”

“Hard not to when I can barely walk straight.” You turned your head to look at him. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining about the sex. The sex is incredible but you’ve been…intense. Ever since that conversation.”

His expression shifted, becoming more serious. He finally pulled out—you whimpered at the loss—and turned you around to face him, hands gentle on your waist.

“I know,” he admitted. “I’ve been…I don’t know how to explain it. It’s like something clicked that day, and I can’t turn it off. Every time I look at you, I think about getting you pregnant. About you carrying our baby. About our family. And it just—” he broke off, looking almost embarrassed. “It does something to me. Makes me crazy.”

“I’ve noticed,” you said dryly.

“Is it too much?” There was genuine concern in his eyes now. “Am I being too much? Because if you need me to dial it back—”

“No,” you interrupted quickly. “I mean, yes, it’s a lot but it’s also…kind of hot? Knowing you want me that badly. That you’re that desperate to start our family.”

His eyes darkened. “You have no idea how badly I want you. How much I want this.”

“I’m getting a pretty clear picture,” you teased, feeling him already starting to harden against your thigh. “Case in point.”

He huffed a laugh. “Can you blame me? You’re standing here, freshly fucked, my cum dripping down your thighs, the sunset making you glow and you’re surprised I want you again?”

“We literally just finished—”

“And I’m already thinking about round two.” His hands slid down to cup your ass. “And three. And four. We have all night, baby. No work tomorrow. No interruptions. Just you and me and this view and a very comfortable bed inside.”

“You’re impossible.”

“You love it.” He kissed you, deep and slow. “Now, shower, dinner and then I’m taking you apart in that massive bed. Sound good?”

It sounded perfect, actually. Even if your husband had apparently turned into a sex-crazed maniac since the baby conversation. Especially because your husband had turned into a sex-crazed maniac since the baby conversation.

“One condition,” you said as he started leading you inside.

“Anything.”

“When we get home, we’re making a doctor’s appointment. To make sure we’re doing everything right. That I’m healthy. All of it.”

His expression softened. “Of course. Whatever you need. I’ll set it up as soon as we’re back.”

“And maybe—” you bit your lip, “—maybe we dial it back just a little? Don’t get me wrong, I love the enthusiasm, but I’d like to still be able to walk when we get home.”

He grinned. “No promises but I’ll try.”

“That’s all I ask.”

As he pulled you inside to the shower, his hands already wandering again, you thought about how much had changed in just a few weeks. Your controlled, measured husband had been replaced by someone who couldn’t keep his hands off you. Who fucked you on balconies and whispered filthy promises about getting you pregnant. Who looked at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

The test from last week had been negative. You’d both been disappointed but not surprised, these things took time but watching Seungcheol now, the way he touched you with reverence even as his eyes promised wickedness, you knew something had fundamentally shifted between you.

This wasn’t just about making a baby anymore. It was about the intensity of wanting something together. About the intimacy of trying. About how the goal had somehow made everything—every touch, every kiss, every time he was inside you—feel weighted with meaning and possibility.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked, soaping your shoulders.

“About how that drunk conversation might have been the best terrible decision I ever made.”

He laughed. “Oh, it was definitely terrible. But yeah,” he pulled you close, “also the best.”

“Even though I asked if you’d love me as a worm?”

“Especially because you asked if I’d love you as a worm.” He kissed your forehead. “Now come on. We have dinner reservations in an hour and I plan on having you at least twice before then.”

“Twice?! Cheol, we just—”

But he was already lifting you, your legs wrapping around his waist automatically, and honestly? You weren’t complaining, not even a little bit.

Your insatiable, baby-crazy, utterly perfect husband. You wouldn’t change a thing.

You didn’t make it to dinner.

Well, not the reservation anyway. By the time Seungcheol had finished with you in the shower and then carried you to the bed still dripping wet, you were both too boneless and satisfied to even consider getting dressed and going out. Instead, he’d ordered take out—an absurd amount of food—and you’d eaten on the balcony wrapped in plush robes, watching the stars come out over the ocean.

“This is nice,” you murmured, stealing a bite of his dessert. “Romantic. Almost makes me forget you’ve turned into a caveman.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Caveman?”

“Mhm.” You grinned. “Me want baby. Me fuck wife constantly. Me carry wife everywhere because wife can’t walk—”

He silenced you with a kiss, tasting like chocolate and coconut. “I don’t hear you complaining when I’m making you come.”

“That’s because my brain stops working when you’re making me come.”

“Mission accomplished then.” His hand found yours on the table, fingers interlacing. “But seriously, are we okay? This isn’t too much?”

You squeezed his hand. “We’re more than okay. I promise. Yes, you’ve been insatiable. Yes, I’m going to need a week to recover when we get home. But Cheol,” you met his eyes, “I love seeing you like this. Passionate. Uninhibited. It’s like you’ve finally let yourself want something without overthinking it.”

“I want you,” he said simply. “I want our family and yeah, maybe I’ve gone a little crazy about it, but…” he shrugged, unapologetic, “I’m not sorry.”

“Good.” You stood, letting your robe slip off your shoulders. “Because I’m not done with you yet either.”

His eyes went dark, tracking the fall of fabric. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You moved to straddle his lap, the balmy night air warm on your skin. “We have four more days in paradise. Might as well make the most of them.”

“Four more days,” he repeated, hands spanning your waist. “Think we can set a record?”

“For what? Most times having sex in a single vacation?”

“I was thinking most creative locations, but that works too.” His thumbs traced circles on your hipbones. “There’s the beach at night. The private pool. That hammock near the—”

“You’ve been planning this.”

“Maybe.” He pulled you down for a kiss. “Can you blame me? My beautiful wife, a tropical paradise, and no responsibilities for four whole days? I’m going to worship you in every way possible.”

And he did.

You woke to his mouth between your thighs, the sunrise painting the room in shades of gold and pink. He brought you to orgasm twice before you were even fully awake and then pulled you into the shower where he took you against the tiles while water cascaded over you both.

Breakfast was served on the balcony, and you made it through most of your meal before he was pulling you onto his lap, pushing your sundress up, filling you while you clutched his shoulders and tried to keep quiet.

“Love you like this,” he murmured against your neck as you rode him slowly. “Sun-kissed, desperate and so fucking wet for me.”

“Always wet for you,” you gasped. “Can’t help it.”

“Good.” His hands guided your hips, helping you find the perfect angle. “Never want you any other way.”

Later, he kept his promise about the hammock. You’d been reading peacefully in the shade when he appeared with that look in his eyes and suddenly your book was forgotten as he stripped you down and arranged you across the swaying fabric.

“Cheol, this is going to tip—”

“I’ve got you,” he promised and he did, holding the hammock steady as he knelt between your legs and proved that his mouth was just as talented as the rest of him. By the time he finally entered you, you were already trembling, oversensitive, and the gentle sway of the hammock with each thrust was unlike anything you’d experienced.

“This is insane,” you laughed breathlessly.

“This is perfect,” he corrected and the way he looked at you—like you were the only thing in his universe—made your chest tight with emotion.

His morning meeting ran long and you’d gone down to the beach alone, content to swim and sunbathe and give your body a much-needed break. You should have known better. You were waist-deep in the crystal-clear water when you felt arms wrap around you from behind.

“Meeting over?” you asked, leaning back against his chest.

“Cancelled the rest.” His lips found that spot behind your ear that made you shiver. “Told them it was a family emergency.”

“Cheol! You can’t just—”

“Can’t just what? Choose my wife over a conference call about quarterly projections?” His hand slid down your stomach, disappearing beneath the water. “Pretty sure I can since y’know, I’m the boss.”

“Someone could see—”

“No one’s around.” And he was right—the beach was completely empty, the nearest people just tiny dots in the distance. “And you’re wearing this bikini. This tiny, barely-there bikini. What did you expect?”

“I expected to swim peacefully—oh—”

His fingers had found their target, working you expertly while his other arm banded around your waist, holding you against him.

“Can you be quiet?” he murmured. “Or are you going to let the whole beach know how good I make you feel?”

You bit your lip, trying desperately to stay silent as he worked you closer to the edge. The water lapped around you, warm and gentle and the contrast between the peaceful setting and what he was doing to you was almost too much.

“That’s it,” he encouraged. “Come for me, baby. Right here in the ocean where anyone could see how desperate you are for me.”

You came with a strangled gasp, your legs giving out and only his arm around your waist kept you upright.

“Good girl,” he praised, turning you around. “Now, think you can stay quiet while I fuck you?”

You couldn’t, as it turned out but the beach stayed empty, and Seungcheol didn’t seem to mind your breathless cries as he lifted you, your legs wrapping around his waist as he entered you in the warm, shallow water.

The private pool became his new favorite place. You’d lost count of how many times he’d taken you there; bent over the edge, pressed against the infinity wall overlooking the ocean, on the submerged lounger, against the smooth rocks of the artificial waterfall.

“We’re never leaving,” he declared as the sun set on your last full day. “I’m cancelling our flights. We live here now.”

“We have jobs,” you reminded him, though you were currently in his lap in the pool, still joined, neither of you in any hurry to move.

“We’ll work remotely. I’ll buy this villa. We’ll raise our kids here.”

“Kids, plural?”

“At least three.” His hands slid over your belly, possessive and tender. “Maybe four.”

“Let’s start with one,” you laughed. “See how we do.”

“We’ll do perfectly.” He kissed you slowly. “You’re going to be an amazing mother.”

“And you’re going to be an amazing father.” You cupped his face. “Even if you are a sex-crazed maniac right now.”

“Only for you,” he promised. “Only ever for you.”

You woke early, bodies tangled together, the sound of waves your only alarm. Seungcheol was already awake, watching you with that soft expression that still made your heart skip.

“Morning,” you murmured.

“Morning.” He brushed hair from your face. “Last day.”

“Don’t remind me.” You snuggled closer. “I’m not ready to go back to reality.”

“Me neither.” His hand found your belly again,it was becoming a habit. “But we’ll take this with us. This feeling. This certainty.”

“The certainty that you can’t keep your hands off me?”

“The certainty that we’re ready for this. For our family. For our future.” He shifted, rolling you beneath him. “And yeah, also the certainty that I’ll never get enough of you.”

The morning light filtered through the curtains as he made love to you slowly, tenderly, so different from the frantic desperation of the past few days. This was soft and sweet and full of promise.

“I love you,” he whispered against your lips. “So much. More than I can say.”

“I love you too,” you breathed. “Even when you’re being insane.”

“Especially when I’m being insane,” he corrected with a grin and as you lay together afterward, wrapped in each other and the morning warmth, you thought about the past few weeks. The conversation that started it all. The shift in your relationship. The intensity and passion and sheer want of it all.

You still didn’t know if you were pregnant yet. Wouldn’t know for another week at least but somehow, it didn’t matter as much as you thought it would. Because you had this. Had him. Had the absolute certainty that whatever happened, you were in it together. Even if your husband had apparently developed a permanent breeding kink in the process. You could think of worse problems to have.

“Round two?” Seungcheol murmured hopefully against your neck.

You laughed. “We have to pack. And check out. And catch a flight.”

“So that’s a yes to a quickie before all that?”

“You’re impossible.”

“You love it.”

And because he was right—because you did love it, loved him, loved this new chapter you were writing together—you pulled him down for a kiss.

“Make it quick,” you warned. “We actually do need to pack.”

His answering grin was wicked. “Oh baby, I haven’t done anything quick with you since university.”

He was right about that too. You missed your flight but honestly?

Totally worth it.

The next few months go by in blur of your everyday life and the fact that you and your husband behaved like two virgins in a whorehouse at every given opportunity. He had somewhat simmered down, a work project keeping him busy and away from you for the past month.

You knew he was stressed so tonight you had planned to treat him, leaving work early to set up everything and it was well worth it when he comes through the door of your home calling out for you. He asks what smells so good before he stops when he takes in the way you’re dressed, in that cherry red dress he loves, and his mind starts wandering to important dates.

“Did I forget something?”

You turn from the stove, wooden spoon in hand and can’t help but smile at the panic already creeping into his expression. Seungcheol stands frozen in the doorway, briefcase still in hand, tie loosened, eyes frantically scanning you for clues.

“Did I forget—” he starts again, more urgently this time. “Is it our anniversary? Your birthday? Some other important—”

“Relax,” you interrupt, setting down the spoon and crossing to him. “You didn’t forget anything.”

“Then why are you wearing that dress?” His eyes drag over you, taking in the cherry red fabric that hugs every curve, the neckline that shows just enough to be distracting. “You only wear that dress for special occasions.”

“Maybe I just wanted to look nice for my husband,” you say innocently, reaching up to loosen his tie the rest of the way. “Is that a crime?”

His hands find your waist automatically, pulling you closer. “You’re up to something.”

“Maybe.” You stretch up to kiss him softly. “Or maybe I just missed you. You’ve been working so much lately.”

Something in his expression shifts, guilt mixing with exhaustion. “I know. This project has been insane. I’m sorry, baby. I’ve barely been home and when I am, I’m usually passed out or distracted—”

“Which is exactly why I wanted to do something nice tonight.” You smooth your hands over his chest. “So,no work talk. No stress. Just dinner, wine, and your wife who’s been very lonely without you.”

His eyes darken at that. “Lonely?”

“Mhmm.” You let your fingers trail down his abdomen. “Very lonely. Do you know how long it’s been since you’ve touched me?”

“Twenty-two days,” he says immediately and you blink in surprise.

“You’ve been counting?”

“Of course I’ve been counting.” His grip tightens on your waist. “You think I haven’t noticed? That I haven’t been dying every night, coming home to you already asleep, leaving before you wake up? I’ve been going insane.”

“Have you?” You press closer, feeling him already starting to respond. “Because you seemed pretty absorbed in your work.”

“The only reason I’ve been able to focus on work is because I’ve been channeling all my sexual frustration into spreadsheets and project timelines.” His forehead drops to yours. “I’ve missed you so much. Missed this. Missed touching you.”

“Well,” you slide your hands up to his shoulders, “dinner’s going to take another twenty minutes. Whatever shall we do to pass the time?”

“Twenty minutes?” He’s already backing you toward the counter. “I can work with twenty minutes.”

“Cheol,” you laugh as he lifts you onto the granite, “we eat here.”

“We’ve done worse shit here.” He’s already pushing your dress up your thighs, and his eyes go even darker when he discovers what you’re not wearing. “No underwear. You really were planning this.”

“Maybe I was planning to torture you through dinner,” you tease. “Make you wait. Make you suffer.”

“Fuck that.” He drops to his knees, pulling you to the edge of the counter. “I’ve suffered enough. Now I’m collecting.”

Your protest dies as his mouth finds you and suddenly the simmering pots on the stove are the last thing on your mind.

Dinner is slightly overcooked by the time you both make it to the table—flushed, disheveled, and thoroughly satisfied. Seungcheol keeps apologizing for ruining your perfect meal but you just laugh and pour more wine.

“It’s fine,” you assure him, serving the pasta that’s only a little too soft. “This was kind of the plan anyway.”

“To seduce me before dinner?”

“To remind you that I still exist.” You raise your glass. “That we exist. Outside of work and stress and trying to conceive and everything else.”

His expression softens. “I know we exist. I always know that.”

“But you’ve been distant,” you say gently. “And I get it, this project has been huge, and you’re under a lot of pressure but Cheol…” you reach across the table for his hand, “I’ve missed my husband. Not just the sex, though yes, definitely that but you. Talking to you. Laughing with you. Just being with you.”

He squeezes your hand, looking guilty. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize—I thought I was handling it okay, but I guess I’ve been shutting you out.”

“A little bit,” you admit. “And I know it’s not intentional. You get focused on work and everything else fades but we can’t let that happen, especially not now when we’re trying to start a family.”

“You’re right.” He stands, moving his chair closer to yours so he can pull you against his side. “I’m sorry. Really. The project wraps up next week, and then I’m all yours. No more late nights. No more missing dinner. No more—”

“No more twenty-two day dry spells?” you supply with a grin.

“Especially no more dry spells.” His hand slides up your thigh. “In fact, I think I need to make up for lost time.”

“We haven’t even finished dinner.”

“We can reheat it.” He’s already pulling you into his lap. “Right now, I need to apologize properly to my wife for neglecting her.”

“How do you plan to do that?”

His smile turns wicked. “I have some ideas.”

You’re curled up on the couch together, plates pushed aside, wine glasses empty, and you’re finally feeling like you have your husband back.

“So,” Seungcheol says, his hand tracing lazy patterns on your bare shoulder; your dress didn’t survive the transition from dining room to living room, “I actually have something I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Hmm?” You’re pleasantly drowsy, content in a way you haven’t been in weeks.

“About the baby thing.”

That gets your attention. You sit up a little, looking at him. “What about it?”

He’s quiet for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “We’ve been trying for almost three months now. And I know that’s not that long in the grand scheme of things, but…I don’t know. I guess I thought it would happen faster.”

Your chest tightens. You’ve been thinking the same thing but haven’t wanted to say it out loud. “Yeah. Me too.”

“And I was thinking—maybe we should make that doctor’s appointment. Like you said. Just to make sure everything’s okay. That we’re doing everything right.”

“Okay,” you agree softly. “Yeah, we can do that.”

“I’m not worried,” he adds quickly. “I mean, I am a little worried, but mostly I just want to be proactive. Make sure we’re giving ourselves the best chance.”

You cup his face, making him look at you. “Hey. Three months is nothing. The doctor will probably tell us to keep trying and come back in a year if nothing happens.”

“I know, but—” he breaks off, frustrated. “I just want this so badly. Want to give you this and every time another month goes by and the test is negative, I feel like I’m failing somehow.”

“You’re not failing,” you say firmly. “This isn’t something we can control. It happens when it happens.”

“I know that in my head. But in my heart,” his hand finds your belly, “I’m impatient.”

“I’ve noticed,” you tease gently. “The whole ‘acting like virgins in a whorehouse’ thing kind of gave it away.”

He huffs a laugh. “Was I that bad?”

“You were that eager,” you correct. “Which was actually pretty hot. Still is, when you’re not drowning in spreadsheets.”

“No more spreadsheets,” he promises. “Project’s almost done, and then I’m taking some time off. We’ll go somewhere. Relax. Maybe not having so much stress will help.”

“Maybe.” You kiss him softly. “But either way, we’re in this together, okay? Whether it happens next month or next year, we’ll figure it out.”

“Together,” he agrees, pulling you closer.

You settle back against his chest, his heartbeat steady under your ear, and try to ignore the small kernel of worry that’s been growing with each negative test.

Three months isn’t that long but it feels longer when you want something so badly. When every month brings hope and then disappointment. When you see the look on your husband’s face each time that single line appears instead of two.

“Hey,” Seungcheol murmurs, as if reading your thoughts. “No spiraling. We’re okay.”

“We’re okay,” you repeat.

And you are, you will be. Even if it takes longer than expected. Even if the road is harder than you hoped. You have him, and he has you, and that’s what matters.

Everything else will come in time, you just have to keep believing that.

Seungcheol had accompanied you to your usual checkup with your doctor and you’re currently waiting for your results to come back. When she enters with your files there’s a look on her face you can’t really read.

“Is there something wrong?” Seungcheol asks, his hand squeezing yours tighter.

“Well, that depends Mr. Choi,” she says before turning to you. “This happens quite often and I know it can be a shock, but I hope you both will make the decision that suits you best.”

The suspense is killing you and before you can ask what she means she says “Mrs. Choi, did you know that you’re three months pregnant?”

“Que?”

You must be hearing things. You took tests, hell you had a period two weeks ago. The room tilts slightly, and you’re glad you’re already sitting down.

“I’m—what?” Your voice comes out strangled, disbelieving. “That’s not—I can’t be. I’ve been having my period.”

Dr. Kim’s expression softens with understanding. “What you experienced was likely implantation bleeding and spotting, which can be mistaken for a light period. It’s more common than you’d think. Based on your blood work and the ultrasound we just did, you’re measuring at about twelve weeks.”

“Twelve weeks,” you repeat numbly. Your mind is racing, trying to do the math. Twelve weeks ago was…

“Hawaii,” Seungcheol breathes beside you, and when you look at him, his face has gone pale. “That was twelve weeks ago.”

Dr. Kim pulls up something on her computer screen, turning it so you can see and there it is. A tiny blob on the screen, barely distinguishable, but with a flickering white spot in the center.

“That’s the heartbeat,” Dr. Kim says gently, pointing. “Strong and healthy.”

Your own heart seems to stop entirely.

“But—” you’re struggling to process this, “—I’ve taken at least four pregnancy tests in the past two months. They were all negative.”

“How early were you testing?”

“I don’t know—a few days before my period? And then after what I thought was my period…”

“That’s likely why. Some women don’t produce enough HCG hormone early on for home tests to detect. It’s rare, but it happens.” Dr. Kim’s smile is warm, reassuring. “But your levels now are exactly where they should be for twelve weeks. You’re pregnant, Mrs. Choi. Congratulations.”

The word hangs in the air between you and Seungcheol.

Pregnant. You’re pregnant. You’ve been pregnant for three months and didn’t know.

“I—” your voice cracks, “—I’ve been drinking coffee. And I had wine at dinner last week. And I, oh god, I’ve been taking ibuprofen for my headaches—”

“Hey, hey,” Dr. Kim interrupts gently. “Let’s take a breath. Small amounts of caffeine are fine. One glass of wine before you knew won’t hurt anything. And occasional ibuprofen, while not ideal, isn’t going to cause problems at this stage. Your baby looks perfectly healthy.”

Your baby.

“I can’t—” you turn to Seungcheol, and the expression on his face nearly breaks you. He looks stunned, overwhelmed, and like he might cry at any moment. “Cheol—”

“We’re having a baby,” he says, voice rough with emotion. “We’re actually…holy shit, we’re having a baby.” And then he is crying, tears streaming down his face as he pulls you into a tight embrace.

“You said there was a decision to make?” Seungcheol asks suddenly, pulling back and looking at Dr. Kim with concern. “Is something wrong? You said—”

“Oh, no—I’m sorry, I worded that poorly.” Dr. Kim looks apologetic. “I just meant that unexpected pregnancies can be a shock, and I wanted to make sure you knew you had options. But if this is welcome news—”

“It’s welcome,” you say immediately, even as your hands are shaking. “Very welcome. We’ve been trying. We just—we didn’t know it had already worked.”

“Well then—truly, congratulations.” Dr. Kim starts printing out information. “I’m going to refer you to an OB for your ongoing care. You’ll want to schedule your first official prenatal appointment within the next week or two. I’m printing out the ultrasound photo for you, and some information about what to expect in your first trimester—though you’re already almost through it.”

Almost through the first trimester. You’re almost through the first trimester and you had no idea.

“Can you—” your voice is shaky, “—can you print two copies of the ultrasound? Please?”

“Of course.” Dr. Kim smiles knowingly. “Most parents want several.”

Parents. You’re going to be parents. The rest of the appointment passes in a blur. Dr. Kim goes over nutrition, what to expect, warning signs to watch for, answering questions that Seungcheol asks because you seem to have lost the ability to form coherent sentences.

By the time you make it back to the car, you’re both silent, clutching the ultrasound photos like lifelines. Seungcheol doesn’t start the car. Just sits there, staring at the grainy black and white image in his hands.

“We made this,” he finally says, voice thick. “In Hawaii. In that villa with the ocean view. We made our baby.”

“All those times,” you whisper, then laugh slightly hysterically. “All those months we kept trying, and it had already happened. We were already pregnant during—oh my god, we were pregnant when you bent me over the dining room table last month—”

“And in the shower last week,” he adds, then starts laughing too, slightly wild. “And on the counter. And—Jesus, we’ve been having incredibly athletic sex while pregnant.”

“Dr. Kim said it’s fine—”

“I know, I just—” he runs a hand through his hair, “—I can’t believe we didn’t know. How did we not know?”

“I don’t know.” You’re staring at your own copy of the ultrasound, at that tiny blob that’s apparently your baby. Your baby who’s been growing inside you for weeks while you had no idea. “I feel like I should have known. Like my body should have told me somehow.”

“Hey.” Seungcheol reaches over, taking your hand. “This is okay, right? This is—we wanted this.”

“We wanted this,” you confirm, squeezing back. “I’m just…I’m in shock. Are you in shock?”

“Completely.” He brings your hand to his lips. “But also, baby, we’re having a baby. We’re actually having a baby.”

The reality of it starts to sink in, and suddenly you’re crying too. Happy tears, overwhelmed tears, scared tears, all mixed together.

“We’re having a baby,” you repeat, and it feels more real each time you say it. “In—oh god, when? When am I due?”

Seungcheol scrambles for the paperwork Dr. Kim gave you. “It says…June. June tenth. Holy shit, that’s only six months away.”

“Six months.” You press a hand to your stomach, which still looks completely normal. “There’s a baby in there. Right now. With a heartbeat.”

“The fastest heartbeat in the world,” Seungcheol says, smiling through his tears. “Did you hear how fast it was going? Like they’re already excited to meet us.”

“They.” The pronoun makes it more real somehow. “We’re going to have a tiny human. Who depends on us for everything. Who we’re responsible for.”

“Are you freaking out?” he asks gently.

“Little bit. You?”

“Completely.” But he’s smiling, radiant, more happy than you’ve ever seen him. “But also,I’ve never been more excited about anything in my life.” You lean over the center console to kiss him, tasting salt from both your tears and his.

“We’re going to be parents,” you whisper against his lips.

“Best parents ever,” he promises. “This kid is going to be so loved.”

“So spoiled.”

“That too.” He pulls back just enough to cup your face. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For this. For giving me this. For—” his voice breaks, “—for making me a father.”

“Cheol—” now you’re really crying, “—you did half the work.”

“Yeah, but you’re the one growing them. Carrying them. Creating an entire human being inside you.” His hand moves to your stomach, reverent. “You’re incredible.”

“Ask me again in four months when I’m huge and miserable and demanding pickles at 3 AM.”

“Still incredible.” He kisses you again. “Now, we need to celebrate. And tell people. And—oh god, my mom is going to lose her mind. Your mom is going to cry. Jeonghan is going to make fun of me for crying earlier—”

“We don’t have to tell anyone right away,” you interrupt. “I’m only twelve weeks. A lot can still—” you can’t finish the sentence, but he understands.

“You’re right. We’ll wait. Just, maybe a little longer? Until we’re into the second trimester?”

“Which is only a few more weeks now,” you realize. “We’re already almost there.”

“We’re already almost there,” he repeats wonderingly. Then, more firmly, “Okay, new plan. We go home. We process this. We maybe have a minor freak out and then we start planning.”

“Planning what?”

“Everything.” His smile is infectious. “Nursery. Names. Parenting books. Baby-proofing. Everything we need to do in the next six months to get ready for this tiny human who’s apparently already been along for the ride.”

You look down at the ultrasound again, at that flickering heartbeat frozen in time. Your baby. Made in paradise, growing in secret, already loved beyond measure.

“Let’s go home,” you say softly.

Seungcheol finally starts the car, but before he pulls out, he looks at you one more time.

“I love you,” he says. “You and our little blob.”

“I love you too.” You press your hand over his on your stomach. “All three of us.” And as he drives home, both of you stealing glances at the ultrasound photos, you think about how everything has changed in the span of one appointment.

All those months of trying.

All that hoping and waiting and disappointment and it had already worked.

Your baby had been there all along, growing quietly, waiting to surprise you. Just like everything else with Seungcheol—unexpected, intense, and absolutely perfect.

Even if you had been doing very athletic things while pregnant without knowing it.

You’d probably need to apologize to your baby for that eventually but for now, you just hold the ultrasound close and let yourself feel it.

Pure, overwhelming joy.

You’re going to be a mom and Seungcheol is going to be a dad. In six months, your family of two is going to become three.

Best surprise ever.

You both still haven’t told anyone and it’s been two months since you found out. Your body hasn’t changed much but your need for your husband has which has made Seungcheol work from home twice now and this morning is no different when he wakes up with your mouth on him.

Seungcheol wakes slowly, consciousness returning in gradual waves. There’s warmth, wetness, and a familiar pressure that has him groaning before he’s even fully awake.

“Fuck, baby—” His hand instinctively goes to your hair as his hips jerk involuntarily. You’re under the covers, between his legs and the sight when he lifts the duvet nearly finishes him right there—your eyes meeting his as you take him deeper.

“What are you—oh god—what time is it?”

You pull off with an obscene pop, your hand replacing your mouth as you stroke him slowly. “About six thirty. You have a meeting at nine.”

“Then why are you—” his words cut off as you lick a stripe up his length, “—trying to kill me?”

“Because,” you pause to take him in your mouth again, working him in that way that makes his brain short-circuit, before pulling back, “ I need you…again.”

“Again?” His laugh is strained. “Baby, love we went three rounds last night. How are you—”

“Pregnant,” you finish, crawling up his body. You’re wearing one of his t-shirts and nothing else and when you straddle him, he can feel how wet you already are. “I’m pregnant and my hormones are insane and I can’t stop thinking about you inside me.”

“Not complaining,” he manages, hands gripping your hips as you position yourself above him. “Just concerned about your poor—Jesus—”

You sink down on him in one smooth motion and his concern evaporates. You’re so wet, so ready, that he slides in effortlessly despite no preparation.

“Fuck, you feel good,” you moan, starting to move. “So good. Why do you always feel so good?”

Seungcheol can’t answer because his brain has officially stopped working. You’re riding him in the early morning light, his t-shirt riding up to reveal the slight swell of your stomach, barely visible but there. Evidence of your baby growing inside you.

His baby. The thought still makes him feral.

“That’s it,” he encourages, helping you find your rhythm. “Take what you need. Use me.”

And you do, you ride him with an urgency that’s become familiar over the past two months. Dr. Kim had warned you that increased libido was common in the second trimester, but this was beyond anything either of you expected. Not that Seungcheol is complaining.

“Cheol,” you’re already close, he can tell by the way you’re clenching around him, “touch me, please.”

His thumb finds your clit, circling with practiced pressure and you come apart with a cry that could wake the neighbors. He follows seconds later, pulling you down onto him as he empties inside you. You collapse on his chest, both of you breathing hard.

“I’m calling in sick,” he announces.

“You can’t. You have that important meeting—”

“Then you’re coming to the home office with me,” he decides, rolling you both over so he’s hovering above you. “Because if the past two months have taught me anything, it’s that you’re going to need me again in approximately—” he checks his watch, “—two hours and I’d rather be here than trying to take a ‘lunch break’ or hoping my camera stays off.”

You laugh, remembering last week when he’d had to abruptly mute himself because you’d walked into his office wearing nothing but a smile.

“That was your fault for working from home in grey sweatpants,” you point out.

“Everything is apparently my fault now.” But he’s smiling as he says it, pressing kisses down your neck. “You needed water at 3 AM? My fault for getting you pregnant. Your jeans don’t fit? My fault. You cried at that commercial with the puppy? Definitely my fault.”

“It was a very sad commercial,” you defend, even as you’re arching into his kisses. “And yes, this is literally all your fault. You and your—” you gesture vaguely at him, “—your everything.”

“My everything?” He’s laughing now, working his way down your body.

“Your face. Your body. Your—Cheol, what are you doing?”

“Well—” he settles between your thighs, “—if I’m working from home anyway, might as well make sure you’re thoroughly satisfied before my first meeting.”

“You just…we literally just—”

“And you’re going to need me again soon anyway,” he points out reasonably. “Might as well get ahead of it.” His mouth finds you and your protests dissolve into moans.

Seungcheol is forty-five minutes into his video call when you appear in the doorway of his office. He sees you in his peripheral vision and tries to focus on the presentation his colleague is giving but you’re wearing that look. That needy, desperate, “I need you right now” look.

He mutes himself and mouths, After this meeting.

You pout. Actually pout. Then you do something that nearly makes him fall out of his chair; you pull up your dress to show him your stomach, running your hand over the small bump. It’s not fair. It’s biological warfare. You know exactly what seeing you like that does to him.

He unmutes. “Actually, I need to step away for a moment. Personal emergency. Give me ten minutes?”

His colleagues agree—they know he’s been working from home more lately—and he kills his camera and mic before you’ve even crossed the room.

“Ten minutes,” he warns as you climb into his lap. “That’s all we have.”

“Then you better make it count,” you challenge, already undoing his belt.

He does.

“We need to tell people,” Seungcheol says over lunch. You’re both in the kitchen, you’re eating pickles and bacon cream cheese spread—a combination that horrifies him but apparently makes perfect sense to your pregnant brain—and he’s trying not to watch in fascinated disgust.

“I know,” you agree around a mouthful of your horrible creation. “We said we’d wait until after the first trimester, and we’re at—what? Fifteen weeks now?”

“Sixteen tomorrow,” he corrects. He’s been tracking it religiously, has an app on his phone that tells him how big the baby is each week. Currently, the size of an avocado.

“Sixteen weeks,” you repeat. “And I’m starting to show. Like, actually show. I can’t hide it in loose clothes forever.”

“You look beautiful,” he says immediately.

“I look pregnant.”

“Beautiful and pregnant.” He comes around the island to wrap his arms around you from behind, his hands spanning your small bump. “Best combination ever.”

You lean back into him. “Your mom is going to cry.”

“My mom is going to plan the entire baby’s life before they’re even born,” he corrects. “Your mom is going to cry.”

“Both our moms are going to lose their minds,” you decide. “And then they’re going to become best friends over baby shopping.”

“Jeonghan is going to make fun of me.”

“Hannie’s going to be the uncle who teaches our kid bad habits.”

Seungcheol groans. “I hadn’t thought of that. Maybe we don’t tell anyone. Just let them figure it out when you go into labor.”

“Cheol.”

“Fine.” He kisses your temple. “This weekend? We’ll have both families over. Tell them together?”

“Together,” you agree. Then, after a pause, “Are you scared?”

“Terrified,” he admits. “But also, this is real now. We’re really doing this. In four and a half months, we’re going to have a baby. Our baby and I want to share that with people. Want everyone to know how happy I am.”

You turn in his arms, looking up at him. “Even though I keep attacking you at inappropriate times?”

“Especially because you keep attacking me at inappropriate times.” He grins. “Though maybe we should warn the doctor at your next appointment. Make sure this is…you know. Normal.”

“I already asked,” you admit, blushing. “Last appointment while you were filling out paperwork. She said it’s completely normal and actually healthy.”

“Healthy,” he repeats, smirking. “So really, we’re just being responsible parents-to-be.”

“Exactly, very responsible.”

“Speaking of responsible—” his hands slide down to cup your ass, “—I think I have another meeting in an hour. Which means we have time—”

“On the counter?” you ask hopefully.

“Wherever you want,” he promises, already lifting you.

The pickles and cream cheese are forgotten as he makes good on his promise and later—much later—when he’s finally back at his computer for his afternoon meetings, you curl up on the couch in his office with a blanket and one of your pregnancy books.

This has become your routine over the past two months. Him working, you nearby and periodic breaks for the insatiable need that’s apparently a hallmark of your second trimester. It’s chaotic and wonderful and occasionally makes him miss important conference calls but he wouldn’t change a thing.

This is his life now. His pregnant wife who can’t keep her hands off him. His baby growing bigger every day. His future taking shape in ways he couldn’t have imagined a year ago. All because of one drunk conversation about worms and ovulation and wanting his babies.

Best conversation ever. Even if it did result in him having to work from home regularly because his wife has turned into an insatiable pregnant goddess. He glances over at you, at the small bump visible even under the blanket and feels that now-familiar surge of overwhelming love.

Four and a half months until they meet their baby but first, telling their families this weekend and surviving whatever chaos that brings.

He can’t wait.

[seungvocado]

sulky baby

⋆｡‧˚ʚ🍒ɞ˚‧｡⋆ — Pairing: Seungcheol x fem!Reader

 ⋆｡‧˚ʚ🍒ɞ˚‧｡⋆ — Summary: Seungcheol is just a big sulky baby who needs your attention at all times.

⋆｡‧˚ʚ🍒ɞ˚‧｡⋆ — Content/Trigger warning: Jealous / possessive behaviour, oral (male receiving), dirty talk, p in v sex (unprotected), creampie, overstimulation, multiple orgasms. [Let me know if I miss out any]

⋆｡‧˚ʚ🍒ɞ˚‧｡⋆— 18+ work! MDNI! Ageless/blank blogs will be blocked, put an indicator on your blog somewhere that you are 18+ before interacting with this work/blog.

The elevator ride up to your apartment was suspiciously quiet. Seungcheol stood beside you with his arms crossed over his broad chest, jaw tight, staring straight ahead at the glowing numbers like they had personally offended him. You glanced at him, biting back a smile.

He’d been like this for the last half hour—ever since you’d said goodbye to everyone at the get-together. The usual warm, chatty Seungcheol had been replaced by this pouty giant who refused to look at you.

“Cheol,” you said softly as the doors opened on your floor. “Are you okay?”

“Fine.” The word came out clipped, almost a grunt.

You unlocked the door, and he shrugged off his jacket, tossing it onto the couch with more force than necessary. Then he flopped down, legs spread, arms still crossed, staring at the blank TV like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

You leaned against the doorway, watching him. God, he was cute like this. The big, strong leader of SEVENTEEN reduced to sulking because he didn’t get enough attention. Your heart did a little flip.

“You’re sulking,” you teased gently, walking over to stand in front of him.

He finally glanced up at you, eyes narrowed. “I’m not sulking.”

“You are. You’ve got that little crease between your brows and everything.” You reached out and poked the spot lightly. He swatted your hand away, but there was no real heat in it.

“You talked to Bang Chan the entire night,” he muttered, looking away again. “Like… non-stop. Laughing, leaning in, all that. I was right there, you know.”

You tried not to grin, but it was impossible. This big beefy man, who commanded stages and led twelve other chaotic boys, was jealous because you spent time with a mutual friend.

“Cheollie…” You climbed onto the couch and straddled his lap without warning. His hands automatically went to your waist, even as he tried to maintain his grumpy expression. “Chan and I were catching up. We haven’t seen him in months. You know he’s just a friend.”

Seungcheol huffed, tilting his head back against the couch. “Didn’t look like ‘just a friend’ when you were showing him that video on your phone, heads practically touching.”

You cupped his face with both hands, thumbs stroking his cheeks. His pout was devastatingly adorable up close—full lips pushed out, eyes avoiding yours even as his fingers tightened on your hips.

“You’re cute when you’re jealous,” you whispered, leaning in to kiss the tip of his nose.

“I’m not jealous,” he grumbled, but his ears were turning pink. “I just… missed you. We barely got to talk all night.”

Your chest warmed. You shifted closer, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing your forehead to his. “I’m sorry, baby. I got carried away catching up. But I’m here now. All yours.”

He stayed quiet for a second, then let out a long sigh, his body finally relaxing under you. His arms slid fully around your waist, pulling you flush against him.

“You’re mine,” he mumbled against your shoulder, nuzzling in like a big puppy. “Should’ve been next to me the whole time.”

You laughed softly and carded your fingers through his hair. “Next time I’ll stay glued to your side, okay? No more leaving my big strong boyfriend alone to fend off boredom.”

He made a small, contented sound and tilted his head up, silently asking for a kiss. You gave it to him—slow and sweet, pouring in all the affection he’d missed. Seungcheol melted instantly, one hand sliding up your back, the other squeezing your waist like he couldn’t bear even an inch of distance.

When you pulled back, his eyes were softer, the sulk completely gone.

“Better?” you asked, brushing his hair off his forehead.

He nodded, a shy little smile finally breaking through. “Yeah. But you owe me extra cuddles tonight. And maybe breakfast in bed tomorrow.”

You grinned, kissing him again. “Deal. Anything for my cute, sulky boyfriend.”

“I wasn’t sulking,” he protested weakly, but he was already pulling you down, tucking you against his chest.

You let him. After all, making it up to Seungcheol was one of your favorite things to do.

𖧷₊˚˖𓍢ִ🍒✧˚.🎀༘⋆ﾟ＊ 𖧷₊˚˖𓍢ִ🍒✧˚.🎀༘⋆ﾟ＊ 𖧷₊˚˖𓍢ִ🍒✧˚.🎀༘⋆ﾟ＊

The living room lights were dimmed low, the city humming faintly beyond the windows. Seungcheol was still sprawled on the couch beneath you, his sulky mood long gone, replaced by that warm, hazy look in his eyes after several deep kisses. Your fingers traced lazy circles on his chest as you straddled him.

“Let me make it up to you properly,” you whispered, lips brushing his ear. “I want to take care of you tonight.”

His breath hitched. “Baby…”

You slid down his body with purpose, kissing every inch of his chest and abs before settling between his thick thighs. Seungcheol’s cock was already heavy and leaking when you freed it, veins pulsing under your fingers as you stroked him slowly.

“Fuck, look at you,” you purred, licking a long stripe from base to tip. “So hard and desperate already. All because you got a little jealous?”

Seungcheol groaned, fingers gently threading into your hair. “Yes—shit. I hate seeing you give anyone else that much attention. This cock is yours, baby. Only gets this hard for you.”

You took him into your mouth without warning, sinking down until he hit the back of your throat. You swallowed around him, eyes watering as you held him there, then pulled back with a wet gasp, strings of spit connecting your lips to his throbbing cock.

You started slow, swirling your tongue around the tip, tasting the salt of his skin as you sucked lightly. Seungcheol’s hips twitched, but he stayed still, letting you set the pace. You took him deeper, hollowing your cheeks, working your hand around the base where your mouth couldn’t reach.

“Goddamn,” he hissed, hips twitching. “That throat is sinful. Choke on it again—let me feel how deep you can take me.”

You moaned around his length and obeyed, bobbing your head faster, sucking harder. Filthy, wet sounds filled the room as you worked him—hollowing your cheeks, twisting your hand around the base, and massaging his balls. Every time you took him to the hilt, Seungcheol cursed loudly.

“You’re so fucking good at this,” Seungcheol groaned, head tipping back against the couch. “Taking my cock like you were made for it. Look at me, baby.”

You lifted your gaze, locking eyes with him while your lips stretched around his thick shaft. The sight made him curse, hips bucking shallowly into your mouth. You hummed encouragingly, stroking him faster with your hand while your tongue flicked over the head on every pass.

You bobbed your head faster, relaxing your throat to take more of his impressive length. Spit slicked his cock, dripping down to his balls as you worked him with steady, filthy rhythm—sucking hard on the upstroke, then swirling your tongue along the sensitive underside.

“That’s it, baby. Suck my cock like a good little slut. Fuck—your mouth is better than any pussy. I’m gonna cum down your throat if you keep doing that.”

You pulled off just long enough to gasp, “Then do it. Fill my mouth, Cheol. I want to taste every drop.”

He lost it. With a guttural moan, he held your head steady and came hard, thick ropes of cum shooting straight down your throat. You moaned louder in response and swallowed every drop, milking him through it until his body shuddered and he gently tugged you off, oversensitive.

You wiped the corner of your mouth with a satisfied smile and crawled back up. Seungcheol pulled you into his chest immediately, arms wrapping around you tightly as he caught his breath. His heart hammered under your cheek while he stroked your back, pressing soft kisses to your hair.

“God… that was mind-blowing,” he murmured, voice hoarse and blissed out. “You spoil me too much.”

You nuzzled into his neck, cuddling closer. “You deserve it. My big, cute, jealous boyfriend.”

He chuckled weakly, still floating in the afterglow, body limp and warm beneath you. You stayed like that for long minutes—skin to skin, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your hip—until you felt him twitch against your thigh again. His cock was hardening once more, insistent and ready.

“Already?” you teased, grinding lightly against him.

Seungcheol groaned, hands gripping your ass. “Can’t help it when you’re on top of me like this.”

You sat up, stripping off your clothes until you were completely bare. His eyes darkened with hunger as you positioned yourself over him, guiding his cock to your entrance. You were soaked from pleasuring him, and he slid in easily as you sank down slowly, taking every inch. He stretch you perfectly, filling you so deep you moaned loudly.

“Fuck… you feel so tight,” he hissed, hands flying to your hips, gripping enough to leave marks. “So perfect around me.

“Ride me, baby. Use this cock. It’s all yours.”

You braced your hands on his chest and started bouncing, taking him fast and deep. The wet slap of skin on skin echoed as you rolled your hips, grinding your clit against him on every downstroke.

“You’re so fucking big,” you gasped. “Splitting me open every time. I love how you fill me up, Cheol.”

His eyes were glued to where you were connected, watching his cock disappear inside you. “Look at that greedy pussy swallowing me. So wet and tight—made for my cock. Faster, baby. Fuck me like you mean it.”

You rode him harder, thighs burning, pleasure building fast. Seungcheol met every bounce with powerful thrusts from below, hitting that perfect spot inside you relentlessly.

“That’s it, baby,” Seungcheol growled, thrusting up to meet you. “Ride me harder. Use my cock.”

You leaned forward, changing the angle so he hit that perfect spot inside you with every thrust. “You’re so deep like this… filling me up so good, Cheol. I love how big you are.”

His grip tightened, fingers digging into your flesh as he helped guide your movements. Sweat slicked your bodies. You rode him relentlessly, grinding down on every downstroke, chasing your own pleasure while pushing him toward another peak.

“You gonna cum on my cock?” he panted, eyes locked on where you were joined. “Let me feel you, sweetheart.”

“I’m gonna cum—” you cried out.

“Cum on my cock baby” he demanded, voice rough. “Let me feel you squeeze me.”

Your orgasm hit hard, walls pulsing around him. Seungcheol groaned loudly and followed right after, burying himself deep as he pumped you full of cum. Thick, hot spurts painted your insides while he held you down on him, hips stuttering up until he was spent..

You stayed seated on him for a few moments, both of you panting. Eventually you lifted yourself off slowly, his cock slipping out of you. As you moved, you felt his cum start to drip from your pussy—thick white streaks sliding down your thighs.

Seungcheol’s eyes locked onto the sight and something feral flashed across his face.

“Fuck,” he growled, voice suddenly dangerous. “Look at that… my cum leaking out of your pretty hole.”

Before you could respond, he surged up, flipping you onto your back on the couch in one powerful motion. He pushed your legs wide open and slammed back inside you in a single brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt.

You cried out at the sudden fullness, still sensitive from your orgasm.

“Mine,” he snarled, hips snapping forward hard and fast. “This pussy is fucking mine. No one else gets to see you like this. No one else makes you drip like this.”

He fucked you with raw, possessive need—deep, punishing strokes that made your back arch off the couch. The wet, filthy sound of his cock driving through his own cum filled the room. Every thrust pushed more of his cum out around his shaft, making a mess between your bodies.

“Cheol—oh my god,” you moaned, nails digging into his back.

“You feel that?” he panted, forehead pressed to yours, eyes wild. “Feel how deep I am? I’m gonna fill you up again. Pump you so full you’ll be dripping my cum for days. No one else gets to have this. Only me.”

His pace was relentless, hips slamming against yours, the couch creaking under you. He reached between you and rubbed your swollen clit in tight circles, pushing you toward another peak.

“Cum for me again, baby. Want to feel this pussy milk my cock while I breed you.”

The combination of his filthy words, deep thrusts, and skilled fingers sent you spiralling. You came hard, screaming his name as your walls clenched around him. Seungcheol followed with a broken groan, burying himself as deep as possible and flooding you with a second load of cum.

He collapsed on top of you, both of you trembling and covered in sweat. His cock stayed buried inside you as he caught his breath, pressing soft kisses on your lips now that the intense wave had passed.

“Fuck… I lose control with you,” he whispered against your lips, voice hoarse. “Can’t help it. You’re too perfect.”

You smiled, running your fingers through his damp hair, body still buzzing. “I love when you do.”

𖧷₊˚˖𓍢ִ🍒✧˚.🎀༘⋆ﾟ＊ 𖧷₊˚˖𓍢ִ🍒✧˚.🎀༘⋆ﾟ＊ 𖧷₊˚˖𓍢ִ🍒✧˚.🎀༘⋆ﾟ＊

The morning sun filtered softly through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the bedroom. You stirred first, nestled against Seungcheol’s broad chest, his arm draped heavily around your waist even in sleep. His breathing was deep and even, but the moment you shifted, he tightened his hold and let out a sleepy grumble.

“Five more minutes,” he mumbled, voice husky from the night before.

You smiled and tilted your head up, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “You said that an hour ago, Cheol.”

One eye cracked open, then the other. A slow, lazy smirk spread across his face as memories clearly flooded back. “Morning, troublemaker.”

“Troublemaker?” You propped yourself up on one elbow, tracing a finger down his chest. “I believe I was the one making things up to a certain sulky boyfriend last night.”

He groaned, but it was playful, pulling you fully on top of him so you were straddling his waist. “I wasn’t sulky. I was… strategically quiet.”

You laughed, brushing his messy bed hair out of his eyes. “Strategically quiet? You mean pouting like a big baby because I talked to Chris for twenty minutes.”

Seungcheol’s ears flushed pink, but his hands slid down to squeeze your ass possessively. “Twenty minutes too long. You’re mine. Should’ve been sitting on my lap the whole time.”

“Oh my god, you’re still jealous.” You grinned and leaned down to nip at his bottom lip. “It’s cute. Really cute. Especially when it ends with me on my knees for you… and then riding you until we both saw stars.”

His eyes darkened instantly, hands roaming up your bare back. “Keep talking like that and we’re not getting out of this bed today.”

You rocked your hips teasingly against him, feeling him start to harden beneath you. “Is that a threat or a promise, Mr. Jealous?”

“Both.” He flipped you suddenly, pinning you beneath his warm, solid body. You squealed with laughter as he attacked your neck with kisses and playful bites. “You owe me breakfast in bed, remember? For all that emotional damage.”

“Emotional damage?” You dissolved into giggles, squirming under him. “You big dramatic baby. Fine—I’ll make you pancakes. But only if you admit you were sulking.”

Seungcheol lifted his head, pretending to think about it while his fingers tickled your sides lightly. “Counter-offer: I admit I was a little jealous, and you make pancakes… naked.”

You raised an eyebrow, still laughing. “Bold request after last night. You sure you’ll even let me leave the bed to cook?”

He kissed you deeply, slow and sweet, before pulling back with a mischievous glint. “I’ll help. I’ll be your personal chef assistant. And if you bend over to get something from the fridge, I can’t be held responsible for what happens next.”

You shoved his shoulder playfully, both of you grinning like idiots. “Deal. But if you get distracted and burn the pancakes, I’m telling the members you sulked like a kicked puppy over a mutual friend.”

Seungcheol gasped in mock offense. “You wouldn’t.”

“Try me, sulky boy.”

He rolled off you with a dramatic sigh, but immediately pulled you up with him, wrapping you in his arms from behind as you both headed toward the kitchen. His chin rested on your shoulder, pressing lazy kisses to your neck the entire way.

“Love you,” he murmured against your skin, voice soft despite the playful energy. “Even when you torture me by existing near other people.”

You leaned back into him, heart full. “Love you too. Now come on, sulky baby. Let’s make breakfast before we get distracted again.”

[noniesgummysmile]

pliant

💋 chan x f!reader 💋 1.6k 💋 fluff/making out 💋 est relationship, a lil suggestive in the sense that they're making out, chan likes being called a pretty boy, slight dom reader/sub chan, chan has a teeny pain kink maybe ehe 💋 i had an idea and got carried away :DD thank you @horahae for betaing for meeee <333

Chan's lip ring may be fake, but the way you feel right now is certainly not.

💋

Pink, red, pink, red, pink.

You slide the final seed bead onto the straight pin and reach for your jewelry pliers, carefully bending the remainder of the wire to the side before rolling it into a neat circle.

There. All the pieces for your keychains are done.

Now you just need to assemble them. You pop open the container of jump rings and select one, clamping down on one side of the ring with the jewelry pliers. Carefully you pinch the other side with your fingers, and then you pry it open.

It opens the wrong way, stretching into an oblong C instead of the angled opening you needed.

“Stupid pliers,” you sigh, dropping the ring and nudging it out of your immediate workspace.

Chan shifts behind you, chin hooking suddenly over your shoulder, and you glance at him. Of course, he brushes his lips against your cheek in a tiny greeting before nodding towards the mess you’ve spread across the living room table.

“What’s wrong with the pliers?” he asks. You wrinkle your nose as you lean back against him and the front of the couch.

“Technically nothing. These pliers are just harder to open jump rings with, and I left my regular pliers at home.”

Chan’s arm curls around you, resting along your collarbones and just underneath his chin. “Regular pliers? Like just the normal ones that come in a tool kit?”

“Yeah, that’s where I got mine.”

He hums, then presses a kiss to the side of your neck. “Wait here.”

You watch from the floor as Chan rolls himself off the couch and disappears around the corner. A minute of shuffling sounds later, he returns, a pair of regular pliers in hand and a triumphant grin on his face.

“These work?” he asks, and you reach up for him, smiling back.

“Yeah, those are perfect. No, c’mere,” you say, swatting away the pliers and gesturing for him to bend down. “I don’t wanna kiss the pliers.”

Chan laughs and leans down obediently. You cup his pretty face in your hands and kiss him for a lingering moment before pulling back and taking the pliers.

As you settle back to work, you expect Chan to return to his book, but instead he sits directly behind you, legs gently bracketing your sides. His shadow looms over your workspace, a little in the way, but you don’t mind, especially as his hands drift to your shoulders and begin massaging. You hum appreciatively. In return, you feel the soft pressure of his lips on the crown of your head.

“You’re using both pliers?” he asks in surprise as you pinch another jump ring between his pliers and then reach for your own. You nod.

“It lets me get a really good grip on it, so I can open it properly. See? Like this.” With a twist of your wrist, the jump ring opens easily, just the way it should. You set the pliers down and show him the little ring, then reach for the one you messed up. “This one won’t work anymore because I separated the ends. It’s nearly impossible to get it closed again now. Not worth the effort.”

“Huh.” Chan plucks the messed-up ring from your hand, and you let him take it, returning to your unassembled keychain and selecting the silver heart charm. Attaching it to the base of the keychain only takes a moment, and you reach for the pair of pliers again, ready to open another jump ring. But Chan taps your shoulder, voice playful as he asks, “How do I look?”

You glance back to see him with a lip piercing.

No, wait; he’s just slipped the messed-up jump ring over his lower lip.

But it looks like a lip piercing.

And he looks hot.

You stare for a moment at the way the silver curves over the pink swell of his lip. Then you set down the pliers.

His smile falters as you turn around, bracing your palms on his knees as you settle onto yours. “Is it not good?” he asks, almost pouting, and oh the way the ring digs into his pursed lip is sickening.

“Shut up,” you murmur, and then you grab the strings of his hoodie and yank him down.

His pretty mouth crashes into yours. He squeaks, then whimpers, then moans as you tilt your head and kiss him harder. The little ring nudges against your lip, a little spark of cold against the warmth of his mouth, and you chase it with your tongue as you rise up from your knees, pushing Chan back and climbing onto his lap. He’s pliant beneath you, body rolling down into the couch and lips parting to let your tongue in. His hands fly to your hips and just cling.

Another day you might have fun going slow, playing with him and making him wait, but you can’t be bothered right now. He’s whimpering anyway as you lave your tongue over the ring, pressing just enough that the open ends must be digging into his skin. That’s alright. He likes it.

Chan’s fun like that.

“You,” you murmur against his lips, inching your knees closer around his thighs, “look so hot right now, pretty boy.”

His breath hitches. His hands spasm, clutching at your hips. You grin and nudge his chin lightly to the side, giving you better access to that pretty, pretty ring.

You graze your teeth against it, and Chan shudders.

You draw his lip into your mouth and bite a perfect crescent around the ring, and half a cry leaves Chan’s mouth before his voice gives out.

His grip on your hips feels significantly weaker as you release his lip and pull back, careful not to nudge the ring out of place.

“Look at you,” you breathe, cupping his cheeks. His eyes meet yours beneath heavy eyelids, already so dazed from so little. His lip is red now, red and swollen, the curve of your teeth slowly fading from his skin. You run one hand up and rake it through his hair, tugging just enough to guide his head back the slightest amount. He goes so, so easily. “Pretty boy,” you murmur again, and his eyelashes flutter. “My pretty boy.”

“Yours,” Chan whispers. His voice almost shakes, dripping with a silent plea.

You don’t make him wait, mostly because you don’t want to wait.

You lean down and fit your lips to his, tongue curling right into his mouth and his addicting warmth. The ring rides the flow between you as you kiss him deeper and deeper, and from the timing of his whimpers and the twitching of his fingers, you know it’s digging into him. But from the little moan he gives when you pull back enough to tongue at the ring, warm and wet now, you know he doesn’t mind.

And hell if he doesn’t sound pretty.

“Did you know what you were doing?” you murmur between kisses as you trail your way down to his throat, pulling on his hair until he’s perfectly presented for you. You kiss the line of his neck. “Did you know how hot you would look? How crazy you would make me?”

“No,” he gasps. He’s grabbing at the back of your shirt now, fingers scrabbling for something to dig into. Cute. “I didn’t know –”

He breaks off with a tiny, pretty sound as you reach up with your free hand to pinch his lip, right next to the ring. His fingertips drag down your back, nails just barely skimming your skin, and you hiss against his throat and pinch him again. He jerks. His spine arches up into you. but you nip sharply at his collarbone, and he takes the warning well, flattening himself against the couch once more.

“Good,” you murmur, kissing slowly back up his neck. “Good boy. Good, pretty, pretty boy.”

The noise he makes is unintelligible and deliciously, delightfully desperate.

You kiss his open mouth, and his startled gasp melts into a whine as you drag your tongue along the line of his teeth. His nails are digging into your back now, half wrapped in your shirt, but your hands are in his hair, and his grip on you tightens with each sharp tug you give him.

He whimpers as you prod at the ring where it meets the inner curve of his lip. He whimpers again as you pull away, and then he shudders adorably at the feather-light kiss you leave atop the ring.

“Pretty boy with a piercing, huh?” you whisper against his skin.

“Yes!”

His response is so quick and needy that you almost laugh. Instead, you lean in and kiss him again.

This time, you let it be long and slow. Chan melts beneath you, more than he already did, until you’re pretty sure his thighs are shaking. He’s so beautiful. So good.

So you treat him a little bit.

You close your teeth around the edge of the little ring and pull slowly away.

Chan’s breathing hitches, then stutters, as his lip stretches out, the ring slowly scraping along his skin. His whine arcs higher and higher, until –

Plip!

The jump ring pops free, trapped between your teeth, and Chan’s swollen lip snaps back into his mouth with a little wet sound. Oh, he’s beautiful like this, dazed and breathless, head back against the cushions, chest heaving and eyes lidded. A beautiful mix of pink cheeks and red ears and pink lips and red marks and his pink tongue darting out to soothe the pain.

You spit the ring out onto his hoodie. He swallows as you rest your elbows on his shoulders, lingering close, and his mouth opens and closes like he wants to say something.

“You alright?” you murmur, and he nods quickly. But there’s still something on the tip of his tongue. “Go ahead,” you urge, kissing the tip of his nose. “You were perfect. You can talk.”

Chan swallows again. He still hasn’t caught his breath, poor thing. “Um,” he manages. “Where’s the nearest piercing place?”

Something feral rears at that, and you decide you’re not quite done with his pretty lips.

[neocrias]

Seventeen reaction to s/o kissing them on their cheek

their s/o kissing them on the cheek

warnings: descriptions; headcanons; gn (mostly) reader self insert;

pairings: svt x gn reader

gender/aus: fluff;

Transforms your peck into an actual kiss: Scoups, Mingyu

He'll either wait for you to do your thing before turning to you, cupping your face and fully kissing you on the lips, or pull up the old famous trick of turning his face in the middle of the peck. On both situations, he just wants to make sure he's repaying your affection displays properly - and even maybe beating you in your own game.

Doesn't really think about it and simply kisses you back: Joshua, Minghao

It'll all happen in a matter of seconds. You leave a little peck on his cheek, unable to contain the sign of affection towards your cute boyfriend, and he won't even blink and just kiss your cheek back. Even if he's in the middle of something, distracted on his cellphone or a book, he'll simply turn and peck you back before returning to his own activity. It's simple as that - there's no need for thinking, since kissing you is an automatic motion for him at this point.

Makes a big fuss about it just to embarrass you: Jeonghan, Hoshi

"Wait, what? Is my baby clingy today? Do you want some kisses?" plus some infinite cooing and teasing. He won't let you live, especially if you kissed him out of the blue or out of a cute aggression strike you had. After making you a blushing and annoyed mess, he will pepper your face with little kisses, just for good measure. And you can be certain that he'll tease you afterwards for that too!

Blushes a little and pecks you back: Jun, DK

He's slightly taken aback by the kiss, and tries not to show it too much, but his cheeks give away. He thinks a kiss on the cheek is an actual very adorable way of showing affection, and kinda melts if you do it - especially if it's your way of thanking him for something or after a compliment. He will feel a little giddy and probably kiss you back after the startle.

Pretends to be nonchalant but actually feels fuzzy inside: Wonwoo, Woozi, Vernon

As soon as you leave the little unexpected peck on his cheek, he'll look at you with a questioning gaze. He might blurt out "did I do something?" with a restrained smile, but when you shrug and tell him you just wanted to do it, he'll shrug too, eyeing you as if you were weird. Little did you know he's actually melting on the inside with the sudden affection.

Asks for another kiss on the remaining cheek: Seungkwan, Dino

"C'monn, it'll feel lonely!", he'll try to convince you, pointing at his other cheek until you finally relent and give him another kiss. He'll smile, satisfied, and will probably be bashful about it for some moments before resuming whatever he was doing before.

[neocrias]

diet pepsi

synopsis: When a ride home becomes something much more... interesting.

Your interactions with Mingyu have been getting weird during the last group meeting. There’s a certain tension in every act of kindness he does for you — it could be you overanalyzing friendly acts, or maybe Kim Mingyu wants you as much as you want him.

pairing: mingyu x reader wc: 3,9k

warnings: unprotected sex; kinda public car sex; dry humping; fingering (f receiving); loss of virginity; cock riding; mating press?; Mingyu is a teasing little shit; slight size kink; huge man in cars; dacryphilia perhaps?; mentions of alcohol; inappropriate language. MDNI.

You don't know when you started feeling this way about Mingyu, but lately he's been... different. He's hot, but you already knew that. Everybody did.

Mingyu is tall, tanned, has a charming smile and beautiful sparkling eyes that goes along with the sweet and patient personality he always has when he's with you and the boys. But something is different.

You don't know what happened, but Mingyu's every attitude seemed different tonight and what would normally be “your friend's caring and concerned way” was making you crave his attention in a way you've never felt before.

You felt your face heat up when Mingyu took the beer bottle from your hand, opened it, and filled your glass as if it were second nature to him. When you hesitantly took the glass, your fingers touched briefly, and he winked at you playfully. A shiver ran through your whole body.

This went on all night.

Mingyu carefully roasted the meat you like until it was just perfect for you. He also reached out to slap Vernon's hands away before he could snatch it from the grill. His muscles bulged under the sleeves of his black shirt right next to your face.

And, of course, you wanted to kiss him.

You wanted it the very moment he put his denim jacket over your lap to protect you from the cold with no complaints - even though he told you to wear warm clothes tonight.

"Gyu, you don't have to..."

He cut you off before you could be the proud little thing who never gives in, despite knowing you're wrong.

"Don't be stubborn again. I told you it was gonna be cold, didn't I? But you still came in this tiny little dress, so listen to me once and keep the jacket," he whispered.

His voice was a perfectly balanced mix of seriousness and care. To emphasize, he tugged at the thin sleeves of your white dress, which didn't fit well enough to keep out the cold.

Blame it on the drink.

Blame it on the several months you've gone without seeing anyone.

Blame Jeonghan for implanting indecent ideas in your head with his provocative comments about the way Mingyu always stood around you and looked at you.

Blame the smell of him surrounding you and inhibiting your senses in the enclosed space of the black Range Rover.

Blame the way he drove with only one hand...

Blame anything, but you wanted him bad.

You felt your head spin the moment Mingyu said he would take you home, leaving no room for any other possibility during the carpool. And that was like a confirmation of everything a certain angel-faced devil had told you earlier.

You put on his dark denim jacket and sank into the smell of his perfume that lingered on your head. It was damn good... Mingyu smelled better than any other man alive. You could bet on it.

You bite your lips as an involuntary reaction to the scenarios you'd imagined. To prevent your mind from going to forbidden places with your said best friend, you grabbed a can of Diet Pepsi before heading towards his car. 

But nothing good lasts forever, and you also had to deal with the disappointment when you found Dokyeon and Minghao already waiting in the back seat. 'Yoon Jeonghan, you're paying me for this!', you thought after fastening your seatbelt.

Mingyu smiled at you as he started the car, making his way to Dokyeom's house first - which was closer to the restaurant you were in. Eventually, you opened the can of Pepsi to distract yourself from the conflicting feelings you'd been having all night.

You didn't know it, but Mingyu noticed your strange behavior. By wanting to test whether his theory was right, he ignored the route to your house, deciding to leave Minghao first. Then, by pure chance of fate, he too

He knew you were looking at him — because why wouldn't you? Mingyu purposely let go of one hand from the steering wheel, ran his fingers through his black hair to make it look messy as it fell over his eyes, and finally grabbed the gearshift as close to your thigh as possible. The damn menace wanted to see how you would react to him.

Of course, every glance was noticed, as was the intense way you stared at his hand holding the steering wheel. Mingyu could have sworn he saw you squeeze your thighs together a time or two when he made a skillful turn.

You started to shake your leg out of anxiety. What a perfect opportunity. Mingyu held your leg in a firm grip to keep it still. It didn't even bother him at all, but he wouldn't miss the chance to put his hands on your soft thighs after so long desiring them.

You sighed, and oh boy... it was all Mingyu ever wanted to hear. He smirked arrogantly as you struggled to keep still. Your muscles twitched uncontrollably under the palm of his hand. His eyes remained on the road, but they had a lustful glint behind the brown tenderness usually directed at you.

In your hazy thoughts, you didn't notice that the way to your house was taking longer than usual, or that you had passed the same street three times. You also missed the playfully arrogant expression Mingyu wore. In fact, you were too focused on the extraordinary way the veins stood out on the golden skin of his forearm and how deliciously his thick thighs were marked by his jeans to even look at his face.

The thin gold chain reflected the dim light of the streetlamps. The black shirt highlighted his biceps - carefully built up from regular gym routines. It wasn't much, just enough for the imagination.

Kim Mingyu was dressed so casually, and still managed to be sinfully handsome. Him wearing a shirt so tight, showing off his broad chest... buff arms... That should be considered a crime against public safety!

Your entire body was heating up. You pulled your hair up and leaned back in your seat to look at his face from a better angle.

And the look in your eyes...

Mingyu's patience was running thin. He pushed his tongue against his cheek to control himself, squeezing the steering wheel until his fingers turned white.

And then you looked at him with your rosy lips slightly open. Your shoulders were barely moving with the shallow breathing. Your typical doe eyes blinked heavily at him, scanning every birthmark on his chiseled face.

Fuck whatever game you two were playing right now.

Slowly, Mingyu pulled the car over on a discreet, quiet, partly dark street.

As if a mist came out of your eyes, you returned to reality and looked out of the window. This wasn't your house, why did he stop the car's engine?

You turned to Mingyu who was taking the key out of the ignition.

"What are you doing?" you asked, but Mingyu didn't answer. "Why did you stop here?"

He didn't answer, didn't even look at you, just kept facing forward. Mingyu left your thigh to unbuckle his own seat belt and moved the seat back very slowly.

Your eyes widened in surprise, confusion, and... anticipation?

Your eyes scanned the sliding seat, then returned to his thick thighs. By the time you raised your eyes to Mingyu's face, he was already looking at you with a mischievous smirk.

"Having fun?" he asked arrogantly.

You blinked rapidly, feeling confused and overwhelmed. 'Maybe I shouldn't have drunk so much," you thought.

Mingyu leaned over you, gently pushing you back until you were pressed against the car door. You held your breath, afraid of breaking the tension that deliciously bubbled under your skin. Your eyes were locked on Mingyu's.

You couldn't take your eyes off them for a second.

The sound of your belt opening made you blink repeatedly once more and let out an anxious sigh. Which, in turn, made Mingyu even more confident.

He rested his left hand on the tinted car window and brought his right hand around your throat, subtly pulling you forward. You let out a painted grunt and closed your eyes when he brushed his nose against yours. Both breaths mingling.

He stroked your skin so softly, and his lips grazed yours as he moved his head.

You were going crazy. He was making you.

Mingyu was doing it on purpose. After all, watching you need him was funnier than he could've ever imagined.

"Gyu…" you called softly.

A heavy, needy whisper that complemented the hushed atmosphere that enveloped the two of you. He was so close that you could smell the beer and mint gum he had been chewing earlier. You shifted uncomfortably against the leather seat, wanting to get rid of the uneasy feeling that ran through your whole body.

"Yeah?"

It was all Mingyu replied.

You brought your trembling hands up to his shoulders, feeling his warmth against your icy palms and the defined muscles under your fingertips. Mingyu rewarded your touch by squeezing your neck a little tighter.

You dug your nails into his neck, marking his honey skin with red scratches. Then you pulled the gold chain into a closed fist and that was all he needed.

Mingyu crashed his lips against yours in a hard and desperate kiss.

You let out an involuntary whimper the second you felt his mouth. His soft tongue brushed teasingly against yours, and Mingyu released your neck to wrap his arm around your waist. He pulled you so you straddled his lap.

His car may be big, but with his huge frame, it wasn't the most comfortable position - not that 'comfort' was a concern for him, even less so for you.

Your trembling hands hurried under his black shirt, dragging your nails across the length of his stomach, leaving more red marks across his immaculate skin. Mingyu hissed against your mouth when your fingers stopped at the waistband of his jeans, unsure of what to do now.

Despite being trying to be confident, you weren't the most experienced person when it came to boys. Minghao and Seungcheol had tried hard to keep them away from you — after all, no guy was good enough for their best friend.

Mingyu, who had both arms wrapped around your waist now, moved his hands down to your bare thighs. His fingertips trailed along the length that the slit didn't make a point of covering, and for the thousandth time tonight, your skin shivered at his touch.

Suddenly, he grabbed both sides of your hips and pulled you down against the unmistakable outline of his half-hard dick.

You broke away from his lips with a gasp of surprise.

You were both breathing heavily, your eyes closed and your foreheads pressed together. Mingyu brought his hand up to the collar of your his jacket, and gently pushed it back. His fingertips grazed the exposed skin of your shoulders.

Mingyu was in no hurry at all. He removed the jacket slowly, and now that nothing was in his way, he trailed bites along the length of your collarbones. He marked your skin like you did with his, and each bite made you press yourself against his lap.

With an impulse of confidence, you moved your waist. A slight, insecure movement at first. One that made Mingyu sigh against the curve of your chest and tighten his grip on your hips. His reactions were what you needed to swivel your hips harder. He threw his head back against the car seat before looking at you again.

The look in his eyes was enough to make your confidence grow.

Clumsily, you pulled up his shirt, trying to undress him. Mingyu watched you struggle, his smile widening as you fumbled. He moved your hands away and pulled his shirt off. Your eyes went down to his defined stomach, measuring it completely.

His eyes darkened when he saw you biting your lip with glassy eyes.

He grabbed you by the throat again and pulled you down, devouring your lips in a searing kiss. You let your hands wander over his body; Mingyu was huge, well-built and so so warm.

And, darling, since you started it. Mingyu slid his hands beneath your dress, grabbing your ass with no hesitation. After all… who was going to stop him? Certainly not you.

You were so focused on the kiss, on grinding him the right way, on taking moans out of him, on the warm, soft skin under your palms, on the intoxicated scent of him... You didn't even miss his hands on you, so when the seat came down all at once, you fell on top of him.

"Gyu..?" you managed to ask between kisses and heavy sighs. "What you doing?"

"You'll find out" he murmured against your lips. "And you'll love every second of it."

A knot formed in your stomach, and your hips jerked forward. Mingyu bit your lips hard and stopped your movements. He pushed you down enough to unzip his pants and take out his cock — which stood proudly up.

His red tip was dripping pre-cum, the veins stood out temptingly, slightly curved up. And as with his entire body, this was also huge. Just the sight of it made you clench around nothing.

Mingyu moved his hand down your dress again. His eyes were locked on your face as his fingertips slowly dragged over the thin fabric of your panties. He was teasing you, reveling in every reaction he managed to draw out of you.

You whine when he pinches your clit over the fabric. He loves being a teasing little shit, finding fun in the way your body shakes with the minimum touches. "Tell me" he muttered. "You need to tell me, beautiful."

You whine again, refusing to say it out loud.

"Nuh uh, baby, you need to say it."

Mingyu slid your panties to the side, his finger finally making contact with your clit.

"Gyu, please… I... you..." you started, but failed the moment you felt his touch. Your eyes shut closed, and you grabbed his shoulders.

"Poor little thing... can't even use her words," he teased you.

"Kim Mingyu, I swear to God if you..." your sentence was cut off by a groan when he slid his middle finger into your wet cunt.

Mingyu smirked when you struggled your words again, and all because of him. It's a complete ego booster for sure.

"If I..?" he suggested provocatively. "Come on, babe, what are you gonna do?"

He slid a second finger, curling it to hit that specific spot that makes you tremble and gasp in his ears because of the stretch. You leaned forward, resting your hands on his chest and hiding your face in the crook of his neck.

You feel a knot forming in your lower stomach and bite his shoulder to relieve some of the feeling. You move your hips on your own, chasing that alluring feeling.

Your whimpers became louder and more frequent. Mingyu took it as an incentive to go faster, always aiming for that spot that made you react the way he liked the most.

Sequenced moans of his name left your lips. You dug your nails harder into his shoulders. You squirmed to escape the overwhelming sensation that you were experiencing, but begged Mingyu to keep going.

It was becoming too much.

You hold Mingyu’s wrist, trying to stop him, but it only makes him go harder on you. His free hand holds your hip to make you quiet.

"Shh," he whispered into your ear. "Be quiet, beautiful... just let it go."

Mingyu was slowly edging you to your high. His fingertips brush against your soft walls, his sweet voice praising you. It all makes your toes curl. His actions turn into all too much to handle, and you feel yourself losing.

"That's it, baby, cum for me."

So you did.

You came for him. His name left your mouth as a chant, while your body grew even hotter. Mingyu kept moving his fingers, slower this time, as you came down from your high. He left several kisses on your shoulders and caressed your back until your breath regulated again.

Mingyu began to caress your thighs to calm you down. He kissed your lips tenderly, moving down to your chest and collarbones.

In a burst of courage, you sat on top of him, still not sliding in, just an attempt to tease him the same way he did to you. He moans your name in response, a smug smirk adorning his lips. His hooded eyes stare directly at you in pure desire.

"Stop the teasing, baby."

"Now, why would I..?"

He huffed a laugh and gave you a little slap on your ass.

"Behave," he muttered. "You won't wanna try me."

You grabbed his cock, aligning him to your cunt. You went down slowly, holding your breath as you felt his tip force you open inch by inch. His hands grabbed your hips harder, pushing you down to keep you going. 

You whimpered in discomfort. The stretch was unusual, but somehow it was kinda pleasant. You wanted to back out, but also to go further. Mingyu caressed your back and kissed the curve of your neck.

It wasn't much, but it was enough to calm you down a little. He firmed his grip on your hips, and with one last push, he bottomed up. You tilted your head back, and your mouth felt open with a guttural moan.

Mingyu groaned with you, and despite the urgency to move, he remained still so you could adjust to his size. With a gentle touch, he pushed your hair behind your ear.

"You okay?" he whispered softly, stroking your cheek. "Talk to me, yes?"

You nod slowly, hands still tightly holding his arms, and you swirl your hips tentatively.

"Yeah?" Mingyu hissed. "It's not hurting, hm?"

"Y-yeah... It's good..." you stutter a little.

Still feeling a bit insecure, you raised your hips, waited a little to prepare yourself emotionally, and lowered them again. It was all very slow, so soft, an attempt to feel good.

Mingyu's eyes squeezed shut, and he bit his lip hard. He wants you to take things at your own pace, to be comfortable so you enjoy it too. But damn it, you looked so beautifully angelic in that little white dress... And your frowning face made his inner self roar with the need to destroy you.

He wanted to take control, to pin you against the leather seat, and to watch fat tears roll down your face, destroying your makeup with black mascara stains.

You sped up little by little, gaining confidence as you moved. It felt good, but it wasn't enough, you wanted more. You wanted to get more grunts and moans out of Mingyu, but something was missing. Your thighs burned from the effort.

You stopped, hiding your face against his neck out of embarrassment.

"What happened?" he asked you, stroking your hair to comfort you.

"Tired…" you complain.

After a few seconds of silence, you heard him laugh.

"Aww," his voice was dripping with a condescending tone. When you looked up at him again, he had a fake pout on his lips. "Spoiled princess wants me to do all the work?"

"Please" you beg.

"'Pleeasee...'" he mocks you.

Then he catches your glistening eyes and trembling lips. He blinked in astonishment, taken aback by such vulnerability from you. His eyes darkened. "Move to the backseat!"

You do as he says willingly, moving to the back of the large car.

Mingyu quickly pulls the seat back upright, sliding it forward toward the steering wheel before getting out and walking around the car to the back seat. You lean back against the opposite door Mingyu came in through, biting your lips in excitement.

He grabs your ankle, pulling you down. You slide into the seat, now lying on your back as Mingyu towers over you with all his splendor and size. His broad chest covers your view of the ceiling. You feel so small under him — he has that effect on people.

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down. You kiss him again, deeply and passionately, and circle his waist with your legs. All Mingyu can think about is how you're going to be the death of him.

The slow moment doesn't last long, and he's thrusting into you again. You moan louder, feeling him deeper than before. You brush his hair out of his forehead and seek his lips again, muffling your moans against his tongue.

The sloppy kisses are constantly interrupted by broken moans. The exchange of needy looks and foreheads colliding adds something more intense to all the feelings. His scent surrounds you, making you dizzy and confused.

Mingyu thrusts harder when he feels you scratch his back.

"Is it better, baby?" you hear him asking, but all you can give as an answer is a weak nod of the head.

"M-more."

Oh, he's willing to comply.

He holds your thigh, placing it above his shoulders, and rests one arm on the window glass for support. This way he can push even deeper, and you see stars.

You can't even hold your eyes open, nor can you protest. This man has you compliant, you don't even try to fight against it. At this point, he could use you the way he wanted, and you'd thank him.

Each thrust feels like he is reorganizing you inside, molding you to his cock. You can't form any kind of thought because all you can think about is how good he's stretching you, how you could have lived so long without being fucked before.

Perhaps it's just him...

You think wanna be his forever.

You may wanna get locked down, throw the key away, and be fucked by him for all eternity — until all you can think, speak, see, feel is his beautiful huge cock inside you.

For God's sake, this round isn't even finished yet, and you already want him again!

You feel your high coming for the second time that night and involuntarily clench around him, making him grunt and go harder.

"Fuck, baby, do that again and I'll fill you up!" he growls.

That's it.

It's too much.

The depth of his voice makes your back arch. You scratched his chest and cum again with a scream. Mingyu followed you, spilling all his seed inside you.

The feeling was overwhelming, something you had never felt before — and didn't imagine experiencing so soon, let alone without being in a relationship. But when it came to Mingyu everything felt so right.

You open your eyes, scanning his face. Flushed, out of breath, his honey glistening in the afterglow.

Damn, you want this man.

He kissed you slowly, thrusting one last time as you two rode through your climax together. Maybe you were reading the situation wrong, and this was nothing more than a casual hookup, a one-night thing, but you couldn't help but feel your heart drop at the possibility.

"What are we now?"

"First, I’ll take you on a date," he answered simply.

"I think you mixed the steps up," you joke, eliciting another breathy laugh from him.

Mingyu slid out slowly, but you still shivered in sensitivity. To reward you, he left several little kisses on your face.

"Maybe. But I’ll do it right before you finally become my girlfriend," he said. "Let’s get cleaned up and take you home."

You mumble in agreement, too tired to even respond, and unwillingly you drag yourself back to the front seat. Mingyu leans forward and fastens your seatbelt for you.

He gives you one last slow and deep kiss on your lips, one that you gladly return.

[808luvrr]

Something in Bloom

pairing - single dad ! mingyu x f.reader

summary → mingyu is a single father who runs a small flower shop you visit every week to pick up arrangements for the nursing home you work at. it starts as routine.. familiar greetings, the exchange of flowers, a child who quietly grows used to your presence in the background. but somewhere between saturday mornings and shared conversations that linger a little longer than they should, something begins to shift.

word count - 7.6k

[light angst with heavy fluff / hurt-comfort slow burn]

warnings! → single parent au, child character (minsoo-8yrs), minsoo calls reader ‘mimi’, emotional healing, slow developing romance, loss of spouse mentioned, grief themes, slice of life, flower shop setting, nursing home setting, found families dynamic, no explicit content, kinda mingyu centered but still has reader pov, *additional parts will probably be written

The morning air was still cool when you started your walk, the kind of quiet Saturday that felt like it belonged to everyone else waking up slower than you.

Your tote bag was already half empty, ready to be filled again. The flower shop was always your first stop. It wasn’t even a decision anymore, it had become a solid routine for you.

The bell above the door chimed softly when you stepped in.

Warm air wrapped around you immediately. Humid from buckets of fresh water and newly trimmed stems. Damp soil lingered beneath the sweeter scents. Roses, eucalyptus,and lilies just beginning to bloom somewhere deeper in the shop.

The coolers hummed quietly along the back wall. Morning sunlight spilled through the front windows in long golden strips, catching on glass vases and droplets of water still clinging to leaves. Somewhere near the counter, an old radio played low enough to blend into the atmosphere instead of interrupting it.

The shop always looked halfway between organized and beautifully chaotic.

Bundles of flowers sat waiting to be wrapped in brown paper. Loose petals and cut stems covered the floor near the trimming station. Gardening gloves rested abandoned beside open gardening shears, and handwritten order slips were clipped sporadically around the register in a system only Mingyu seemed to fully understand.

The entire place smelled alive, not artificial or a hint of perfumed fragrance, but freshly cut flowers. Like spring itself settled into the four walls of the building.

“Mimi!”

Minsoo’s voice cut through the calm like it belonged there more than anything else. She was already up from her little chair near the counter, a coloring book half forgotten, and her small legs swinging as she turned toward you with immediate recognition.

Your smile blossomed without thinking.

“Hey, sweetheart,” you said softly. “You’ve been busy this morning.”

“I made a lot today,” she declared seriously, as if it were an official report. Pointing at the pages scattered across the table.

“Can I see?” You crouched down beside her without hesitation, and her face lit up in excitement.

She tugged the coloring book toward you like it was treasure, flipping page after page with intense focus. Uneven sunflowers, cats that she claimed were dancing, and bright scribbles of color carefully contained inside her world of lines.

“This one is my favorite,” Minsoo said, tapping a page with exaggerated pride.

“It’s really good! You picked the perfect colors.”

“That’s because I’m good at art.” She beamed, giggling at herself.

You laughed softly, letting her continue explaining each page like she was presenting an art gallery. 

She had called you Mimi since the first time she met you, a mispronunciation of jangmi (rose in korean) after you first bought a few dozen roses, and it had stuck without either of you correcting it. At this point, it didn’t feel like a nickname, it was simply who you were to her.

Behind you, the shop shifted with quiet movement and rustling sounds from the backroom.

“You’re early today.” Mingyu’s voice came from the back, low and familiar. You straightened slightly, still crouched beside Minsoo.

“I always am on Saturdays,” you said, glancing over your shoulder. “Morning rounds.”

He appeared a moment later, sleeves slightly rolled, hair still soft with sleep in a way he hadn’t fully shaken off yet. He looked tired, not dramatically, just in the way a father would.

“How are you doing?” he asked.

“I’m good, you?” you replied. 

“Same. Mostly.”

You tilted your head slightly. “What do you have for me today?”

He exhaled lightly, already moving toward the cooler that he always prepared flowers for you each Saturday morning.

“Daisies came in fresh this morning, and..” he hesitated, glancing at a small bucket near the side. “These tulips are almost at the end of their peak, but they’ve still got a few good days left. I can give them to you.”

“They’ll love those,” you said. “Especially Ms.Han. She likes simple things.”

That made him smile faintly as he pulled the bundles out, and took them to the counter. Mingyu started wrapping them carefully, pulling out the paper bags designed for easy carrying, just something meant for walking a few blocks without trouble.

You turned back to Minsoo, still crouched. She was now watching you instead of her coloring book.

“Your pictures are really pretty,” you told her again, after looking them over for a second time.

“I know,” she said matter of factly, and that made you let out a cackle.

“Very confident.”

“I learned from my dad,” she said.

“Hey!” Mingyu called from behind the counter, not even looking up.

Minsoo ignored him completely, tugging gently at the hem of your dress instead.

“Mimi,” she said, softer now. You leaned closer immediately, giving her your undivided attention.

“Hmm?”

She motioned for you to bend down further. When you did, she carefully slid something behind your ear. A small daisy. You blinked, surprised, as she flashed her cheeky grin.

“It matches your dress,” she said proudly.

You straightened slowly, fingers instinctively brushing the flower.

“Oh, does it?”

She nodded seriously. You smiled, softer this time.

“You’re the sweetest thing I’ve ever met.” And without thinking, you gently pinched her cheek.

Minsoo giggled, unbothered and delighted.

Mingyu looked over just in time, a quiet grin forming at the corner of his mouth as he tied off the last of the flowers.

For a moment, the shop felt like something more than a shop. Just life, happening neatly in small pieces.

Then his phone rang. The ringer cut through the warmth of the shop instantly. He froze for half a second before answering.

“Yeah?”

You didn’t hear the full conversation at first. Just the change in his voice, how it turned less soft. Whatever he heard made his expression tighten, his shoulders tensing from the conversation.

“What?”

He went quiet for a moment as he listened. 

“..Okay.”

Another pause.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

He ended the call and exhaled through his nose, dragging a hand through his hair. His jaw was tightening as he processed the conversation.

“What’s wrong?” you asked gently.

He hesitated, like he was already trying to rearrange the situation in his head before saying it out loud.

“My delivery driver, Chan, said the van tire blew out. And the spare’s apparently unusable.”

You frowned slightly.

“Oh no!”

“He’s delivering a wedding order,” he continued. “A big one, planned to arrive at noon. I need to fix it or it won’t make it on time.”

Silence settled for a second. Then he added, quieter as he registered his situation.

“And I don’t have anyone to watch Minsoo.”

Minsoo looked up at the mention of her name, sensing nothing but tension she didn’t fully understand. Mingyu looked between you and her, eyebrows scrunching in thought.

You didn’t even hesitate to offer help.

“I can take her with me for a few hours.”

His eyes snapped to you immediately.

“No, I- it’s fine, I’ll figure something out. I don’t want to trouble you.”

You shook your head lightly.

“You’re not troubling me at all, Mingyu.”

His expression stayed composed, but something quieter moved through it. Guilt, maybe. The kind that came from spending years trying to be everything himself and suddenly having someone offer to lighten the weight.

“I mean it,” you added. “You’ve been basically supplying half the nursing home’s flower budget for years because you refuse to let me pay properly.” A faint exhale left him, almost a laugh but not quite.

“It’s not the same.”

“It is the same,” you said simply. “And the residents will love her. She’ll probably make their entire week.”

Minsoo perked up at that.

“I will?”

You looked down at her.

“Absolutely.”

That was all it took, she smiled like it was already decided. Mingyu looked at her, then back at you. You could see it in him, not mistrust. Something quieter, like there was a threshold he didn’t cross often.

“I’ll come by as soon as I’m done to pick her up,” he said finally. 

You nodded. “You don’t need to rush. Just do what you need to do.”

He still looked uncertain, but he nodded once.

“Okay.”

You turned toward Minsoo.

“Hey, girlie,” you said, Minsoo looked up instantly. “Are you ready to hang out with me and some Halmoni’s today while your dad takes care of something important?”

“I want to,” she said quickly. “I want to go.”

You smiled at her enthusiasm and glanced back at Mingyu.

“She’ll have a blast,” you said quietly.

He exhaled, then gave a small nod, the kind that meant he had accepted something before fully feeling ready for it.

“Okay,” he said again. “Thank you.”

He handed you the wrapped flower bags carefully. You adjusted them in your hands, and then took a glance down at the little girl. 

“Do you want to bring your coloring book?”

Minsoo shook her head immediately.

“I’m okay,” she said. “I’m going to make the Halmoni’s tell me stories all day.”

A short laugh escaped you before you could stop it. Mingyu chuckled too, shaking his head slightly.

“That sounds about right,” he muttered.

You stood, adjusting the bag straps in your hands. The three of you moved toward the door almost naturally now. Like this had already happened before, like it would happen again. 

Mingyu followed, locking the front door behind the three of you. Outside, the morning had shifted slightly, a little brighter and a little louder.

“Thank you again,” he said.

You nodded once.

“No problem.”

Minsoo waved as if she was leaving for something much more important than a morning errand. And just like that, the routine broke open into something else entirely.

The garden path leading up to the nursing home was always quieter than it should’ve been.

Even on Saturdays, even when the sun was already warm enough to promise heat later, there was a softness to the walk, stone tiles slightly uneven with age, flower beds carefully maintained but never overly perfect.

Minsoo walked ahead of you like she already belonged there.

“Those are hydrangeas,” she said suddenly, pointing with certainty.

You glanced over. “That’s right.”

“And those are.. um..” She squinted at the next bed. “Pansies?”

“Good job,” you said, smiling. “Your dad would be so proud of you.”

At that, she straightened a little taller, as if she’d just received an official award. She skipped once, then twice, staying close enough to you that her hand almost brushed yours but never quite needed to hold on.

The front entrance came into view,wide glass doors, reception desk just inside, the soft hum of controlled quiet. You stepped in first and felt the air change immediately. Cooler, and faintly floral from yesterday’s arrangements still lingering in corners after being discarded.

A staff member looked up from the desk and smiled politely. “Good morning y/n! You got new deliveries?”

“Yes,” you said, adjusting the tote bag on your shoulder. “Mini arrangements for the common rooms and individual rooms.”

Her eyes flicked past you. “And who’s this little friend?”

You glanced down at Minsoo. “This is Miss Minsoo.”

Minsoo waved immediately, bright and unbothered.

“Hello!”

The staff member laughed softly. “Hi, Minsoo.”

Minsoo tilted her head, suddenly very serious. “Where are the halmonis?”

The woman blinked once, then smiled wider, clearly caught off guard.

“The residents?”

Minsoo nodded quickly. “Yes. We brought flowers.”

That earned a quiet giggle from both you and the morning receptionist.

“They’re in the social hall,” she said, pointing down the corridor. “That way.”

Minsoo didn’t wait another second. “Can I have one?” she asked you immediately, pointing at the flower bags. You didn’t hesitate, pulling out one of the smaller bouquets and placing it carefully in her hands.

“Just one,” you said. “Be gentle.”

“I will,” she promised, already turning on her heel. And then she ran, not far, just fast enough to feel like excitement rather than chaos.

The social hall opened up into soft light and scattered voices. A group of elderly women were already seated near the windows, hands folded, mid conversation when Minsoo appeared in their line of sight like she had always been part of the room.

“Hello!” she announced proudly.

Heads turned, and then, soft laughter, cooing sounds, the kind of warmth that filled spaces before words even mattered.

“Oh my goodness…”

“Who is this little peach?”

Minsoo didn’t slow down. She walked right up to the first woman and carefully handed her a flower from the bouquet.

“For you,” she said.

“Oh thank you, sweetheart,” the woman said, already smiling like her entire morning had shifted.

Across the room, you started setting down your bags at the table where staff had placed empty vases that were ready for you like always. Hands moving automatically to unwrap, trim, fill, and arrange. But your attention kept drifting back to Minsoo who was already moving to the next person.

Another flower. Another smile. Another laugh.

“Are you visiting today?” one of the women asked her.

“I am!” Minsoo said proudly. “My dad owns a flower shop. I came with Mimi.”

At that, a few heads turned in your direction. A quiet understanding that Mimi was their y/n. You smiled politely from across the room, shaking your head lightly as you kept arranging stems.

A kitchen staff member walking past you murmured, “She’s adorable.”

“She is,” you agreed softly.

Minsoo, meanwhile, was fully in her element. The older women were eating it up, leaning forward, asking her questions, letting her chatter fill the space between them.

“Do you go to school?”

“Yes.”

“Do you like flowers?”

“Yes. But I like stories more.”

That got many laughs.

Ms.Han, who you recognized immediately, leaned back in her chair, watching her closely.

“And who is Mimi to you?” she asked gently.

Minsoo didn’t even hesitate.

“She’s my dad’s friend,” she said, like it was obvious. “She always comes to get flowers for you all.”

Ms.Lee, seated beside her, smiled warmly. “That’s very kind of her.”

Minsoo leaned in suddenly, like she had something very important to share.

“I have a secret.”

The room quieted slightly in playful anticipation. You didn’t look over but you listened more closely without meaning to.

Ms. Lee leaned down slightly. “A secret?”

Minsoo nodded. Then, very loudly, not whispering at all she confessed.

“I always wondered what it would be like if Mimi lived with me and my dad.”

Your hands paused mid arrangement. Just for a second, not enough for anyone else to notice, but enough for you to digest the words. Across the room, Ms. Lee’s expression softened instantly.

“Oh… is that so?”

Minsoo nodded again, completely sincere.

Ms.Lee gently patted her head. “Mimi is a very kind person.” Minsoo smiled like that was confirmation of something she already believed.

“Yeah,” she said quietly now. “She takes care of people here. So I think she would be good at home too.”

You looked down at the vase in your hands, carefully placing stems into water you suddenly didn’t need to think about. Ms. Lee glanced up toward you, and mouthed, She’s lovely.

You gave a small, grateful smile back.

On the far side of the room, Ms. Han caught your eye and winked once, slow and deliberate. You exhaled a quiet laugh through your nose, shaking your head as you went back to arranging flowers. Soon, more residents began noticing the small burst of energy in the room.

“Who is that little one?”

“Come here, sweetheart!”

Minsoo didn’t hesitate. She moved from table to table like she had a schedule only she knew, handing out flowers, accepting compliments, laughing like she’d always been part of their mornings.

One of the older men even leaned over and slipped her a wrapped sweet, and she accepted it like a collector receiving treasure.

You made a mental note, we are absolutely doing a pat down before leaving.

Time blurred after that. The flower arrangements were finished one room at a time while Minsoo rotated between games, stories, snacks, and attention like she was keeping the entire building entertained on instinct alone.

Eventually, the noise softened after a handful of hours. When you finally looked up properly, you spotted her curled into Ms. Han’s side on a loveseat near the corner of the social hall. Minsoo was asleep, one arm still loosely holding onto a folded napkin like she hadn’t fully decided to let go of the world yet. Ms.Han looked down at her with a fond expression, and then over to you.

“She’s a lively one,” she murmured.

You smiled as you walked over, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind Minsoo’s ear. 

“She is,” you agreed softly. You then made your way back toward the front desk, checklist in hand, filling in final notes. The afternoon receptionist, Hana, glanced up at your presence.

 “She’s quite the kid.”

“She is,” you agreed. “Her father raised a very special young lady.”

The moment stretched quietly around you until the front entrance opened again. And somehow, the room felt different before you even turned around. Something warm and familiar, causing you to know who it was before you looked.

Mingyu stepped inside, white undershirt instead of his button up from this morning, the bottom just above the hem slightly wrinkled, jeans unchanged, boots still dusted faintly from earlier. His hair was slightly damp, like he’d run his hand through it too many times in heat and stress. He looked like someone who had been holding the entire day together by force.

The receptionist made a quiet sound beside you. “..Damn.”

You shot her a look and Hana cleared her throat quickly. “Oh! is that..?”

You nodded once to her before she could finish.

Mingyu lifted a hand in greeting as he continued walking in, eyes immediately finding you.

“Hey,” he said, voice tired but steady.

You smiled. “Hey.”

Behind you, Hana leaned in slightly before excusing herself entirely too quickly, whispering as she passed, “Get him, girl.” You rolled your eyes so hard it almost became a full circle. By the time you turned back, Mingyu was standing in front of you.

“I’m sorry I’m so late,” he said immediately. “Everything that could go wrong today, did.”

“It’s okay,” you said gently. “Minsoo had the best time. The residents are going to be talking about her for weeks.”

He let out a small laugh, tension loosening just slightly in his shoulders. “That sounds like her.” Then his expression shifted, searching for her. 

“Where is she?”

You tilted your head toward the social hall.

“In the corner.”

He followed your gaze, and softened instantly. There she was, curled in Ms.Han’s lap, completely asleep, small and peaceful in a way that made the entire room look quieter just by existing in it.

Mingyu exhaled. “She looks so peaceful.”

“She does,” you agreed.

He nodded once, like he was already preparing to go over.

“I’ll wake her and-”

“Let her sleep a little longer,” you said. The words made Mingyu pause for a second, not because he minded. If anything, the opposite. He’d just spent so many years being the only one thinking ahead for Minsoo that hearing someone else do it so naturally caught somewhere deep in his chest. 

You glanced toward the sleeping girl again, “She’s had a big day. She’s only been out for like twenty minutes. And she ran around a lot today.”

He looked at you for a moment, visibly caught off guard by the gentle certainty in your voice. Then his attention shifted back to Minsoo. Her cheeks were still slightly flushed from running around all afternoon, one hand tucked beneath her face while Ms.Han carefully held her steady beside her as she read from her book.

Mingyu stood there silently for a second. Taking in the fact that she was cared for here, the fact that someone else had noticed she was overtired before he had to say it out loud himself. Something softened behind his expression, as if a weight was lifted off him.

“Okay,” he murmured finally. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking around the room like he suddenly didn’t know where to put himself. Then, awkwardly, “do you.. want to show me around while she sleeps?”

A small smile formed on your face. “Yeah,” you said. “Okay.”

And just like that, the day kept going. The nursing home was quieter once you stepped away from the social hall. Not silent, never silent with these residents, but softened. The distant sound of a television somewhere down the corridor, the squeak of cart wheels against polished floors, and someone laughing two rooms over.

Mingyu followed beside you at an easy pace, hands tucked loosely into the pockets of his jeans now that the stress of the morning had finally eased off his shoulders.

You pointed down one hallway, “this wing is mostly independent residents,” you explained. “Most of them can still get around fine on their own, they just like having community around.”

Mingyu nodded quietly, taking everything in carefully. You showed him the small library tucked near the corner first, then the recreation room lined with puzzles, shelves of board games, and old records stacked neatly beside a vintage player someone’s family had donated years ago.

“We do movie nights too,” you added. “And karaoke, which sounds cute until Mr.Park starts singing trot music at full volume.”

That earned a laugh out of him. “I feel like Minsoo would love that.”

“She absolutely would.”

He smiled at that as you both continued down the hall.

“There’s art therapy twice a week,” you said, gesturing toward another room filled with watercolor paintings and clay pieces left drying on shelves. “And gardening when the weather’s nice.”

“They stay really active here.”

“We try,” you replied softly. “A lot of people think nursing homes are where life stops. But honestly..” You shrugged lightly. “Most of them still just want to laugh and gossip and complain about bad food like everyone else.”

That made him grin again. You noticed it more now, the way his face softened when he smiled fully. Less guarded, making him look younger and not so much a single dad bearing all the weight.

Eventually, the two of you stepped through the back doors leading into the center garden. Warm afternoon sunlight spilled across the stone paths. The courtyard sat enclosed in the middle of the building, surrounded by flower beds, trimmed hedges, and climbing ivy that curled around white trellises. A fountain bubbled quietly nearby, Mingyu let out a small breath as he looked around.

“This is beautiful.”

You smiled faintly, sitting down on one of the benches beneath the shade.

“The gardeners here are amazing,” you said. “The residents enjoy it when they can get their hands in the soil. Though I think they get more of a kick out of supervising and criticizing.”

He laughed under his breath as he sat beside you.

“I can believe that.”

Neither of you said anything for a while. The fountain bubbled quietly nearby while birds chirped overhead. Then you glanced toward him. “So how did you end up owning a flower shop?”

The question seemed to catch him off guard. You saw it immediately, the pause. Mingyu didn’t look uncomfortable, just as if he went far away somewhere for a moment. His eyes drifted toward the flower beds ahead before he answered quietly.

“It was my late wife’s.”

Your expression softened immediately. “Oh.” You glanced down briefly. “I didn’t mean to bring up something painful.”

“No,” he said quickly, shaking his head once. “It’s okay.”

His voice gentled after a second. “It’s been five years.” A faint exhale left him as he rubbed his hands on his jeans. “I think it’s supposed to get easier to talk about the longer time passes.”

You sat with his words for a second, because you knew what he was trying to say.

“Five years isn’t that long.” His eyes shifted toward you as you continued carefully. “And grief doesn’t really get easier.” Your fingers folded together loosely in your lap. “You just.. learn how to coexist with it better.”

Silence settled between you again, but not heavy silence. The kind where words actually landed. Mingyu stared at you for a moment longer than necessary, like he was turning your words over carefully in his head, really listening. Then he looked back out at the garden.

“She worked really hard for that shop,” he admitted quietly. “Before Minsoo was born, before-” he swallowed lightly. “Everything.” His hands rubbed together once absentmindedly. “After she passed, I didn’t know what else to do. Keeping it open just felt right. Like maybe,  if I kept it going, part of her stayed alive too.”

Your chest tightened softly at that. “That’s lovely,” you said honestly, as he glanced at you again. “You’re doing something special,” you added.

The look he gave you afterward lingered. His expression softened in a way that felt almost unguarded for the first time since you’d met him. Like your words had touched something tender he usually kept tucked away behind smiles and routines and responsibility.

For a moment, he just looked at you, and something quiet passed between the two of you in the garden silence. Neither of you looked away.

Then, almost like he caught himself there too long, he cleared his throat lightly and shifted the attention back toward you.

“What about you?” You blinked once. “Why a nursing home?”

The smile that spread across your face caught him off guard completely. It wasn’t small or restrained, it reached your eyes immediately, warming your whole expression until you looked lighter somehow. And for a second, Mingyu couldn’t do anything except look at you.

Because he realized then how rarely he’d seen someone speak about their life with that kind of genuine love. Something in his chest tightened unexpectedly as he watched you.

“My halmoni,” you said simply. He stayed quiet immediately, giving you space without interrupting. You looked out toward the fountain as you spoke. “I wasn’t much older than Minsoo when my mom passed away.”

Mingyu’s expression softened.

“It was just me and her before she got sick,” you continued. “My dad was never really in the picture.” A small laugh escaped you then, light and unashamed. “Honestly, my mom didn’t even know who he was.” You smiled faintly to yourself. “She had a very adventurous youth.”

That earned a quiet chuckle from him, not because it was funny exactly, but because of how gently you carried the memory.

“My halmoni raised me after that,” you said. “And then I lost her too when I was nineteen.”

Mingyu didn’t say anything. He just listened, really listened.

“I didn’t know anything about adulthood, I didn’t know how bills worked. I didn’t know what I wanted to do. I definitely didn’t have money for school.” You leaned back slightly against the bench. “So I worked retail. Waitressed. Sometimes both at the same time.”

He frowned faintly and you noticed. 

“I was okay,” you assured him gently. “Tired, but okay.” Then your smile softened again. “I kept the house though. My halmoni’s house.”

Mingyu watched you carefully as you spoke, completely absorbed now.

“One day after work I was walking around because I didn’t want to go home yet.” You pointed vaguely toward the building behind you. “And I ended up on this street. I saw this place and I don’t even know why, but I walked inside.” His eyes stayed fixed on you. “The first thing I saw was a group of older ladies arguing over cards,” you said, grinning now. “Like seriously arguing.”

That made him laugh softly.

“And they reminded me so much of my halmoni. So I asked if they were hiring.” You shrugged lightly. “And I’ve been here ever since.”

“How long?”

“Almost eight years now.”

His eyebrows lifted slightly.

“I worked my way up,” you continued. “Part-time manager now. The pay’s good enough that I’m comfortable.” Then your voice softened. “But honestly, the residents are what make me feel rich.”

Mingyu felt his breath catch slightly at that. You didn’t even realize the effect your words had on him.

“They fill a space in my heart they probably don’t even realize exists,” you admitted quietly. “Taking care of them kind of helped heal me too.”

He stared at you in complete awe. Because until today, you’d just been..y/n, mimi, the woman who came in for flowers every Saturday. The familiar smile across the counter. The soft dresses and gentle hands arranging bouquets.

He had never realized how much strength lived inside you. How much softness had survived despite everything.

“You’re really strong,” he said quietly, your eyes met him again. “And brave.”

You smiled faintly, reaching over without thinking to pat his hand gently where it rested on the bench between you.

“Life isn’t fair to most people,” you said softly. The warmth of your hand lingered even after you pulled away. “But I think people become strong in different ways because of what they survive.”

Your eyes drifted back toward the building. “You raised a wonderful little girl, and one day she’s going to become an amazing young woman.”

That made him grin immediately.

“Hopefully one that stops stealing flowers from my inventory.”

You laughed. “She gets that from you.”

“Absolutely not.”

The two of you laughed together softly beneath the shade of the garden trees, the heaviness of the earlier conversation settling into something gentler now.

Eventually, Mingyu glanced toward the doors.

“I should probably wake her up,” he said reluctantly. “Otherwise she won’t sleep tonight.”

You nodded as you both stood.

When you walked back inside, the social hall had grown quieter again. Ms.Han was still sitting in the loveseat, one hand holding a book while Minsoo slept tucked against her side. You paused near the front desk to finish checking a few forms while Mingyu approached carefully.

Ms.Han looked up first. “Well,” she whispered dramatically, “are you the father of this delightful little girl?”

Mingyu grinned immediately.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Ms Han smiled knowingly before gently tapping Minsoo’s shoulder.

“Sweetheart.”

Minsoo stirred slowly, blinking awake before immediately spotting her father.

“Daddy!”

She slid down off the loveseat and wrapped herself around him instantly. Mingyu caught her easily, kissing the top of her head.

“Did you have fun?”

“Yes.”

“That much?”

“Yes!”

He laughed quietly before setting her down.

“Why don’t you go thank Mimi for watching you today?”

“Okay!”

And just like that, she darted off again. Mingyu chuckled softly under his breath.

Ms.Han watched him carefully for a moment before leaning slightly closer. “You know who else is delightful?”

Mingyu glanced over instinctively.

“Who?”

Ms.Han pointed subtly toward you across the room. You were crouched slightly to Minsoo’s level, fixing a strand of hair behind her ear while she animatedly explained something with her hands.

Ms.Han smiled knowingly. “That girl has a kind soul,” she said quietly. “And she clearly adores that little peach.”

Mingyu’s gaze lingered on you, longer than he realized.

“If you don’t scoop her up,” Ms.Han continued, “someone else eventually will.”

Something unfamiliar fluttered through his chest as he watched you. Warm enough to loosen something tight inside him, uneven enough to make him aware of every beat of his own heart. And strangely youthful in a way he hadn’t experienced in years. It caught him off guard realizing how long it had been since he’d felt something this simple. This nervous. This quietly exciting. The thought almost made him laugh at himself, but the smile that spread across his face came anyway.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Ms.Han patted his arm like she already knew everything. He waved goodbye to her before walking over toward you and Minsoo.

“Ready to go?” he asked gently.

Minsoo nodded quickly. You stood back up slowly to look at Mingyu

“Thank you,” he said sincerely. “Really.”

“You’re welcome. Anytime,” you replied warmly.

His smile softened at that. Then he took Minsoo’s hand and started toward the exit. They’d only gotten a few steps away before you suddenly called out:

“Oh, and Mingyu?” He turned. “Make sure you do a pat down later. She collected a concerning amount of candy today.”

His eyebrows lifted and then Mingyu burst out laughing immediately. Before Minsoo could escape, he scooped her up into his arms.

“What are you hiding in your pockets?” he asked, shaking her lightly.

Minsoo squealed in betrayal.

“Nothing!”

“You’re suspiciously defensive.”

You laughed softly from the doorway, watching the two of them disappear down the hall together.

The apartment was quiet by the time Mingyu finally got Minsoo home.

Not late enough for exhaustion to fully settle in, but enough that the day had begun catching up to both of them. 

Minsoo had fallen asleep in the truck halfway home, one hand still shoved suspiciously into the pocket of her little cardigan despite the amount of candy he’d already confiscated. He carried her upstairs carefully. She stirred slightly against his shoulder when he pushed open the apartment door, mumbling something incoherent before immediately settling again.

Mingyu smiled faintly to himself. “Long day, huh?”

No response.

He tucked her into bed after changing her into pajamas she barely woke up for, smoothing her hair back from her forehead once she finally settled properly beneath the blankets.

For a second, he just stood there. Watching her breathe, watching how peaceful she looked after spending the entire day laughing.

“Can I go with Mimi again sometime?” Minsoo asked half asleep.

Mingyu blinked. Minsoo’s eyes were still closed, barely conscious, but the question still landed square in his chest.

“You like her that much?” he asked quietly. Minsoo nodded against the pillow.

“She feels nice.”

And that, for some reason, was the thing that unraveled him. Not because it was dramatic. Not because it meant too much too soon, but because he understood exactly what she meant.

You did feel nice.

Warm, safe, easy to be around in a way he hadn’t realized he’d been missing until today.

“We can ask her later.”

He looked down at his daughter for another long second before quietly turning off the lamp and stepping out of her room. The apartment suddenly felt too still afterward.

He washed dishes he didn’t need to wash, reorganized receipts already organized, trimmed stems in the kitchen sink from flowers he’d brought home earlier. Anything to keep his hands busy. But every thought circled back to you.

The way you crouched to Minsoo’s level every time she spoke. The way you listened when people talked. The way you spoke about grief like it was something to carry instead of conquer.

And worse, the way sitting beside you in that garden had felt natural. That terrified him more than he wanted to admit. Because five years was enough time for routines to harden, enough time to become someone who survived instead of someone who hoped. 

And yet tonight, for the first time in years, he caught himself imagining what it would feel like to see someone more often. To want someone there and the guilt hit almost immediately after.

His late wife’s laugh still lived in parts of the apartment. In Minsoo’s face and in the shop. Some days he still reached for memories before reality caught up. So why did it feel like his chest tightened now over another woman smiling at him in a garden?

He leaned both hands against the kitchen counter and exhaled slowly.

“Jesus,” he muttered under his breath. But even then, he couldn’t make himself regret the feeling entirely.

By Wednesday afternoon, he still hadn’t stopped thinking about you. Which was exactly how he found himself standing in the shop carefully wrapping flowers that were very obviously not for the nursing home.

Minsoo leaned over the counter dramatically. “Those are prettier than the old lady flowers.”

Mingyu snorted softly.

“Don’t call them old lady flowers.”

“But they are.”

“They’re arrangement flowers.”

“They’re old lady flowers.”

He sighed in defeat. Minsoo peered at the bouquet again, soft pink peonies, cream ranunculus and tiny white filler blossoms tucked carefully between them.

“Do you like her, Dad?” Minsoo asked innocently.

Mingyu nearly dropped the ribbon.

“Minsoo..”

“You made the fancy wrapping.”

“..Go put your shoes on.”

Minsoo gasped loudly.

“You do.”

“Minsoo.”

She ran away laughing before he could say anything else.

When the front desk called your name later that afternoon, you looked up from paperwork with mild confusion.

“I have visitors?” you repeated.

Hana grinned knowingly. “You’ll wanna see this.”

You frowned slightly as you walked toward the front entrance, and then immediately slowed.

Mingyu stood near the doorway holding flowers. Real flowers, wrapped neatly in pale paper. Minsoo stood beside him, swinging a pastry box proudly in both hands. The sight caught you off guard enough that you actually stopped walking for a second.

Minsoo spotted you first.

“Mimi!”

Your face softened immediately.

“Well hi,” you laughed quietly. “What are you two doing here?”

“We came to say thank you properly,” Mingyu said.

There was something slightly awkward about the way he stood there now. Less composed than usual. Almost nervous, and somehow that made your chest warm unexpectedly.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you said softly.

“I know.”

He held the bouquet out toward you.

“These are for you.”

You blinked. For a second, you genuinely didn’t move. Your eyes dropped to the flowers slowly like you were trying to process the fact they were actually yours.

Not delivering flowers. Not nursing home flowers.Not flowers you were carrying for someone else.

Yours.

Mingyu noticed your hesitation almost immediately, and his stomach dropped a little.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable-”

“No,” you interrupted just as fast. Your eyes snapped back up to his. “You didn’t.”

His expression softened slightly, though uncertainty still lingered. You looked back down at the bouquet again, almost shy now.

“It’s just.. no one’s ever given me flowers before.”” A small laugh escaped you. 

That visibly stunned him.

“What?”

You smiled awkwardly.

“I know, it sounds kind of sad when you say it out loud.”

“It’s not sad,” he said immediately.

And somehow he sounded almost offended on your behalf. You laughed softly at that.

“It’s really sweet,” you reassured him gently. “Thank you.” Your fingers brushed carefully over one of the peonies. “They’re beautiful.” Then you looked back up at him with genuine curiosity.

“How did you know I liked peonies?”

Before Mingyu could answer, Minsoo blurted out the answer. “Ms. Han!” 

You burst into laughter instantly. Mingyu laughed too, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Traitor,” he muttered toward his daughter.

“She told me your favorite flowers when I asked what hers and everyone else's were.”

Your expression softened impossibly at that, and for a second, Mingyu forgot entirely what guilt felt like. Because the look on your face.. warm, touched, genuinely happy, felt worth every confusing feeling sitting in his chest.

The weeks after Minsoo’s first visit to the nursing home settled into something none of you had exactly planned for. And yet somehow, it became routine faster than expected.

By the second Saturday, the residents were already asking where she was before you’d even made it through the front doors. By the third, staff had started setting aside snacks specifically for her. And by the fourth, Minsoo practically acted like she paid rent there.

“You’re late,” Ms. Han scolded dramatically one Saturday morning when Minsoo burst into the social hall ten minutes behind schedule.

Minsoo gasped. “I had to finish homework!”

The entire room laughed.

At this point, she had become the nursing home’s unofficial grandchild. Everyone watched after her. The nurses kept juice boxes behind the desk for her. Residents saved crossword puzzles for her to “help” with. The activities coordinator started pulling an extra chair into art classes before Minsoo even arrived. And Minsoo loved every second of it.

She played cards with the older residents like she’d known them her entire life. Painted messy watercolor flowers during activity hour. Collected stories from anyone willing to tell them. Sometimes you’d catch her curled up beside someone on a couch listening so intently it made your chest ache.

And somewhere along the way, the nursing home became another home for her too. Which, unexpectedly, changed things for Mingyu as well.

At first, he’d been hesitant to leave her there regularly. You saw it in the way he lingered during drop offs. The way he double checked his phone. The way he apologized constantly for “imposing.”

But slowly, little by little, he relaxed. He learned what it felt like to let other people help. To trust that Minsoo was safe even when he wasn’t the one directly watching her. And because of that, his world slowly expanded too.

The shop ran easier on weekends now. Orders got done faster. He didn’t have to split himself between parenting and work every second of the day. So in return, he started showing up at the nursing home more often too.

At first it was small things, fresh flowers for the front desk, potted herbs for the garden beds. Advice for the groundskeepers after noticing diseased leaves on one of the climbing roses. Then eventually, one evening after closing the shop early, he stayed to help the gardeners replant sections of the courtyard.

And after that? It just continued.

The residents adored him almost immediately, mostly because he listened to them. Even when Ms.Lee insisted the roses outside her unit needed “more emotional support.”

“She means fertilizer,” you translated once.

“I know what she means, I just think she’s very intense about these roses,” Mingyu whispered back. Ms.Lee heard him anyway.

“I heard that!”

Meanwhile, something quieter had started happening inside you too.

You noticed it in strange moments. Like when Minsoo grabbed your hand automatically crossing the parking lot. Or when she fell asleep against your shoulder during movie afternoons. Or when Mingyu showed up after work carrying dirt smudged gardening gloves and smiled at you first before anyone else.

Sometimes, briefly, you caught yourself imagining things you immediately tried to push away.

What dinner at their apartment might look like. What it would feel like hearing Minsoo running through a home every day instead of just weekends. What it might be like standing beside Mingyu in ordinary moments that had nothing to do with flowers or nursing homes.

The thoughts always startled you afterward, not because they were unwelcome, but because they felt dangerous. Too close to wanting something, and wanting things had never exactly guaranteed keeping them. So you tucked those thoughts away carefully every time they surfaced.

Until one Saturday evening, the sun was beginning to lower by the time your shift ended, the nursing home settling into its softer nighttime rhythm.

You stepped outside along the garden path, adjusting your bag higher onto your shoulder, then stopped. Mingyu was beside his truck near the curb, loading gardening tools into the bed. Your face brightened immediately.

“I didn’t know you came by today.”

He glanced up at the sound of your voice, a smile growing. The sight still did something strange to your chest every single time.

“Ms.Lee cornered me,” he explained, shutting the tailgate lightly. “Apparently the roses outside her window weren’t sufficient.”

You laughed instantly.

“She’s very passionate about her flowers.”

“She told me they looked emotionally neglected.”

“That sounds exactly like her.”

Mingyu shook his head with a quiet grin. You glanced around instinctively looking for your number one helper.

“Where’s Minsoo?” That earned a snort from him.

“She begged my friend Wonwoo to let her stay over this weekend.”

You smiled. “A sleepover?”

“She’s only interested because he told her earlier this week over a facetime call he bought the new Nintendo Switch.”

Your eyebrows lifted immediately. “Oh, so she’s a businesswoman. Strictly transactional”

“Exactly.”

You both laughed softly together, and then the conversation faded. Not awkward silence, just the simple quietness you both had begun to stand in together at times. 

Evening air drifted between you, and for the first time in a while, there was no Minsoo filling the space between your conversations. No residents, no errands, and no flower deliveries. Just you and him standing beneath the fading light.

Mingyu rubbed the back of his neck once, then again. You noticed immediately he suddenly looked nervous.

“Are you..” He cleared his throat. “Are you doing anything tonight?”

Your eyes flicked toward him fully now. He stumbled forward before you could even answer.

“I mean, if you’re free.” Another awkward breath. “You absolutely don’t have to if you’re tired or busy or just don’t want to, I just thought maybe..”

A realization settled over you slowly. Oh. He was asking you out. And somehow, seeing someone as naturally confident as Mingyu visibly panic made warmth bloom instantly in your chest. You smiled softly before he could spiral any further.

“I’m free.” He stopped talking immediately. “And dinner sounds nice.”

For a second, he just stared at you. Then relief spread across his face so openly it almost made you laugh.

“Okay,” he said quickly. “Okay. Good.”

His smile widened after. Real, bright and boyish in a way you hadn’t seen before. He moved before he could overthink it, opening the passenger door of his truck for you.

You climbed in, still smiling to yourself as he shut the door carefully behind you.

Then he walked around the back of the truck toward the driver’s side. Halfway there, hidden briefly from your view, he let out a relieved exhale and grinned helplessly to himself before climbing into the driver's seat.

[parsonkenny101-deactivated20161]

[blondeninazenik]

All y'all better be reblogging this

[ruby-dooby-doo-22]

PERIOD. I WON’T TOLERATE BIGOTS 🖕🏻