Synopsis: your brother Joshua finally lets you go to his birthday party, but the only thing you actually care about is catching the attention of a certain cowboy
Warnings: 18+ explicit sexual content, fingering, handjob, unprotected sex, public sex
Authors note: sexy cowboy mingyu fic for my besties birthday!! You can thank @slut4kwon for finally convincing me to write Mingyu smut lmao
Every year on his birthday your brother, Joshua, would throw an extravagant dress up party. It was the perfect way to end the year and for as long as you can remember, everyone with a big name attached to them would attend.
Everyone except for you.
Your job would always be to help with the prep, put out the food, arrange the chairs, make sure everyone was set up for the best night of the year, before you were forced to go home.
You had always wondered when he would finally let you go. His excuse had always been that you were too young, and then when you turned 18 it was that you didn’t have a safe way home and he didn’t want to have to worry about you all night. Even when jihoon, who always left early, offered to chaperone you the whole night and then take you home when he left, it always just led to new excuses.
You had grown up around the members of your brother's band.
Joshua was always very protective of you, and being 6 years younger than him, he never included you in things like this.
Last year, you had gotten closer than ever before. Seokmin and Seungkwan had tried to convince him, but with Seungcheol being the deciding vote, you knew you didn't stand a chance. Even Mingyu had tried to convince Joshua at one point too and that excited you more than anything.
The truth was that you didn't really care that you didn't get to go to the party last year. The fact that mingyu had vouched for you, and made it clear that he wanted you there, was all you needed.
Your childhood crush on mingyu had started a couple of years after they debuted.
You remember being 14 years old, watching the music video for mansae and being completely infatuated by him.
It never fully went away after that.
Every event, every show, every family dinner; your eyes were always on him, and part of you hoped that he noticed.
This year was different; your brother had finally invited you.
He had finally given in and you had already ditched the plans you had with your friends that weekend and decided your costume had to be top tier. You wanted to be sexy.
Being a hybe boy, your brother knew everybody. Anyone who was popular within the industry would be at this party and if you were finally going to catch the attention of the older man, you had to make sure you stood out.
And you had the perfect idea on how to do just that.
The party was in exactly a week from today, so you were cutting it close, but you decided to bombard your brother with questions anyway. You needed insider information if your plan was going to work.
“Joshyyyy, I need to pick your brains,” you say, jumping onto the couch next to your brother.
“Y/n if it's about the party, don’t make me revoke your invitation,” he whines.
“Too late, I’m already going. Plus, your friends want me there,” you press, earning an eye roll from Joshua.
“Okay, what do you need to know?”
You think for a second, trying not to make your ulterior motive too obvious. “What are you all dressing up as? I don’t want to look like shit the first time you let me go.”
“I'm going as the joker, chan is going as pikachu and Jihoon is going as a teletubby, I can’t remember the rest.”
You roll your eyes. Weirdos.
“What about mingyu?” You look down, picking at your nails, hoping he doesn’t ask why you’re suddenly interested in his band mate.
“Ummmm….a cowboy, i think,” Joshua looks over like he’s onto you. “He’s so extra isn’t he?”
You nod, agreeing with him, thankful that your brother was so innocent and naive.
Mingyu dressing as a cowboy was perfect for your plan, assuming he didn't already have a side piece, you could match perfectly with him.
You were going to be the sexiest cowgirl at this damn party.
When the night of the party finally arrives, you spend hours getting ready.
Not a single hair was out of place, your makeup was done in the perfect way to suit your face, and your outfit was hugging your frame exactly the way you wanted it to.
You had opted for a blue denim skirt, a cropped flannel and a red neckerchief.
Your cowboy boots had the perfect size heel, making you tall enough to catch Mingyu's attention.
You completed your look by carefully placing a brown suede cowboy hat on your head.
You felt good, and when you looked in the mirror, you finally didn’t see joshua’s annoying little sister anymore.
You looked like someone who was finally going to get what she wanted.
You added the finishing touches to your look — a red lip and expensive perfume — before texting your brother that you were ready.
Joshyyy<3: Me and Cheol are picking you up in 5. Meeting the others there. Be outside ready.
You grab your bag, filling it with the essentials before making your way outside to wait for the boys.
A couple minutes later, you see the familiar car pull up. Seungcheol rolls the passenger window down, both boys staring like they don’t recognise you at all.
“Oh hell no,” they both say in unison.
Joshua gets out of the car and walks over to you like a bouncer about to kick someone out of a club. “Go inside and change right now y/n, I’m so serious.”
“Absolutely not, I’m not a child,” you scorned, pushing past him to get into the back of the car.
You hear Joshua let out a heavy sigh of defeat before getting back into the driver's seat.
The journey is silent, aside from Seungcheol whistling along to whatever was playing on the radio, a welcomed distraction to the weird tension shifting through the air.
You sink into the back seat, bracing yourself for the party ahead. You'd spent hours getting ready, but it hadn’t prepared you for the fact that half the guest list was famous; and now your nerves were catching up more than ever.
Ten minutes later, Joshua pulls up to the venue, the sound of bass already bleeding into the street as partygoers spill out the doors.
As you exit the car, you're met with a face that looks ready to scold you. “Y/n, before we go in there are some ground rules okay?”
You roll your eyes, but he continues regardless.
“No wandering off, only take drinks off of me or the boys and if anyone makes a move on you, come and find me” Joshua lists.
“Yes dad, can we go in now? I'm freezing.”
He nods, taking the lead. Seungcheol holds his arm out to you and you link it with yours. “Ignore him and make sure you have fun, you look hot.”
When you enter the party, it’s not at all what you expected. There were so many people, all of them dressed in extravagant costumes. The bar was surrounded with people on all sides, and the dance floor was full of idols dancing with each other.
You cling to Cheol as he leads you over to the booth containing the other members of seventeen.
You make eye contact with mingyu right away. He was sitting in the middle of the booth next to Jihoon, who very clearly did not want to be there.
His lips curved when he saw you, like he could read your mind and knew exactly what you had planned.
“Ayyy y/n! You look so fucking sexy!” Soonyoung calls, getting up to greet you.
Joshua shoots him a scolding look “Kwon hoshi!”
You give him a quick hug and scoot into the booth, robbing the space next to mingyu right from under Jihoon.
Conversations from before you arrived continued on, and you find yourself shifting in your seat awkwardly trying to get used to the environment around you.
“We’re matching,” mingyu whispers, leaning towards you slightly.
You look up at him, his face only inches away from yours. You can’t help but smile when he doesn’t back away. “We are.”
He brushes a loose strand of hair behind your ear, a smug grin creeping up onto his face. “You planned this didn’t you.”
“How could I have planned this?” You scoff, eyes lowering down to your hands, before they meet his again.
Mingyu shrugs. You know he can see straight through you, but part of you is okay with that. Part of you wants him to see you more.
A cough from Joshua breaks the two of you out of your trance.
“Can I get you a drink?” Mingyu asks, bringing his arm down from where he had stretched it on the seat behind you.
You nod sweetly, moving your legs so he can exit the booth.
When he returns, the rest of the boys are getting up to go and dance.
“Are you going too?” He asks you, sitting down and handing you a vodka coke.
You pretend to think for a second before answering. “Not if you’re not.”
That earns you a smirk, “I think I’d rather stay right here.”
You smile and scoot slightly closer to him, your nerves easing slightly now that you have some alcohol in your system.
There was a small moment of silence between the two of you, but it didn’t take long for him to break it.
“I’m glad you came this year,” He says, putting his arm back to where it was resting behind you.
“Me too, I’ve always wanted to see you in a costume.” You look him up and down.
His costume was simple; blue jeans, a black graphic t-shirt, and a simple brown cowboy hat sitting on top of his effortlessly perfect hair.
He lets out a low chuckle, resting his free hand on your thigh. “Have you?”
Your breath hitches at the simple touch. You thought you would have to work harder to gain his attention, but here he was, giving it to you for free.
As the conversation flows, mingyu begins to rub absentminded circles onto your thigh with his thumb. You noticed him regularly checking that your brother wasn’t lurking anywhere in your eyeline.
“You have something on your leg,” you point out to him, reaching down to brush the black fluff off his jeans.
You don’t even realize what’s happening until your palm meets the hard outline of him through his jeans. The contact is brief — gone as quickly as it happened — but it leaves your pulse racing regardless.
Mingyu looks down and shifts slightly in his seat, a look of panic quickly spreading across his face.
You knew that look.
You had just finished your fourth drink, and mingyu had polished off an entire bottle of soju by himself; meaning your nerves were no longer an issue.
“Dance with me.” You blurt out, even catching yourself slightly off guard.
He quickly meets your gaze, looking like he didn’t hear you; or maybe he did and thought you were joking.
You slip your hand up the back of his neck and drag your nails across his skin. “Come on, dance with me.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea y/n.”
“Why?” You ask, you know why.
Mingyu looks down, and your gaze follows. He moves his hands to reveal the aching boner sitting in his pants.
“Oh,” you say. “Did I do that?”
“You may have helped cause it, yeah,” he whispers, covering it back up.
You turn your head to scan the room. The booth you were in was very closed off; meaning no one could see you from the dance floor, and no one would catch you unless one of the boys happened to come back.
“Maybe I can help you fix it?”
He lets out a frustrated groan, “please.”
Within seconds, your neckerchief was off and tossed over his lap. Your fingers trailed down to the button of his jeans, popping it open and freeing his hard cock from the tight grip of denim.
“Is this okay?” You ask, not wanting to do anything he isn’t comfortable with.
“More than okay,” He reassures, encouraging you to continue.
You grab hold of the base of his cock, dragging your palm up to the tip to gather the pre cum already leaking from it.
You begin to work him up and down slowly, allowing him to get used to the pace.
Mingyu’s hand grips tightly onto your thigh, digging his nails in lightly. The feeling of them pressing into your skin makes you clench your legs together; slick already coating the fabric of your thong.
You quicken your pace, keeping your eyes fixed on him, watching as his head falls back onto the seat.
“Holy fuck y/n, this feels so good,” he whimpers.
“I’ve wanted to do this for so long” you groan, fighting the urge to wrap your lips around his cock in this public space.
He lifts his head, eyes boring into yours. “Yeah? Come closer, let me feel you.”
His hands cup your thighs, pulling you closer to him while lifting one of your legs over his knee.
He snakes his hand under your skirt painfully slowly; running a finger over your clothed slit. “You’re dripping.”
You nod, your hand never once slowing on his cock.
He pushes your panties to the side, gathering your slick before bringing it up to his mouth. The view almost makes you come on the spot.
“You taste so sweet.”
Without hesitation or any preparation, he inserts a finger into you, pumping it slowly while his thumb works your clit.
You drew in a sharp breath, gripping his arm for stability. “Fuck—mingyu.”
“Feel good?”
You let out a small yelp, your movements on his dick growing sloppy.
Just as quickly as he started, he pulls his finger out of you before pulling your chin forward, lips crashing against yours.
His hand takes hold of your hair, gripping it in a way that brings you closer to him.
“We don’t have much time, I need to be inside of you” he pants against your lips. “Please tell me you want this.”
“I want this—please mingyu,” your voice comes out in a whimper.
You didn’t have time for more foreplay, or any kind of teasing. Within seconds, he had you straddling him, lips on yours like he was starved of your touch.
“Tell me if it’s too much baby and I’ll stop okay?” He reassures you, lining himself up at your entrance.
You feel the head of his cock pushing against you. Being consumed by your need, you sink down onto him.
Mingyu’s head falls back as his hands take place on your hips. They travel under your skirt before he digs all ten digits into your skin.
Buried in you to the hilt, you feel his cock twitch deep inside you.
“Fuck you’re so tight princess—Ah,” he groans, pushing his head forward to suck the skin on your neck.
You start to roll your hips on him, both of your moans being drowned out by the music. If anyone came back to the booth now, you’d be done for. But at this point, neither of you seemed to care.
“Fuck—you’re so big” you mutter.
“Shh baby I got you, let me take over.”
His grip on your hips tightens as he begins to pound up into you; moans falling from his lips with every thrust.
“I wanna see you touch yourself baby—fuck.”
You follow his orders, pushing your skirt up to rub circles into your aching clit.
You feel pressure consuming you, nearing the edge. “I’m gonna—“
“Fuck me too, let go for me baby girl.”
You moan loudly, gripping onto his shoulders for support as your orgasm takes over your body. Mingyu follows suit, spurting hot ropes inside of you.
You slump against him, your head heavy against his shoulder.
“You did so well for me baby,” he whispers into your ear, “maybe next time we can do this properly.”
You nod, unable to form words though your panting. You feel your stomach tighten, butterflies growing at the thought of a next time.
Suddenly, both of your heads shoot up as you hear footsteps approaching you.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Joshua asks, stopping dead in his tracks at the entrance to the booth.
You panic, jumping off of mingyu’s lap and smoothing your skirt out. “I was just uhhh- I was fixing his hair.”
“So why is his dick out?”
Mingyu rushes to push his slick coated length back into his pants before sitting up straight, face red.
Joshua simply shakes his head, “fucking unbelievable,” he mutters quietly before turning to walk away.
Mingyu turns to face you, his nonchalant expression from before replaced by one of embarrassment. “Oh he’s mad.”
You nod, moving closer to ease him of his nerves. You take his hand in yours, his firm grip telling you everything you needed to know.
“He’s already angry, we may as well take full advantage,” you tease, running a finger up his thigh.
His eyes drop down to the movement on his leg before flickering back up to meet your gaze. “You know, I actually prefer doggy,” he leans in closer, lips brushing yours “and you’re getting dangerously close to making me hard again.”
You smirk, basking in the knowledge that the simple touch of your finger was having that effect on him, “Back to yours then?”
Mingyu downs the rest of his drink before standing and offering his hand out to you, “lets go, I want you to suffocate me with those pretty thighs.”
You told one tiny lie about being engaged to Vernon. Now you’re spending Christmas with his entire family. Faking it should be a walk in the park, except Vernon is playing the perfect boyfriend a little too well, and it’s throwing you off your game.
Genre: fake dating, smut
Pairing: SEVENTEEN Vernon x afab!reader
Warnings: mature themes, explicit sexual content (18+) MDNI
Notes: 22k words. Loosely based on the movie The Proposal. Happy Holidays everyone! I hope you like this one <3
Disclaimer: I do not know them, nor claim they would ever in real life behave the way they were portrayed in this fic. If you see the same exact fic in a different blog, for ENHYPEN, that is me. I did not plagiarize myself. Otherwise, pls let me know.
You were halfway through a phone call when the elevator doors opened, one hand clutching your handbag as you rattled off reminders about deadlines, inventory counts, and the very real need to restock supplies before the holiday rush.
“Yes, by next week,” you said, already walking. “No, I don’t care if it’s ‘usually fine,’ I want the warehouse well-stocked and ready—”
You stepped onto the floor and kept moving, heels clicking, bag swinging. You didn’t notice the way the floor fell quiet the moment you stepped in. People scrambled back to their desks, suddenly invested in their screens, shuffling papers that did not need shuffling, answering phones that were not ringing. A few heads ducked. A few shoulders squared. No one made eye contact with the icy, headstrong, amazonian boss who had clearly woken up on the wrong side of the bed.
You.
Still mid-call, you marched straight toward your office, listening to your warehouse officer explain that the warehouse was well-stocked and ready for the holiday rush and that everything would be fine. “I’m not asking for some words of affirmation, Joe. Show me that this confidence is not unfounded. I need updated numbers by lunchtime.”
It wasn’t until you pushed open the glass door that you finally ended the call, pinching the bridge of your nose for half a second before refocusing.
“Morning!” Becca said brightly, already there, already holding out your iced coffee like an offering.
You took it without slowing down. She fell into step beside you, launching into your schedule like she always did—meetings, contracts, things that needed signing before lunch, and ones that could wait until after. You dropped into your chair, skimmed the first page of the file she handed you.
You were halfway through skimming the file when you noticed something in your periphery. You looked up and saw that there was a man standing just behind Becca. Tall. Good-looking. Broad-shouldered. Hands in his pockets. He was staring around your office like he had time to admire the view, eyes flicking over the shelves, the windows, the framed awards.
For a second, you wondered if you’d forgotten you were supposed to have a meeting with some model for your brand’s campaign.
You frowned. “Who’s your friend, Becca?”
“Oh—right! Sorry. This is—” She paused, then quickly nudged the man with her elbow
“I’m Vernon,” he said, smiling at you before Becca could finish. He gave a lazy little wave. “The intern.”
You blinked. The intern. He said it like this was a college club meeting. Or orientation. Or literally anywhere but here, where interns usually tried desperately not to be noticed. You stared at him. Then back at Becca. “Why is the intern in my office?”
Becca cleared her throat. “He’s the temp I told you about. He’ll be covering for me while I’m on maternity leave. Assisting you directly.”
You glanced back at him, unimpressed. “Is he ready for that?” you asked Becca.
“Yes. I walked him through everything,” she said quickly. “He’s picked it up really fast.”
“So he knows this isn’t a light workload? Long hours, hectic schedules, all that?”
Before you could respond, Vernon leaned forward slightly.
“You can ask me, you know,” he said. “I’m right here.”
The room went very still.
You stared at him, more surprised than offended. Most interns shrank under eye contact. Apologized. Overexplained. This one had the audacity to interrupt you, like he wasn’t face-to-face with the person everyone else avoided before coffee. For a second, you couldn’t tell if he was clueless or if he just didn’t scare easily.
You didn’t like either option. “I won’t be needing you yet,” you said flatly. “You can go.”
Vernon didn’t argue. He simply nodded once, hands dropping from his pockets as he turned toward the door. “Alright.”
And then he left. The door clicked shut behind him. You and Becca stared at it for a moment.
You exhaled through your nose and picked up your pen. “What kind of temp did you get me?”
“He’s very competent. Just a little tactless at times. And he was once…” She hesitated. “…reported to HR for insubordination.”
“Insubordination?”
“Yeah, he was. But it was all a misunderstanding.” She paused for a second and then added, “Apparently, the way he talks pissed some people off. Which was why I thought he’d be perfect for this role.”
You slowly looked up from your paperwork. “What’s that supposed to mean?
Becca grimaced, then covered her mouth. “Okay. That—yeah. That was supposed to be an inside thought.”
You scoffed, shaking your head as you went back to signing. “You’ve been working for me too long.”
She cleared her throat, tapping her tablet like she needed something to do with her hands. “Mr. Zhou just stepped into the lobby. Should we… um… go wait for him in the conference room?” she asked, already smiling.
“Fine,” you said, signing your name a little harder on the last paperwork. “But we’re unpacking that later.”
You were puzzled to see Vernon waiting by the car as soon as you stepped out of your office at noon. He looked out of place there, standing in a crisp set of suit and coat, looking like he was shooting an ad for Ralph Lauren. You were realizing in real time that he was unnecessarily too good-looking and too well-dressed to be someone’s errand boy.
He was holding Becca’s work tablet and the leather briefcase she’d usually brought to meetings.
“Where’s Becca?” you asked, not slowing down as you watched him open the car door for you.
“She’s gone,” he said, watching you settle onto the backseat. “Told me my secretary duties start today.”
“What do you mean she’s gone?”
Vernon blinked, confused. “Oh, you didn’t know? I thought she discussed this with you beforehand.”
You sighed, waved him off, and leaned back on the seat. As Vernon closed the door and rounded the car, you took your phone out and typed out an urgent message to Becca.
You: I’m docking your pay.
Vernon took the driver’s seat without ceremony, adjusted the mirror, and pulled into traffic.
“Read the documents carefully,” you said without looking up. “And pay attention during the meeting.”
“I will,” he said. “To both.”
The car ride was quiet. You reviewed the agenda on your tablet while the city slid past the windows, aware of him in your periphery—too relaxed, but not sloppy.
Your phone rang not even ten minutes into the ride and you sighed when you saw the caller ID. But answered anyway. “Hi, Grandma.”
“I just wanna remind you that you have a date this evening,” she said immediately. “You’re going, aren’t you?”
“No,” you replied. “I’m working.”
“You said that last week.”
“I was working last week too. I’m busy, Grandma. Right now, I’m heading out for a lunch meeting with suppliers.”
She clicked her tongue. “You’re always working. You can’t keep postponing your life like this. Why do you always put that damn company first?”
You pressed your lips together. “Grandma, this was your company. You put me here.”
“Excuses. When will you have a husband?” she shot back. “Or children? I’m old and dying. Do you think time is gonna wait for me? I just want to see you settle down and be happy. Is that too much to ask?”
You looked out the window. “You’re healthy. You’re strong. You’re not going anywhere.”
You heard her exhale sharply on the other line, clearly annoyed now. “If you don’t come tonight, I’ll erase your name from my will. You won’t get a single penny from me.”
“You’ve been saying that for years,” you said evenly. “Need I remind you that you only have one living relative and it’s me?”
She huffed. “Don’t test me. I might just donate my whole fortune to charity. You must go this time. I swear this one is better than the previous dates. His name is Pa—”
“I love you,” you said, cutting her off. “I’ll call you later.”
You ended the call before she could respond.
For a moment, the only sound in the car was the hum of the engine and the soft click of the turn signal. You slipped your phone back into your bag and leaned farther into the seat, already compartmentalizing the conversation the way you always did.
You caught movement in the rearview mirror. Vernon was looking at you. “Persistent grandma?” he asked when your gazes met.
You sighed, unimpressed. “Eyes on the road.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, tone mild enough to be irritating.
You let the silence stretch after that, your attention returning to the tablet in your hands. You scrolled through the agenda, noting the points you wanted addressed, the concessions you were willing to make, and the ones you absolutely were not. Vernon drove without comment, smooth and calm, like he wasn’t ferrying someone who could fire him on a whim.
You glanced up again, studying his reflection this time with intention. The angle of his jaw. The familiarity you hadn’t been able to put a finger on ever since you saw his face.
“Have we met before?” you asked.
“Yes,” he replied immediately. “We went to the same university. And met once at a freshman party.”
That checked out. You’d seen enough of him around campus for his face to register, even now. You hummed, “Knew you looked familiar. You have an unforgettable face.”
That slipped out unintentionally, making you pause. You considered taking it back, but you ultimately just decided to roll with it. You cleared your throat. “I mean—well… Have you seen yourself?”
“Sorry, what?” he asked, glancing briefly at you. “I didn’t catch that.”
But the slight smirk on his lips told you that was a lie. You rolled your eyes, then watched him for another second. “If we went to uni at the same time,” you asked, “how are you still interning? At this age?”
He grinned. “Are you discriminating?"
“I’m just asking.”
“As my boss or as someone who knew me from college?”
You exhaled through your nose, realizing now that Becca wasn’t exaggerating when she said Vernon can be annoying for some. “Forget it,” you said.
He just smiled, focusing on driving. But a few moments later, he said, “I just got out of a slave contract with my previous employer.”
You looked up. “I assume that’s an exaggeration.”
“It could be,” he replied, shrugging.
You didn’t comment. Some jobs did feel like that. You knew it, even if you’d never experienced it firsthand. You’d never been employed under someone, except when you interned for your Grandma, but even that was hardly employment. You’d always been your own boss.
The car slowed as the restaurant came into view. Vernon found a parking space easily. “We’re here,” he said as soon as the engine stopped.
You straightened, already stepping out of the vehicle. “They’re gonna give us the revised version of the contract from last time. Remember to go over it very, very carefully.”
“Got it,” he replied, gathering his things and fixing his coat as he stepped out of the car.
You paused, looked at him once with furrowed brows, then said, “Lose the coat.”
He blinked. “What? Why?”
“Just lose it,” you said, waving your hand dismissively. “You’re gonna make these people think I brought a date to this meeting.”
The realization hit him a second later. “Oh.”
His ears turned red almost immediately, the color creeping up fast enough that it caught you off guard. He looked away, cleared his throat, and shrugged out of the coat with noticeably less confidence than he’d had five seconds ago.
“Right,” he said. “Okay.”
You didn’t respond. You were already walking.
He followed a step behind. You noticed the way he kept tugging at his sleeves, the way his shoulders squared like he was suddenly conscious about his posture. It didn’t slow him down, but it made him seem less casual and more shy.
You filed that thought in the far back of your mind and pushed open the restaurant door.
Vernon settled into his role faster than you’d anticipated. He learned your schedule within days, memorizing the gaps between meetings, the calls you always took walking, the ones you preferred, seated and uninterrupted. By the first week, he stopped asking what you needed and started having it ready before you spoke. Coffee appeared when you’d skipped breakfast. Documents were summarized and tabbed—never highlighted, because you hated highlights.
He remembered dates without reminders. Flagged clauses you would’ve circled anyway. Anticipated questions before clients finished asking them. He spoke only when necessary in meetings, and when he did, it was concise enough that no one dared interrupt him.
“Your two o’clock wanted to move to three,” he said one morning, falling into step beside you as you walked down the hall. “Mr. Lee begged. Said something about traffic and divine intervention.”
“What did you tell him?”
“That divine intervention doesn’t outrank your calendar.”
You didn’t break stride. “Good.”
By the end of the second week, you—and everyone around you—had realized that you now have a second Becca, a more merciless one at that. People stopped going to you first. They went to Vernon. He filtered what mattered and killed what didn’t. When he brought you something, it was because it deserved your time. He filtered your calls ruthlessly. If something reached you, it mattered. If it didn’t, it never existed. People learned quickly that arguing with him was pointless; if Vernon said you were unavailable, then you were.
Occasionally, he tested his boundaries. Not in ways that interfered with work, but in tone.
“Do you always look like this when you’re thinking?” he asked once, watching you review a document.
You didn’t look up. “Like what.”
“Like you’re about to ruin someone’s life.”
You slid the folder toward him. “Page twelve.”
He glanced down, eyes scanning. “Ah,” he said. “There it is. I knew something was odd with this.”
In meetings, he was quiet, efficient, present without being intrusive. He passed notes when necessary, caught errors before they reached the table, and never spoke unless spoken to or unless you were about to walk into something avoidable.
“Clause eighteen,” he murmured once, sliding you a note.
You corrected the issue mid-sentence and moved on. Afterward, in the elevator, you said, “Good catch.”
His brows lifted in surprise. “Was that praise?”
“Don’t get used to it.”
“I won’t,” he said, grinning. “But I will cherish it.”
By the third week, he stopped flinching when you corrected him. By the fourth, he started correcting other people before you had to. He learned quickly what earned silence versus what earned a look. Silence meant he was safe. The look meant he had exactly one more word before his internship became a cautionary tale.
He respected that. Mostly.
“So,” he said once, handing you a folder, “do you want the bad news first or the worse news?”
You took the folder. “If you ever phrase it like that again, you’re fired.”
“Noted,” he said calmly. “Then I’ll just say this contract is trash.”
You looked up slowly. He met your gaze without flinching. “Respectfully.”
You skimmed the page. Then the next. Then the clause he’d marked with a single tab. It was, in fact, trash.
You closed the folder. “Schedule a call.”
“I already did.”
He had an irritating habit of leaning where he wasn’t supposed to. Doorframes. Desks. The back of chairs that did not belong to him. He never slouched in meetings, never interrupted, but outside of them, he carried himself like he wasn’t intimidated by anyone in the building.
Including you. Especially you.
“Do you actually read all of these,” he asked once, eyeing the stack of reports on your desk.
“Yes.”
“All of them?”
“Yes.”
He paused. “I guess you’re not like those other nepo babies who—um… nevermind.”
You lifted your pen. “Finish that sentence, Secretary Chwe.”
“Nope,” he said, chuckling nervously and retreating a step. “I’m quite attached to my paycheck, you see.”
You rolled your eyes, but Vernon kept his grin. “When will you call me by my first name?”
Your brows furrowed. “Why would I do that?”
“Well, there’s Becca. You address her not only by her first name but by her nickname.”
You tutted, shaking your head and deciding to ignore his question entirely. “Go. I don’t need you right now,” you said, waving him away.
“Yes, ma’am,” he chimed, walking away. You returned to your screen. You didn’t fire him.By the end of the month, Vernon no longer felt like a temporary replacement to your intuitive and reliable Becca. He felt like his own fixture. An irritating, unnecessarily good-looking, deeply unserious, but very competent fixture.
“Is that Armani?” you asked, just as Vernon turned the engine off.
He glanced back at you, then at his coat. “I think so? I got this as a gift for my birthday.”
You chuckled, reaching for the door. “Your clothes are too expensive for an intern.”
You stepped out of the car, eyes blinking at the blinding building right in front of you. Vernon fell into step beside you not 30 seconds later, and you noticed that he’d taken off his coat.
“You should keep it on,” you said.
He tilted his head. “But wouldn’t it make them think you brought a date to the meeting?”
You shrugged. “Maybe, but these people are worth impressing. I’m heading inside first. You go get your coat and make yourself look good.”
You were inside the building for less than two minutes when you ran into someone that made your eyes twitch. He called your name from across the lobby, his voice ringing out annoyingly.
“Is that you?” he asked when he approached you. “Well, damn. It is you.”
“Carlo,” you acknowledged, offering a curt smile.
“Oh, so you remember me,” he grinned, his eyes roving from your head to your foot, then back up to your face again, not without pausing briefly on your chest. “It’s been a while, huh?”
You nodded once, polite and brief, already angling your body toward the other direction. “It has. If you’ll excuse me, I’m on my way to a meeting.”
“Yeah, yeah, you’re always busy,” he said, waving it off. “But who isn’t?” he added, laughing out loud.
He then launched into a recap of his life since the last time you’d seen him—his job, his connections, the people he knew, the Dubai prince he was chummy with, the places he’d been. It was all very impressive, apparently. You tried to interject twice. Both attempts failed. He spoke over you like it was muscle memory.
You remembered, dimly, the disastrous blind date your Grandmother had set you up on last year. Apparently Carlo was a friend’s son who was intelligent and sweet. You gave it a chance because you’d run out of excuses to decline. But Carlo was downright obnoxious. He was preposterous, talked only about himself, and after the date, he told every mutual acquaintance you both had that you were the reason why it never worked out after the first date—as if he didn’t blow up your phone asking for another chance after you refused to go on another date with him. He’d framed your refusal like a misunderstanding, and acted like persistence was a charm.
“So anyway,” he said, finally pausing just long enough to inhale, “I was thinking maybe we could grab dinner sometime. Catch up properly.”
You spotted Vernon a few steps away. “There you are, my love,” you called out with an exaggerated sigh of relief.
Vernon looked up at the sound of your voice, just as you crossed the distance and slipped your arm around his without asking, fingers curling into the fabric of his sleeve. For a moment, you thought he might ask what was happening. But he looked at you and at the puzzled Carlo just nearby and seemed to understand the situation right away.
“Sorry,” you said, turning back to Carlo with an apologetic smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “What were you saying?”
Carlo took a step back, posture stiffening, his grin faltering as his eyes moved from Vernon’s face to his tailored clothes, then back to you. Whatever confidence he’d walked into the lobby with seemed to deflate all at once.
“Oh, by the way,” you began, turning to Vernon. “Have you met Carlo? He’s in the export business. And the son of Grandmama’s friend.”
Vernon didn’t miss a beat. He offered his hand. “Vernon,” he said pleasantly.
Carlo stared, shaking his hand. You smiled and said, “My fiancee.”
“Oh,” Carlo said. “Fiancée.”
“Yes,” you replied simply. You could already imagine how this little lie would spread among your mutual acquaintances and business spaces you shared with Carlo, given how loose-lipped he was. But all you could care about right now was getting him to leave you alone.
“Well—uh,” Carlo said, shaking Vernon’s hand a little too quickly. “Nice to meet you. You two look… great.” He stepped back, already glancing at his phone. “I should get going. Busy day. You know how it is.”
You watched him retreat without comment, hurrying through the lobby until he disappeared entirely. Only then did you exhale.
You loosened your grip on Vernon’s arm, turning toward him. “Thank you,” you began.
“Your fiancée?” said someone from behind you.
You immediately froze, recognizing the timbre, the authority, and the unmistakable tone of your Grandmother’s voice.
You turned slowly and found her standing a few feet away, handbag tucked neatly under her arm, eyes sharp and clearly amused.
“Did I hear that right,” she said, her smile widening as her gaze flicked between you and Vernon, “or am I finally losing my hearing?”
Vernon, to his credit, didn’t move. Neither did you. And somewhere between the impulsive little lie and her grin, you realized that things were about to blow out of proportion.
“OMG, Grammy. You heard that? I’m sorry. This is my assistant. I only said he was my fiancée to get that obnoxious Carlo off my back.”
You could have said that and gotten it over with. But you couldn’t. The delight on your grandmother’s face was too precious for you to shatter with the truth. So here you were, sitting across from her for an impromptu family dinner, Vernon holding your hand beside you.
You were usually the most intimidating person in any room you walked into. Boardrooms, negotiations, crowded halls full of people waiting for you to speak—none of it ever rattled you. But at that dinner table, you were painfully aware of your posture, your hands, the way your expression changed with every interaction.
Your grandmother had that effect on you. She was the only person who could ever make you nervous, especially when it involved major life decisions like this.
It didn’t help that she was beaming like she’d just won the lottery. Vernon, as it turned out, was the grandson of an old friend of hers.
“Why didn’t you tell me you knew my Grandma?” you had discreetly asked him earlier during the meeting with an investor, while your Grandmother watched from a few tables away.
She had insisted she’d wait until you finished the business meeting, and that was how you found yourselves trapped in this ‘family’ dinner.
“So,” she said, eyes bright as she looked between you and Vernon, “how did the two of you meet?”
You stiffened slightly, already bracing yourself. Vernon answered easily. “Oh, we met in college,” he said, reaching for his water. “We reconnected only recently when I started working for her.”
Your grandmother’s eyebrows rose. “Oh? And when did you start dating?”
You kept your gaze on your plate, listening. “About a month ago,” Vernon replied smoothly.
A month ago. You did the math immediately, your mind racing ahead of your body. That was the exact week he’d started working as your temporary assistant.
“And engaged already?” your grandmother said, delighted rather than suspicious.
Vernon nodded. “We didn’t see the point in waiting.”
She laughed, clapping her hands softly. “Oh, I love that. Life is too short to hesitate.” She turned to you then, eyes sharp and delighted. “So you mean to tell me you got engaged without telling me you were dating my best friend’s grandson?”
You opened your mouth, only to just close it again. Vernon cleared his throat. “It all happened rather quickly.”
“That’s what I love about it,” she said, waving a hand. “Destiny waits for no one,” she added, laughing.
You laughed too—awkwardly enough that you were sure you’d given it all away. You stared at the food on the table, suddenly finding your favorite dish from the best chef in the city unappetizing and dry.
“Does your family know?” she asked Vernon again.
Vernon hesitated, glancing at you for an answer. You had absolutely nothing to offer him. Not even a lie half-formed. So you lifted one shoulder, the smallest shrug you could manage.
He turned back to her and smiled. “Not yet. We wanted to keep it quiet for a while,” he said, shrugging lightly. “It hasn’t been very long. But I guess the secret’s out now that you know.”
Your grandmother looked like she might burst from excitement. “Oh, this is wonderful,” she said, already reaching for her phone. “They’ll be thrilled.”
You sat up straighter. “Grandma—”
“Wait,” Vernon said at the same time.
She waved both of you off, already dialing. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll just tell them quickly.”
You watched in horror as she put the phone to her ear. “Hello?” she said brightly. “Yes, yes, it’s me. You’ll never guess what I just found out.”
You sank back into your chair, heart thudding.
She spoke excitedly, voice warm and loud enough that you caught pieces of the conversation—laughter, delighted exclaims, repeated congratulations. You could hear someone else speaking on the other end, just as excited.
You didn’t catch the names, but you didn’t need to. Whoever was on the other end was laughing too. Your grandmother kept nodding along, with soft mm-hmms and delighted sighs.
“I know. I couldn’t believe it either.” She glanced at the two of you, eyes shining. “They’re here with me right now.”
Vernon didn’t move. His hand was still resting near yours on the table, close enough but not quite touching. He looked composed, if a little too still, like he’d decided that reacting would only make things worse.
Your grandmother laughed again. “Oh, don’t be dramatic. Of course it makes sense. Haven’t you always said fate has terrible timing?”
She listened for a moment, then hummed approvingly. “Yes. I’ll tell them.”
She ended the call with a satisfied tap of her finger against the screen and set her phone down carefully, as if savoring the moment. “There,” she said, pleased. “They are over the moon.”
You exhaled slowly through your nose. “Grandma—”
“You never even told them that you were seeing someone, Vernon,” she added. “They’re insisting on dinner soon. All of us.”
“That might be difficult,” he said carefully. “With work and—”
“Oh, nonsense,” she interrupted. “You’ll make time. You always do for family.”
She smiled at you then, softer and fonder. “And you,” she said, “I’m gonna excuse the fact that you kept this a secret from me.”
You pressed your lips together, offering something that might have passed for a smile.
Across the table, your grandmother reached for her glass, perfectly satisfied. Beside you, Vernon shifted just enough that his knee brushed yours under the table. Neither of you commented on it. But you both understood the same thing at the exact same time.
This had officially gone too far to undo politely.
By the time you finally parted with your grandmother outside the restaurant, you were exhausted. Not the kind of tired you felt after negotiations or long meetings, but the slow, creeping kind that sank into your bones and stayed there.
You slid into the backseat as soon as Vernon opened the door for you, barely waiting for it to close before sinking back against the leather. The city lights blurred past the windows as the car pulled away from the curb.
“That,” you said, staring at the ceiling, “went so wrong so fast.”
Vernon huffed a small laugh from the driver’s seat. “That’s one way to put it.”
You dragged a hand down your face. “I just wanted Carlo to leave me alone. I didn’t plan on my grandmother calling half the city to announce my engagement.”
“She seemed… enthusiastic.”
“Oh, trust me. That was her being restrained,” you muttered. You straightened slightly, folding your arms. “You’ve been with me long enough to know how she takes my love life very, very seriously.”
The car stopped at a red light. Vernon glanced at you through the rearview mirror. “You could let her have it for a few days,” he said casually. “Then tell her it didn’t work out. People break up all the time. We haven’t been dating long anyway. It’ll be believable.”
You sighed, nodding. “That’s the plan.”
The light turned green, and he eased back into traffic. You watched the city slide past again, your reflection faint in the glass.
“I’m sorry,” you said after a moment. “For dragging you into this. For the phone call with your folks. For—” You waved a hand vaguely. “All of it.”
Vernon shrugged, eyes on the road. “It’s fine.”
You looked at him. “You don’t have to say that.”
“No really,” he replied. “I don’t mind. I’ll just consider it part of the job.”
You rolled your eyes. “I’d hate the job if I were you.”
He tilted his head, considering. “Well,” he said, “it’s not the strangest thing I’ve been dragged into for work.”
You snorted despite yourself. The car slowed in front of your apartment building. Vernon parked and turned the engine off. You stepped out of the car, the night air cool against your skin. Behind you, Vernon followed, just another assistant at your side.
That was all it was supposed to be.
“See you in the morning, boss,” he said, handing you your bag as you both stopped in front of the elevator.
You nodded. “See you in the morning, Secretary Chwe.”
He nodded back, then stepped closer—so suddenly that you barely had time to register it before he was right there, warmth and presence crowding your space.
You froze, surprised by the proximity. For a split-second your mind was racing to process so many things at once—the closeness, the clean scent of his cologne, his steady breathing, and the way you’d been holding yours without realizing it.
Then his arm lifted past your shoulder. The elevator button clicked softly behind you.
“Oh,” you breathed, the sound escaping before you could stop it.
Vernon pulled back, his expression unreadable for a second, before his mouth curved into a smile—one that made you pause. You’d seen that smile every day for the last few weeks, but this was the first time you’d found yourself completely disarmed by it.
The elevator dinged. The doors slid open, and air rushed back into your lungs like you’d been underwater. You looked away first, stepping inside without a word.
Vernon remained outside, one hand lifting in a wave. “Good night,” he said.
The doors closed between you, sealing him out, and the last thing you saw was that damn smile.
The very next morning, you woke up to the sound of your phone ringing on the nightstand. You squinted at the screen. Grandma.
“Oh my god, what now?” you grumbled, sitting up before answering. “Good morning,” you croaked, rubbing your eyes.
“Pack your bags,” she said immediately, skipping any niceties. “We’re going away for the holidays.”
“It’s still two weeks before Christmas, Grandmama.”
“Oh, honey,” she gushed. “We’ll be spending the holidays with Vernon’s family.”
You straightened up, swiping at the alarm that had somehow joined the chaos. “Excuse me?”
“Yes. For a week. Isn’t that wonderful?”
“A WEEK?!” you echoed loudly, standing up on your bed now, clutching a fistful of your hair. “Grandma, what do you mean a week? What… Where—WITH WHOM?”
“Okay, young lady. Calm down. I can’t understand you when you’re rambling like this.”
“Grandma, I can’t—I have work. There’s the holiday promos, the rush, meetings and deals. I literally can’t even disappear for a day, let alone a whole week.”
“You have competent employees for that. I’m sure they can handle it,” she said casually. “Besides, I checked your calendar and you don’t have anything major that requires your immediate attention. Surely you can pause your micromanaging for a few days?”
“Excuse me?” you scoffed, offended. “I don’t micromanage—ugh. Not the point,” you muttered, more to yourself.
You took a deep breath and sat back on the bed. “Listen, Grandma. I haven’t met his family yet. I haven’t even been introduced as his girlfriend yet. I can’t just show up as his fiancee out of nowhere.”
“Yes, yes, I know,” she said, waving the thought away like dust. “But this is exactly the right moment. It’s the holidays.”
You paused, genuinely bewildered. “How did this even happen?”
“Oh, my dear, this wasn’t my idea,” she replied, her voice lighting up. “Vernon’s grandmother insisted.”
You let out a long, shaky breath. “Grandma—”
“Pack your bags,” she said cheerfully. “Don’t argue with me. I’ve already told them you’re coming and I already took care of everything.”
Now here you were, sitting in your office, heels tapping impatiently on the marble floor, fingers drumming against the wood of your desk. Every five seconds, you checked the clock, willing Vernon to appear.
Finally, the office door slid open, and there he was, smiling so calmly like things hadn’t blown out of proportion already. “Oh, there you are!” You exhaled sharply. “I need you to act as my fiancée. Again.”
His brows furrowed, confused. “Why?”
“Surely your family’s told you by now that I am to spend the holidays with you?” you snapped, exasperation leaking into your tone.
He shrugged. “I’ve been told. But… you don’t have to. I can get you out of it if you really hate the idea.”
You leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms. “I don’t like the idea. But you know as well as I do that dissuading my grandmother is impossible.”
He chuckled lightly. “You’ve never let anyone tell you what to do.”
You snorted, leaning forward. “I’ll have you know that my grandmother can—and will—tell me what to do. Ghosting blind dates is a walk in the park, but things like this? Yeah. No way.”
Vernon hummed in acknowledgment. “She does seem like the formidable type.”
There was a moment of silence between you, one so comical you could hear the crickets in your head. “So?” you prompted. “Will you do it, or not?”
Vernon just shrugged, eyes still playful. “Do I get a raise?”
You rolled your eyes, exasperated, but also relieved. “I’ll even make you a regular while I’m at it, Intern Chwe.”
Being the meticulous person you were, you drafted a contract days before the trip. Not a legal one, of course, but a set of rules you and Vernon both agreed to follow while pretending to be engaged. You and Vernon made it together and agreed to both of your conditions, especially involving physical intimacy.
You made a point to make sure holding hands and displays of affection were strictly in front of the family only. And of course no hugging unless absolutely necessary. There were clauses about sticking to an agreed context and backstory, and never answering major or intrusive questions without the other.
“How do you feel about sharing a bedroom?” he asked.
“Do we have to? Can’t I get my own guest room?”
Vernon shook his head. “You clearly don’t know my family at all. An engaged couple staying in separate bedrooms? They’re gonna be suspicious.”
That made sense. “Alright. But I’m taking the bed. You can have the couch. Or the floor. Whatever works.”
“Come on,” he said, mock-protesting. “It’s my house. I should get the bed.”
“And I’m your boss,” you countered. “Rule number five will be, I always win.”
“Now you’re just power tripping.”
You waved a hand dismissively. “Fifth clause. Very important.”
Vernon raised an eyebrow at said clause about ‘no kissing or hugging’. “Exceptions?” he asked casually. “Christmas games, dances, mistletoe… maybe a moment of festive goodwill?”
“Absolutely not,” you said firmly. “Exceptions are only if the world is literally ending. Or someone dies. Or—” You stopped yourself, realizing you were overexplaining. “Just don’t ask for exceptions.”
Vernon nodded, taking that in stride. “But the situation could call for a hug, you know?”
You rolled your eyes. “Let’s just not.”
“Fine. But I’m telling you, my family will notice.”
“Just what kind of family do you have?”
Apparently, the kind who were affectionate and close, and took Christmas very seriously.
Days later, you boarded a plane with your grandmother practically vibrating with excitement beside you. She chatted the entire time—about the food, about the weather, about how nice it was that you were finally dating and thinking of marriage—while you nodded along, occasionally exchanging looks with Vernon over the divider between your seats. Thankfully, first class gave you just enough privacy that you didn’t have to perform more than absolutely necessary.
When you landed, the cold winter air hit you first, stinging your cheek. You’d barely stepped outside the terminal when a pickup truck rolled to a stop in front of you, horn honking cheerfully.
A jolly older man hopped out, grinning wide. “You must be exhausted,” he said warmly, eyes immediately landing on your grandmother. “It’s been too long.”
Her face lit up in a way you didn’t see very often these days. “Look at you,” she said, holding his arm affectionately. “All grown up.”
They hugged like no time had passed at all. Behind you, Vernon carefully placed a coat over your shoulder, its warmth engulfing you almost immediately. Then he leaned in slightly, one hand still on your shoulder. “That’s my uncle.”
Vernon introduced you and you offered a hand for a shake. “Lovely to meet you.”
The entire drive into town was filled with laughter and reminiscing, stories bouncing back and forth like they’d only seen each other yesterday instead of decades ago. Apparently, his uncle had spent a good portion of his childhood around your grandmother, running around while the adults talked business and dreams and things far too big for children to understand.
You watched your grandmother from the backseat, her smile so soft and sweet, and felt something warm settle in your chest.
“Just how long have you known this family?” you asked her, half-teasing.
Vernon’s uncle laughed before she could answer. “Oh, longer than me,” he said easily. “Her and my Ma go way back. Back when I wasn’t even born yet.”
She nodded fondly. “We were already friends when we both had nothing,” she said. “We used to talk about what we’d do one day, when life finally got easier. Now, we have money. But we’re both too busy to see each other.”
You hummed, thoughtful, eyes drifting out the window. A moment later, curiosity got the better of you. You turned slightly toward Vernon. “I don’t think you’ve told me what your family does?” you asked.
He shrugged. “Merchandising.”
That was vague. You narrowed your eyes at him, but before you could press further, his uncle laughed and pointed ahead, where a tall building rose proudly in the middle of the city square. It stretched for blocks, glass gleaming even under the sky.
“That,” he said, clearly pleased, “is what my dear mother—Vernon’s grandma—built from the ground up.”
Your breath caught. It was a shopping mall. Not just any mall, either. You recognized the name immediately. You’d seen more than a few of them back home, even had business with them!
Slowly, you turned to look at Vernon, scanning him from head to toe like you were seeing him for the first time.
He noticed. “What?”
“Merchandising?” you said flatly.
He shrugged again, entirely unapologetic. You leaned back in your seat, stunned, eyes flicking back to the building as it disappeared behind you.
Great. Of course you’d accidentally gotten fake-engaged into another powerful family.
When the truck finally came to a stop, you stepped down onto solid ground and immediately turned to Vernon, catching him by the sleeve before he could move too far ahead.
“Wait,” you said under your breath. “Why didn’t you tell me you were rich?”
He blinked, genuinely taken aback. “What?”
“That mall,” you said flatly. “The one your family runs. You don’t just forget to mention that, not when you know we’re retail partners with them.”
Vernon huffed a laugh. “You never asked. And besides, I’m not rich. My family is.”
You stared at him. “That’s not an answer.”
“It is,” he said mildly. “Just not one you like.”
You scoffed, lowering your voice even further. “Then why are you working as an intern? In my company. For—” you gestured vaguely between the two of you, “minimum pay and maximum suffering?”
His mouth opened, like he was about to say something but his uncle’s voice came booming from a few steps away. “Vernon!”
He looked over his shoulder. “Coming,” he replied easily, then glanced back at you. “Come on.”
You followed them down the pier, heels clicking against weathered wood as the sea air wrapped around you. Only when you reached the edge did you finally understand why everyone had stopped.
A sailboat waited at the dock, white and pristine, bobbing gently against the water. You slowed to a stop.
“Why are we getting on a boat?”
Vernon glanced at the sailboat, then back at you, a smirk tugging at his mouth. “My family thinks we’re better than everyone else,” he said, “so they bought a whole island and decided to live far away from the commoners.”
You stopped walking altogether. “I’m sorry—what?”
His uncle let out a bark of laughter, clapping a hand on Vernon’s shoulder. “That’s not true at all,” he said. “We didn’t move there. It’s just for family gatherings. Holidays. Reunions. That sort of thing.”
“And no, we don’t own the whole island,” his uncle added, looking out into the horizon, one hand on his hip. “Only half of it.”
Like that made it less unreasonable.
You’d spent years thinking your grandmother was extravagant—buying properties she rarely stayed in, collecting things simply because she could. But apparently, somewhere two thousand miles away, another woman had been doing the exact same thing.
No wonder they’re friends.
Vernon hovered beside you now, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his presence without looking at him. “You okay?” he asked quietly.
You opened your eyes. “I’m fine.”
He smiled at that, then held a hand out toward you. You hesitated for half a second, narrowing your eyes at him, then just as quickly, remembered the whole happily in love act had officially begun. So you took his hand and let him help you aboard the boat.
You had a feeling this week is going to be a lot harder than you’d anticipated.
The ride out to the island was mercifully short. The boat cut smoothly across the water, cold wind biting at your cheeks until your eyes watered. You pulled your coat tighter around yourself, breath fogging faintly in front of you.
Someone was already waiting there. A girl stood at the edge of the dock, bundled in a thick coat and scarf, waving with both arms like she didn’t feel the cold at all.
“That’s my sister,” Vernon said beside you. “Sofia.”
The moment your feet hit the dock, Sofia made a beeline for him, throwing her arms around his neck without hesitation. “You’re alive,” she said dramatically. “I was starting to think you’d fallen off the face of the earth.”
Vernon laughed, hugging her back. “You facetimed me three days ago.”
“Three days is a long time,” she shot back, then said something else under her breath that made him groan and flick her forehead lightly. You didn’t catch the words, but the sight of their teasing and laughter made your chest feel oddly warm.
Then Vernon turned slightly and gestured toward you. “This is—” He paused for half a second, then continued smoothly. “My girlfriend.”
Sofia’s eyes snapped to you, sharp and curious, then widened with unmistakable delight. “Girlfriend,” she said slowly, grinning mischievously. “That’s not what I heard,” she added in a sing-song.
Vernon sighed. “Please be normal. Don’t embarrass me.”
“Welcome,” Sofia said cheerfully, offering a hug which you returned awkwardly. Then she pulled back just enough to study your face. “Wow. You’re very pretty. Why would you wanna marry that guy?”
“Alright,” Vernon interjected, tugging Sofia from behind by her jacket collar. “That’s enough. Go away.”
“What? I think she’s too good for you.” She turned to you. “You sure you don’t wanna change your mind?”
“Stop,” he chided softly, chuckling, “Don’t discourage her. She might just change her mind. Nothing’s decided yet.”
“Oh, what nonsense.”
The voice came from behind Sofia—calm, amused, unmistakably unimpressed. A woman stepped forward, elegant in every sense of the word, eyes narrowing playfully as she looked Vernon over.
“You left a perfectly good position in the family business saying you wanted to fend for yourself,” she continued, “and now you come home with a fiancée?” Her lips curved into a smile. “You didn’t even wait a year before crawling back.”
You were taken aback, instinctively scooting closer to Vernon after what you heard. In your mind, you were wondering who this was and why she seemed to dislike him.
But beside you, Vernon merely sighed, shook his head in exasperation, and told you, “This is my mom.”
You blinked, momentarily caught off-guard. Then it immediately clicked that this might be how they normally talked to each other, and all in good fun, you assumed.
His mother didn’t give you much time to dwell on it. Her attention shifted to you immediately, her expression softening as she stepped closer and pulled you into a hug before you could react.
“Oh,” you exclaimed. Behind her, you mouthed to Vernon, ’Is this normal?’
He just shrugged, a smile playing on his lips. “Welcome,” she said warmly. “We’re so happy you’re here.”
You laughed softly, a little breathless, returning the hug despite the nerves curling in your stomach. And then everything moved at once.
You were ushered forward, names thrown at you faster than you could catch them—aunts, cousins, someone’s partner, someone else’s child—smiles and greetings blurring together as you were guided further into the property. The words ‘Vernon’s fiancee’ kept echoing in your ears, and you felt a little lightheaded as you realized that lie felt bigger by the second, ballooning with every new face and every fond look directed your way.
Warm air hit you the moment you stepped inside the house, carrying the smell of food and something sweet. It was massive, but you barely had time to take it in before you heard someone call out your grandmother’s nickname.
“Oh my goodness,” a voice exclaimed, followed by hurried footsteps.
An elderly woman appeared with her arms already open, and your grandmother’s face lit up like a sunrise. They met in the middle of the room, hugging tightly, laughing, talking over each other all at once.
You watched them fondly, feeling warm all over and knowing it wasn’t because of the central heating. Then the noise swelled again around you, and you were being pulled into a hug by Vernon’s grandmother who had affectionately asked you to call her ‘Nana’.
Eventually—somehow—you and Vernon finally escaped everybody’s attention and you found yourself trailing behind him aas he led you down a quieter hallway. You passed through wide corridors, went up several flights of staircases, before he finally stopped in front of a wooden door that looked like every other one in the hall.
“Come on in,” he said, pushing the door open and letting you step inside first.
The room was spacious, sunlight spilling through tall windowsr. A queen-sized bed sat at the center, dressed in crisp white linens under fluffy navy blue duvets. A thick rug covered the hardwood floor, and a small writing desk sat neatly in the corner. A fireplace along one wall had a few framed family photos on its mantle. There was also a couch just in front of the fireplace, and you noticed a subtle scent of pine and cinnamon lingering faintly in the room.
“How big is your family?” you asked, your gaze drifting around, taking in the comfort and scale of the space.
“Not very,” he said, hauling the last of your luggage over to the corner and setting it down with ease. “Nana has five kids, all married with kids. And most of my older cousins are married too, so I’ve got eight nieces and nephews.”
“Wow. Are there like, thirty of you?”
“Almost thirty,” he said, shrugging, a small smile tugging at his lips. “If everyone comes home for the holidays this year, you’re looking at twenty-eight Chwes under one roof.”
“That’s a lot of people,” you murmured, scanning the room.
“What about you?” he asked.
“Well, my dad was an only child who had only one kid,” you replied, leaning slightly against the desk. “So, no aunts and uncles for me. No horde of cousins either.”
Vernon glanced at you from the doorway, tilting his head slightly. “Right, why didn’t your parents come here with you? I assume they’re thrilled that their only child is engaged.”
You froze, realizing in that moment that you’d never actually told him your parents had passed. Before you could answer, a sharp knock came at the door, swinging open just as quickly without really waiting for anyone to respond.
“Hello! I hope I’m not disturbing anything,” a warm, lively voice called out. Vernon’s mother stepped inside, carrying a tray laden with small snacks and a thermos of tea.
“No. We were just settling in,” you answered, trying to sound normal.
“I figured you’d be hungry after that long journey,” she said brightly, setting the tray down. She turned her gaze on you, eyes sparkling with curiosity. “How are you feeling? You’ve traveled so far! Are you comfortable? Did you eat enough on the plane? Oh, do you like sweets?”
You opened your mouth, then closed it again, blinking at the rapid-fire questions, completely overwhelmed.
“Oh, and I’m so sorry about the chaos,” she said, smiling as she poured tea into the teacup. “Our family tends to overreact. Especially with Vernon being the only man in the family who hasn’t married yet. Everyone’s just excited to meet you.”
You felt a genuine warmth spread through your chest. “Thank you,” you said softly, taking a small step closer to accept the cup she was offering.
“And how is my son? Is he good to you? Does he treat you well?”
“Oh, he’s… wonderful. He takes care of everything for me,” you replied, and in a way, what you said was true.
“As he should,” she chimed, looking proud. “He must have been really good to you for you to decide to get married shortly after dating. OH!” She exclaimed, practically jumping in her seat. “You haven’t shown us your engagement ring yet!”
You froze, eyes flitting to Vernon across the room. He too looked surprised. You were both realizing in real-time that you had forgotten one, if not the most important thing about this whole engagement thing.
The damn ring!
“Is this it?” his mother asked, reaching for your hand where your default favorite ring to wear wrapped daintily on your finger.
You glanced sideways at Vernon, your expression screaming Help me.
“Alright, Mom, we’re tired. We need some rest. Please give us some space,” said Vernon, walking over and gently tugging her mom away from you.
“Oh, fine,” she said, still beaming as her son dragged her all the way out of the door. “But you need to tell me everything later!”
“Okay, bye-bye,” Vernon said before closing the door to her face.
The silence that followed was like a breath of fresh air. You slumped onto the couch, exhaling a long, tired breath. “I can’t believe you forgot about the ring.”
“Nah, I think that’s on you,” he said casually, sitting on the edge of the bed. “This whole thing was your idea. You should have known getting engaged includes getting a ring.”
“Are you saying you didn’t know that?”
Vernon paused, head tilting, deep in thought. You sighed and waved a hand dismissively. “Forget it. Where’s the contract? Let’s go over it one more time.”
Vernon laid it out on the desk and went through the rules you’d carefully set up—holding hands only in front of family, no hugging, no kissing, agreed backstory, a clear understanding of what questions could be answered and which ones required a unanimous decision, and most importantly, telling everyone after the holidays that things didn’t work out and you had to break up.
You came to the clause about the bed, and after a short discussion, agreed to alternate each night between the bed and the couch.
“Alright, get some rest,” he said after, standing up and walking toward the door. “maybe a shower if you’d like.”
You raised a hand. “Wait, where are you going? You’re not allowed to leave me alone. It’s in the contract. Rule number eight.”
His brows furrowed. “You okay about me being in the room while you shower and get dressed?”
Your cheeks heat up instantly. “Okay. You can go,” you said calmly.
He chuckled softly, hands in his pockets, turning to the door again. “I’ll just check out the field, see what’s there to expect. Don’t worry. I won’t be long,” he beamed, giving a small wave before closing the door.
By the end of that night, the engagement ring situation had been settled. You’d stared down at the ring already on your finger and said, “We can just say this is it.”
Vernon had squinted at it, thoughtful. “It doesn’t look like an engagement ring.”
You lifted your chin. “It does. The rock is a diamond. Just smaller than what engagement rings usually have. Do you have a better idea?” you shot back.
He didn’t. So that was that. The ring was promoted on the spot, its significance upgraded without its consent, and you both agreed never to question it again unless absolutely necessary. Preferably never.
And then the week began and nothing could have prepared you for what the holidays looked like in his family.
It was loud. Doors were always opening, someone was always calling out from another room, laughter echoing down hallways. There were meals that turned into three-hour affairs, dishes clattering, voices overlapping, debates breaking out over the most insignificant things. Someone was always touching someone else—an arm around a shoulder, fingers laced together, hair ruffled in passing. Affection here wasn’t saved for special moments. It was everywhere.
It was nothing like the holidays you knew.
Christmas, to you, had always been quiet. A peaceful dinner with your grandmother. Soft music playing in the background. Catching up, exchanging gifts, sitting side by side on the couch with wine glasses until you both got sleepy and called it a night.
Here, Christmas started days early and showed no signs of slowing down.
You were fed constantly. Asked questions constantly. Complimented, hugged, pulled into conversations you barely understood, handed drinks you didn’t ask for. At some point, someone insisted you had to try a dessert because it was “Vernon’s favorite growing up,” and suddenly he was there beside you, watching your reaction.
That was another problem entirely. Vernon was a little too good at this.
He held your hand casually, like it was second nature. Thumb brushing over your knuckles without thinking. He leaned in when people spoke to you, an arm slipping around your waist like muscle memory. He remembered to pull out your chair, to pass you food first, to check if you were cold before grabbing you a sweater.
None of it felt forced. If anything, you were the awkward one. “How are you so good at this?”
He glanced at you, amused. “Good at what?”
“This,” you said vaguely, gesturing between the two of you. “The loving boyfriend thing. It’s weird!”
His mouth twitched. “Would you rather I be awkward and obvious like you?”
You scoffed. “I am not obvious.”
“You flinch every time I touch you.”
“That’s because you don’t give me a heads up,” you hissed.
He just smiled, infuriatingly smug, and reached for your hand again as someone walked past. “Real couples don’t need a heads up for something like this,” he said, lifting your joined hands, then pressing a soft kiss on the back of your hand.
“What are you doing?” you deadpanned, but the smile on his lips remained.
“Nana and your grandma are looking right at us,” he said.
You turned your head to said direction, and found that they were, in fact, not looking. You scoffed, pulled your hand back and glared at him. “I’m docking your pay for this month.”
“You really think I need it?” he asked smugly, spreading his arms in a grand gesture.
You grimaced, taken aback by an arrogance you’d never seen in him before. “Stop. It’s your family’s, not yours.”
“Well, I’m part of this family, so…” he replied, shrugging arrogantly. You snorted, rolling your eyes but not denying your laugh.
Vernon has always been popular in your company. You noticed that much after weeks of having him beside you everyday. People were always ogling him, heads turned whenever he passed by, followed by giggles and dreamy sighs. It was different from when it was just you. Most of the time, people tried to avoid eye contact with you and turned the other way when they saw you coming.
Of course you knew why he was popular—it has all to do with his good-looks. You tried, but you could never deny that his appearance was, in fact, out of this world. Not to mention he’s tall, has good genes, and is intelligent. But other than that, there wasn’t much you could say about him as a person. You didn’t really know what he was like outside of work, after all. You never paid him that much attention unless he was giving you a rundown of the day’s agenda.
But here, in his home, surrounded by his family, you started noticing him more—not as your assistant, not even as your fake fiancée—but as someone in his own world. You saw the way he laughed freely here, all toothy and loud. The way he let his nieces climb all over him, how he listened when his grandmother spoke, how his mother scolded him and kissed his cheek in the same breath.
He was warm here. Soft and gentle in a way you’d never seen at work. And he was always close to you. His hand would find the small of your back in crowded rooms. He’d tuck you in beside him on couches, offer you food before himself, glance at you like he was checking if you were still okay. Sometimes you caught him watching you when he thought you weren’t looking, his eyes gentle and unreadable.
You told yourself it was part of the act. But as the days passed, surrounded by noise and laughter and far too much affection, you started feeling like you were the one pretending the hardest.
“You ready?” he asked on the morning of the 23rd.
You’d just finished touching up your makeup. “Yes.”
“Okay good. Let’s go. Everyone’s waiting.”
You hesitated, retracting your hand when he reached for it. Vernon looked at you like he was over it. “Well? Come on then.”
“It’s just…” you huffed, gesturing vaguely. “It’s a family pictorial. I’m not exactly… family.”
Vernon chuckled, reaching for your hand again. “We’ve talked about this. It’s not that deep.”
Except it was. You couldn’t fathom how Vernon could be so calm about this whole thing. Not just the family pictorial, but the whole sham of an engagement you two were in.
“I can hear you thinking. Stop that,” he prompted, tugging you by the hand, all the way out of the bedroom.
The house was full. Not metaphorically—literally full. Every bedroom was occupied, couches were claimed, extra chairs pulled out from storage, voices overlapping in every corner of the house. The entire family had arrived, cousins and partners and children. You’d naturally been absorbed into it, everyone’s basically been treating you like family.
They had a tradition, apparently. A family photo every Christmas. Same spot, same arrangement, different years. It was said to always happen every morning of the 23rd, two days before Christmas. And everyone took it seriously, dressing up with intent and looking their best.
“You can’t not join,” Vernon reminded you, steering you toward the center of the room. “That’d be weird. Am I supposed to tell everyone, ‘this is a fake engagement so she’s skipping out’?”
You lowered your voice as people shuffled around you, calling names, arguing about height order. “That’s the thing. This is fake and temporary, but the photo we’re taking is gonna live forever in your family albums. Immortalized and revisited every year.”
He laughed softly, like it hadn’t even occurred to him that this could be a problem. “If you really feel that bad about it,” he said, shrugging, “you could always marry me for real. Clear your conscience.”
You gave him a deadpan look. He simply grinned, completely unrepentant, then gently nudged you forward as someone called his name again.
By then, it was too late to back out. You let yourself be placed beside him, his arm slipping easily around your back like it belonged there.
The camera flashed.And just like that, this Christmas was immortalized as the year Vernon brought home a girl. If you didn’t get caught in the lie, then it would be the year he brought home a fiancée and things didn’t work out. If you did get caught, then it would still be the year he brought home a fiancée, but a fake one.Either way. It would be humiliating for him.
You thought that would be the end of it. But later, after breakfast, when the living room had devolved into noise and laughter and people sprawled across every available surface, Sofia pulled out a Polaroid camera.
“Oh, we’re doing couples,” she announced. “This is non-negotiable.”
Groans followed, and some cheers. You felt Vernon’s hand find yours before you’d even fully processed what was happening, his fingers lacing with yours like muscle memory.
“You weren’t kidding,” you muttered under your breath. “Your family really does love each other.”
“You love us too,” he murmured back, grinning.
“I’ve known you people for a week,” you retorted, scoffing. But then, looking around, you added, “But yeah. You guys are cool.”
You were herded onto the couch together, shoulders pressed close. Sofia crouched in front of you, aiming the camera. She looked into the camera, then at the two of you, brows furrowed.
“Are you guys really dating?” she asked, and you felt your heart drop to the floor. For a second, you wondered if you got caught, but then she added, “Scoot closer. This isn’t the 1800s.”
You chuckled and it came out strained. Vernon’s arm snaked around your waist, making you stiffen and glance at him. He gave it a gentle squeeze, urging you to relax. So you tried.
“Kiss!” someone shouted from behind, followed by a chorus of hoots and whistles.
“That’s enough,” Vernon said lightly, but firmly. “You’re not getting a show.”
There were groans. Booing. Someone yelled that he was no fun. He just shrugged like none of it bothered him.
“Smile!” Sofia prompted.
You smiled without thinking. Then the camera clicked, and the photo slid out with a soft whirr.
Vernon didn’t move right away. Neither did you. When you glanced at him, he was already looking at you. You blinked. “What?”
“Nothing,” he replied, eyes gleaming, a smile playing on his lips. You stared back, brows furrowing, confused at the attention he was giving you.
You waited a second. Then another. The smile on his lips didn’t change, it just stayed there, sweet and knowing, like he was in on something you weren’t.
Heat crept up your neck. You shifted slightly on the couch, suddenly very aware of how close you were sitting, of his arm still resting behind you. “Why are you staring at me?”
He hummed softly, like he was thinking about it. But he still didn’t answer. So you stopped looking away. If he was going to stare, then fine. You could stare too.
But that was a bad idea. The noise around you slowly faded while you held his gaze, your heart thudding louder and louder with every passing second. His expression changed then, and you couldn’t tell what it meant. It was something between amusement and surprise.
Click!
You both broke at the sound, turning toward his sister.
“Oh,” Sofia said, already sprinting toward the tree just across the room. “This one’s going on the tree!”
Everyone eventually drifted off to do their own thing. The kids bundled themselves up and tore out into the snow, their shrieks of laughter muffled by scarves and knit hats. You stayed inside, lounging on one of the couches near the wide living room windows, a warm mug cradled between your palms as you watched them tumble and recover and tumble again.
Nana sat beside you with a knitted blanket over her lap, while your grandma sat across from you, glasses perched low on her nose.
“They used to do that too,” your grandma said fondly, nodding toward the window. “Run around like little monsters until we had to drag them back inside.”
You smiled. “Who?”
“Your father,” Nana replied with a smile. “And my kids. Every summer, without fail. They’d come stay here for weeks. This place was a rental at the time. We didn’t have enough money yet to purchase it.”
Your attention sharpened. You hadn’t heard much about that time—just fragments, half-remembered anecdotes your grandmother would mention in passing.
“Oh yes,” your grandmother chimed in. “We saved up a few months of salary just to rent this out for summer,” she added, laughing heartily.
Nana nodded, looking outside. “They were inseparable. Always muddy, always hungry. Your father was so polite, though. Even as a boy.”
Grandma chuckled. “Polite until he got comfortable.”
You laughed softly, the sound surprising you. “That sounds like him.”
“They were happy summers,” Nana continued, her voice warm with memory. “Those were good days. This place witnessed those kids grow up. Your mom and dad got engaged here.”
The room fell into a gentle hush, that subtle heaviness creeping in. You knew it all too well. It always happened whenever your parents were brought into the conversation. Nana reached out and patted your knee, her touch gentle and affectionate.
“You must miss them very much,” she said softly.
You swallowed, then nodded. “I do. But it’s okay. Really.” You managed a small smile. “I was young. I barely remember some things.”
That wasn’t entirely true—but it was the version you’d learned to give people, the one that made them stop looking at you like you might shatter.
Nana studied you for a moment, eyes kind but knowing. “Still,” she said, “we’re glad you’re here. You’re family too, you know.”
You blinked, throat tightening unexpectedly. “Thank you,” you said, meaning it more than you could explain.
Then, as if sensing the mood had sunk too low, your grandma straightened a little and clapped her hands together lightly. “Well! Speaking of family,” she said brightly, “have you two thought about where you’ll get married?”
“I—what?” you blurted before you could stop yourself.
“Oh, don’t look so shocked,” your grandma laughed. “This is not an unexpected subject.”
You chuckled awkwardly. “No. No, it’s not. I just—we… Vernon and I haven’t discussed it yet.”
“But you’re gonna get married anyway, aren’t you?” Nana asked, placing a hand on your arm. “Why wait? You could do it here. After Christmas. The snow would be beautiful.”
“Oh, I love winter weddings,” your grandma gushed.
“I do too!” Nana agreed, also gushing. “My youngest had one and it was majestic!”
Your mind scrambled, panic blooming fast. After Christmas? Here? You could practically feel the lie ballooning again, threatening to burst.
“I think that might be a little—” you started, glancing desperately around the room, looking for Vernon.
“Oh, of course we’ll leave that up to you two,” said Nana, giggling. “But think about it and let us know. I know a good organizer who can give us an amazing event in short notice.”
Right on cue, the front door opened. Cold air rushed in along with laughter, Vernon’s uncle stomping snow off his boots as Vernon followed behind him, cheeks flushed from the cold.
“Perfect conditions out there,” his uncle announced cheerfully. “Snow uphill is just right. We can go sledding today!”
The kids immediately erupted, cheers echoing through the house. Vernon’s gaze flicked to you, taking you in—your posture, your pallid face and horrified expression—and quickly understood that you needed him.
“Hello, ladies,” he greeted, kissing his Nana on the cheek and your grandma too. “I hope you’re not bullying my fiancee.”
They both chuckled, waving their hands. “Oh, we’re just talking,” Nana said, smiling.
Vernon turned to you. “Wanna go sledding?”
“Yes,” you exclaimed with enthusiasm, not because you wanted to go but because you couldn’t wait to get out of there. “I love sledding.”
“Then we should go before they destroy the hill,” he smiled, offering a hand.
Nana laughed, waving a hand. “Go on, go. We’ll talk weddings later.”
You nearly tripped over your own feet standing up. Vernon fell into step beside you as you walked toward the main door, leaning in just enough to murmur, “You okay?”
“Pretty sure I was this close to spontaneously combusting,” you whispered back. “But yeah. I’m okay.”
Outside, the cold bit through your coat immediately. The sky was pale and endless, the snow untouched and glittering. Laughter was echoing from the hill as kids dragged sleds uphill.
Vernon handed you a pair of gloves without comment. You took them automatically, slipping them on. “Our grandmas suggested we get married here, just after Christmas. Apparently they both love winter weddings.”
“Oh, wow. What did you say to that?” he asked, walking over to fix your bonnet.
You scoffed, then rolled your eyes, letting him tie the laces of your bonnet under your chin. “What do you think? Couldn’t even get a word in. They were taking a mile a minute.”
He chuckled softly, patting your head after he was done with the laces. “Don’t mind them. Ultimately, the decision would be up to us. They can’t force us to do anything.”
You hummed to that, agreeing. Then you looked up at his hand, still sitting on your head. “You’re getting comfortable, Secretary Chwe.”
He grinned, defiant, not moving his hand away as he leaned down to say, “Except I’m not Secretary Chwe right now. I’m your baby.”
You grimaced, swatting his hand away. “Ew. As if.”
“Ah, it wasn’t ‘baby’. What was it, again?” he teased, walking backward. “My love, was it?”
You scowled, running after him to hit him. But he dodged easily. “You’re so annoying. I’m firing you first thing when we get back.”
“No, you won’t,” he grinned, holding out a hand. “You’re not gonna find a secretary who can do better than me.”
You scoffed, but you knew he was right. “Only for now,” you retorted. “As soon as Becca’s back, you’re out,” you added, then took his hand and followed him into the snow.
Sledding, apparently, was a two-person activity. You found that out only after everyone had already scattered across the hill, pairs forming naturally.
“Oh, I’m good,” you said quickly, hanging back near the fence. “I’ll just… watch.”
Vernon turned toward you, breath fogging in the cold. “You don’t wanna try?”
“I’m perfectly content being moral support,” you replied, hands tucked into your coat sleeves. “Very enthusiastic moral support.”
“Come on. It’s fun. You’re gonna love it,” he offered, smiling. Then he held a hand out to you, palm up.
“C’mon,” he said again. “One ride.”
You hesitated. You really did. You even glanced back toward the house, like the contract might physically manifest and slap his hand away for you. But then he tilted his head slightly, arm still extended, that stupid smile on his lips, and you sighed.
“Fine,” you muttered, stepping forward. “But hands around me is against the rules.”
He lifted a brow. “We’re sledding. I have to hold you.”
You considered that for a second, then nodded. “Alright. Compromise.”
You followed him, letting him guide you toward one of the sleds waiting at the top of the hill. The snow was packed down from use. You sat down first, legs tucked in, bracing yourself.
Vernon climbed on behind you and you stiffened immediately as his knees bracketed your hips, your back pressing flush against his chest through layers of winter coats.
“Relax,” he murmured, his voice too close to your ear that it made the hair on your neck rise.
“I am relaxed,” you blurted, which was a blatant lie.
His hands hovered for a second, like he was giving you time to object. When you didn’t, he placed them carefully at your sides instead of fully around you, fingers gripping the edge of the sled.
“See?” he whispered in your ear, and you felt that in the way your heart started racing. “No rules broken.”
Your heart was already pounding like you were halfway down the hill. “Just… don’t move them,” you warned.
“I won’t.”
The sled jerked forward. Snow rushed past in a blur as gravity took over, the world tilting, the cold air biting at your cheeks. You gasped, half-laughing, half-panicking as the speed picked up.
Behind you, Vernon laughed too, his breath warm where it brushed your ear. The sled hit a small bump, and you jolted back instinctively. His arm tightened at your side—not wrapping, but close enough that you felt it anyway.
“You okay?” he asked.
You nodded, even though he couldn’t see it. “Yeah!” you replied, grinning so hard as the wind whipped against your face.
When the sled finally slowed at the bottom of the hill, snow spraying up around you, you were both still laughing, breathless, a little unsteady.
Then the laughter faded. You looked up at him at the same time he looked down at you, and suddenly the space between your faces felt too small. Small enough that you could feel his warm breath against your cheek.
You blinked a few times, surprised and frozen in place. Vernon’s gaze dropped to your mouth, just for a second. When it lifted again, he swallowed, adam’s apple bobbing once. Seeing that and the intent in his eyes made your heart kick painfully against your ribs, like it was trying to escape.
Laughter and cheering exploded behind you as another sled barreled to a stop nearby.
You moved instantly, standing too fast, stepping away before your body could do something stupid. Cold air rushed back in like a shock as you brushed snow from your coat, cheeks burning despite the winter air.
Vernon cleared his throat. “That was fun,” he said, smiling like nothing happened.
You swallowed, looking away. “Yeah.”
Behind you, you could feel his gaze linger. You told yourself it was just adrenaline. Still, when he reached for the sled again and asked, “One more?” you didn’t say no.
The rest of the day passed in a blur. You drifted between rooms, between conversations—helping in the kitchen, sitting in on half-finished card games, watching kids chase each other until someone inevitably cried over a stolen candy cane.
Somewhere in the middle of it all, you realized you’d stopped keeping track of where Vernon was at all times. Not because you didn’t care, but because you didn’t need to.
He was there when you glanced up from a conversation, leaning against a doorway, already looking at you. He was there beside you when someone handed out mugs of something warm, your shoulders brushing as you accepted yours. There were looks shared across the room, quick whispered comments that made you laugh under your breath, inside jokes forming without effort.
For once since you got here, there was no pressure to perform. No constant mental checklist. No fear that you’d look too distant for two people who were supposedly engaged. You were just genuinely enjoying yourself.
By nightfall, after a movie that half the room slept through, you found yourself walking back down the hall beside him, the house was quieter now, voices fading behind closed doors.
You were still laughing about a scene from the movie neither of you could take seriously. Your steps slowed naturally as you reached the door to the bedroom.
Vernon lingered in the hallway, hands in his pockets, watching you with a thoughtful expression. “You know,” he said casually, “you’re a really good person.”
You snorted, already turning toward the door. “Okay.”
“I’m serious.”
That made you pause. You glanced back at him, brows lifting. “Right. Sure you are.”
He rolled his eyes. “No, really. People at work call you Medusa, but I think they’re wrong about you.”
You blinked. “What?”
“Oh, I don’t call you that,” he added quickly. “It’s just them.”
You stared at him, genuinely caught off guard. “Medusa?”
“Like I said, they’re wrong. Please forgive them,” he said, smiling. “It’s just that they’ve never met someone so hardworking and intelligent. So sharp. So… wonderful. I think they figured there’s no way a real person could be that amazing, so they called you Medusa.”
Your stomach fluttered, completely against your will. But then you scoffed lightly, shaking your head. “Or,” you said, recovering, “it’s because people freeze when they see me. Like Medusa turns them into stone.”
He laughed. “That too.”
You laughed too, the sound echoing softly down the quiet hallway. And then for a moment, neither of you said anything. You were just staring at each other. When he leaned on the wall adjacent to the door, you mirrored him by leaning on his bedroom door.
Crossing your arms, you said, “It’s my turn on the bed tonight.”
Vernon chuckled softly, eyes glimmering, shaking his head. “No, it’s not.”
“It’s not?” you asked, feigning ignorance.
He opened his mouth—probably to argue, like always—then stopped. His gaze was still on you, that soft glow in his eyes was still there.
“…Fine,” he sighed, pushing himself away from the wall and walking toward you. He stopped just a breath away. “You can have it.”
You frowned, caught off guard. “That was too easy.”
He shrugged, reaching for the door knob behind you, leaning in so close. “Don’t get used to it,” he murmured, still not moving away even after he had pushed the door open.
You smiled, shaking your head lightly, and walked in. You took your cardigan off, reached the bed, arranged the blanket—you counted the steps in your head, not because you needed to, but because your chest was doing this ridiculous fluttering thing.
Vernon followed quietly, the ghost of a smile still lingering on his lips, and you watched as he picked up his blanket and headed to the couch. Then he gave you a small wave before disappearing behind the backrest.
You lay down, smiling to yourself, staring up at the ceiling, heart doing something inconvenient in your chest.
This is bad, you whispered in your thoughts. This is so bad. You were smiling like an idiot. Because of Vernon Chwe!
You exhaled through your nose. Okay. So maybe you were enjoying this holiday. A little too much. And yes. Fine. Vernon likes you. You weren’t imagining that. You’d spent your entire career reading people; you weren’t about to pretend you couldn’t read this.
But the more troubling realization was: you might be starting to like him back.
And that was bad because you had no idea how to tread this territory. This wasn’t in the agreement. There was no clause for catching feelings, no protocol for what to do if that ever happened.
“Hey,” Vernon’s voice carried from across the room, making your head snap that way, quieting your thoughts.
“Hey…” you murmured back.
“Goodnight,” he said softly.
You didn’t answer right away. You let yourself breathe. Then you exhaled softly, trying to get some control back, and making a decision right then and there. “Goodnight, Secretary Chwe,” you murmured.
You knew what it meant to call him that, knew how that sounded. But the words weren’t exactly for him. Not really. They were for you—a reminder to draw a line, to keep your head straight and not get distracted.
Because it turns out that the most dangerous thing about fake dating is not getting caught; it’s when things start to feel real.
The house was already awake when you stirred the next morning. You could tell before you even opened the door—voices overlapping downstairs, footsteps on the stairs, laughter that was louder than usual. Vernon noticed it too the second he stepped out of the bathroom, hair still damp, sleeves rolled as he buttoned his shirt.
“Is it just me or is the house noisier than usual?” he asked, voice light.
You huffed a laugh. “Maybe your family multiplied in their sleep.”
You didn’t get far down the stairs before his mother intercepted the both of you, beaming, hands clasped together like she’d been waiting all morning for this exact moment.
“Surprise!” she said brightly.
Behind her, the living room was packed. Not just relatives—new faces. Older couples you didn’t recognize, younger people clustered near the windows, a few men Vernon vaguely waved at in recognition. Someone had already put music on. Someone else had brought food. There were flowers on the table that definitely hadn’t been there yesterday.
Vernon blinked once. “Mom, what’s going on?”
His mother laughed, waving him off. “Oh, we thought it would be nice to surprise you with an engagement party and invite our family friends, and your friends of course.”
“Your friends?” you asked, looking at Vernon.
“Yes, dear,” his mom answered. “Kids he grew up with and went to school with.”
She looped an arm through yours before you could take a step back. “I know it’s a lot, and you two have a penchant for keeping things lowkey. But don’t worry, this is just a small function. We won’t put you in too much spotlight, so no pressure.”
“Hah,” you exclaimed, then chuckled awkwardly. “Of course. No pressure,” you echoed, glancing sideways at Vernon.
“Mom,” he said, “you really didn’t have to—”
“Oh hush,” she said, already steering you further into the hall. “Everyone’s been dying to meet you properly.”
And just like that, the lie wasn’t a snowball anymore. It’s an avalanche.
You endured. That was the only way to describe it. Endurance. You smiled when people congratulated you. You nodded when they said you were beautiful together. You accepted hugs from women who smelled like perfume and winter coats and cinnamon.
Someone pressed a drink into your hand. Someone else asked how you met. You answered automatically, muscle memory carrying you through a story you’d told often enough that it no longer snagged.
Vernon stayed close. A hand at your back, a glance across the room when the noise spiked. Every so often, he’d hold your hand and give it a light squeeze, as if he was apologizing and asking you to power through.
His friends were easier than you expected. They were polite, warm, and a little teasing, the kind that only comes from a long shared history.
One of them clapped Vernon on the shoulder. “Good for you man. Moving away, starting over, meeting someone you wanted to marry.”
“Jealous, Gyu?” another guy scoffed. “Maybe if you stopped sleeping around like a menace—”
“Oh, shut up, Seungcheol,” Mingyu shot back. “You’re the one flirting with sad married women.”
“For the last time,” Seungcheol sighed, rubbing the back of his neck like this argument had worn him thin, “she’s not married. She’s divorced.”
You watched Vernon through it all—relaxed, carefree, amused, completely at ease in the presence of friends who knew him best.
“So,” Wonwoo cut in, eyes flicking between the two of you. “What are you doing these days, Vernon?”
“Yeah,” someone else added. “What happened after you left the company?”
That caught your attention. You glanced at Vernon. “The slave contract you were talking about,” you said slowly, “that was with your family?”
He grinned, entirely unapologetic. You scowled. “The hell? So you were a nepo baby too. How dare you call me one.”
Vernon laughed, head lolling back. You just stared at him, unimpressed. His friends too, apparently. They were just staring like they had no idea what was so funny.
Vernon eventually noticed it, so he stopped, cleared his throat, and straightened up. “I’m working as a secretary,” he said, and then, with visible pride, slid an arm around your shoulder. “In her cosmetics company.”
The pause was immediate. “…Wait,” Seungcheol said. “You work for her?”
“She’s the CEO?” Mingyu asked, and Vernon nodded again.
“So you’re—” Wonwoo pointed at you, then back at Vernon. “—his boss?”
“Yeah,” Vernon said proudly. “She’s very cool.”
There was a second where you braced yourself, afraid they might judge him for it. But then Mingyu barked out a laugh. Then suddenly, everyone else was laughing.
“No way,” Seungcheol said, shaking his head. “You? Taking orders?”
Mingyu followed, grinning wide. “Do you have any idea how insane that is? This man has never worked under anyone.”
“Ever,” Wonwoo added. “He used to boss entire departments around like it was a sport.”
Vernon rolled his eyes. “That’s not true.”
“That’s extremely true,” Mingyu shot back. He turned to you, “He’s so annoying. And he doesn’t even realize it. He once made a manager wait because he ‘wasn’t done talking.’”
You blinked, surprised, then laughed before you could stop yourself. Nodding, you said, “He is kinda annoying. And tactless sometimes.”
Seungcheol pointed at you, delighted. “See? Imagine that kind of guy working under someone?”
Mingyu asked you, “Bet you’re always on the verge of firing him every day, huh?”
You shrugged. “Not really. He is annoying but I can keep him in line. And he’s pretty good at his job. There are only two people who can keep up with me, and he’s one of them.”
“Figures,” Wonwoo said, nodding like it all made sense now. “Leaves the family business, ends up working for someone smarter than him.”
Vernon didn’t deny it. If anything, he looked pleased, standing there beside you like this arrangement wasn’t something to be embarrassed about, but something he’d chosen.
You felt something warm settle in your chest at that.
“So,” Mingyu said, dragging a chair closer and plopping down like he was settling in for a story. “I gotta ask. How did this happen?”
You blinked. “What?”
“You two,” Mingyu clarified, gesturing between you. “From boss and secretary to engaged and getting married soon.”
Seungcheol leaned forward, eyes bright. “Yeah. Did he seduce you with his wiles while pretending to work as your secretary?”
Vernon scoffed. “I did not seduce her.”
“You absolutely did,” Mingyu said. “Look at him. That’s a man who knows how to weaponize his good looks.”
You snorted. “That’s slander.”
“Oh, come on,” Seungcheol said. “You’re telling me he didn’t pull the whole competent, always-there, remembers-your-coffee-order routine?”
Vernon opened his mouth to protest again, but you beat him to it. “It’s not hard to fall for Vernon,” you said.
The table went quiet. You hadn’t planned to say that. It just slipped out.
You cleared your throat, suddenly aware of the way Vernon had turned fully toward you. “I mean—he is,” you continued. “He’s thoughtful. He pays attention. He notices things most people don’t bother with. He anticipates what needs to be done without making a show of it.”
Vernon didn’t interrupt. He just watched you, expression unreadable, eyes steady.
“He’s… considerate. And patient. And surprisingly kind. Of course, he’s sarcastic and all but even that is excusable because those little arguments are fun and makes every day less dull,” you added, smiling absently. “And he’s the sweetest. Which is annoying, actually, because it makes it hard to stay mad at him.”
You finally looked at Vernon.
He was smiling—but not the smug one, not the teasing one. This was softer, the same smile he had been giving you these last few days. The kind that looked like he was grateful for the existence of you. He looked like he hadn’t expected to hear all that, but he was holding it carefully now that it existed.
You gave him the same smile. Or as best as you could reflect it, hoping, and knowing, that he knew exactly what it meant. And you realized now that you had just crossed a line.
Straight up just stepped over it without hesitation, after telling yourself very clearly the night before where it was.
Mingyu stood abruptly. “Okay. Nope. I’m too single for this.” He waved a hand between the two of you. “You’re both being disgustingly in love. Kissing in front of me would’ve been less damaging.”
Wonwoo laughed. “Agreed. Let’s move on before I start believing in love again.”
You huffed a laugh, but it came out weaker than you meant it to. Your chest was heavy with warmth and feelings and… and love.
But you had no time to dwell on it. Someone suggested games. Someone else brought snacks. Chairs were pulled, conversations restarted, the day rolling forward like nothing had almost happened.
But when Vernon held your hand under the table later, not for show because no one would’ve seen it, you didn’t move away. And for the rest of the day, you didn’t bring up the line you’d drawn. You just quietly stood on the other side of it.
The engagement party thing was over by noon. Guests left one by one, and the family resumed preparations for Christmas Eve dinner. You were gathered in the kitchen with the adults, helping out with the cookies.
Vernon was sitting in a chair beside you, casually chatting with you and his mom about holiday traditions.
“Your parents actually used to host the winter bonfires,” said Vernon’s mom, smiling fondly at you.
“They did?” you asked, delighted to hear another anecdote about your parents.
She nodded. “Yes. Every year. And then your mom got pregnant with you, so they skipped a year. After that, the whole tradition just stopped,” she added, sighing. “They’d always made it so magical. We simply could not recreate it.”
Vernon leaned forward, gesturing with his mug. “I remember when I met her parents. Incredible people. And her mom’s so beautiful.”
The room froze. Adults exchanged sharp glances, eyebrows raised. His mom looked at him, brows furrowed. “You met her parents?”
“Yeah. I—” You nudged Vernon’s leg under the table, stopping him.
“But that’s impossible, dear,” Nana said, her voice laced with sympathy, “you couldn’t have. Her parents passed away a long time ago.”
You felt Vernon freeze beside you. Quick on your feet, you leaned slightly toward him, your tone casual as if nothing unusual had happened, as if your heart didn’t just sink to your stomach.
“Oh, I took him to their graves,” you said smoothly. “He met them there.”
Vernon blinked at you, clearly realizing he’d made a mistake.
“I wanted to introduce him to them first,” you added, smiling, channeling your best acting yet. “I didn’t know our connection yet at the time, but they were probably thrilled to know I’m marrying their close friend’s son.”
“Aw,” Vernon’s mom sighed. “That’s very thoughtful of you, isn’t it?”
The tension in the room melted almost instantly, replaced by murmurs and soft chuckles from the other adults. Conversation resumed around you, with only a few glances exchanged—reminders of the near slip, and of just how good you were at thinking on your feet.
Vernon reached for your hand, so you glanced at him. He looked apologetic, and you could tell it wasn’t because he nearly revealed that you weren’t in a real relationship. You smiled at him, patting his hand and mouthing, ‘It’s okay.’
By the time dinner preparations were done, you were exhausted. Exhausted from the engagement party, from socializing with people who were basically strangers to you, and exhausted from helping out in the kitchen.
“This is nice and all, but I think I prefer our boring Christmas dinners, Grandma,” you told your Grandma while getting dressed for dinner.
She chuckled heartily, sitting in front of her vanity and trying on a different shade of lipstick. “Being surrounded by people you love on Christmas is how it’s supposed to be, my dear. It’s a shame I couldn’t give you this kind of warmth growing up.”
“Hey,” you chided, walking toward her and wrapping your arms around her shoulder. “I have no complaints, so you shouldn’t talk like that. You raised me as best as you can and taught me everything I know.”
Your Grandma melted in your embrace, sighing as she put the lipstick down. “Yeah, you’re a wonderful kid, alright. I just wished you were a little sweeter.”
“Please,” you chuckled, pulling away. “My lack of sweetness and my attitude in general is thanks to you, as well.”
“I know that, but couldn’t you be more affectionate? Or expressive?” she sighed, gaze following you across the room. “Learn a thing or two about expressing yourself from Vernon.”
“Too late for that,” you quipped, checking your reflection in the mirror once more.
Your Grandma sighed in defeat. “I guess I should be glad you’re marrying him then. He can express affection for both of you.”
Then came a series of knocks on the door. You quickly walked toward it, yanking it open knowing Vernon would be on the other side.
“Hi,” he beamed, taking you in with his eyes. “You look amazing.”
You shrugged. “You don’t look so bad yourself, my love,” you replied, using your endearment, not because your grandma was there, but because… just because.
“Shall we?”
The dining room was warm, the scent of roasted meat and cinnamon filling the air. Dinner was loud like always in this house—chairs scraping, someone always talking over someone else, Nana shushing nobody in particular.
You ended up seated beside Vernon, mostly because every time you tried to move, someone asked you to stay. He passed you food without asking. You corrected his grip on the serving spoon once. He fixed it without comment.
At some point, his Nana leaned over. “Is now the best time to talk weddings?”
Vernon chuckled lightly. “Nana, it’s Christmas eve. We’ll have time for that later.”
Nana tried to insist, but eventually gave up when you both refused adamantly. Later, when some cousins got up to chase the kids outside for an impromptu snowball fight, Vernon leaned closer.
After dishes were cleared and the family settled around the living room for a low-volume carol playlist, you both slipped out to the balcony, leaving the laughter and chatter behind. The night was cold, and snowflakes drifted lazily downward, coating the garden below in soft white. Vernon wrapped a blanket around himself, then stood behind you.
“Is this okay?” he asked, wrapping his arms and the blanket around you.
You chuckled, feeling the warmth seep in immediately. “Are people watching?”
“Yeah. About a dozen of them,” he replied briskly. “I think I need to hold you closer. Make it more believable, you know?” he added, already tightening his arms around you.
You could tell he was lying, but you didn’t bother confirming. “You should, or we’d get caught,” you said, leaning your head against his chest.
“Your family has a lot of stamina,” you said after a pause. “I would’ve tapped out after day one.”
“You did better than I expected,” he replied, chuckling. “Everyone likes you. Nana adores you.”
“That’s terrifying,” you said, looking up at him. “She’s very perceptive.”
Vernon smiled, shifting a little and pressing his chin on top of your head. “Tomorrow’s Christmas Day.”
“I know. One more day and this is all over,” you replied, taking a long relieved breath. “We can finally go back to how things were.”
You felt him stiffen behind you, recovering almost as quickly. He laughed slowly. “I was actually thinking the same thing. When this is over, we could go back to our hectic, caffeinated daily routine, closing deals like champs, terrorizing the marketing head, pressuring manufacturers, calling the lab day in and day out for new and improved formulas.”
“You’re making us sound like bad capitalists,” you quipped, grinning. “I mean we’re capitalists but we're not that bad.”
Vernon chuckled, his chest vibrating against your back. “And I was also thinking…” he paused, loosened his arms, and turned you around so you could face him fully.
He braced his hands on the railing, caging you in as he stared into your eyes. You held your breath and looked away, unable to meet his eyes.
“I was thinking maybe we could go out on nice dinners sometimes. After work,” he continued. “Go on a road trip on weekends. Maybe catch a movie if you’re into that.”
“Like bosses and secretaries do?”
He huffed a laugh. “I’m pretty sure they don’t do that.”
You shrugged, still looking anywhere but his eyes. “They might. If they’re… dating.”
The word lingered between you, more meaningful than you meant it to be. Vernon stayed quiet for a few moments, then, softly, carefully, he said your name, the word rolling beautifully on his tongue.
You looked up, finally meeting his gaze. “Yes? Vernon?”
Something changed in his expression. Like you’d tapped something only he could feel. “That’s three times,” he said softly.
“What?”
“Three times you’ve called me by my name since we met.”
You blinked, surprised he’d even noticed. “You’re counting?”
He shrugged. “If you’re Secretary Chwe every minute of the day, you just can’t help but keep count.”
Neither of you moved. He didn’t step closer, diidn’t touch you, he just stayed there, giving you space and somehow still holding you in place.
“Can I kiss you?” he asked softly, almost in a whisper.
“That would be breaking the rules,” you said, automatically. Not because you actually cared about the rules, but because you were too nervous. Your heart was kicking hard against your ribs. Your breathing was getting unsteady. And your skin was pricking not from the cold, but from anticipation.
“I knew you’d say that,” he chuckled, already leaning in.
You met him halfway. In a kiss that was soft and careful, growing firmer with every breath. His hand found your waist, warm through the layers, steadying you as your lips pressed back with more certainty.
For a moment, you couldn’t hear or see anything. You could only feel. Feel his hand around you, his lips against yours, his warmth, your warmth, his heartbeat against your own. Snow fell. Laughter drifted faintly from inside. The world continued on, unaware. Or maybe they were aware. You didn’t care. Right now, nothing else mattered but this moment right here.
Even after you pulled away, you stayed close, foreheads touching, breaths fogging, cheeks flushed, and grinning. Vernon’s hands lingered at your waist, firm but gentle, the warmth through the layers of your coats seeping into you like it was meant to.
“God, it’s freezing out here,” he murmured, voice low.
“You don’t say,” you whispered back, and the words were a laugh and a shiver at the same time.
He tilted his head slightly, nudging yours so your noses brushed. “I—” He stopped, exhaling sharply.
You tilted your chin up, meeting his eyes. “I know,” you said softly.
He let out a small laugh, almost a sigh, pressing a little closer. “I don’t want to stop.”
“Neither do I,” you admitted, and it came out softer than you expected, a confession you hadn’t planned to give aloud.
There was a pause, long enough that you could feel your heart hammering against your ribs, long enough that the wind seemed to hush around you. Your hands found his neck, and he leaned into your touch, eyes closing for just a fraction of a second before reopening, searching yours.
“I can’t pretend anymore.”
“Then let’s not,” you replied softly, and before you knew it, Vernon was scooping you up again for another kiss.
You were used to being in control.
Boardrooms fell silent whenever you walked in. People listened when you spoke. Decisions were set the moment you made them. Even now, in Vernon’s bedroom with the door closed and the city humming somewhere across the sea, you expected that familiar balance to tilt in your favor.
But it didn’t.
“What are you doing?” you asked, eyes wide and brows furrowed at Vernon who just stopped kissing you out of nowhere.
He shrugged, infuriatingly nonchalant and relaxed. “We need to slow down.”
“What?” you demanded, thoroughly confused. “What do you mean? This was your idea.”
“It is, but I need to know we’re on the same page here,” he said, smiling casually, but the firm grip of his hands on your hips told you he was restraining himself hard.
“I thought we made that clear?”
“No. What we did was stare into each other’s eyes and use vague words,” he said, gesturing vaguely.
You rolled your eyes, frustration bubbling over. “Vernon Chwe, I swear to God if you don’t kiss me right no—”
He crashed his lips into yours, shutting you up completely. Your body reacted immediately, heat and need shooting up through your core. Vernon’s long fingers tangled into your hair, tugging firmly until a moan escaped from your lips. He took this chance to shove his tongue into your open mouth. You pulled him even closer, breasts pressing against his broad chest.
His kisses trailed to your jaw, one hand slipping under your shirt to touch the skin of your waist. You gasped when his mouth latched to your neck, sucking and nipping.
“Vernon,” you said, tapping his shoulders. “Take me to the bed.”
Vernon pulled away just enough to press his forehead against you, smirking. “Is that an order?” he rasped, his hand underneath your shirt now moving to slip past your bra.
“No?” you breathed, holding back a moan when he gave your nipple a gentle squeeze. “Is it?”
“It better not be,” he whispered into your ear, lips brushing the sensitive skin. He took your wrists “I’ll allow that at work, but don’t think for one second that I’m gonna let you tell me what to do in my room…”
He kissed your neck, making your skin shiver in the best way. “Or on my bed,” he added, licking your throat.
You moaned out his name, but he was quick to press a finger on your lips. “Shush, love. This may be a big house, but the walls here are thin.”
“Vernon…” you purred, and he cupped your cheek gently, then pressed a long, lingering kiss to your forehead.
“Be quiet, alright?” he said, smiling before disappearing from your line of sight.
You were confused for a fraction of a second. Then you felt your skirt being lifted, followed by something pressing on your clothed cunt without warning.
You gasped, realizing belatedly that it was Vernon’s nose. You felt him take a long sniff, hand wrapping around your thigh. You grabbed a fistful of his hair and he let out a growl the likes of which you’d never heard before.
A second later, he was devouring you, relentless and insatiable, leaving you trembling under his touch. Your grip on his hair tightened, your knees were threatening to give out with every lick. If it wasn’t for his tight hold around your legs, you would have collapsed on the floor already.
Vernon slipped a finger into you, without warning, making you gasp. He rose to his feet, finger still inside you, his other hand pushing loose hair behind your ear as he shushed you gently.
“The entire house is gonna hear you, and they’re gonna know exactly what’s going on in here,” he said, as if it wasn’t his fingering that was making you make all these noises.
But you listened anyway, biting down your lower lip, tears pricking at your eyelids when he pushed a second finger in. You buried your face on his chest, fingers digging into his shoulders as he pushed you closer to the edge
Vernon pressed his lips on the side of your head, shushing you gently while still brutally ramming his fingers in and out of your sex.
Then you felt that familiar knot twisting low in your belly, threatening to come undone. Your breathing turned erratic, breasts falling and rising rapidly as you braced for an orgasm. Vernon saw that, kissed your cheek, and moved harder amd faster.
His fingers were cramping, but the delightful look on your face was spurring him on. He couldn’t wait to see the beautiful face you’d make when it’s finally him drilling into your sweet cunt. Just thinking about it was making his cock throb—hard and hot, still trapped in his pants.
“Vernon, I’m—” you cut yourself off, gasping, body jerking, hands on his shoulders gripping tighter as a wave of orgasmm surged through you.
Then you fell limp against Vernon, who held you steadily. He kissed you again because… well because he just couldn’t stop himself from kissing you, could he? His head was clouded, and all he could think of was how much he wanted to fuck your brains out.
So he lifted your thighs, wrapped your legs around his legs and carried you over to the bed.
You fell on the mattress with a bounce, still out of breath from the aftershocks of your orgasm. Vernon crawled over you, smirk tugging at his lips.
“Still wanna tell me what to do?” he asked, mouth hovering just above yours.
You hesitated. That hesitation made him smile. “That’s what I thought,” he murmured, kissing you again.
His hand pinned your wrist above your head, the other tracing down your side like he was rewriting the rules you lived by. He gathered the hem of your sweater, yanking it up and over your head, before crashing his lips back to yours.
Your skirt and stockings followed immediately after, his hands settling on your thighs, spreading them wide enough for him to marvel at the sight of your wet pussy.
“Like what you’re seeing?” you asked, confidence spiking because Vernon was looking at you like you were the eighth wonder of the world.
He huffed an amused laugh, hand tracing your thigh. “Oh, I love it. You have no idea.”
When was the last time you felt this kind of intense desire and uninhibited pleasure? You couldn’t even remember. Not that it mattered. Vernon was here to rock your entire world tonight, with that rock-hard, standing tall, deliciously girthy manhood that had just sprang free from the confines of his boxers.
You held your breath when he positioned himself between your legs, licking a stripe on his hands and coating his cock with the slick. Your fingers curled into the sheets as he pressed into you slowly, the earlier orgasm making him slide smoothly, but the stretch made you whimper.
“Don’t make me cover that mouth myself,” he warned, grinning so sweetly, unaware of the surge of pleasure that just shot through you when he said those words.
He bottomed out with a groan, his body settling over yours as he collected himself. His hair brushed your face as he moaned against your chest, muttering curses under his breath.
Meanwhile, you were catching your breath, chest rising and falling rapidly. “Vernon, I need you to move. Please. Please. Please,” you’d basically pleaded.
Vernon exhaled sharply, lifting his head to meet your gaze and plant a quick kiss to your lips. “I’ll allow it because you asked nicely,” he quipped, pulling out for a second just before thrusting into you.
Your chest rose and fell against his, nerves dancing in sensations his every move was sending through your body. Your fingers tangled, your breaths mingled, heat lingered in every glance, and every brush of skin. You clung to him, losing track of everything except his touch and the way he held you close.
The world had narrowed to the feeling of him against you, the pull and the push—especially the push. Your lower lip stung from biting too hard to keep yourself quiet. Your heart was beating wildly in your chest, echoing in his.
He brushed a strand of hair from your face, lips grazing your temple, and the shiver that ran down your spine was delightful and hot.
“You are most beautiful,” he whispered, eyes locked with yours, filled with sincerity and something tender… something that looked a lot like love.
Snow kept falling outside, and somewhere between the haze of lust and warmth, you were sure that whatever came next would leave both of you ruined in the best possible way. But at the same time, you realized you wouldn’t have wanted to stop even if you could.
You woke up to Vernon’s arms wrapped around you, his warmth seeping through the blankets, his scent lingering in your hair and on your clothes. He was awake, head propped on one hand, watching you with that half-smile that made your chest tighten.
“What are you doing?” you mumbled, embarrassed, burying your face against his shoulder.
“Keeping my eyes on you in case this turns out to be a dream and you disappear,” he said in one breath, brushing loose strands of hair behind your ear.
You grinned, snuggling closer. “That’s so corny.”
You stayed like that for a few more minutes, savoring the warmth and the way his hand traced idle patterns along your side. But the inevitability of the morning eventually caught up with you. It’s Christmas Day. By now, the rest of the family would be gathered downstairs, waiting to open gifts and celebrate some more.
“Come on. You should see what I got you,” he said, sitting up. “It’s in a red box with a shiny green ribbon on it.”
“You got me something?” you asked, genuinely surprised.
Vernon looked at you like the answer should have been obvious. “Of course, I got you something. It’s Christmas. You’re supposed to— wait…” he paused, narrowing his eyes at you. “You didn’t get me anything, did you?”
You smiled sheepishly, and Vernon’s jaw dropped. But then he shrugged, reached to cup your face, and grinned.
“It’s okay. I think I received my best Christmas gift yet,” he chimed, leaning in to kiss you.
You ended up cuddling in bed again. Vernon was relentless, kissing the back of your neck, tugging your hands, soft murmurs of promises that made your heart flutter and your cheeks burn. Getting up after that was slow. Clothes, brushing teeth, and somehow, through a haze of laughter, stolen kisses, and whispers, you managed to get ready.
“You’re so pretty,” he said, standing behind you in front of the mirror and wrapping his arms around.
“Thanks. I figured I should try harder if I’m gonna date someone so handsome,” you replied, turning to face him, arms finding their way around his neck.
Vernon grinned, clearly pleased with what he just heard. “You don’t need to. You’re already too beautiful for someone like me.”
You rolled your eyes, not buying it. “You clearly don’t understand just how beautiful you are, Vernon Chwe.”
He kissed you again, and you had to squirm out of his hold and walk out of the room first or you’d spend the whole morning locked in the bedroom with him.
The first thing you noticed when you reached the bottom of the stairs was the silence. The usual mayhem of children squealing and zooming around, adults chattering, holiday music in the background—it was all gone. Only the adults were there, standing rigidly, staring at the two of you.
Your stomach dropped. Something was wrong, you could feel it in your bones.
Vernon stepped closer, taking your hand in his. “What’s going on?”
No one answered. Then his mom stepped forward, her smile tight, eyes not quite meeting his. She shoved a piece of paper into his hands, and you immediately recognized your carefully constructed contract even before reading the words.
“What is the meaning of that?” his mom asked, her voice small and hesitant. “Vernon, tell us right now. Why is there a document like that in your bedroom?”
The words didn’t register at first. The paper in his hands felt heavy, like it had gravity all its own. You tried to breathe but your chest felt hollow.
Vernon opened his mouth, searching for the right words, and your heart hammered in sympathy and panic. “We… I can explain…”
Voices erupted around you, overlapping, frantic and sharp. Someone asked why he did this. Another said this was unnecessary and that he didn’t have to deceive everyone. One voice asked if he had any motive. Another asked if he thought of this family as a joke.
You barely made sense of it, caught between the tidal wave of accusations, most of them being directed at Vernon. He kept his hand around yours, holding you tight and shielding you with his body as his family demanded answers from him. The rest of the room seemed to tilt and spin. You barely heard him try to speak again; his words were drowned out by questions, accusations, demands—all of it directed at him.
Finally, you found your voice, loud and firm, “It’s my fault.”
All eyes turned toward you, stunned at your words. You took in their confused faces, then exhaled sharply.
“I made him do this,” you added, tugging your hand away from Vernon’s grasp. “There was a… a situation,” you began to explain, choosing your words carefully.
“A supposedly one-off situation that unexpectedly spiraled out of control. And I know, we could have avoided this by being honest from the get-go but…” Your gaze swept the room and settled on your grandma in the corner. You thought she’d look angry, but all you could see on her face was sympathy. “But we didn’t. We couldn’t.”
You flattened your lips into a smile, still directed at your grandmother. “Not when it was the first time in a long time that I saw someone smile as brightly as she did when she heard I had a fiancee.”
Your Grandma’s hand flew to her mouth, his brows furrowing, and she looked away. You turned to the rest of Vernon’s family. To his Nana, to his parents, his aunts and uncles—the very people who welcomed you warmly into their home.
“I’m sorry. I really am. I have my reasons, but they’re all just excuses. Selfish excuses. I shouldn’t have dragged your entire family into this. I wouldn’t have,” you paused, taking a deep breath and turning to Vernon. “I wouldn’t have if I had known just how much you loved Vernon.”
You turned to everyone again. Nana’s hand was on her chest, Vernon’s mom was covering her mouth in shock.
“So don’t blame him. It’s not his fault. He’s a really good man,” you added, smiling bitterly. “He just couldn’t say no to his Medusa of a boss who promised him a raise and regularization if he agreed to do this.”
“Stop,” Vernon said, taking your hand. “I didn’t agree to this because of that—”
“It’s okay, Secretary Chwe,” you interrupted, forcing a smile. “I’m sorry for ruining your Christmas. I’ll leave,” you said, voice steady despite the tremor in your chest. You glanced at Nana, and the words escaped almost like a prayer: “You have a wonderful family. I’m sorry. I wish we didn’t have to meet like this.”
And with that, you walked out, leaving Vernon rooted in place, the paper still in his hand, the room swirling with stunned silence.
Before you knew it, you were sinking into your seat on the plane, the engines vibrating softly beneath you. Beside you, your grandma was perfectly composed, her hands folded neatly in her lap as she stared out the window at the receding tarmac.
Vernon’s family had tried to make you stay. Gentle pleas, promises to table the matter of your deceit and unpack it properly. But you knew they were only being polite. That was just the kind of family they were, too nice for their own good.
You stared at the screen in front of you, counting the buttons, the logos stamped into the leather, your thoughts spinning in circles. Finally, you broke the quiet.
“Grandma…” Your voice was small, tentative. “Why aren’t you mad?”
Her calm eyes met yours. “Why would I be mad?” she asked, tilting her head slightly, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “I knew everything from the beginning.”
Your chest tightened. “You did?”
She nodded serenely. “Of course. You thought you were so clever, but you forgot that I taught you how to use that intelligent brain of yours.”
You blinked. “Wait… what? How?”
Grandma leaned back, unbothered by your wide-eyed stare. “My dear, with whom do you think I set you up with on that last blind date I begged you to go to?”
Your stomach dropped. “That… that was… No way.” You chuckled, in denial. “It can’t have been Vernon.”
“Oh, but it was,” she said, as if it were the simplest, most obvious thing in the world. “I kept telling you I knew his family. But you wouldn’t even give a second to hear me out. Imagine my surprise when I saw you in that hotel lobby, calling Vernon Chwe your fiancee.”
At this point, your heart beat has turned erratic. “If you knew, why didn’t you say anything?”
“I was trying to see how far you were willing to take this charade. I can’t say I’m not disappointed, but Vernon asked me to play along, so I did,” she explained.
You turned sharply to face her, incredulous. “Vernon knew that you knew?”
“Yes. He was confident he could make you fall in love and turn this pseudorelationship into a real thing. Sunhee and I had so much fun watching you struggle to maintain a face all week.”
Your jaw dropped. “Who else knows?”
“No one else, as far as I know.” Her hand rested gently over yours. “My dear, you’re clearly overwhelmed right now. Let’s talk about this later.”
You slumped back in your seat, staring out the window at the clouds streaked with gold from the rising sun, your mind buzzing. She knew. Nana knew. Vernon knew they knew. And somehow, that knowledge made the entire avalanche of the past twenty-four hours feel both heavier and… a little lighter.
Vernon first met you when he was ten.
It was summer, hot and loud and bright in the way summers only feel when you’re a kid. His kite had gotten stuck in a tree at the park, and he’d decided that climbing it himself was a good idea.
But he was wrong. He slipped on the way down, scraped his knee, and sat there sniffing quietly, holding back his tears, more embarrassed than hurt.
Then you appeared out of nowhere, crouched in front of him, asked if he could stand, and when he said no, you sighed like an adult who’d already dealt with worse problems than a bleeding knee.
After covering his knee with a cartoon Band Aid from your purse, you climbed the tree yourself and brought the kite down like it was nothing.
You were taller than him back then. Probably smarter, and more mature. And when you handed the kite to him and smiled, all he could think was that you were pretty. Like an angel.
He never saw you again after that day. Life moved on, as it does. He went to school, made friends, and had growth spurts. The memory of you drifted to the back of his mind, filed away with other half-remembered moments from childhood.
Until college.
He didn’t recognize you at first. Years had a way of blurring faces, and he almost walked past you at the freshman welcome party until you laughed. Suddenly he was ten again, at the park with a scraped knee and a kite in his hands.
You’d grown prettier, smarter, and more graceful. He was much much taller than you now, but the difference in height only made Vernon think you were cute.
He hadn’t even wanted to attend this party. He’d only gone because his cousin promised to cover his chores for a month if he showed up. Vernon wasn’t naïve—he knew his cousin wanted him there as decoration. He’d grown into his looks by then, and he was ‘handsome’, something people never let him forget, even when he wished they would.
But that night, for the first time in his life, he thought maybe he could use his looks for something other than being stared at. Maybe he could use it to charm his way into your contacts.
He planned to talk to you. Just to say ‘hi’. Maybe ask if you remembered him from all those summers ago. Or maybe he didn’t need to bring up the past at all. He could just talk to you. Say something normal. Ask for your number.
He stood near the drinks table, psyching himself up. But when the moment came, his nerves got the better of him. So he took a shot of soju.
Liquid courage, he told himself.
Then another. Then a third, because his heart was still beating too fast and you were laughing again and seeing that was making it hard for him to breathe.
By the fourth, his cousin was asking if he was okay. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he said, eyes locked on you a few tables away.
His cousin poured a shot for himself, and Vernon snatched it away, downing it straight just to see if it would make him less nervous.
Before he knew it, he was already wasted, slumped over a table, cheek pressed to cold plastic. Someone had drawn something obscene on his hand. The party was over, and you were gone. He lay there for a long moment, staring at a bottle, wondering how he’d managed to mess it up without ever actually trying.
After that, he saw you everywhere. The library, the quad, the cafeteria line. Sometimes alone, sometimes surrounded by people. You never noticed him, and he never pushed himself into your space.
Then one afternoon, he saw you holding hands with someone. Apparently, you’d started seeing this guy from the Liberal Arts department. That night, he went back to his dorm, shut the door, lay on his bed, and stared at the ceiling.
His cousin glanced over. “What’s up with you? You look like you just got dumped”
“I might as well have been,” Vernon said, voice flat. He turned his face into his pillow and let himself feel stupid for exactly five minutes.
Then he moved on because that was just life. He was happy that you were happy.
He dipped his own toes in the dating pool. Dated seriously, even. He laughed, fell in and out of love, learned what he liked and didn’t. You became a fond thought in the back of his head, not a fixation. And also something his friends teased him about every now and then.
Then senior year came. He heard you’d broken up, and realized he still liked you. So he thought about trying again.
He did the same thing without realizing: took shots for liquid courage. One too many shots, obviously. And passed out on a couch before he could say your name, obviously.
Senior year came and went. Graduation followed. He figured that was that. Some people were just meant to be memories.
And his life after college had already been mapped out for him. Vernon worked long hours in his family’s corporation. He learned how to sit through meetings without showing boredom, how to be sharp without being cruel. He dated when he had time, stopped when he didn’t. He built a reputation he hadn’t asked for but carried well enough.
Every once in a while, your name surfaced not from memory, but from screens. LinkedIn updates. A promotion. An article shared by someone else. Your company’s name appeared frequently in industry chatter. You weren’t loud online. You had Instagram but didn’t post much.
He nodded at those updates like they were news about someone he once knew well.
Years later, when he heard about a potential partnership with your company, he volunteered to handle it without hesitation. It wasn’t even his division, but he argued his case until he won.
He told everyone else that it was professional curiosity. Strategic interest. Nothing else. In reality, he thought maybe this would finally put him in the same room as you again.
But it didn’t. Nana collapsed. That family emergency pulled him away the day of the meeting, and the opportunity slipped through his fingers. Life, once again, had other plans. He never made it to the meeting. Someone else took over. The partnership went through anyway, handled efficiently, just not by him.
You stayed untouchable and unseen. And of course, he moved on again.
Years passed. Nana recovered and became sharper than ever. She mentioned your name casually over tea.
“Her grandma’s worried,” she said. “She thinks that brilliant granddaughter of hers works too much. She called, asking if I knew someone suitable.”
“Someone suitable? A husband?” Vernon’s mom asked.
He froze in his seat, hand hovering as he reached for his teacup.
“Yes,” Nana continued, watching him carefully over the rim of her cup. “I told her I might know someone, but I don’t approve of arranged marriages.”
Vernon’s mom glanced at him too, the only man in the family who hasn’t married yet. “It would be nice. I heard she’s very intelligent and pretty. But I’m a fan of true love too, mama. These days they call it ‘organic encounter’.”
That night, Vernon stared at his ceiling for a long time and made a decision.
He left his job, much to his family’s dismay. They managed to reel him in with his contract, but as soon as that was over, Vernon was out. He moved cities. Applied to your company hoping he’d get closer to you through work. But te only position open was an internship. He took it anyway.
It was a humbling position. Educational. Occasionally ridiculous, and nowhere near you. Apparently interns didn’t meet CEOs on the reg.
So for months, you were just a name, a presence on another floor. Interns and other employees often talked about you—brilliant, dedicated, but formidable and terrifying. Medusa, they called you.
Vernon would find himself standing up for you against men in his department who uttered inappropriate comments. Especially those who questioned your right to sit in the CEO’s office.
And then one Tuesday morning, Vernon was at the reception desk, sorting documents he wasn’t technically supposed to touch yet, when the elevators chimed.
He didn’t look up. He didn’t really need to. But then he heard a familiar voice calling him by name.
“Vernon Chwe?” the voice repeated, making him look up and freeze.
Your grandmother stood at the front desk, elegant as always. She looked exactly the way Vernon remembered her from childhood. She leaned on her cane more out of habit than necessity, eyes sharp as they swept his face. “Is that you, dear boy?”
Vernon straightened instinctively, unsure why his heart had started beating faster. He swallowed. “Yes, ma’am.”
A pleased smile spread across her face. “Well,” she said lightly, tapping her cane against the floor once. “I thought so. My, how much you’re grown.”
His mouth went dry. “You remember me?”
She laughed softly. “Of course I do. What are you doing here? Last I heard you were Executive Director at your family’s company.”
Vernon hesitated. Then he sighed, knowing full well how hard it was gonna be to lie to your grandma. “I think we’re gonna need to sit down if I’m to answer that question.”
Your Grandma seemed to understand something. “Come to tea this Sunday. Let’s unpack whatever that is.”
And Vernon did meet with your grandma that Sunday. And he confessed that he was there because of you. After hours of talking about you, your grandma decided to set him up on a blind date with you.
To say he was thrilled was an understatement. Vernon was over the moon. He couldn’t wait for the day to come. Though Grandma did warn him that she had a habit of not showing up to these dates. He was still looking forward to it, hoping your grandma stayed true to her words when she said she would try to convince you.
Then Becca came by the intern lounge, asking if anyone wanted to be your temporary secretary while she was on maternity leave.
“For Medusa?” someone murmured quietly.
Silence followed, and interns exchanged nervous glances. Vernon was the only one who raised his hand.
Becca stared at him. “I need to know if you’re serious about this.”
“Yes.”
“You’re gonna be paid a regular’s rate, but it’s not gonna be an easy task.”
“I know. I can handle it.”
She sighed. “Fine. No backing out at the last minute, alright?” she said, pointing her pen at him. “Follow me. Training starts now.”
Vernon trained for a week, learning schedules and systems, familiarizing himself with important names and contacts, copying the cadence of your emails. All this while stealing glances into your office, or staring a little too long whenever you passed by.
He reminded himself to be normal. To not let the past—or the crush—color the present. Even though it had clearly already taken over his entire world.
And then came the day Vernon was finally getting introduced to you. Becca had given him the head’s up the day before, and he took an extra hour getting ready the next day.
He stood with Becca in your office, patiently waiting for you to walk into those heavy glass doors. When you did, Vernon straightened up. Luckily that time, he didn’t get drunk or pass out anymore. Everything after that was an experience Vernon would never forget.
And now, over a month later, there he was, standing just inside your office, asking you to take him back.
It was the 29th. Just two days before New Year’s Day and four days since the whole fiasco at the Chwe Estate. Grandma and Nana had invited you out on a brunch where you apologized—more than once. For the lies. For leaving. For ruining Christmas.
Nana waved it all off with a soft laugh, insisting none of it mattered as much as you thought it did. “We’ve seen worse.”
She said the family wasn’t really angry, just shocked. Said that if you’d stayed, things wou;d’ve been resolved over breakfast and hot cocoa, the way they always did.
“What’s done is done,” your grandma had said simply, stirring her coffee. “At least you learned a lesson from this experience.”
You didn’t bring up Vernon. You couldn’t, not after how vague things were left between you. The grandmas seemed to understand that the subject was touchy and decided not to bring it up either.
After brunch, you told them you had something for Nana—and for everyone back home. It had arrived at the office that morning, and that was how the three of you ended up there instead of going straight home.You drove back to the office with the city humming around you, hands steady on the wheel despite everything sitting heavy in your chest.
They followed you into the building where employees greeted your grandma at every turn, surprised to see THE big boss parading the halls. You heard Nana quip about your grandma building an empire through inflicting fear upon her people, and laughed along when they did.
But that laughter died down the moment you stepped out of the elevator and found Vernon Chwe standing near reception, hands clasped loosely in front of him, jacket still on like he hadn’t been sure whether to stay or leave. He looked up the moment the elevator opened, like he’d been waiting for it.
For a second, no one moved. Your brows furrowed, relief and confusion washing over you. Relief because four days felt too long and you’d missed him the whole time. Confusion because what was he doing there? And why did he wait until now to come see you?
“What are you doing here?” you finally asked.
He picked up a clear bag from the floor and lifted it for you to see. “You didn’t get to see what I got you,” he said and your eyes locked on the red giftbox with a green ribbon inside the clear bag.
Your grandma squeezed your arm gently. “We’ll give you two a moment.”
Nana was already nodding, amused. “Yes. Let’s let the kids sort it out.”
You didn’t protest, letting them walk back into the elevator, muttering and giggling. The office fell quiet. You and Vernon were staring at each other while the rest of the people on that floor held their breath. You could feel their eyes, watching and waiting for whatever was about to go down.
You exhaled and started walking toward your office. Vernon followed silently behind. You didn’t say anything until you were inside your office, the door clicking shut behind you. It was quieter here, insulated from the rest of the floor.
You turned to face him. “My grandma told me something about you,” you said, not elaborating because he probably already knows what you mean. “Is it true?
“It is,” he answered quickly.
You let out a slow breath. “So you liked me even before I asked you to be my fake fiancee?”
A small smile tugged at his mouth. “Oh, I liked you longer than that.”
Your heart stuttered, just before beating wildly in your chest.
“When we were kids, when we were in college… I liked you in different ways, at different stages of my life.” He met your eyes fully. “And now… Now I’m in love with you.”
You kept your voice steady, hands clenching at your sides as you tried your best not to just go ahead and jump in his arms. “Why didn’t you come see me sooner?”
“I tried, but I didn’t really get a chance. You were in a relationship with this dude in college—”
“No, I meant after we left the island on Christmas day,” you interrupted.
Vernon paused, realization dawning on him. “Oh. Oh, I wanted to,” he said. “But no one was allowed to leave the island until the holidays were over. That’s not negotiable in my family. And I needed to sort things out. With them. With myself. I didn’t want to come to you half-done.”
You laughed under your breath. “Do you always have to do things properly?”
He shrugged. “I wanted to do this one right.”
Silence fell between you. You crossed your arms, still unsure what to do, how to navigate this. “I’m sorry,” you said first, because you had to. He deserved it. “For leaving like that. For not letting you say anything.”
He shook his head. “I would’ve followed you anyway.”
“So?” you asked, heat creeping up your neck. “What now?”
Vernon took one tentative step closer. “Well, my new year’s resolution is to kiss you everyday for the rest of my life.”
You huffed a laugh, caught off guard. “That’s a… very specific commitment.”
“I’m very committed to it.”
You laughed despite yourself, and Vernon watched with a fond smile, just before silence came again. You were both standing at the edge of something you didn’t want to rush or ruin.
“Well?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “Are you just gonna stand there all day or do I have to kiss you myself?”
Vernon’s mouth stretched into the biggest, happiest smile you’d ever seen on a man. He crossed the distance between you in one step, then wrapped his arms around you. You hugged him back just as tightly, instinctively, like it was something your body had been waiting for longer than your mind wanted to admit.
Then he kissed you. A kiss that answered everything, one that didn’t ask questions anymore. For a moment, the world narrowed down to just the two of you. But only for a moment because three seconds later, the sound of clapping, cheers, and hooting erupted around the office.
Startled, you pulled back just enough to see past his shoulder and realized that the entire floor had been watching from outside the clear glass walls of your office.
“Oh my god,” you exclaimed, looking at Vernon and then laughing. “Do you think they heard you confess your love for me?” you teased.
Vernon glanced around, then back at you, utterly unbothered. “I don’t care,” he said, scooping you up and kissing you again.
The office erupted all over again, a whole floor of employees witnessing the day you and Vernon made a scene professing love like you were in cheesy Hallmark Christmas movie.
— synopsis: following an abrupt break-up that has lasted a year, you find yourself standing in front of the very apartment where your past lover sleeps, and where you once used to call home. two birthdays, several holidays and one sullen, teary 'could've been' anniversary later — you're ready to face him and ask the unexpected.
– genre: exes to ??? ; angst, smut, fluff.
— pairing: ex-boyfriend!hansol vernon chwe x fem!reader
– word count: 12k.
— rating: 18+. minors do not interact!
– warnings: seungkwan plot device! lots of tears, breakups, mentions of food/eating, mentions of alcohol. smoking (weed), swearing, kissing, exes being exes that can't let go. smut warnings: unprotected sex (yeah yeah don't do it), pet names (babe, baby, etc.) ; brief oral/fingering (f.rec), dirty talk (sorry), body worship, slight breeding kink, ruined orgasms, clitplay, creampie. that's about it i think. enjoy?
— what to listen to: iris - the goo goo dolls ; the only heartbreaker - mitski ; supercut - lorde ; if you leave me - seventeen ; winterbreak - muna ; perdoname - yoskar sarante ; beg for you (remix) - charli xcx, rina sawayama, a.g. cook, vernon.
– author's note: [special thank you to @diamonddaze01, @hannieoftheyear + @ikeukiss for beta-reading most of this before i finished it off tonight!] he's bald! he's bald and he's falling in love with people who have hair! as previously stated, i could not finish off 2025 without thee hansol vernon chwe making his debut on my blog, and i'm incredibly excited to dedicate this one to none other than @sailorsoons ! i'm not going to get sappy because i'm not good at it and i know you don't like it, but please know i love you and i hope your birthday was a blast. here's to you, to 2025 and hansollie's debut on haologram! happy birthday, halali! ♡
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?”
You don’t have an answer for him; your hand clenched inside your jacket pocket, the other gripping the handle of your umbrella. You look up at him from under the rim of the pink shade, his eyes boring into your face. He looks upset, but perhaps...not with you.
Maybe the circumstances.
“I’m not sure,” you mumble back, your throat burning as you step back slightly.
He stays silent as he averts his gaze to your boots, muddy from the rain and possibly jumping in every puddle available. You always liked doing that when the rain was light, and it usually ended up with him offering you a pair of sweatpants when you got home.
Or, to his apartment. It’s not home to you, not anymore.
He doesn’t say anything as he moves to the side, opening the door wider for you to step inside. You’re seemingly rooted in place until he turns his head to face the inside of his apartment. Slightly messy, with blankets and sweaters strewn everywhere. Candles burning on his coffee table fill the place you once called home with smells of salted caramel, vanilla and a hint of cedarwood.
You’re quiet as you slip your feet out of your pink rain boots, your mismatched yellow and purple socks doing nothing to keep you warm from the freezing tile of his foyer. You shake off the umbrella, wrapping it closed and leaning it against the brick of his building.
“No one will take it, right?”
“You know no one will.”
You shove your hand in your pocket as you duck into his apartment, feeling the sting of tears prick at your eyes as you look around his living room. He’s got his journal open on the coffee table, the list of films you promised you’d watch together displayed in his handwriting. Smudges of blue and splats of ink from what you presume to be tears cover the page.
The Netflix account you once shared is paused forty minutes into Mary and The Witch’s Flower.
“I thought we said—”
“We said a lot of things, let’s not go down that rabbit hole.”
You suck in a breath, nodding as he shuts the door. You hear the lock click, before hearing him skirt into the kitchen.
“Drink?”
“Any soju?”
A scoff is heard, before the familiar clinking of the green bottles you know he hasn’t touched and possibly been sitting since you left. Hansol never did like to drink alone.
Even if it meant drowning in every sinking thought he had about you.
He comes out of the kitchen with the bottled gripped between his knuckles, and a bottle of juice in his other hand. It’s new, and it’s one of your favorites. One that he hates.
“Force of habit, huh?”
“I guess.”
You inch towards the couch, the Persian rug beneath your feet soft and cushiony. You remember buying it with him, browsing a website he’d gotten from Seungkwan and buying three things while stoned out of your mind. The tiger blanket draped across the couch was one of the three, and a personalized cushion with your initials was the other.
That was nowhere to be found.
You perch on the edge of the couch, suddenly feeling hot as he sets the drinks on the coffee table. He still smells the same, soft aftershave and cotton deodorant.
Cotton deodorant you used to buy for him, in bulk at Costco.
He had half a stick on the vanity before you left. He’s had to have bought more since.
He’s almost too close as he opens the bottles, flicking the caps onto the table and leaning back into the couch. Your fingers brush the sweating neck of the soju bottle as you grab for it, cold and slippery. He takes it from you abruptly, a bit of it spilling down his hand as he shakes his head.
“Wrong one.”
You look at the bottle in his hand, his fingers just barely covering the word Fresh scrawled on the label. Your cheeks heat as you nod, grabbing for the other one.
Yogurt.
“Do you need a glass?”
“No, I’m okay.”
He hums, picking at the label on his bottle with his ringed forefinger. He doesn’t press play on the movie; he doesn’t move to comfort any sort of awkward situation. Hansol knows you’ll speak when you’re ready.
“What’s the movie about?”
“The kid’s a witch.”
“Oh, cool.”
“Yep.”
Silence.
Agonizing, excruciating, debilitating silence.
“Do you hate me?”
“What?”
His eyes are wide as he quickly faces you; your eyes glued to the burning flame of the salted caramel candle on his coffee table. You bought that one. You bought it at a home goods store, and you remember scowling at him when he raised an eyebrow at you when you beelined for it – you'd told him you’d just wanted to get new pillows for the bed.
Pillows you left behind.
“Do you hate me, Hansol? I’d hate me?”
“I could never hate you.”
You swallow hard, your fingers tightening around the bottle of soju. He sighs, setting his down on the coffee table before running a hand through his hair. Or lack thereof, he’s buzzed it off since – chocolate brown hair you’d run your fingers through before bed or swipe out of his eyes when he was too concentrated on Mario Kart.
He looks good.
He looks...tired.
“I could never hate you.” He repeats, and suddenly, the air feels thicker around you. Everything feels like it weighs a thousand pounds, your chest tight as you force yourself to look up at him. His eyes are rimmed with unshed tears, your jaw dropping slightly as you inch forward.
He looks away, wiping his eyes quickly before clearing his throat.
“You did what you thought was best. I can’t hate you for taking care of yourself, that’s what you’re supposed to do.” He mumbles thickly, shrugging his shoulders as he traces the spout of the bottle. You follow his fingers carefully, your heart sinking at the slight tremble in them.
“I’m sorry I disturbed you tonight, Hansol.” You murmur back, wiping your sweaty palms on your jeans, still damp from sprinkles of the rain. He shakes his head, sighing. You’re both staring at the condensation dripping on his coffee table.
His coffee table that you bought together. His bottle of juice that he’s never going to drink. His television, and the remote that you always changed the batteries to because he would forget.
His apartment. Speckled with you, everywhere. Everywhere you looked, you saw yourself.
“You didn’t.”
“I did.”
“Don’t tell me how I feel, Y/N. I’m so tired of everyone telling me how I feel, or how I’m supposed to feel, or whatever. I’m human, too. I can feel whatever I want. And you didn’t disturb me, okay? I wouldn’t have opened the door if I didn’t want to.”
Your chest aches at the sound of your name from his lips, eyes wide as you look at him; his own still trained on the condensation gathering on his coffee table. You watch him as his eyes follow the drops sliding down the bottles, your tongue darting out slowly to wet your lips.
“Why...did you?”
“Why did I what?”
“Open the door.”
“It’s storming. You only like rain when it’s light.” He whispers to himself, before glancing at you. “You still...right? You still don’t like thunder?”
It’s only been a year, but he acts like it’s been an eternity.
Maybe it has been.
Maybe it’s been a millennia for him, as it has been for you.
“Right,” you nod, picking at your nail polish as your leg starts bouncing. He used to stop you – when he was your boyfriend. He’d splay his hand on your kneecap; his thumb would rub gentle circles into the side before giving it a squeeze. You found solace in the touch.
Now? He’s more than a cushion and a half away, and the space between you is hot; it’s burning hot. And you so badly want to close the gap, to feel his hand on your knee and feel the comfort of him spread through your body.
In any way. You’d allow it in any way.
“It’s been a year. Today.” You clear your throat, and he closes his eyes – folding his hands in his lap as he leans back into the couch. He nods before resting his head on the back of his couch and opening his eyes to look at you.
“...Is this where we do the whole ‘how have you been’ bullshit?”
There is a lilt of a smile in his voice, but it doesn’t show on his face. You shake your head, shrugging your shoulders.
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know how you’ve been, or you don’t know if—”
“I miss you, Hansol.” You blurt, wincing inwardly as you shove your hands under your thighs; your fingers cold from the bottle and the rain and the way all the blood in your body rushes to your chest to aid the fire of anxiety in growing. You shift, wondering how long you could stare at the coffee table before your eyes wore holes into it.
“...Is that why you’re here?”
You suck in a shaky breath, opting to close your eyes. If you’re going to cry, you don’t want to see his reaction to it. You don’t want to see the flame in his eyes when he tells you to get out, to leave – that you’re too little, too late.
That he doesn’t want you anymore, and you’ll have to live with the regret of leaving him for the sake of nothing for the rest of your life.
“I know I don’t get to say that. I know it’s my fault. I left, and I...I’m sorry, Hansol. I’m sorry that I was a coward and I jumped ship when things started getting serious. I was a douche, and you don’t have to miss me. You don’t have to feel anything, I just...” Your tongue darts out to lick your lips, the salty taste of a stray tear coating the tip.
“I wasn’t even in the neighborhood. I was six blocks away; I’d gotten coffee with Seungkwan. He told me you still lived here, and that you were good. That you were doing well.”
“And you wanted to...what? Check and make sure for yourself? Ruin it, if I was?”
There’s no poison in his voice. Hansol has always been diplomatic, respectful. Sometimes you wondered if there was a single bone in his body that ever felt rage. The urge to make everything look like a war zone, the subtle need to want to destroy every relationship he’s ever built from the ground up.
Sometimes, you feel that kind of rage.
“I don’t know,” you murmur, tightly squeezing your eyes shut as you feel him shift on the other edge of the couch. A roll of thunder is heard outside, your fingers gripping the fabric of the cushion beneath your thighs as it fades.
You don’t catch the way he instinctively reaches for you, before sinking back into the cushion.
“I don’t know what I wanted to do. I don’t know what I’m doing here.”
He hums, and you sniffle. One of your hands reaches to swipe at your face, wiping the tears on your jeans as you face away from him. You open your eyes, looking at the wall through the blur of tears. All the frames on the wall are still the same, and they hold all of your pictures together. Your face is still cemented in the memories, and you wonder how he felt looking at those pictures every single day.
“Do you want to talk about everything?” He asks softly, and you glance over your shoulder to see him resting his cheek on his palm. His eyes are just as gentle and understanding as they’ve always been.
As warm as they’ve always been.
“It could help you...uh, figure yourself out.”
Help you figure yourself out.
“What is there to talk about? I left for no reason.”
“Don’t do that. You left to find yourself. You left to take care of you.”
“And it was selfish,” you scoff, and he clicks his tongue.
“You think so?”
“I know so.”
“I think it would’ve been worse if I kept begging you to stay, knowing you wouldn’t have been happy here. I mean, look around,” he gestures to the apartment. There is so much of you, and so much of him. “Everything in this apartment was a display of what our relationship was. Everything was you and me, me and you and us. It was never just Y/N, and it was never just Hansol. I could not, in good faith, keep you here if it was me that was suffocating you. It was not fair.”
“You could never suffocate me,” you mumble to yourself, feeling a few tears trickle down your face as you speak.
It’s silent for a moment.
“What about you, Sol?”
The nickname slips from your bitten lips, and he sighs.
“What about me, Y/N?”
“If the tables were turned. If I had begged the way you did, would you have stayed?”
It’s not a fair question. You know it’s not, and you can tell he thinks it’s not as his eyes shut, and he silently nods his head. He tongues his cheek, running a hand over his buzzed hair and down his face.
“That’s not a fair question.”
“I know.”
You nod, choosing to refocus your gaze on the coffee table. There was a sticker you’d peeled off an apple a few weeks before you left, still stuck to the table leg. It looks glossed over, like it’d come unstuck and somehow been put back. Glue, maybe. Clear nail polish.
“Why didn’t you change the apartment?”
“In case you ever found your way back.”
There was a hint of hope in the back of his throat, and you realize that he’s wearing the same hoodie he wore the day you left. Baby blue, over a white t-shirt. You bought it for him, just a few weeks before you decided that things were too overwhelming. That the idea of forever was too similar to the feeling of impending doom, that seeing him so irrevocably in love with you when you couldn’t even understand the ache in your chest when you looked at yourself in the mirror...it felt unfair. It felt unfair to lose yourself in him.
It felt unfair to have the goodness of Hansol’s heart in the palm of your hand.
And it was unfair to get to break it into pieces as he knelt in front of you that very day, his forehead pressed against your thighs int he very same jeans you’re wearing now. The way his tears soaked through the material the same way the rain had, and how you bit back your own sobs as you carded your fingers through his hair that night – before untangling his arms from around your knees and walking out of the navy grey door you wish would open so you could bolt out right now.
“If I beg now—”
“You never have to beg for anything. Not from me.”
You felt your throat ache as you forced yourself to swallow, holding back a sob as he sighed quietly.
“Can I...talk about what it was like not having you around?” His voice is tentative, almost like he was talking to a deer he didn’t want to spook. You nod in silence, letting the tears drip onto your pants freely as you continue to stare at the coffee table.
“I still go by the grocery list you left on the fridge. Eggs, bread, strawberry jam and that gross fucking juice.”
His words are enough to get a snorted laugh out of you, your hand reaching to dig into your pocket for the napkin you’d taken from the café you’d been at earlier. You wipe the tip of your nose with it, shaking your head.
“I haven’t used pots or pans. I bought a crappy set from the dollar store to get myself through the days alone. I haven’t used the silverware, but I haven’t polished it either...so it’s just gathering dust in the drawer. I haven’t slept in the bedroom, either. I usually sleep here, on the couch. You left a tube of lipstick on the bathroom counter, and your shampoo is still in the shower caddy.”
He nods, and you can feel the heat of his gaze leave your face. You peek at him through the corner of your eye, seeing him looking behind you – at the wall of photos.
“I bought a sample size of your perfume, so the bathroom would still smell like it did in the morning when you would leave for work.”
You can feel your chest ache; almost like someone had reached into your ribcage and squeezed your heart so tight, it could burst in their hand.
“I refill the same disposable soap you bought the week you left. The detergent is still the same cotton scent, because you said that the other scents made your head hurt. I bought a new air freshener a few months ago but went back to return it because it was Febreze, and you don’t like Febreze unless it’s the Linen & Sky scent. I replaced the baking soda in the refrigerator, but the only food in there is what I mentioned earlier. Eggs, bread, strawberry jam.”
“And the juice,” you utter, and you can sense a dull ache start to thump at your temples. You bring your fingers up to your face, rubbing slow circles. Your eyes are low as they flicker up to the wall next to the door – his caps are hung up in the exact order they had been when you left. His navy New York Yankees, blue Texas Rangers, black Chicago White Sox and a pink one he rarely wore unless the two of you were going somewhere together.
It had your initials embroidered on the bill.
“I left everything exactly the same. I wanted it to still feel like home to you, if you ever came back.”
You turn to face him, seeing his eyes brimming with tears as he clears his throat, but interrupt him before he can speak.
“I carry a Polaroid of us in my wallet,” you start, running a hand over your face as you bring your knees to your chest, leaning back fully into the couch. “I carry a Polaroid of us, and I would show it to guys when they asked me if I was dating anyone. I couldn’t bring myself to delete any of our photos, so I put them all in a locked folder and forced myself to never look at it. I’ve eaten so much peanut butter, and it doesn’t even taste good. I hate it, actually. I hate peanut butter.”
He covers his mouth with his fingers, pursing his lips so as to not let his laughter out. You feel a smile try to fight its way onto your lips, but you swallow it down as you pick at a loose thread on the couch. You used to snip them when you still lived here. You’re sure if you reach just under the middle cushion, the gold pair of sewing scissors would still be tucked away safely.
“I left, and I was miserable. I was miserable because I was doing everything to let go of something...of someone I was so sure I didn’t deserve. I was trying to erase you from my life, but you were already missing. I would order too much food and wonder what to do with the leftovers. I would see a poster for a new indie movie I thought you’d like, and I’d go to text you, typing in the message box before I realized I couldn’t just do that. It wasn’t fair.”
“I saw the bubble pop up a lot,” he confesses softly. You must look confused, because he clears his throat before shrugging, “I once opened the chat while I was in the grocery store. I was going to ask you if we needed anything else. You were typing and then you stopped. I cried in the dry cereal aisle, a little girl called me a wimp, and I left without groceries. It’s kind of funny, now that I think about it.”
“I’m sorry.”
“That’s the last time you say that to me. I’m sick of hearing it.”
His eyes are serious, no longer glazed with tears. You nod slowly, before you run your tongue over your lips for a third time. It’s suddenly too dry in his apartment, and you feel your skin start to itch as you clear your throat.
“I miss you, Sol.”
You feel your eyes flood, a fat teardrop splatting onto your hand. You wipe it off on your jeans, before sniveling one last time and pushing off the couch.
“Thank you for listening, and for letting me in.”
He nods silently, before standing up. He doesn’t move towards the door – instead beelining for what used to be your shared bedroom. You wipe at your eyes haphazardly, drying your hands of what few tears were left on the back of your jeans. You can hear him rooting around, and you opt to move towards the hallway mirror to check your reflection.
In the corner of the mirror’s frame is a Polaroid of you and him. Your cheeks squished together, with your birthday scrawled in blue marker across the bottom in his handwriting. A lopsided heart follows the date.
It’s been so many years since that photo. It feels like so long ago.
He’s wearing the same blue hoodie, and your shoulders brave the same hot pink windbreaker.
He’d spotted it at a thrift store, the windbreaker. And the jeans you have on. And the t-shirt you wear to bed, still sullied with the scent of his deodorant and his toothpaste stain that doesn’t come out no matter how many times you wash it.
And you realize – that you are entangled.
You are everything he is, and he is everything you are. You mirror one another – from the love of cinema to the way you find each other in every universe; whether it’s in a baby blue hoodie and a hot pink windbreaker, in bottles of Fresh and Yogurt soju, or in a pink cap with your initials embroidered on it and the locket he got you with his engraved.
It burns the skin of your chest under your shirt.
Your bedroom at your mother’s house is riddled with more of him – from the single love letter you took when you left, to the odd collection of his shirt and hoodies you’d stolen from him over the years. He picked the forest green paint on the walls a few summers ago, and he made you a shitload of tchotchkes to line the floating shelves he’d helped you put up. You’d escaped there when you left him a year ago.
Only a few miles from him.
From home.
You bring your hand to your chest, feeling around for the gold locket and finding it twisted in your cleavage. It held two pictures – one of him as a baby, and one of you together. Close to your heart, close to your soul – you carried him.
You would beg. God, you would beg.
You would – if it meant you didn’t have to leave. If it meant you could leave your umbrella outside and know that Mrs. Kim next door would borrow it in the morning to get her newspaper before putting it back. You would beg on your hands and knees if it meant that Hansol wrapped his arms around you in this very moment, and let you breathe in the cotton and salted caramel and vanilla and everything he’s ever been.
You would beg, plead, pray to whatever God was out there to feel the warmth of his lips against your forehead. To hear that he missed you, he misses you. To stay up well into the night watching Princess Mononoke on his iPad in the kitchen while you bicker about how bad he is at polishing the silverware.
To lay in bed with him and count his eyelashes. To stuff a towel on the windowsill so you can open the window and breathe in the petrichor but not ruin the paint. To throw the duvet off the bed and run your hands under his shirt, likely stained with splatters of kimchi stew and the juice he fucking hates but drinks because it reminds him of the way you taste.
But it’s much sweeter when he thinks of it that way, he told you once. It tastes a lot better when it’s on your lips.
He loves that gross fucking juice when it’s lingering on your tongue.
You sigh, finally looking at your face in the mirror. Hansol is standing behind you, brows slightly furrowed as he seemingly stares at the back of your head. You jump, your hand splaying on your chest as you suck in a breath too quickly.
“You jerk, you scared me!”
“I’ll wear a bell next time,” he rolls his eyes, before holding up something in the mirror. Purple with white flowers, yellow with cats – your socks.
Ones you lost a year ago.
“Where did you find those?”
“Mrs. Kim next door found them in her basket after she pulled her clothes from the dryer yesterday. She said she remembered you running in your underwear for the newspaper and you were wearing the purple ones.”
Your eyes widen, “I’ve never run outside in my underwear! And I had shorts on that day!”
“My boxers do not count as shorts,” he snorts, before holding them out to you. “Underwear is still underwear, no matter who wears it.”
“Pft. Whatever.” You mutter before hesitating to take the socks. It could mean the end of whatever this was – you would have to stuff them in your pocket and walk towards his front door. You would have to turn his doorknob and hold onto the threshold of his apartment as you slipped your feet back into your wet rain boots. You would have to stand in his stoop as you shook out and opened your umbrella.
You would have to look into his eyes and say goodbye.
And for how long?
How long will goodbye be this time?
You reach behind you and carefully take the socks, your thumb brushing him. He doesn’t move, doesn’t react – only watching as you tuck the socks into the pocket of your windbreaker. His eyes return to the mirror, the Polaroid in the corner catching his attention.
“I haven’t looked at that photo in so long,” he murmurs, stepping forward slightly. You can feel the heat of his body on your back, before nimble fingers pluck the photo from the corner of the frame. He looks like he’s in pain as he takes it, as if it hurts him to move anything that was there when you left.
His thumb wipes dust off the photo, particularly off your face. You look at the mirror and see the perfect outline of the Polaroid, formed by the dust. You reach over and wipe it off, before wiping your hand on your jeans.
I’m ready to come home.
Please. Ask me to come home.
He glances up at the motion, tonguing his cheek as he manages to place the picture back perfectly.
“Nice try.”
You don’t respond, but he doesn't say anything else, either. He simply stares at the photo before sighing softly. He looks hesitant, and you continue to let your eyes linger on the heart-shape of his smile in the photo as you mutter under your breath.
“It’s still raining.”
“It’s only going to get worse. I’m surprised you agreed to go out with Seungkwan at all.”
You nod, before your eyes flit back to the mirror. He’s not looking at the photo anymore – but at you. His eyes are full of emotions you can’t place as he scans the entirety of your face, as if he’s taking you in; as if he can’t believe you’re real.
As if he can’t believe you’re home.
“You changed your mascara.”
You blink, opting to clear your throat as you nod, “how’d you know?”
“The other one was kind of blue, I think. This one is brown.” He shrugs, “I liked the blue one.”
“I’ll wear it more often,” you reply smoothly, before realizing it was one of the responses you’d give him when he complimented something you donned during your relationship. The hot pink windbreaker, the jeans you have on, OPI polish in Cos-mo Money on your fingernails.
“I mean, I didn’t...ugh. Sorry.”
“Mhm.”
He doesn’t say anything else, and you feel your throat dry as his eyes continue their path around your face. Eyes, nose...
Lips.
“I miss you,” he murmurs.
You feel your back stiffen as he shifts away, hearing his footsteps round the edge of the couch. He doesn’t sit down – instead, blowing out his candles as he gathers the bottles of untouched soju and tucks the unopened juice under his arm as he speaks.
“I miss you, and I don’t want you to leave. I understand if you have to, and I’ll be here when you’re ready to come home.”
You’re rooted in place as you watch him slink away into the kitchen, hearing him pour the liquor down the drain. The clinking of the bottles is mocking you as he rinses them, before sliding them into the glass-only recycling bin. The sound of the refrigerator opening pains you, hearing the clunk of the heavy juice bottle being slid into the door before it shuts again.
For what seems like the thousandth time today, you feel your eyes sting with tears. Your nose burns as you wait for him to slip out of the kitchen, your fingers toying with the zipper of your windbreaker before it gets the chance to start feeling too sticky on your skin. You tug it off, bunching it up and tossing it over the back of the couch before running your hands over your face in frustration.
“Too sticky?”
He appears next to you; eyes rimmed red as he sidles up. Or at least you wish he would – he's a good foot and a half away. The tip of his nose is pink, and there is a soft sheen on his cheeks – from tears finally spilling, you assume.
It makes you ache.
It makes your teeth hurt, the bittersweet pain of watching the man who you were sure put the stars in the sky every night feel like he had to act like you were a stranger while still yearning for you – just to make you comfortable. Why does he do that?
How can he do that?
“Hansol?”
“Mmh?”
You should feel pathetic, selfish, with the way the words crawl up your throat so easily.
“Can I stay?”
He doesn’t respond; his eyes glancing at the clock above the television. It was one of the first things you bought together – at yet another thrift store. It had a badly painted version of Shrek and Donkey on the face; the numbers shakily smeared, but the two of you bought it for giggles. It became a statement piece; your friends always commented on how ugly the thing was in comparison to everything else in your home.
But it was so you, and it was so Hansol.
So, who cares?
“Please. Please, let me stay, Sol.”
“You don’t need to beg. This is your home.” He shakes his head, and you can feel your voice shaking before you can even get the words out.
“You don’t have to miss me because I miss you. You don’t have to love me, because I love you. It’s not transactional.”
You almost miss the way he rolls his eyes, before he glances down at you by the slope of his nose. His brow is raised, your skin prickling at the sight.
“Don’t tell me how to feel.”
“I’m not.”
He shrugs, perching on the back of the couch. His hands are hidden in the pocket of his hoodie, and the proximity is enough to make your knees grow weak – worsening as a hint of that soft aftershave floats up your nostrils.
“You are. I’m allowed to miss you, you know. I’m allowed to think about you before I go to bed at three in the morning. I’m allowed to feel the twist in my stomach when I look at the toothbrush you left that I haven’t had the balls to replace, as if you’re still here. I’m allowed to still love you, after all this time.”
“I was gone for a year. You should hate me.” You lament, absently picking at your cuticles, “an entire year, Hansol. Two birthdays, yours and mine. So many holidays so many special events...all over my own insecurities of not knowing who I was and if I was even worth your time.”
He scoffs, shaking his head, “a year, ten years, a millennia. My heart has only ever been my own when you’re not the one holding it. Only then, could you have told me how to feel, and I still wouldn’t have listened to you. I will love you even if you do not love me, and even when you feel like you don’t deserve it. Even when you know who you are, and especially when you don’t. Because I know.”
You feel your lip jut out in a pout as you try to hold back the pathetic sob in your throat, only to see his hand slip out of his pocket and stop you from picking at your skin. He’s warm, like he always is.
He’s warm, inviting. Comforting.
You look up cautiously, only to see the same gaze you’d been used to in the mornings just a year ago. Soft, gentle, loving. Unadulterated adoration.
Glazed over with a hint of uncertainty. Of the present, of the future.
Of us, and everything we are. Everything we could be, and everything we are.
You look around the apartment, the weight of his hand on yours seeping into your bones. You take everything in again – the coffee table, the condensation left from the bottles, the remote. The television. The journal, with smudged blue ink. The candles. The hideous Shrek clock.
Your coffee table that you bought together. Your television, and the remote you always changed the batteries to because he would forget. The journal you bought him at a bookstore while he was preparing to visit his sister in New York City. The candles you bought around the time of that trip, because they reminded you of him – though he smells like cotton and they smell like candy.
The blanket you knitted yourself when he complained about being cold one evening – it took you four months, but it was well worth it to see the giddy grin on his face when you finally threw it over him before bed. The glass chess set that had been gathering dust in the corner for far longer than you’d been gone – one that you lost three games to him on, and sulked for hours as he peppered kisses all over your face.
Your bright red coat hung by the window, one that you’d gone frantic looking for as the colder months crept in – right next to his black one.
Coats you bought together.
“Can I see the bedroom?”
He nods silently, pushing off the back of the couch as you nervously intertwine your fingers. He says nothing, only squeezing your hand softly as he leads you down the hall – as if you’d never been there. He twists the doorknob open; the room illuminated only by the gloomy sky outside.
You reluctantly let go of his hand to step inside, your fingers flexing at your sides as you walk on the soft beige carpet. He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed and watching you stare at the floating shelves on the walls. Everything is still where you left it – wooden plane models, a few Smiski figurines, a singular LEGO wildflower bouquet. A deck of tarot cards that you used to fool around with him on long nights, stoned and flipping your bar of selenite through your fingers while he actively asked what upright Lovers meant.
The bed is made – the sage green sheets neatly tucked and folded under the mattress. The pillows are fluffed and stacked exactly the way you left them the day you went out the front door. Your pitcher of water had been refilled, and the glass wasn’t fogged over – it was new water.
Clean water.
The window is open, and a familiar pink towel is rolled carefully and stuffed onto the windowsill – the room smells of petrichor and your perfume. You spot the wall still lined with your shared collection of vinyl records, the player still holding Dizzy Up the Girl by The Goo Goo Dolls.
He bought you that one the day before you left. You remember laying on the floor with him, your head on his stomach while his fingers ran through your hair. You had told yourself you wouldn’t cry that night – but you did anyway, at half past four in the morning as he lay asleep in your arms.
Your fingers gently run over the needle, before you pick it up carefully and place it on one of the grooves. The first few notes of All Eyes on Me play through the small speakers before you lift the needle and stop it. You let it fall back into its slot in front of the record, before folding your hands behind your back and turning to face him – your eyes immediately dropping to the floor.
“Are you ready to come home?”
You look up wearily, feeling your breath catch in your throat.
“I love you, Hansol.”
“That doesn’t answer my question, Y/N.”
You move forward abruptly, circling your arms around his waist and tucking yourself into his chest. He reciprocates carefully, almost as if he’s afraid.
His hands tremble slightly as they ghost over your back, your own fisting the back of his hoodie as you press your face into the fabric. You feel his cheek rest on the top of your head, hearing a sigh slip from his lips as his hand slides up your back. Your voice is muffled as you speak into his chest, but you know he can hear you just fine.
Hansol has always understood you, deeper than words.
“I have to pick some stuff up from my mom’s.”
“Y/N. Answer the question.”
“I’m ready to come home, Sol.” You murmur, before feeling the tips of his fingers move your hair away from your neck. He smooths it down your back with one hand, the other swiping stray tendrils from your forehead. You look up at him, resting your chin on his chest as he pads his thumbs over your cheeks.
“I hate it when you cry. It makes my stomach hurt.”
His honesty makes you snort, and you struggle not to roll your eyes as he continues to caress your face. He runs his thumbs over your brows, across your eyelids, down your cheeks...
On your lips.
“You cut your hair,” you whisper, and he nods.
“I was having one of those moments. Like when girls give themselves bangs because they need to feel in control of something,” he shrugs, before his eyes light up slightly. “Didn’t you bleach—”
“Shut up. You promised me we wouldn’t talk about it after it happened. Plus, you look like Buzz Lightyear. Leave me alone.”
“I’ll have you know that being called Buzz Lightyear is actually a compliment,” he gloats, making you huff.
“Yeah, because being compared to a delusional space cowboy is the way to go.”
“You did not just call him a delusional space cowboy, bro.”
“You did not just call me bro, Hansol.”
He bites back his smile, carding his fingertips through your hair. You close your eyes at the sensation, preening at the way it sends subtle shivers down your spine.
“Call me babe, or something. Honey. I like doll, too, that was a good one.” You’re murmuring into his sweater, hoping you’ll open your eyes, and he won’t suddenly disappear. Your fingers reflexively tighten around the fabric of his sweater in your fists, and you hear the rickety laughter you’ve missed so much ring through the air.
“I’m not going anywhere, just relax.” His fingers tug gently at the hair on the nape of your neck, making you scowl. Your lip juts out as you look up at him through damp lashes, eyes full of guilt.
“Do you forgive me?” The words weigh on your tongue, and you feel the tiniest bit pathetic laying yourself out like this – but it’s Hansol.
“Nothing to forgive, you know.”
“You don’t resent me at all?”
"Not one bit.”
Your eyes scan his; narrowing at the hint of mischief in the depth of them as you pull back slightly. Your brows furrow, a scoff leaving your lips as you poke your finger into his chest.
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not. If anything...I just missed you.” He admits quietly, pressing his forehead to the top of your head before wrapping his arms around your neck and pulling you close, “I miss seeing you when I come home from work. I miss finding you passed out while folding laundry on the carpet. I miss holding you, like this.”
He sighs, shaking his head as he tucks strands of your hair behind your ears before thumbing at your pierced earlobes. Small hoops loop through them – gold ones, a gift from him many years ago.
“I miss sleeping next to you, in our bed. That couch has awful cushions, why did we buy it?”
“...We didn’t. Seungkwan made us take it when you moved out, remember? Because we...you know. On it.” You glance up at him quizzically, his cheeks tinging pink as the memory settles in the forefront of his mind. He grimaces, baring his teeth slightly as he shudders.
“I still can’t believe he didn’t knock.”
“It was his apartment, Sol.”
“...And it was his couch, huh?” He snorts, glancing down at you. You nod, letting a smile paint your lips as your laugh slips out. He smiles at the sound, leaning slightly closer. His fingertips tug on your earrings lightly.
“You missed me, right?”
“Is this when you fake me out two or three times before you kiss me?” You raise a brow, palms clammy as he shrugs.
“I could, or I couldn’t. Depends on your answer, and how much.” His face is ever so slightly closer to yours, and you never really know how to react to this side of him – now, or a year ago – despite being the only receiver of it for over half a decade. Everyone views him as someone so cool, so calm, so collected – no one really understands how easily flustered you get at his subliminally flirtatious comments, or the way he looks at you like he could eat you alive...or the way he eggs you on with his provocative insinuations and those stupid eyes of his until you fold like a house of cards.
He’s an enigma of a man, a lover, a soul.
“A lot.”
“A lot.”
“So much. I’ll get a billboard and make it say I love Hansol Chwe.”
“Oh, you missed me so bad.” He chides, making you scoff as you dig your fingers into his sides lightly. He squeals, his hands grabbing your wrists and holding them away from his body, “don’t do that!”
His eyes are considerably lighter than when you’d arrived – and you feel your cheeks grow warm as he lets your arms go, once more carding his fingers through your hair.
“You’re still awful at detangling,” he murmurs, before cradling your face in his hands. “Horrible, awful, no good at detangling your hair.”
“Yeah, well...” you huff, crossing your arms as you look away. “You kind of get used to someone else doing it for you.”
He hums, “do you need to go get your stuff tonight?”
You shake your head, glancing up at him with a small smile, “if I go tonight, the silverware won’t get polished. And we need that, so we can have dinner.”
“I am not polishing silverware tonight.”
“Oh, yes, you are. I can’t imagine how dusty my forks are.”
“Our forks, first of all. Second of all, we’re not polishing them tonight. We have other things to do,” he rolls his eyes, pressing a kiss to your hairline.
You swallow the hitched breath in your throat, feigning nonchalance as you raise a brow at him.
“Oh, do we? What other things, Hansol?”
“The usual, you know.” He plants another kiss to your temple, “first order of business is actually ordering takeout.”
“Takeout, he says. Have you got money for that?” You close your eyes as his lips brush the soft arch of your brows, your eyelids, forehead...the tip of your nose. “Last I checked, we were very frugal. Eggs, bread, strawberry jam.”
“You made us expand our budget for your nasty ass juice. I think takeout can be an option tonight,” he mumbles against your cheek, and you feel your stomach start to flutter as he brushes his lips against it. “Second order of business is actually a shower. We can listen to that true crime podcast you like while I detangle your hair. This is just unacceptable.”
“Maybe I should shave my head.”
“I’d hate for you to think that you’re a delusional space cowboy, babe.”
Your eyes widen slightly at the pet name, but he doesn’t allow you to speak as he presses his lips to yours softly – smooth with the scent of strawberry lip balm. It’s chaste, it’s fast.
Too chaste, too fast for your taste.
“Third order—”
“No, no. Kiss me.”
He raises a brow, but does as you ask. His lips mold against yours, your hands finding home on his chest. He moves to pull back, but you chase after him – pulling him back and deepening the kiss. You feel like you’re on fire as he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him; your fingers pawing at his sweater as you slip your tongue into his mouth.
The groan from his throat still tastes like home.
He still tastes like home; like strawberry jam and your disgusting juice. Sweet, tart. Loving.
“I missed you, Sol.”
He doesn’t reply, his hand gingerly wrapping around your throat as he pulls you back in. The way he kisses you is desperate; holding you against him tightly as he pushes off the doorframe. He starts moving you backward, your hands wrapped around his wrist as the back of your knees hit the foot of the bed.
“Sol—”
“Shh.”
His lips never leave yours, his hand moving from your neck to the back of your head, tangling in your hair. He lays you back against the comforter gently, your hand fisting the collar of his hoodie. You tug at it as he licks into your mouth, a soft groan falling from your throat as his fingertips breach the hem of your t-shirt and graze over the skin of your belly.
You pull back from his lips with a quiet pant, your own swollen as you blink up at him. You feel his fingers squeeze your side carefully, eyes searching your face.
“Y/N?”
His voice is soft as he hovers over you lightly, his knee slotted between yours, and you feel your throat burn as your hand strokes his jaw.
“I’m sorry for leaving.”
He shakes his head, his hands moving to hold your face, “stop it. Stop being sorry for taking care of yourself. I love you. I know you, and I know that if you felt the need to leave...you had to do it. Please stop being sorry. Just...just let me love you, even if you have to leave again in another year. In ten years, in a month...tomorrow.”
You breathe out shakily, peering at him through teary eyes. His gaze is still everything it’s ever been.
Warm, gentle.
Home.
“Please, just let me.”
“I love you.”
“I know, babe. I know.”
You sit up abruptly, your hand moving to pull at the hem of his sweatshirt. He obliges, pulling it over his head and tossing it to the side as you move up the bed. His lips find yours again as your head hits the pillow, slower than before. Like he’s savoring the moment, his fingers toying with the button of your jeans before he pops it free. He breaks the kiss briefly, pulling your jeans down with ease. You kick them off the edge of the bed as his hands slide up your thighs slowly, warm and soft. A finger snaps the waistband of your underwear against your hip, making you scowl as you swat his hand away.
“Don’t be mean.”
“M’not being mean, baby.” He bites back a smile, watching as you sit up on your elbows, feeling the bed sink slightly under him as he hovers over you, the tip of his nose brushing yours. You look up at him through your lashes, moving to bridge the gap as he pulls back slightly.
“Sol?”
“I love you.”
Your chest heats as he presses his lips against yours, his hand pushing your thighs apart slightly. It slides up your hip; his thumb rubbing circles into your lower belly before he slips it under the hem of your shirt. He deepens the kiss, pushing your shirt up to the bottom of your breasts as the cool air makes your skin prickle with goosebumps. You move to pull it over your head, tossing it somewhere across the bedroom before pulling him back to your mouth, slipping your tongue between his lips.
His hands wander, softly clawing at your sides and enveloping your hips in the warmth of his fingers as your own pull at the short ends of his hair. His lips trail up your jaw, soft and feathery, before his teeth nip at your earlobe. Your knee digs into his side as he tugs lightly at your earring, and you twist away from him – only to feel the scrape of his teeth against your neck, earning a whine from your throat as your legs tighten around his hips.
“Take your pants off,” you whisper, a frown tugging at your lips as you feel him shake his head.
“Not yet,” he speaks against your skin, his lips trailing down your neck and across your clavicle. His hold on your hips loosens as his hands slide down your thighs, parting them further to slot himself between them as he peppers kisses down your chest – flattening his tongue on your nipple before you can speak. A choked sound leaves your mouth as he rolls his tongue over the sensitive bud, his thumb brushing over your neglected nipple with precision. He’s gentle, your thighs trying to close around his hips as he hums against your skin.
“Missed seeing you like this,” he murmurs, switching sides and pulling your nipple into his mouth with a soft suck. Your breathing is shaky, embarrassingly shaky – and you feel him smile against your skin, “really? Already? I’m flattered.”
“Shut up,” you bite, earning a chuckle as he trails his lips back up your neck with a tentative roll of his hips against yours. Your cheeks grow hot, feeling the weight of his cock against your clit through your flimsy underwear. Your fingernails dig into his shoulders lightly as you try to grind your hips up against him, only for him to pin you to the mattress.
“God, I missed you.” His voice is gravelly, rutting his shaft against you harder before his hand suddenly slips between your legs and slide over the damp patch of arousal soaking through your panties. He presses his fingers against it, a gasp catching in your throat – your cheeks burning as you feel him pull away from your neck. Your fingers move to pull at his sweatpants, but he moves your hand away with a quick shake of his head as his hands slide down your legs. He follows their path with his lips, dragging open-mouthed kisses up your thighs and calves, even pulling your socks off to kiss the sides of your feet.
His fingertips hook around the cotton fabric of your panties, his eyes flickering up to meet yours as he pulls on them gently. You lift your hips to let him pull them down entirely; the fabric flung somewhere across the room as he spreads your thighs, settling between them with a kiss to your hip. You cover your face with shaky hands as his lips trail across your skin, peering up at you through his lashes as he ghosts over your center. You peek out from between your fingers to see him biting back a smile as he shakes his head, “baby, it’s just me.”
“Yeah, well—” Your sentence is cut short with a choked gasp as he flattens his tongue against your cunt, licking a fat stripe through your folds and gathering your arousal before sucking your clit into his mouth carefully. His eyes flutter shut at the taste, your teeth sinking into your lip to stop the embarrassing whine trying to claw its way out of your throat. He sucks harder, your fingers flying to his hair and tugging the short strands as best as you can before you feel his fingers prodding at your entrance. They slide in easily, your thighs closing around his head with a soft whimper. He forces them apart with his shoulders, pinning your rutting hips to the mattress with his arm as he curls his fingers inside you, his tongue working you over almost painfully slow — and the warmth in your lower just starts to spread as he pulls away.
“Did you touch yourself while you were gone?” His voice is much steadier than you trust your own to be, his fingers expertly working you open as you nodded, feeling his lips trail down your shoulder. “Did you think about me while you did it?”
“E-Everyday,” you hate the meekness in your tone, your nails digging uselessly into his bicep as he smiles against your skin. His free hand trails up your arm, gently pulling your hand away from his body and kissing your knuckles.
“Show me.”
You force yourself to peer at him through your lashes, eyes low as he brings you closer to the edge — only to see him kiss the tips of your fingers, before pulling them into his mouth. Your lips part with a soft groan, rolling your eyes as you feel his tongue slide between them, perfectly coating them with his salvia before pulling them out and snaking your hand between your thighs. His eyes are dark — desperate, even. Needy.
“Show me.”
His fingers slow inside you as you swallow hard, dragging your fingertips through your folds, spreading them slightly and circling your swollen clit. His eyes don't leave yours as you cover your mouth with your hand, your thighs twitching at the stimulation. You break eye contact, your body feeling hot as you let your head hit the pillow, squeezing your eyes shut as the mix of your fingers with his bring you closer to the edge.
“Sol, I’m—”
He didn’t let you finish your sentence, pulling his fingers out of you just as the taste of your orgasm tried to hit the back of your tongue. You let your lips part, brows furrowing as the feeling died right at his fingertips. His fingers are wet against your thigh, and he has a small smirk toying with the corner of his lip as you pout.
“Sol…” your voice is whiny as he trails his lips up your body, ghosting over your chest as you huff. “I thought you said you weren’t mad at me.”
“Oh, I’m not.” He shakes his head quickly, but he’s not looking at you. His hand pulls at the waistband of his sweatpants, low enough to let his leaking cock spring free. It’s hot and heavy against your thigh, your mouth watering slightly as he looks up at you, “I could never be mad at you.”
“Then why—”
“Because I can,” he interrupts, wrapping his fingers covered in your juices around himself. He brushes a kiss to your lips, “because I want you to ruin me all over again.”
Your eyes fluttered as he rolled his hips against yours, his length dragging through your wet folds and his tip bumping your puffy clit with a hiss from his lips. Your hands fist the sheets as he speaks against your jaw, “I thought about you every single day. Just like this.”
“Sol—”
“Fucked my hand thinking about you. Every night. Even the smell of your perfume made me want you, I missed you so much.” He’s whispering, and you can hardly hear him over the blood rushing to your ears, “missed seeing your pretty lips all swollen after sucking me off. Will you? Have I earned it?”
He doesn’t let you respond, his hand gently tilting your chin up to slot your lips with his before snaking down your bodies and wrapping around his cock. He guides himself through your slit, teasing the thick head against your hole as you gasp into the kiss.
“Please—”
“Don’t beg.” He mutters against your mouth, “I won’t do anything if you beg.”
“Sol, please—”
“Y/N.”
His tone is warning as he circles your entrance, smearing beads of precum on your slick skin before gently easing himself inside you. Your thighs close around his hips instinctively, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip as he slowly sheathes himself in your gummy walls — before he stops, not even halfway in as he looks you dead in the eyes.
“Tell me you missed me." His hands hold your thighs tightly, the rings on his fingers digging into your skin. Your mouth falls open as he gives a tentative roll of his hips, but he pulls right back out before you can savor the feeling. He shakes his head with a click of his tongue, "tell me you missed me, Y/N."
"Missed you," you whisper, tears pricking at your eyes as you tilt your head up to kiss him. He lets you, slotting his lips with yours as you wrap one leg around his hip, "missed feeling you. Haven't stopped thinking about you."
The admission is enough to make him grind his cock against you, the fat head bumping your clit over and over as you slip your tongue in his mouth. The kiss is all teeth and tongue as he rocks against you, a groan falling from your throat as you taste yourself all over him and making you clench around nothing. Your nails dig into his shoulders as you roll your hips with his, only for him to pull away with a chaste kiss to your lips, still ghosting over your face as he peered at you through thick lashes.
"I love you." Your hand cups his jaw gently, his own trailing up your arm to wrap around your wrist. He kisses your palm, leaning into your touch as his eyes close, "I love you, Y/N."
You pull him down to you, brushing your lips to his, "I love you, Sol."
He nods, tapping your hip with his hand and squeezing the flesh, "turn around."
You roll your eyes, a smile trying to fight its way onto your lips as his hands slide up your hips, helping you turn onto your belly, "you never change."
"Man of habit, what can I say?" His voice is low as he presses his lips to the dip of your spine, your skin littering with goosebumps as he moves your hips flush to his. He drags his mouth up your back, his fingers caressing the skin of your sides as he moves them up to your shoulders, gently wrapping his hand around your throat with a soft squeeze, "missed you so much. Missed touching you…kissing you. Having you."
"I'm here." You whisper back as he presses kisses to the side of your face, your eyes fluttering shut as his lips brush your eyebrow. "Have me."
"M'not gonna last very long," he murmurs against your cheek, your hand reaching back and tugging gently at his hair. His hand snakes between you, wrapping around his cock and dragging it up your slit with a hiss. You push your hips back against him, biting down on your lip as he nudges your clit, his lips pressing kisses to the curve of your jaw, "might not last at all, actually."
"Just wanna feel you," you let him tilt your head back, brushing your lips with his as he pulls you up, your back flush to his chest as he finally bottoms out. You clench around him, his nose buried in your neck as he inhales shakily. His hand falls away from your throat, slipping down to cup your tits, squeezing gently as he gives an experimental roll of his hips. You're embarrassed at the tremble in your thighs, the sharp breath you suck in as he mumbles against your skin, "there she is…missed this."
"Have it…use me," you whisper back, your jaw falling slack as he starts moving his hips into you. He keeps you close as he grabs at your soft skin, kissing up the slope of your shoulder, inhaling deeply at the dip of your neck before gently pinning you to the mattress. Your fingers grip the sheets as he kisses down your spine, hiding your face in the pillows as you meet his thrusts halfway. His rings are digging into your skin as he palms at your ass, the sharp sound of the smack registering before the sting of his palm, soothed by his grip as he kisses your shoulder.
You feel yourself growing fuzzy, your limbs melting into the fabric as he sucks the sweet spot just under your ear — his cock dragging perfectly against your walls and making your skin litter with goosebumps, the pillow absorbing your whines as your skin muffles his.
"Just take it, please…" he breathes out, his fingertips digging into the meat of your hips as his movements grow sloppy, "it's yours. I'm yours."
"M-Mine," you mewl weakly, and he only groans as he pulls out abruptly, flipping you onto your back and slotting his lips with yours as he slides back in. Your nails dig into his back, sinking down the expanse of his shoulders as he swallows your whimpers — the kiss is all teeth and tongue as he spreads your thighs with his hands, his lips trailing down your jaw and nipping at your earlobe.
"Should've knocked you up years ago, fuck." He buries his face in your neck, mouthing at the skin there as your breathing grows shaky, your walls clenching around him. He nips at your collarbone, "need to fill you up every day. Make you mine forever…you'd like that, wouldn't you?"
"Y-Yeah," your voice is full of air as your cunt squeezes around him, earning a spent laugh from his throat. His hand snakes between your bodies, thumb finding your puffy clit and making you jerk as he rubs tight circles into it, the coil in your belly threatening to snap. You let out a shuddered whimper, feeling his lips brushing the column of your throat, "missed this pussy so much, baby. So perfect for me. Made for me."
His lips are frantic, kissing every inch of skin he can reach as your breathless pants fill the room, the air smelling like sex and sweat as you wrap your legs around him. He snakes his slips into your mouth in a sloppy kiss, your thighs tight around his hips as you let go, soaking his cock in your release with a whine pouring into his mouth. He twitches inside you, mumbled reassurance as your thighs tremble, his forehead damp against your shoulder as he spills inside you.
He kisses the dip of it, stamping his lips along the column of your throat as he runs his hands up and down your thighs, squeezing softly as he meets your mouth again.
"I love you," you murmur, cupping his face in your hands as he hovers over you slightly. He nods limply, kissing you smoothly as his hands spread your thighs, holding your knees to your chest as he gives another slow roll of his hips — making you jolt with overstimulation as he lets out a weak laugh.
"Gotta make sure it takes, baby." He speaks into your mouth, kissing you chastely as your legs shake around him, "love of my life. I love you."
He mumbles something else, but it's lost as he kisses you firmly, overstimulating you both as he keeps making a mess between your thighs. You pull away, holding him away from you by the short hair, "what did you say?"
He blinks at you, raising a brow before his cheeks tinge with embarrassment. He shakes his head, trying to brush a kiss to your lips but you move away.
"Don't let me ruin this, Y/N." He sighs, closing his eyes as he presses his forehead to yours. He peels them open again, the swirl of adoration and worry circling the light amber of his irises. You give him a pointed look, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth, "what did you say?"
"…Please don't leave me again." He buries his face in your neck, your eyes burning as he whispers against your skin, "please, please, please…don't leave."
You pepper your lips to the side of his face, pulling him away from your neck to connect your lips. Tears wet your lashes as you hold him close, your hands pressing against his cheeks as you pull back.
"Don't beg," you mumble, your voice thick as tears brimmed his eyes, "you never have to beg for anything. Not from me, never again."
"I love you, Y/N."
"I love you, Sol."
YOU'RE ANXIOUSLY SCRUBBING PANS THE NEXT MORNING WITH A JOINT HELD BETWEEN YOUR LIPS.
You know he said you could come back, you know he said that you can stay…but something about it makes you nervous. The way his shirt barely covers the curve of your ass but still smells like him, the way you've relit all the candles around the apartment as he sleeps soundly in your shared bedroom. His lips were pouted when you slipped out of his arms early that morning, your body sore in places it hadn't been in months. The bathroom mirror confirmed the tightness of his grip — bruises littering your hips, nips of his teeth along your ass and thighs, even a mark sucked into the dip of your hip.
You foolishly texted Soonyoung if he could drop off something to take the edge off at the apartment — and you realized you'd forgotten to tell him that you would be there. His jaw had dropped as he held out the bag of pre-rolls, expecting to see Hansol in his comfortable sweatpants glory — only to see you, in the shirt that didn't even remotely cover the black fabric of your underwear. You'd paid him in a wad of cash and closed the door before he could say anything, shooting him a text the moment you lit one of the pre-rolls to please keep his mouth shut.
The vibrations of your phone on the counter, messages from your groupchat and Seungkwan — told you that he hadn't been able to do that for very long.
You'd opened the windows, the sky still gloomy but the air fresh and cool — settling the anxiety in your stomach as you dried the last pan. He'd been right — he hadn't touched them since you left, the dust settled on them from sitting in the cabinet for so long. You fumbled around the kitchen, pulling the silver polish from the top shelf of the pantry when you felt hands on your waist. You jumped, your hand settling on your chest when you realized it was him.
"You really need to get a bell," you mutter, feeling his lips curve into a smile against the back of your neck as he takes the silver polish from your hand and tosses it somewhere on the counter. His arms wrap around you, pulling your back to his chest as he squeezes gently.
"Called Soonyoung?" His voice is raspy, the way it always is when he's just woken up. You smell mint on his breath, and you figure you must've not noticed when he started moving around in your anxious state. You nod, holding the joint out to him over your shoulder as he sways you both.
"He already ran his mouth, can't keep a secret to save his fucking life." You mutter as you feel his lips brush your fingers, wrapping around the end of your joint and pulling back. He grimaces, "is this that gross ass strain you like?"
"Everything I like is gross to you. My juice, my weed, my favorite PopTart."
"I'm not gross, and Brown Sugar Cinnamon isn't even close to being the best."
"I'm gonna ignore that, and good thing I don't like you, Sol."
"I know you think that's a compliment and sick segue to say you love me, but not liking me is embarrassing as fuck," he snorts, gingerly placing the gross thing back between your lips. "Keep that shit to yourself."
"You're so fucking annoying," you mutter, smiling despite yourself. Your skin prickles slightly as you feel his hands slide down your hips and bunch his shirt under his palms. He slips his hands under it, thumbs barely hooking on the waistband of your panties before he presses his lips just under your ear.
"You wanna polish all this shit now?"
"We didn't do it last night."
"I'd argue we did better things last night—"
"Get off me, you little freak." You huff, trying to wiggle out of his hold but failing miserably as he only turns you around. You tongue your cheek, tapping the joint out on an ashtray you'd fished out from under the double-decked coffee table before letting him pull you close again. "You're not getting out of doing this today, Chwe. I mean it."
"Seungkwan invited us to lunch," he murmurs, caging you between him and the counter. You raise a brow, "Seungkwan invited us?"
"You, my girlfriend, and me, your boyfriend. Me and you. Us. We," he gestures between the two of you, "are cordially invited to lunch at the Boo Seungkwan residence. Expect ridicule, badgering and half a cold pizza slice because Soonyoung is already over there and stoned out of his mind."
You stopped listening after me, your boyfriend.
"You love me, right?" You ask softly, tugging at his shirt gently. Another plain white one, but there's a red stain on the collar that belonged to you. Red lipstick that didn't come out after you washed it twice, leaving a lingering of your presence behind.
Just like the bruises that littered your hips, and the toothpaste stain on your shirt that belonged to him. Just like your initials on his cap, the locket around your neck, the windbreaker, the hoodie. His journal, the stickers from your apples stuck to the leg of your coffee table. The sample bottle of your perfume that you'd seen sitting on the bathroom counter, and every single vinyl in your collection. The gross juice in your fridge that he didn't like but you loved, the Shrek and Donkey clock, the chess set…and everything you are. Everything he is.
You and him.
Him and you.
Together, in everything. Lingering, cohabitating, sharing…
Entangled, enamored, bounded by souls not willing to be apart…
Synopsis: subby loser! Vernon doesn't last long when you let him go raw for the holidays
Warnings: mdni, 18+, guys, this is pwp, slight subby! Vernon, he's down bad, pussy drunk, overstim (m rec.), messy cream pie, dirty talk?, Vernon is desperate, again pwp, unprotected, a little noona kink for Vernon
When Vernon pushes his hips forward, sinking the first few inches of his cock into your drooling cunt, he thinks this must be what heaven is.
His cheeks flush, a warmth crawling up his neck and reddening the tops of his ears as your pretty pussy parts for the size of him. Your gummy walls stretch to let him press even deeper, and it makes his eyes roll back in pleasure. His jaw slacks open in a choked groan when he hears the filthy squelch your pussy makes when he bottoms out.
You’re so warm, so wet, pulsing around his thick shaft as you arch your back for him, your moans muffled in his pillow as his hips meet your ass, filling you balls deep.
He can feel his tip prod your soft cervix, pressing lewd kisses to the back of your pussy, and it’s too much. You feel too good, your pussy sucking his cock obscenely, and melting his brain into stupidity. He can’t speak, his tongue feels too heavy, and when you roll your hips back to get him to move, he whimpers. His jaw clenches, and his eyes squeeze shut as his cock jerks, swelling, and spurting rope after rope of his hot, sticky cum deep inside your pussy prematurely.
He shudders, his fingers grabbing your hips for dear life as he ruts into you pathetically, a gasp barely slipping from his lips as he cums and cums. He cums so much it seeps out of your pretty cunt in wads, gooey white, and smearing down your thighs as he stutters through apologies.
His face is heating up even more because he can’t stop fucking his cum back into you. His mind reels, spins, and his eyes glaze over watching the creamy ring form at the base of his cock while your weeping cunt slurps everything greedily. It feels so good, and he babbles, drool forming at his mouth as you let him use you like a fleshlight.
It’s the hottest thing to know you’ve made Vernon like this. Your gummy walls throb around his sensitive cock, and another whine leaves Vernon’s throat as he pulls you back to meet each one of his nasty thrusts. “I-I can’t stop,” you hear him sniffle, and the squelches of him stuffing his cock into you over and over again resonate louder.
Vernon feels hot all over, his glossy eyes blinking heavily as you start to fuck back against him. His lungs shake and he needs more, more of you.
His hand wraps around your front, his body draping over yours, his cock dragging through your gummy walls deliciously as his fingers find your clit. He mouths the back of your shoulder, thumbing your sensitive clit and milking his tender cock with your pussy. His words are soft, needy, and hot when he tells you how good you feel wrapped around him. That he’ll make up for cumming early. His words slur and the warmth in your belly heats as he kisses down your spine.
He’s got your orgasm fast approaching, his fingers swirling and stroking messy hearts on the bundle of nerves between your thighs like you’re his favorite instrument. “N-Noona, wan’ you to cum - please, please-“ his eyes fluttered closed, and your pussy slurps his cock in a tighter grip. He can barely pull back from your sopping cunt, and his stomach flexes as he feels like cumming again.
His movements become sloppier, his fingers pressing harder on your clit until you’re dragging your cunt against his cock erratically. And when his fingers pinch the little nub, your jaw drops. Your vision whitens, and your fingers claw at the bedsheets underneath you as you cum. Your walls convulse, constricting around his cock, and making him spill a second round of his seed into your pussy.
His eyes roll to the back of his head again, his mouth parting as he chants, “thank you, thank you, thank you.”
This is the best way he's spent the holidays yet.
A/N: As always, comments are encouraging to me, but any interaction is greatly appreciated! I hope you enjoyed!
You thought decorating your Christmas tree would be easy. String some pretty lights, hang some ornaments you’ve collected over time, put a pretty skirt around the base of the tree, and plug it in.
You weren’t supposed to get stuck.
The tree shone with colorful lights, sparkly ornaments, and at the bottom of it was you. You were lying on your stomach, bottom half hanging out, while your hair tangled with the branches of your fake tree. You don’t know how it happened, and you wiggled around to no luck. But thankfully, you had your phone.
Now, you didn’t think it was dire enough to call the police or firefighters, even if there was a chance they’d be cute. So, you called the only person you could think of. Your neighbor, Seungcheol.
Seungcheol lived across from you. He was the first person to welcome you to the apartment complex when you moved in. He was handsome, and his dimple smile never failed to make your own lips curve up when he held the elevator for you or helped carry your groceries inside. He was one of the few people who knew where your spare key was, and you could hear him open your front door minutes after you sent him a text asking for help.
He calls your name, sounding like he dropped everything to come over, and it has your cheeks heating up when you weakly respond. “Here!”
It’s quiet for a moment, and then there is shuffling before a cough barely covers his laughter as your ankles cross. You can feel his gaze trail up your knee-high socks to your little sleep shorts that barely cover your ass. “Wha-“
Your eyes squeezed shut, your foot smacking the floor as you cut him off quickly. “Shut up, don’t say anything- just help me please.” The warmth of embarrassment crawled up your neck and cheeks, and you could hear Seungcheol snort softly under his breath.
“I could help you, alright.” You can feel his jeans brush your inner thighs, and your body jolts as you feel his fingers trace the curve of your ass that meets your legs. “You always walk around your house like this?”
The air shifts. The room gets warmer as a shiver runs down your spine. You can hear his tone become deeper, and your mind blanks as your leg hitches up to allow his wandering fingers to slip down to your inner thighs.
“Seungcheol-“ you say his name as a warning, a wave of arousal pooling between your legs.
“You said you need some help, right?” His warm hands hike your knee up higher, spreading your legs, and you can’t help but whimper in need. “Let me help you,” Seungcheol smirks, and then his hand pulls your shorts down.
You feel perverted for being turned on by this. You’re stuck, you can’t see him, and he’s got all the power.
You can hear him whistle, feeling his hungry eyes drink up the pretty panties that barely cover you, and your drooling cunt clenches around nothing pathetically in response. “Cheol, please.” You don’t know what you’re begging for. For him to help you, but in which way?
And you don't get long to think about it before Seungcheol decides for you. He drags your pretty panties to the side, exposing your pussy to him, and another wave of slick seeps from your wet folds. “Fuck, you’re so wet - is that all for me, Pretty? Does it turn you on knowing I can have you however I want?”
His words are said softly, but he’s not wrong. You’re at his mercy, and it has your head clouding up as you wait to see what he’ll do next.
Your eyes roll back when he drags his thick fingers through your wet folds. “Oh fu-fuck!” You whimper, and he swirls the pads of his fingertips on your puffy clit.
“Oh I will, Baby. But let me play with you a little first.” He hums and it’s the only warning you are given before he’s sinking two of his thick digits in your sopping pussy.
He fills you to the knuckle, your walls sucking his fingers greedily as his other hand spreads your ass cheek to give him a better view of your pussy. He watches your cunt slurp his fingers easily, and his cock swells as he thinks about what you’ll do when it's his cock turn.
Fuck, the thought alone has his fingers curling deep inside, pulling the sweetest noises from your mouth as your pussy squelches from the intrusion. “Oh! Just like that,” you gasp and squirm, your hips rolling back to welcome a third finger into your drooling cunt, happily.
It’s obscene the way your pussy drips, squelching with each thrust of his fingers. You take his fingers easily, the stretch of his digits making your mouth water as he stuffs you full over and over again. And when you cum, your thighs shake, your slick gushing on his hand messily while he thumbs your clit with sloppy hearts.
He fucks you through it. And when he slips his fingers from your quivering hole, your ears are still ringing, and you barely feel Seungcheol rip your panties off of you.
You’re left in your knee-high socks and a small tank top when he guides his thick cock between your plush thighs. Your cunt still throbs from your recent orgasm, so when he pushes the fat bulbous tip of his cock past your first set of gummy rings, you can feel everything. Every ridge and curve of his thick cock drags along your gummy walls, and your pussy slurps him deeper as he stretches you to your limit.
When he bottoms out, his balls smack into your sensitive clit, causing you both to curse. Seungcheol’s jaw clenches, his fingers holding your hips tightly as he focuses on not cumming too quickly. It’s like your pussy was made for him, sucking him tightly, trying to milk him bone dry with how you’re pushing back against him to take him deeper. And when he drags almost all the way out, Seungcheol sees that his cock is coated with your shiny slick.
Your creamy pussy slobbers his cock with more of your sweet juices each time he bottoms out, stuffing you full, and coating your cervix with his own spurts of precum. He’s so big, so heavy, fucking all the thoughts out of your pretty head as you gasp for air. Each time he pushes forward, he drags you back to meet his heavy thrusts, and the Christmas tree shakes from the force.
The room fills with the slap of skin hitting skin, his filthy thrusts making your nails curl into the tree skirt as your lower abdomen heats up. You’re gonna cum again, you can feel it, his cock churns your insides deliciously, leaving you dumb, unable to think, let alone speak. And when he plays with your clit at the same time, you can’t give him a warning fast enough, your pussy clamping tighter and tighter, making it difficult for him to leave your addictive cunt.
You are shaking, crying his name like a prayer, and he’s talking you through it. You can just comprehend that he’s calling your pussy heaven-sent. Telling you how greedily you take him, how wet you are, how warm you feel. He talks about how you take him so well, like a good girl. He’s babbling, drunk off your pussy, and it has you rocking back into him mindlessly. His words got you working yourself over his cock sleazily as he spreads your ass cheeks apart, watching the way his slicked cock disappears into your wet channel with each bounce from you.
And when he tells you he’s going to cum inside, paint your walls white with his seed so he can watch his cum dribble from your sloppy cunt, you squeal. His words send you over the edge and into your second orgasm as he fucks you deeper. Your walls constrict, milking his cock eagerly and true to his words, he cums inside. His cock swells, filling your cunt with his sticky seed until it’s seeping out, and pooling on the floor underneath you.
“And cut! Good job, everyone!”
Seungcheol slips his cock from your used cunt, and you’re immediately turning onto your back, blinking up at the pretty Christmas lights as you listen to the camera men and crew shuffle about. Familiar hands grab your waist, and pulls you from tree with ease. You were never actually stuck, and you blink as Seungcheol grins at you. Your co-star raises an amused brow, watching as you lay there unmoving for a moment. Porn was theatrical but each of your orgasms were very much real, and satisfaction hums through you as you slowly sit up.
“You good?” A playful smirk dances on Seungcheol’s lips, and you can’t help but laugh with a nod. How cheesy, “stuck” under the tree was surely a new one for you, and you gladly take Seungcheol’s hands as he pulls you up. An assistant comes with a robe, and you tie it around your body as Seungcheol leans in, as if he has a secret. “I heard Dokyeom’s doing a shoot that’ll be titled Stocking Stuffer.”
You snort, how original, 'tis the season.
As always, comments are encouraging and any interactions are appreciated!
summary: when vernon is hired as your new manager at one of the most long-standing record stores in nyc, he ruins the perfectly crafted bubble you curated. he's pretentious, doesn't respect that sometimes you need to work on your thesis during shifts, and did I mention he has an earring? he's annoying and your worst nightmare, but when you decide to take him up on his offer to show you new music, you slowly realize that he might just become your favorite person.
warnings: fingering, unprotected sex, reader on top, praise, semi-public sex, sex in a car, power bottom!vernon 🤓 (basically), dry humping, marijuana smoking, alcohol, forced proximity, miscommunication, mutual pining, music sharing used as a love language, pathetic jealous vernon, vernon is also pretentious af, stubborn education-focused reader, also reader that's slightly scared of feelings 😝. nsfw (minors / ageless blogs dni).
word count: 19.5k
note: so I became a vernon bias after seeing svt in dc. and if we're being honest I did like him before that and simply kept it hidden bc I'm stubborn 🙂↕️☝️ but hey! coming to terms with your bias line changing means that new fic ideas are born, hence what I wrote here that feels like a fever dream. this fic was a lot of fun and I hope you like it! also, the in rotation music below is v important, especially since this is a music-focused fic lol. enjoy!! (taglist posted at the bottom.)
in rotation: in between days, the cure / safer to hate her, you me at six / complicated, avril lavigne / emotional, charli xcx / please, please, please, let me get what I want, the smiths / thinking of you, katy perry / back to the old house, the smiths / discovery channel, hayley williams / night drive, jimmy eat world
For someone that worked at a record store, you knew jack shit about music.
Music was everywhere. The historical foundation of it was right below your feet. Who knew what kind of songs were rooted deep in the soil where Reverb Records was built on? You listened to music, of course – you weren’t a psychopath. You paid some streaming service a monthly subscription so you could listen to the same couple of albums from your teenage years over and over again. You had even dated a few musicians, but that was fairly common in the small town you grew up in.
You assumed that when you moved to the city, that notion would be like finding a needle in a haystack. New York City was bustling with life. Everyone moved here from all walks of life, looking to find another purpose, a deeper meaning. That’s how everyone became a New Yorker, one way or another. But live music existed in this city around every corner. You couldn’t go into a bar nowadays without seeing some new-age indie singer who looked like he hadn’t trimmed his beard in years and probably wasn’t wearing deodorant at the mic stand. Even on campus, where you were attending you final year of grad school, there was someone practicing their guitar in a dining hall.
Perhaps it was a cruel twist of fate that the only place that would hire you part-time was a record store. But you needed the cash and a job was a job. You were utterly unhelpful to customers who were looking for a certain artist or genre, but you were organized and did what you were told. No one kept the store as spotless as you did. Your boss, Aileen, might’ve even considered bumping you to manager status if you at least tried to learn a thing about the records you were selling. There wasn’t enough time in the day though. Your mind was almost entirely booked up by school work that you couldn’t even begin to think about learning the cultural significance of the Velvet Underground & Nico.
As the saying goes though: if you won’t do it, someone else will.
After a long day of classes, you ran from campus to the record store. It was only about a mile, but the autumn chill was coming fast and of course, the bus wasn’t working today. Which meant you had to sprint just to make your 4 PM to close shift. You busted through the doors, hair disheveled and your face halfway buried in a faux fur coat, only to see your boss handing over a key to some man by the cash register. Actually, not just a key. The key. To a man you didn’t know.
Was Aileen on some kind of new drug she didn’t tell you or the other employees about?
Your cheeks were red from running as you approached the counter, one eyebrow already cocked in confusion. Stuffing your hands inside your pockets to warm them up, you asked, “Um … what’s going on here?”
The man with Aileen turned around and you almost buckled. Almost. There wasn’t anything all that special about him. He was just … handsome. And truthfully, not many handsome people came into this record store, so it threw you off just a little. He didn’t notice though. You had learned to school your expression since undergrad, warding off any frat guy that tried to step within two feet of you.
“Oh, right on time,” Aileen said, gesturing between you two. “Meet Hansol, your new manager.”
You looked to where your coworker, Mingyu, was putting up new posters in the back of the store. He shrugged before going back to work, almost shoving a pin through the corner of his thumb by accident.
When you turned back to your new manager – apparently – his hand was out for you to shake. “You can just call me Vernon,” he said in a voice much deeper than you assumed.
You only had to take one look at him to know everything about him. Vernon thought he was special. Vernon wanted to be interesting. Vernon probably listened to artists that only had less than one thousand monthly listeners. The kind of person that made your teeth grind.
His brown hair was cropped and gelled into a few spikes, mimicking a look one of your ex-boyfriends had in high school. Probably. One hoop earring dangled from his ear and he smiled at you almost cat-like, both sides of his lips curling and looking like an upside down three. A small scar was near his mouth, right where a previous lip ring would be. He was wearing an oversized black tee with a washed-out picture of Green Day and baggy cargo pants.
Not management material. Incredibly pretentious. Even for a record store.
Eventually, you slipped your palm from your jacket pockets and shook his hand, telling him your name. He nodded and turned back to Aileen, who continued to give him the lowdown on everything in the store. You took that moment as your reprieve and hurried to the backroom, throwing your jacket and backpack in a locker. Pinning your name badge to your chest, you walked out and approached Mingyu, still pinning posters to the wall. He swore under his breath when he thought he got a paper cut.
“Hey,” you whispered up at him on the small step ladder. Your eyes never left where Vernon stood with Aileen, until he looked over at you and you felt your stomach curdle. “Mingyu,” you called, tugging on the bottom of his ripped jeans.
“I don’t have time to gossip with you about your Art History professor,” he whispered back, rather loudly. “My shift ends in 20 and I have to finish decorating or Aileen is gonna kill me.”
You ignored him and yanked on his jeans again. “Since when was she hiring a new manager?”
“Oh, him?” Mingyu looked back to the register before shrugging. “Beats me.”
You crossed your arms over your chest. “He looks pretentious.”
“I don’t know. He’s kinda hot though.”
Your brow furrowed as you looked up at him. “You think with your dick.”
“Most men do.” He jutted his chin towards the counter again. “I’d head over there before our new manager yells at you.”
Rolling your eyes, you headed to the register where Vernon was bringing a crate of vintage records behind the checkout. A lot of these were purchased for display purposes only, but you guessed that anyone could be bought, given the right price. His arms were kind of skinny, but he was able to lift up the crate without protest. Mingyu was built like a god and he didn’t go a second without complaining.
“Aileen told me you were really good with organizing. It’s half the reason why the store looks as put together as it does,” he said, hands on his hips as he surveyed the area. Turning back to you, he referred to the crate with one hand. “I was asked to go over inventory in the back. So as you man the register, I need you to display these records on the wall here in release date order.”
You glanced from the stack of records, and then back to him. You did this about three times until he realized he lost you somewhere. There would a few covers you recognized, a few you didn’t – you had never seen Surrealistic Pillow before – but this couldn’t be that hard.
“Of course,” you replied, surprising him. “I just need to use my phone to Google the release dates.”
“You don’t know them from the top of your head?”
“Do you?”
“Yeah, a good handful of them.” He picked up one from the crate. “Bleed American from Jimmy Eat World was released in … 2001, I think.”
You took your phone out, searched the release date, and … holy shit, he was right.
Meeting his eyes again, you replied, “How the hell do you know that? I can’t remember stuff like that.”
“I just like music a lot,” he shrugged, placing the record back in the stack. “You can’t even remember when Dookie was released?”
You narrowed your eyes. Was he trying to make you look stupid? Of course, you didn’t know this off the top of your head. You had a life. This was part-time.
He blinked, not waiting for you to answer. “You work at a record store.”
“I’m in a grad program,” you clarified, crossing your arms again. “I needed a job, and Aileen needed an employee that was type A. It was a match made in heaven.”
“I just don’t understand why you would wanna work somewhere when you’re not passionate about it –”
Your hands clenched. “Not everyone is passionate about their job, Vernon –”
“No one is really passionate about records anymore though,” he added, brushing past you, and your arms lowered to your sides. “I mean, look at this store. Reverb Records was one of a kind in the 70s, a staple in the New York music scene. To work here is like walking through history. And now it’s been reduced to … a fraction of the store dedicated to vintage comics and POP figures.”
“We needed to venture outside of music to stay in business,” you defended, remembering the day Aileen broke the news that they almost lost the property. “If we didn’t, none of us would even be working here.”
Vernon nodded, but you could tell he was struggling to not roll his eyes. “Whatever. I’ll be in the back if you need me. Feel free to use your phone for those dates.”
You watched him as he headed to the backroom, walking past Mingyu, who was finally getting down from the step ladder. He put out his fist, which your coworker gladly bumped his own against. When Vernon disappeared into the backroom, Mingyu turned to you with a thumbs up.
You frowned. He never learned.
It was a particularly dead night at the record store, especially for a Friday. Reverb was located on a pretty popular shopping area in the city, surrounded by thrift stores and a chic coffee shop that a niche Fashion Week model went to once so now it was filled everyday with students. You had your notebook out for Medieval Art History next to the register, your eyes skimming over the barely legible writing. You supposed you could simply print out the slides Professor Lee made, which were far easier to read than your own handwriting, but copying down his notes helped you study better.
Mingyu’s hand smacked down on the counter, startling you. Your head snapped up and you placed a hand on your chest. He giggled at your expense. “Not funny,” you chastised, looking back down at the page.
“It’s a Friday,” he whined. “Why are you concerning yourself with homework?”
“Maybe because I have a test Monday morning and I’m working every day this weekend.”
He tapped a finger against the counter, but you were steadfast, continuing to ignore him. Did that actually say Lindisfarne Gospels or was your handwriting really that bad?
Suddenly, Mingyu whipped the notebook closed and you viewed up at him with an aggravated expression. “What could you possibly want from me?”
“I have a free ticket to the DJ set at the Blitz Club tonight,” he said, picking up his backpack that you didn’t notice had been at his feet. “I’m heading out now, but I could meet you at the club tonight. You know you want to.”
Your nose scrunched up. “Too loud.”
“You had a blast the last time though.”
“I was drunk out of mind,” you recalled, “and I made out with said DJ.”
Mingyu shrugged. “Sounds like a normal Friday to me.”
You shook your head and opened your notebook back up. “I can’t. My shift doesn’t end until 10 PM anyway. The line for the Blitz Club is so long if you don’t get there right at 9:50.”
“Your loss,” he scoffed before heading for the door.
Your head tilted up again, and with a grin plastered on your face, you called out, “Try not to almost kiss your roommate like last time.”
Mingyu’s hand partially pushed open the entrance, making the bell chime as he sneered at you. “You’re hilarious. He’s hanging out with that girl he met at the office anyway.” He lifted his hand in a mock wave. “I’ll find someone to lock lips with. Trust me. See you!”
A sigh escaped your lips as your favorite coworker left. You busied yourself for a moment, finding Chan’s name badge that he’d been looking for near the cup of pens. You put in your reminders app to give it back when you shared a shift with him next week. Picking up your notebook, you said out loud to yourself, “Okay, Insular Art. The Book of Kells. Allegedly created in 800 AD. 340 folios –”
The store’s music volume immediately went up.
Your head shot up, jaw shifting, and you smacked the notebook back down on the counter. The store was deserted and you couldn’t even be left alone to study for a test that you were so terrified of failing. You turned on your heel, striding to the backroom as you wondered why you decided to go to grad school in the first place.
Vernon was sitting in the small office he shared with Aileen when she wasn’t working. The desk was made of metal and was probably as old as the store, with cabinets that creaked when opened. The computer, thankfully, was updated, but their internet went in and out sometimes when Aileen forgot to pay the bill. Currently, Vernon was leaning back in the chair, feet up on the desk, going through their long inventory list and checking off what needed to be restocked. (A project Aileen constantly abandoned.) He drummed his fingers on the tabletop while chewing on the end of a pen.
You leaned against the doorframe, crossing you arms over your chest. “You know, if you keep chewing on those, you’ll get ink in your mouth.”
His gaze lifted, a smirk playing at his lips. “Not the first time I’ve ingested it.”
Your nose wrinkled. “Anyway,” your arms released to your sides, “did you turn up the music? I can’t focus.”
“I figured our customers would enjoy a little bit of Blink this evening.”
You leaned forward to where the monitor with the security camera footage was displayed, showing no one inside the store. Your eyes flickered back to his. “We haven’t had a single customer since 5,” you informed him. “And I’m trying to study.”
“I think you’re just trying to kill my vibe.”
“I think you’re trying to kill my vibe.”
You were both competing in a staring contest that you were desperate to win, until you realized that it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered, especially this argument. Shoulders sinking, you sulked. “Can you please just turn down the volume a little?”
“Sure,” he replied in a tone much more friendly than anticipated. He sat up straight, leaning towards the computer, and adjusted the store volume. You tried to ignore the way his Adam’s Apple bobbed when he smiled, how his earring glinted in the shitty lights of the office. Turning around, he gestured to you with the pen. “Please is such a pretty word. You should use it more often.”
Your eyes narrowed. It was your turn to drum your fingers on the doorframe, afraid they would form into fists. “What is your problem? You’ve had a vendetta against me ever since your first day.”
He raised a single brow. “Name three things I’ve done.”
“One,” you lifted a finger, “you chastised me on that first day for not knowing the release dates of vintage LPs. Two …” Another finger. “You’re constantly turning the music up and down. Pretty sure just to annoy me or it’s when you really like a song because I can see you playing air guitar on the security cameras.” Your third finger went up. “And three, you practically pop quizzed me on our new release stock as soon as you entered the store last week.”
He exhaled heavily, finally standing from the chair and at his full height. “Honestly,” he shrugged, “I just think you’re pretentious.”
Your jaw nearly dropped. This man … this Vernon … was seriously calling you pretentious just because you didn’t know release dates off the top of your head. He was insane. Where did he get off?
“Well, I think you’re pretentious,” you snapped back.
“Shocker.”
After a long moment of silence, he let his head fall back and groaned with frustration. For a second, your mind wandered. Just for a second. But you didn’t even let yourself entertain that thought because this was your manager and he just insulted you.
“Listen,” he continued, rounding the desk and holding a hand out. “Let’s call it a truce. Working together is going to be hell if we don’t.”
You bit the inside of your cheek and studied him. “I’m not agreeing to anything until you admit that you were being a dick to me –”
“I was being a dick.”
Your lips pursed, not expecting that. He looked down at you, almost leaning into your space, and you felt your cheeks warm. Shaking your head, you clicked your tongue before letting your hand meet his. “Fine,” you said evenly, “truce.”
You felt your hands start to get clammy already, so you pulled it away. He tried to wipe his palm on the back of his pants, but you noticed. You always noticed. Bowing your head slightly, you muttered, “I’ll get back to it. Thanks for turning the volume down.” You spun around and walked towards the exit, hoping you didn’t find a teenager behind the register with a wad of cash in their hands. (Happened on a Chan-only shift, which meant he definitely nodded off in the backroom for an hour.)
Vernon called your name as you had one foot out of the backroom, and you turned your head. He was now leaning against the door frame, a smile tugging at his lips, and he stuck a hand in his front pocket. Your breath stilled for a moment. Only a moment.
Maybe you should’ve agreed to go with Mingyu tonight. Obviously, you needed another drunk make out if you were starting to fawn over your shitbag manager.
“Who’s your favorite artist?” He asked.
You didn’t expect that question. “I … I don’t know,” you shrugged. “I’m almost always listening to the same couple of albums for the nostalgia. Maybe Avril Lavigne?”
“Interesting.” He nodded, amused. Why was he smiling at you? “You should let me show you some music sometime.”
You snorted. “What? So you can chastise me again?”
“Nooo,” he quipped, dragging out the word as he stepped closer to you. “We made a truce, remember?”
“R–Right …” Your voice got smaller the closer he was. Even just a foot away from you felt a little suffocating, but maybe that was because he was wearing a heavy cologne.
“I’m not going to chastise you. I promise.” He put his hands up in surrender. “I just want us to chill out, listen to music, and maybe you’ll be able to see why I appreciate working here so much. Why I’m so pretentious in your eyes. And I’m not saying that’s not a fair assessment, but I just want to show you some music and you can decide for yourself. Simple as that.”
You hummed then, almost wanting to laugh that he wanted to prove himself to you. It was … sweet. Somehow. Something about his voice here made you forget why you didn’t like him in the first place. “Sounds like something friends would do,” you muttered.
He smacked a hand on his head, feigning surprise. “I totally didn’t tell you,” he exclaimed before grinning down at you. “In the fine print of our truce, it said we had to become friends.”
In a shocking turn of events, you gave Vernon your number, but maybe that should’ve been a given since he was your manager. Even worse, you were currently spending your single day off this week by taking the subway to his apartment in Bushwick. You buried your face in the collar of your jacket, trying not to inhale the stench of cigarettes from the person next to you. This was an exquisite form of torture. You were being set up. Why else would you be doing this in the first place?
Maybe because your conversation over text went a little like this –
Vernon (Manager): you’re off today, right? want to spend it on your first music lesson, or is your brain too fried from school?
You: he has jokes. hilarious.
You: I can come over a little after 3.
Vernon (Manager): see you then!
You shook your head when your voice of reason fought against you. This was so dumb. Why were you doing this? So he could prove a point? You might’ve called a truce, but this was stepping out of bounds for work ethics. And he was still pretentious. So were you. Kind of.
Despite your reservations, you still got off at the right stop, walking up the stairs and into the cold autumn air. You pulled out your phone, struggling to bring up walking instructions, even with your screen-friendly gloves on. In the time span it took you to walk to his apartment and wait for him to let you in, you could’ve turned around and immediately took the subway back home, simply see him at work later that week. But you didn’t. And that was something for you to dwell on another day.
“You’re a fast walker.”
You turned, seeing him hold open the door to his building. Your cheeks were red from the chill – not for any other reason – and you squeezed past him just to feel the warmth of the old, rickety brownstone. “Yeah, well,” you said, already beginning to climb the stairs because you assumed he lived on the second floor. “I’m all legs anyway.”
He didn’t agree, just chuckled at your reply and followed behind you. Once you were both on the second story, he took the lead, gesturing for you to come inside apartment 202. Unwrapping the scarf from your neck, you let your gaze flit around the room. His studio looked the same as every other one in Bushwick, right down the peeling white wallpaper in the tiny kitchen. Where he differed, though, was the large record player in front of the couch, in lieu of a flatscreen TV. You walked over to it immediately, pulling at the sleeves of your sweater, and investigated the soft hum of whatever was playing. Oasis. Time Flies… Your dad liked to listen to Oasis when you were a kid.
“You ever heard that one before?” Vernon asked from behind you, crinkling some kind of paper.
“I’m … not sure. But my dad really liked this band,” you explained, not bothering to look back as you studied the large bookcase next to the player. Instead of novels, he filled these shelves to the brim with records. They weren’t organized, and some had more wear than others, but the collection was impressive.
Vernon noticed you admiring the shelves. “I’m not made of money. I get a lot of these as gifts or from yard sales.”
“Oh, I wasn’t assuming –”
You whirled, noticing the silver tray and ground weed on the coffee table before your eyes fixed on the joint he was rolling in his hands. Blinking slow, your gaze flicked up to his as he sealed the end of the joint with his tongue, wrapping his lips around it slightly. You swallowed, and he smiled.
“Have you not smoked a joint before?” He lifted a brow. “I just thought – I can put it away –”
You tsked. “Oh, my god. Yes, I’ve smoked a joint before. I’m not a prude, Vernon.” You walked forward and opened the window slightly, allowing fresh air when he finally lit the end. “Truthfully, I was just surprised that you could roll one yourself. Bet you used to smoke cigarettes and hand-roll those too, right?”
“Now, that I take offense to. You really think I’m that pretentious?” He shook his head as you took a seat on the carpet beside him. After a moment, he smirked at you. “Yeah, I hand-rolled them in high school. You got me.”
You chuckled, hand over your mouth to hide your snort. When he smiled – really smiled – it was so wide that you could see his gums. His eyes even crinkled at the corners. For a moment, you wondered why you two ever disliked each other in the first place. It felt unfair to hate someone who beamed like that, who laughed with you as if you didn’t just tease him like a child.
He set down the joint to get to his feet, fingers brushing over the spines of his vinyls on the shelf. “I looked through some of the top sellers on Record Store Day this year. Figured that would be a cool place to start because you might recognize some of the album names,” he said, finally pulling out one in particular. “I really liked this one by the Cure. The Head On the Door.”
Your eyes squinted as he showed you the cover. “Oh, yeah, I recognize that one. I thought you might play something by – um … oh, Charli xcx. We sold out of that album of hers with the red cover in less than a few hours this year.”
He lifted the tonearm and looked back at you with a grin. “We can listen to that one next. I managed to snag that record a few years back on eBay.”
After lowering the stylus onto the spinning vinyl, the apartment was suddenly filled with the upbeat sounds of the first songs, slowly introducing a hyper-strummed acoustic guitar. Vernon lowered the volume slightly, and you weren’t sure if it was to cultivate a vibe or he was still cognizant of that time you stormed into the backroom to complain about the music inside the store. Sitting back down beside you on floor, he placed the joint in his mouth and lit the end with a lighter that had seen better days. Smoke wafted into the air before being pulled out the open window with the help of his overhead fan.
He held the joint out to you and you took it instantly. “What kind of strain is this?”
His shoulders sagged as he coughed softly. “Does it matter?”
“I guess not.” With the joint resting between two fingers, you brought it to your lips and inhaled. It was a little harsh, but not bad. You couldn’t remember the last time you smoked weed; it had to be a while though. Maybe you actually needed this just to chill the fuck out finally. If you kept worrying so much about your thesis, your head would surely explode.
He propped one elbow on the edge of the couch, facing you, as you handed the joint back to him. “Is this what you do when you’re not at the store?” You asked in a slightly hoarse voice.
His eyes narrowed. “I don’t just work at a record store and smoke weed all day. Do you really think I’m a walking stereotype?”
“None of those words just came out of my mouth.”
“Well, you sound a little judgey.”
“I’m not being judgey.”
“You sure?”
“Just answer the question.”
He laughed after taking a drag, and then another. You focused on the way smoked billowed from his nostrils, until he started speaking again. “I also do photography on the side. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be able to afford to live in this city.”
“I get it,” you nodded, playing with the joint between your fingers when he passed it over. “Reverb is for extra cash. Student services for my grad program pays half of my living expenses. Thank god.”
He adjusted his stance, his chin resting on his fist as he studied you. The record transitioned into the third song, but he barely noticed in that moment. He let you smoke the joint for as long as your heart desired. Something told him that you needed it. With one finger tracing his lips, he said, “You never told me what you study.”
He was smiling at you. Again. All cat-like.
“I didn’t think you’d be interested.”
“You gotta stop assuming things about me.” He tapped your arm jokingly. “Tell me. I’m interested.”
When you felt your insides start to turn to mush, you couldn’t help but mimic his posture: one elbow propped on the couch, the side of your head pressing into the heel of your palm. Your eyes were hazy now, a dull pink entering the whites. His words were swirling around in your head, haunting you like a ghost.
Tell me.
You breathed in another drag.
I’m interested.
You exhaled.
“I’m studying European History,” you finally replied, handing the joint back to him. Your fingers brushed, but only for a moment. “I want to become a professor.”
“A professor,” he nodded, his brow shooting up as he inhaled. Coughing away from her direction, he added, “That’s … oddly fitting. Are you almost done with the program?”
You nodded, unable stop looking at him as he flicked the end of the joint against an ash tray. “I’m working on my thesis while taking a few concurrent classes in my fall semester only. It makes things a little harder, but the courses are relevant and do help with research. I could do without having to take tests, though.” You shrugged. “I’m managing.”
“That’s a lot on your plate, on top of work,” he mused. One knee curled up to his chest and he rested his arm on top, the joint in his fingers halfway gone already. “You’re kind of a superhero.”
Your gaze flickered up to his again, breath stilling for a moment. The air was so warm, despite the open window, and your body was starting to feel fuzzy. He turned his head to yours, that grin on his lips so dangerous that it sent a shiver through you. Maybe it was the weed, but he looked like he was moving closer to you, invading your space.
Not that you wanted that. No, you couldn’t want that. Because if you wanted that, it would ruin everything in the carefully crafted plan you made in your head long ago.
Vernon’s eyes squinted then, and he finally replayed his words over. “Well,” he paused, “a superhero in the sense that you’re taking on a lot with probably no ‘thank you.’”
Blinking, you realized he was making a joke. You snorted and hit his arm, but he captured your hand before it could fall on your lap. For a moment, you wondered if time had stopped – it was the weed; it had to be the weed – because he was slipping the joint back into your palm so smoothly while saying the dorkiest line possible: “For you, my lady.”
He stood, walking over to the record player, leaving you with a half-lit joint in your open palm while your head was far too in the clouds to comprehend anything. You were so high that you didn’t even realize the album ended, and he was now switching it over to something different – Charli xcx, the red album. A melodic symphony hummed through the speakers, followed by a woman’s voice harmonizing, “I’m a dreamer … Step, step out the Beemer …”
When he came back to sit next to you, he noticed you still staring at the joint in your hand. His gaze flickered from your face, to the joint, before he started laughing. “You’re probably done, right?” He tried not to snicker, but it was hard not to when you were giving him this far-off look in your eyes. Plucking the joint from your hand, he put it between his lips and relit it.
It took you a whole minute to realize it wasn’t in your hand anymore, and you viewed up at him sheepishly. “I’m so sorry,” you whined. “I got … I think I got too high.”
He couldn’t hold back his laughter anymore. “It’s okay. Think you needed this more than I did.”
“My brain feels like slop. But in a good way.” Gravity got the upper hand as you let your whole head fall onto the cushion now. “How are you comprehending anything right now?”
Vernon smiled, all cocky. “My tolerance is infinitely better than yours.”
“Whatever. Dick.”
You flipped forward, letting your spine press into the edge of the couch as the back of your head rested on the cushion, which was just hard enough to ground you in this state of mind. Neither of you said a word. The record played another song, and another, as Vernon finally ashed what was left of the joint. He let his head fall too, your gazes pinned to the ceiling. The overhead fan started to swirl in his vision, and he grinned to himself.
“Vernon?”
“Yeah?”
“You know a lot about music.”
He turned his head and dramatically held a hand to his chest. “That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said. I’m touched.”
You chuckled under your breath, hitting his forearm again. “No, I’m serious. I … This is nice.” You paused, listening to the song playing. All over … Deep under my skin … You got me so emotional … Your lips pursed. “I really like this album.”
He raised a brow. “Not just the weed talking?”
“No. Surprisingly,” you added. “We should keep doing this. Until you tire of me.”
“It’s a plan.”
You were beginning to realize that Vernon was true to his word. Almost every day – even after work, closing shifts and all – the two of you got together to listen to a few of his favorite records while he rambled on about the artist. Sometimes you got high, sometimes you didn’t. You simply liked being there besides a calming presence, listening to another person talk about their favorite subjects. A complete contrast to the hustle of grad school work, but you liked it.
There was a certain comfort that came to being around him, one you hadn’t experienced before. His voice was deep, yet soft, and he spoke about music with confidence. Like it was his favorite thing in the world. He could go on tangents without taking a breath, and you’d notice the way he’d sometimes pause when he talked for far too long. You didn’t stop him though. You only smiled, let your head fall back against the couch, and listened.
What had you let yourself become?
Perhaps, it all started on the day you both met up in Central Park. Neither of you had a shift that day and you had managed to get done a good chunk of thesis research in the morning. Around 2 PM, you found him lying on a flannel blanket near the edge of Central Park, carrying two Italian subs from the pizza joint near your apartment that you swore had the best in the city. Vernon didn’t hear you approach; his eyes were closed as he listened to the music blasting through his headphones with one arm behind his head. A sliver of his stomach peeked out from underneath his grey hoodie, making you stumble – for what reason, you weren’t sure – and almost drop the tightly-wrapped sandwiches.
Vernon sat up then, finally hearing the rustle of your sneakers on the fallen leaves, and chuckled. “Woah, no need to rush.” He stood and grabbed the subs from your grasp. “You’re holding precious cargo.”
Your laughter was awkward, tense. You were simply not understanding why the mere sight of his exposed skin had your stomach in knots, even though you knew the truth. Of course, you did. But you were going to sit there and pretend you didn’t because that was easier than confronting what was real.
After demolishing both your sandwiches – “These actually might be the best in the city,” Vernon had agreed – you sat back on the blanket as he handed you one of his headphones. He hadn’t upgraded to Bluetooth ones yet, said he was going to use these until they died, but you did notice that the sound on right bud he gave you might be softer than the left. He asked if you wanted an edible and after all the schoolwork you did this morning, you took it before even answering him.
“I’ve always thought that music sounds better on a record,” he said, scrolling through his library to find one artist in particular. “Besides this album. Maybe it’s because this is the first album I ever listened to and it was through headphones. Something about the nostalgia factor of it all.” He turned his head to yours and smiled. “But I want you to hear it this way.”
Intimacy, closeness, was always laced in his tone. Little statements like, “This is for you,” or “I’m interested,” or “I want you to hear it this way,” meant so much more when they came from his lips. Words lost meaning. Just a simple “hello” as he passed you at the register blurred into, “Do you want to hang out later?”
You managed to see the album cover before he turned off his phone. That blue album by the Smiths. You’d seen it before. Every douchebag with a mullet that came into Reverb bought it. But as you laid back and let the edible take over, you began to appreciate the music in a whole new way. Maybe you were becoming one of those douchebags with a mullet, but there was something about the melody of these songs, how some were recorded acoustic while others were with a full band. Everything blended into a kaleidoscope of powerful vocals and lyrics that made your brain melt.
Vernon would cut in at some parts to tell you fun facts about the song, and other times he would just stay quiet. Neither of you were comprehending much anyway, focused solely on the pretty words pouring into your ears. As the album finally hit the last song, you realized Vernon was singing under his breath. Your head slowly turned, watching the way his lips moved to form the words, “So please, please, please … Let me, let me, let me … Let me get what I want …” It helped that your earbud wasn’t as loud, letting you tune into more of his voice.
You were staring at him now. Nothing could tear your eyes away. He was drumming his fingers on his stomach, that small sliver of skin poking out yet again as he bent his arm behind his head. He was in his own world, singing softly, while the autumn leaves started to fall around his head. It was the last week of November. Leaves shouldn’t be falling, especially when it was forecasted to snow next week. But fate had a funny way of doing things, and the red and yellow cascading around his spiked hair looked like a painting.
Maybe it was the edible hitting the home stretch, but you were noticing things about him that you didn’t before. His nose scrunched when he sang. His fingers tapped to the beat of the drum, the pads calloused and cold. His other ear was pierced once, but he only wore an earring on his right one. His skin was pretty, and yet, you liked that he still had some acne scars littered around his cheekbones. He needed chapstick – bad – but his lips were still pink and nice and –
What if you kissed him?
Jesus. That had to be the edible. Because no way in your right mind would you ever consider kissing Vernon. Just a couple months ago you were fighting the urge to wring his neck. But now you were … staring at his lips again, learning the way he mouthed, Please, remembering when he told you that itwas such a pretty word. It was even prettier when he sang it.
Kissing him would be so easy. You could kiss him, and then get it all out of your system. You could lick the smile off his lips, taste whatever made him secretly ache. Every lingering thought that you had about him would vanish. You didn’t have to worry about accidentally holding his hand when he passed you a joint, or hope that you wouldn’t moan his name the next time you touched yourself. You could kiss him right now and everything could go back to normal –
His eyes opened as soon as the song finished and he looked over at you. For a moment, you assumed he was going to ask why you were staring at him. Instead, he moved to his side and propped himself up on one elbow. “Do you even know who the Smiths are?”
Moment ruined. His inner douchebag with a mullet made a triumphant return. Thank god, you didn’t kiss him.
You frowned. “I might not know as much as you do about music, but I know who the fucking Smiths are, Vernon.”
His grin widened. “Just making sure you’ve been paying attention.”
Time seemed to blur. Autumn faded into the first frost, and snow started to gather on the streets of New York City. The air got even colder, making you revisit memories of stubbed-out joints and sharing headphones in nicer weather. If you tried hard enough, you didn’t think about kissing Vernon ever again, but most days, you found it too difficult to put in the effort. It was wrong, icky, harboring feelings for your friend and manager. But you told yourself that they weren’t deep; they were just a product of your yearning for intimacy, for the quick press of another’s lips against yours.
That’s all that it was. That’s all that it would be. It might take a few months, maybe a year, but feelings falter and you had more important things to worry about.
Was this what ego death felt like?
Mingyu had called out today because of the snow, saying that his “bike was frozen solid to the ground.” Thankfully, Chan had been available for his shift, and you watched him from the register as he helped a customer look through your stock of records from the 90s. He was truly a guru for all things 90s pop. And he could sing too, a mini Timberlake in the flesh.
“I was thinking …” Vernon started.
You stood up straight, looking away from your laptop. The store wasn’t so busy today because of the snow, so your delightful manager had given you permission to work on your thesis while manning the register. He was sitting on the edge of the counter behind the checkout, dangling his feet slightly while he studied one of the new releases they got in stock a few days ago. For a moment, you let your eyes follow his two fingers that skimmed down the track listing.
Finally, you blinked, leaning against the register and crossing your arms. “That isn’t good.”
He lifted his head, glaring at you. “Funny.” Setting the record back in the box, he bent forward and gripped the edge of the table. “Are you opposed to playlists?”
“Not particularly, no.”
“Second question: are you opposed to someone making you a playlist?” He asked, and when you simply tilted your head, not understanding what he was getting at, he sighed. “I was attempting to build up suspense. I made you a playlist.”
“Oh.” You released your arms, letting them fall at your sides. “Why?”
He was looking at anything but you now. “Because I …” His back was tense as he pulled out his phone. “I don’t know. I just thought it would be a nice way to share all the music we’ve listened together so far.” He lifted his head again. “Don’t read into it.”
Before you could reply, he slipped off the counter while pulling up your texts. You looked down at your own phone, seeing a new text from him on the lock screen.
Vernon (Manager Friend): [Spotify Link: Your New Favorite Playlist]
“It seemed almost wrong to make it on Spotify.”
You lifted your head up and met his eyes, brow furrowing.
“Burning music onto CDs is a lost art,” he explained, and just that one sentence completely killed every romanticization you had about him. “I’m simply too lazy to do all of that now.”
“Well, that’s good then,” you said, turning back to your laptop when you still felt your cheeks start to heat. Why were you blushing? This was unlike you; this didn’t mean anything. You reminded yourself this as you turned your head, finding him over your shoulder. “I don’t own a CD player. Most people don’t nowadays.”
He thought for a moment, and then flicked your arm. “Right.”
Despite yourself, despite what he told you – you read into it. There was no way to not when he told you it consisted of songs that he always wanted to show someone like you. You kept the playlist on repeat, wondering if it could be burned into your brain like a CD. Most were songs you’d heard before, but there were some that stood out, some that you wanted injected into your veins to be a part of you forever. Was this how he felt? Hearing a song so beautiful that you never wanted to part from it? You listened to the playlist more times than you liked to admit, allowing the last one in particular to replay until you got tired of it: Night Drive by Jimmy Eat World.
Come alive on the driver’s side … So close I taste your breath … Your lips go dry, but there’s sweet inside … Wine must go right to your head …
The lyrics were pouring through your right AirPod when Mingyu started waving a hand in front of your face. You had begun to listen to the playlist during shifts, distracting yourself from whatever album Aileen had plugged into the speakers to repeat throughout the day. Pausing the song, you took out your AirPod and asked, “Do you need me to yell at you again for your shitty organizational skills?”
“No,” he quipped, “and I find it rude that you would assume I would change my ways. I’m leaving now anyway. My bike is still frozen outside, so Wonwoo is picking me up.” He pondered, and then added, “Well, him and his girlfriend are picking me up in her car. But at least I don’t need to take public transit.”
Your brow lifted. “Your nerdy roommate finally bagged that girl from his office?”
“He is not important.” Mingyu tapped his fingers on your screen, noticing the album cover to the song you’re listening to pop up. “What the hell? Since when do you listen to anything other than Avril Lavigne?”
“Excuse you, I listen to more than just her. I just keep my favorites in rotation.” You then shrugged. “I’ve been trying to venture outside of my bubble.”
“You? Outside of your bubble?” He almost wanted to laugh, but that would earn him the kind of look that made him feel like knives were piercing his stomach. Instead, he smirked a little. “That seems like a song Vernon would listen to.”
You didn’t look at him, knowing you’d been caught redhanded. Mingyu could be such a gossip; telling him things meant the entire city knew. Busying yourself with cleaning up around the register, you replied, “Not sure what that could mean.”
“Well, you two have been hanging out after Reverb closes.” He crossed his arms over his chest, his biceps still visible even underneath his ripped denim jacket. “Oh, come on. I see your Instagram stories. You would never willingly be in Bushwick, unless …”
You shot him that signature glare. Already, he felt a pain in his gut. “What are you trying to suggest?”
He narrowed his eyes, and then said, “You guys are hooking up.”
“Can you lower your voice?” You whispered back harshly. “We do still have those security cameras, you know.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“No!”
“I thought we were lowering our voices.” His grin widened. “Honestly, he was the last person I expected you to go after, but I am kinda into the whole manager and employee thing.”
You frowned. “I am not hooking up with Vernon.”
Mingyu realized you were serious. His expression fell. “Then, what is it?”
“We’re just friends,” you scoffed, opening up your phone to check the time. It was then, as you were staring down at your screen, reading the title of the Spotify playlist, that you realized Mingyu was probably looking at the same thing. He saw it, noticed Vernon’s name as the creator, and you felt every bone in your body freeze as if you were standing outside.
Both of your heads lifted at the same time. Mingyu was the first to say, “He made you a playlist.”
There was no way out of this one, not even as you locked your screen again. “Um –” You swallowed hard. “Yes.”
“And you’re not fucking?”
“No, Mingyu, we’re not fucking,” you grumbled. “He told me not to read into it.”
Suddenly, it dawned on him, and Mingyu damn near giggled with how innocent both of you were being. Something about this was so pure, despite the obvious tension between you and Vernon. “So he likes you,” he stated confidently, “and you like him.”
“No,” you replied so quick he almost didn’t finish speaking. “We’ve been just hanging out for a couple months. He’s been showing me music on the off days I’m not at school and after work. That’s all.”
He chuckled under his breath. “A guy would never do all that unless he liked someone.”
“We’re just friends –”
“And you would never willingly go out of your comfort zone unless …” He scrunched up his nose, trying to think. “Well, unless you had a crush. I’ve known you for over a year now. This isn’t that hard to figure out.”
You blinked at him. “I resent that statement. I don’t have a crush.”
“Maybe I’m wrong.” Mingyu put his hands up in surrender, and then immediately lowered them. “But I’m not though.”
Your mouth opened to retort, but the bell above the door was chiming as a tall, lanky man sprinted through it. Wonwoo, Mingyu’s roommate, stopped short by the entrance, his glasses fogging from the heat inside the store. His voice was slightly muffled by the scarf wrapped around his neck, “Mingyu, come on. She has the car running outside and with our luck, she could get a ticket.”
“A tragedy,” Mingyu muttered, adjusting the strap of his backpack and heading for the door. Wonwoo sighed, stepping back into the cold air, and as Mingyu reached the door frame, he looked back at you. His expression was smug, and you felt every hair on the back of your neck stand up. “See you tomorrow, lover girl.”
So maybe you did have a crush.
But that didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t mean anything, and you simply didn’t have the balls to approach the conversation otherwise.
Mingyu had to be full of it. A guy would never do all that unless he liked someone, was such bullshit. You had been friends with men before, and you were sick of the assumption that the opposite sex couldn’t be friends. Just because you were defying your own rule with your crush meant nothing. Absolutely nothing. You knew that Vernon saw you as a friend anyway.
You didn’t want to ruin this. You couldn’t remember the last time you were this relaxed in your two years of grad school. The last thing you wanted was this to slip from your fingertips.
You needed a distraction – anything to not think about the stupid feelings growing inside you, the kind that made you want to claw at your stomach to stop the butterflies. For the first time, you were working the closing shift on a Saturday with Mingyu because Vernon had taken the day off. You were trying to focus on writing your thesis behind the register, but the store had been swamped today, leaving you with your racing thoughts and the best customer service smile you could muster. Mingyu was in the backroom doing god knows what, but you did notice that the music throughout the store had changed to club songs when he was in charge.
When you finally had a moment of reprieve, you slouched against the back counter and scrolled through your phone. You stopped when you noticed an ad for a local band Vernon had recommended to you a couple weeks ago called Broken Antenna. They were playing a show in Queens tonight, conveniently right after your shift ended at Reverb. Tapping your fingers on the counter behind you, you wondered if this was crazy, impulsive even. You were never like this, making spur of the moment plans, but something was telling you to live a little.
If not for yourself, just to get these thoughts about Vernon out of your head. At least for one night.
After looking around to make sure no one was in the store, you walked to the back and found Mingyu spinning in the office chair that Aileen or Vernon typically occupied. He stopped the second you knocked a fist on the doorframe, looking up at you with wide eyes. “Having fun?” You said with a brow raise.
“We all need a break every once in a while,” he quipped, standing up and sliding his phone in his back pocket.
“Speaking of breaks,” you replied, and now he was lifting a brow, “you got any plans tonight? There’s a band playing in Queens and I don’t want to go alone.”
Mingyu grinned big.
It didn’t take much convincing. You definitely could’ve texted one of your friends from school to go, but truthfully, you knew Mingyu was dying for another night out with you. Despite how drunk you got the last time you both went to a club, you could admit that it was still fun and he was one of the few people that could get you to let loose for a few hours.
Once your shift was over, you hid your belongings in the backroom, bringing only your jackets, before locking up the store and heading to the subway. It didn’t take long to get there, and you probably arrived at the bar-turned-venue only forty minutes after the set started. After showing the bouncer both your IDs, hands shaking from the cold, you were let inside the packed bar. Mingyu was tall, so he took the lead with pushing through the crowd. The band was loud and slightly off pitch, but the crowd was lively and made the experience all the more fun. Tugging you towards the bar, Mingyu order four tequila shots and two beers.
It was going to be one of those nights with him.
You both downed your shots immediately, and by the time Mingyu was pulling you into the crowd, you felt your vision start to blur. Maybe it was because you drank almost half of your beer now too. Or maybe you were simply a lightweight. Both could be true. As the band shouted at the crowd, Mingyu hollered back, angling his phone over the throng of people to capture someone crowd surfing on video. How someone could be crowd surfing in this packed bar, you had no idea, but you clutched Mingyu just to get out of the way.
Looking up at your coworker, you couldn’t fathom how he wasn’t tripping over himself right now. His height allowed him to tower over everyone and his muscle mass was extensive, but it was like the two shots hadn’t effective him in the slightest. This was your sign to start going to the gym more often, build up some muscle, because you couldn’t keep getting this tipsy after just a couple shots.
He pulled out a nip of whiskey from one of the pockets in his cargo pants, and then offered it to you. “Want some?” He asked, going up to your ear to yell over the music. Your eyes squinted, and even he looked confused why the nip was on him. Everything inside you told you to slow down, but if you didn’t, you’d have to be burdened with the aching realization that you liked fucking Vernon.
So you took the nip and drank half of it.
You were swaying now, hands in the air as the music rang through your eardrums. You couldn’t even hear your own thoughts at this point. Which, honestly, had been your goal. Lacing one of your arms with Mingyu’s, you both began bouncing up and down to the band together, screaming when the singer pointed to you two in the crowd.
The next time you jumped up, your ankle twisted on the ground, almost making your knees buckle. You clutched onto Mingyu hard, but he didn’t really notice you fall. The alcohol was getting to you, and you had now just spilt the ounce left of your beer all over your favorite work sweater. You hissed at the soreness in your ankle, not realizing as you started to stand that another person was pushing through the crowd. There was a new pair of shoes next to you, and you tilted your head up to meet a familiar face.
“Are you okay?” Vernon asked over the guitar blaring through your ears.
He didn’t look surprised to see you, but you were blinking, trying to get your vision to cooperate. “I – yes,” you shouted back. Your eyes couldn’t focus on anything right now, especially with the alcohol coursing through your body. “What – what are you doing here? I didn’t – didn’t expect …”
You couldn’t even finish your sentence, your mouth just deciding not to move anymore. Vernon searched your eyes, pupils wide from intoxication, and he plucked the beer glass out of your hands before you could pull away. “Hey!” You snarled, but he held his arm back, even in this packed crowd.
“What do you mean, ‘what am I doing here?’ I showed you this band!” He replied, hostility laced in his tone. “I’m taking you home.”
“But I came here with –” You looked to your left, seeing Mingyu’s arm not intertwined with yours anymore. Confused, you looked over the swarm of people and saw him now bumping shoulders with the small pit that formed in the middle of the floor. Your jaw dropped – when did he leave your side? You hadn’t even felt it.
Before you could register it, Vernon tucked your fingers through his and began pulling you out of the densely packed crowd of drunk adults. Even through the fog of tequila and whiskey, a small flutter rose in your stomach when you realized your hand was locked around his. His palm was warmer than you expected, nothing like your cold skin, constantly pricked with goosebumps.
The December air was so cold that it burned your skin, making your cheeks flush even more than alcohol. Vernon’s hand was still in yours, still tugging you, the wind whipping back your hair and almost taking your feet off the ground. But he guided you, kept you upright. Only about a block later and he was ushering you towards his old Chevy parked on the street, helping you into the passenger seat. You huffed when he reached over you to grab your seatbelt, “I can just –”
“Please, shut up,” he muttered, locking the seatbelt in place.
Your lips sealed immediately.
He rounded the car quickly before jumping inside and starting the engine. He held his hands out, waiting for the heat to crank on. After a minute, he started blowing into his hands and glanced over at you, watching you shiver as you forced your head to stay up. Grabbing your freezing palms, he placed them over his mouth and blew his own hot breath into them. Your eyes were wide now, unsure of what to do.
Something about sharing his warmth with you felt so intimate. More intimate than kissing, even sex.
Once heat began to sputter out of the vents, he let go of your hands and pulled into the deserted city street. Your looked at your palms, now face up on your lap, and wondered if this was one of those daydreams you had when you were blackout drunk. It had only happened twice, but it was enough to become a pattern. A buzzing sound emerged beside you, and it took you a long moment before you realized Vernon was talking to you.
“H-Huh?” You hiccuped, shoving your hands in the pockets of your jacket.
“I asked what your address is.”
“Oooooh,” you nodded, a line forming between your brows as you concentrated. “I … hmm, I can’t remember right now. I think it’s … jeez.”
Vernon pinched the bridge of his nose. “Where’s your wallet?”
“Uhhhhh …” Your words slurred, trailing off as you pulled your wallet from your pocket.
He grabbed it immediately, filtering through the cards with his eyes still on the road. You watched his fingers flip through your wallet, trying to ignore the warmth brewing inside you, until he located your license. Looking down for a quick moment, he found your address and nodded, throwing the wallet back to you. “Ow,” you murmured.
As you leaned your head against the seat rest, you noticed that he was rolling his eyes at you, white knuckling the steering wheel. You were so drunk that you considering prying his fingers off, holding one of his hands to release the tension inside of him. But your brain felt like goo and you couldn’t make sense of a damn thing.
“You’re … you’re b-being m … mean,” you stuttered, and then poked him in the arm.
He made an annoyed sound under his breath. “I’m not being mean. I’m literally driving you home.”
You studied him for a moment, as much as an intoxicated person could. Your eyes narrowed. “Iffffff you’re not being m-mean, then what … what are you? Jealooooooous?”
The car halted at a stop light and he looked over at you immediately. His stare was blank, serious and critical. “Yeah,” he stated, no hesitation.
You chuckled for a moment, your breath tainted with the stench of cheap whiskey, until you realized that he wasn’t joking. His gaze was still locked on yours, until the light turned green and he was pressing on the gas again. Your laughter died instantly as you faced the road with him, playing with your hands on your lap.
Silence echoed throughout the car.
The fog in your head was telling you to close your eyes, but you willed yourself to keep them open. “Is t-this …” Your throat was suddenly dry. “Is this about Mingyu?”
Vernon sighed. “Fuck, it’s – it’s not about Mingyu.”
A dull pain emerged in your forehead. How could this be happening already? Rubbing at your temples, you whined, “Then whaaaaaat could it possibly be about?”
“I’m going to sound like a dick.”
You snickered, “Never stopped you before.”
He didn’t even register your words, because he was shaking his head and rubbing a finger over his top lip, frustration clawing at him. “I thought …” He paused, and somehow, having to look at the road and not into your drunken gaze made this so much harder. “I just thought you would’ve asked me. To go see the band, I mean. I didn’t even know you were interested in going. If I had known, I would’ve asked you or hoped you would ask me.”
“B-But I … I only went because I saw an ad for the c-concert. And I wanted a distraction from …” Your voice got quiet as you wrinkled your nose. “I still don’t understand … hoooow you’re … y-you’re jealous.”
“I’m jealous that someone else got to spend this time with you when it should’ve been me.”
You were staring at him again, his words almost suffocating you, compressing into your head and matching the throb between your temples. You wanted to scream. You wanted to cry. You wanted to hurl yourself right out of this vehicle. Tonight was about freedom and not coming to terms with whatever was happening inside you. Not a confession.
Vernon licked his lips, meeting your eyes for a split second. “I thought listening to music was our thing.”
Your breathing stilled, your lips falling open in shock. Fingers digging into the seems of your pants, you felt the bile rise up in your throat, and you desperately tried to shove it down. This was sick. This was twisted. Why the fuck was he telling you this right now? Why couldn’t he just pretend that he wasn’t mad, drop you off, and be on his merry way?
“That’s it?” He added, turning down the heat slightly. “You’re gonna say nothing –”
God, you actually were going to puke.
“Can you pull over? I think I’m gonna vomit.”
His brow furrowed, startled, but he pulled onto the side of the road without saying a word. He had parked on the bridge, just as small flurries of snow started to fall. You practically punched the door open, stepping out, and not even being able to make it to the edge of the bridge. Vomiting all over the sidewalk, you were surprised when another pair of shoes materialize beside you and a hand began to rest on your back. But you supposed this was his thing: appearing when you needed him most. You coughed and looked up at Vernon, the anger vanishing from his expression.
You hacked again, phlegm dribbling on your chin. “You’re gonna get puke on your shoes.”
“I know,” he exhaled heavily, before swiping away the drool on your lips.
He let you continue to hurl your guts out as snow gathered in your knotted hair. Vernon refused to move away, kept a firm hand on your back as you extracted all the alcohol left in your body. When you were finally done, you straightened your back and he tucked hair behind your ears. You wiped your mouth, looking up at him all doe-eyed, and his resolve almost crumbled. He ushered you back inside the warm car before you could start shivering, intent on getting you home more than ever.
You weren’t sure how long it took you to fall asleep in his passenger seat. But when you woke up the next morning with no recollection of the conversation from the night before, the single thing you did remembered was someone tucking you in.
At some point in every adult’s life, you learn that you’re just not as young as you used to be. When you went through the entire weekend and realized you had gotten blackout drunk at that concert, you came to the conclusion that you shouldn’t go that hard ever again. The body you had in undergrad could handle things that you simply couldn’t today.
Your memory of that night ended when Vernon appeared beside you in the crowd, after you almost fell on the dirty ground of that bar. Mingyu had been at your side. Or had he gone away around then? Again, you couldn’t remember. But at some point, Mingyu was with you, and then Vernon had helped you to your feet. The rest was a tequila and whiskey-induced blur. When you swallowed, you still got a tinge of it on your breath, no matter how many times you mouthwashed.
Your next shift with him was on Tuesday evening. Running from your last class of the day, you slipped and fell on a patch of ice, not taking a moment to collect yourself before you were sprinting to Reverb again. Your ass was already hurting and there would surely be a bruise, but you couldn’t worry about that right now. The wind bit at your cheeks and you stuffed your frozen hands in your pockets, until you reached the door of the store –
At the same time as Vernon.
You both stopped short, your hands reaching for the handle. His cheeks were red, and something told you it wasn’t from the winter air. Averting his gaze, he held the door open and said, “After you.”
You nodded, “Thanks.” Your tongue darted out as you passed him, licking your lips, and he noticed. (Of course, he noticed.) He entered into the store after you, brushing snowflakes from his cropped hair. You spotted Mingyu talking to Aileen at the front before you turned to Vernon beside you.
Despite the rush you’d been in, both of you lingered by the doorway, kicking the snow off your shoes. Vernon was looking at his boots, refusing to meet your eyes, and you didn’t want to beat around the bush. Lowering your head slightly, you said, “You haven’t texted me in few days. Is something wrong?”
Finally, his eyes flicked up. Instead of answering your question, he replied, “I didn’t … I didn’t know if you’d want to hear from me.”
Your eyebrows furrowed. “Why?”
“You don’t remember anything from Saturday?”
You rubbed the back of your neck. “Not exactly,” you muttered, a red flush creeping onto your cheek. “I might’ve had a bit too much to drink. I think Mingyu drove me home. Or we took the subway back. It’s kind of a blur.”
Hurt flashed across his face for a moment, but he recovered quickly. “Oh, yeah, he did,” he nodded, scratching behind his ear. “I’m glad you got home safe.”
You felt the tension between you dissipate, the air suddenly feeling cleaner, relaxed. A smile made it’s way to your lips as you both began to walk towards the backroom. You waved to Aileen and mentioned, “I’m pretty sure I saw you there, right? Everything kind of gets hazy after you appeared next to me. But it was cool to see some of those songs live after listening to them together.”
“Yeah,” Vernon exhaled heavily, “I was thinking the same thing.”
“Aileen held you up all day,” you said while still staring at your laptop behind the counter.
Mingyu paused by register, adjusting the strap of his backpack, and nodded. “We’re trying to figure out what shipment this week got held up at the port. I don’t know. I guess her husband is gonna help her figure it out.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Way out of my pay grade.”
You finally glanced up and shut your computer, making sure to save your thesis document first. There were lines under Mingyu’s eyes that hadn’t always been there. He was always in pristine condition, a partier that never sacrificed his beauty sleep. Rather than talking around the subject, you were blunt: “No sleep this weekend?”
He chuckled. “Yeah. Got my first proper night on Monday. On Saturday, I almost stayed up for a full 24 hours.”
“That’s not like you,” you replied, and he agreed with a chuckle under his breath. Leaning your hip against the checkout, you played with the buttons on the computer and added, “Speaking of Saturday, thanks for taking me home after the concert. I know I can be very annoying when I’m drunk. Next shift, I’ll bring you Shake Shack for lunch.”
“You really do know the key to my heart.” He placed a hand on his chest and pouted. He looked so much like a puppy sometimes. And then, his expression fell. “I didn’t take you home though.”
Your eyes darted around, confused. He was probably too tired to remember right now. “I was so sure you did. Even Vernon confirmed it.”
Mingyu’s brow knitted. He was pausing by the register, not caring that Wonwoo was most likely waiting in the freezing cold to pick him up from his shift. Tapping three fingers on the counter, Mingyu huffed out a short laugh. “Well,” he clicked his tongue, “I don’t know why he would say that. Because he drove you home.”
You blinked, making sure you were understanding him. Your arms crossed over your chest and your eyes narrowed, assessing his answer. No, he was telling the truth. Mingyu was the worst liar on the planet; you could tell by his stance. The last time he tried lying to Aileen, his back hunched so much you thought he had an underlying medical condition.
“Then why would he tell me the opposite?” You asked, agitation laced in your tone.
Mingyu shrugged. “Beats me. Do you think he said something to you while you were drunk that he’s glad you forgot? You guys are basically in love.”
“You are so fucking dramatic,” you scoffed. “He did ask me if I remembered anything from Saturday. Maybe he –”
“You know I’d love to stay and chat about your emo boy struggles,” Mingyu cut in, already walking away from the register and wrapping a scarf around his neck. “But Wonwoo definitely has the car running. Just text me. I’ll answer. Don’t give me that look. I promise.”
The bell above the door rang as it closed behind him, leaving you with the question still on the edge of your tongue. What the fuck did Vernon say to you when you were drunk?
After a long week of classes, thesis writing, and your weird manager-turned-friend kind of icing you out, you were surprised to receive a text from said friend on Sunday evening. You had spent the majority of the weekend reading through a portion of research for your thesis, the words so mind numbing that they began to blend together. You found this study interesting, honesty, but research writing had a way of making just about anything boring sometimes. There was only so many times you could read about the impact of the printing press on the Protestant Reformation.
When you finally looked down at your phone – twenty minutes after it lit up – you saw the preview of Vernon’s text and straightened up. You had been sitting in the same position on your couch for so long that your back cracked.
Vernon (Manager Friend): are you doing anything tonight?
You: thesis
Vernon (Manager Friend): let me rephrase: are you doing anything important tonight?
You: this is important. rude.
Vernon (Manager Friend): I want to see you tonight
You: that’s all you had to say, vernon. no need to beat around the bush
Vernon (Manager Friend): who am I if not beating the bush?
Vernon (Manager Friend): that came out weird
Vernon (Manager Friend): meet me at the borough exchange in bushwick around 9. there’s a show I want you to see
You: can I bring some friends? promise I hang out with not just mingyu
Vernon (Manager Friend): I’ll believe it when I see it
You texted your friends, tried not to get offended when they acted surprised that you wanted to go out on a Sunday night, and then ransacked your closet for something to wear. Nothing was right. It was either too casual or too fancy. The jeans you liked didn’t hug your waist the same just out of the dryer and your favorite going-out top didn’t fit your chest like it used to. Eventually, you decided on your favorite pair of jeans – the ones that fit perfectly but were a little ratty at the bottom – and a tight, white thermal long-sleeve that was casual enough but made your boobs look good, even without an open neckline. There was no reason to overthink this. It was a Sunday, and this was just Vernon.
Just. Vernon.
After throwing on your parka, you met up with your friends, Hana and Seungkwan, at the subway. Hana had been one of your classmates since undergrad, while you met Seungkwan a few years ago at an art gallery and you both quickly bonded over medieval art and thrift shopping. The three of you saw each other when you could, during planned dinner reservations made weeks in advance or nights like these when you were going out of your small bubble and needed some company.
A missed train or so later, your group finally managed to get off at the right stop and headed for the Borough Exchange. It was a dive bar near Vernon’s apartment that you maybe visited once before. (Mingyu was right. You didn’t typically go out of your way to see Bushwick.) You shivered as soon as the warm air hit you when you entered the small pub, music blaring from the back where a live band was playing. You could only guess that was where Vernon wanted to meet.
Pushing through the bodies of tipsy patrons, you vowed to not have a drop of alcohol tonight after last weekend. Even the thought of whiskey made your head throb. As you guys settled near the wall of the dance floor, Hana shouted over the loud guitar solo, “Where’s you friend?”
“Not sure,” you shrugged, and then checked the time on your phone. “It’s past nine. Maybe he’s running late?”
“Uh, based on your description of him,” Seungkwan called out, pointing towards the front, “I think that’s him on the stage.”
Your head whipped around, gaze meeting Vernon's immediately as he sang into the mic. His fingers danced across the strings of the red electric guitar in his hands, calloused and dry, but he was so talented you almost didn’t believe it. He was backed by a band behind him, who you remembered from a picture he showed you once. His best friend, Minghao, played the base, while Seokmin was on the drums and Jihoon commanded a keyboard. They sounded great. They sounded professional. Vernon’s singing was out of this world, reminding you of all the old bands he spent showing you, but so authentically him. When did he start possessing such raw talent?
Your voice was unrecognizable, almost in awe, as you said, “Wow, he’s so –”
“Hot,” Seungkwan finished, and you turned to him with wide eyes. “Oh, come on, I knew you were going to say it.”
“Of course, she was,” Hana said, bumping her hip against yours. “He’s the one she’s been spending so much time with. She even came to see him at the drop of a hat.”
Seungkwan’s cheeks were so big as he poke you in the arm. “This is so fun! Almost like high school all over again, just without all the trauma. You liiiiiiike him.”
“Shhhhhhhh!” You scoffed, tugging on both their sleeves, your attention back on the stage. Your lips widened into a huge smile. “There’s a concert in front of us. Pay attention.”
Vernon and his band were only allowed to play for fifteen more minutes, until the bar manager came near the stage during one of their songs and started twirling his finger for them to wrap it up. They finished their covered of Complicated by Avril Lavigne before Vernon grabbed the mic and thanked the small crowd for listening. “Feel free to pick up our EP at the door,” he added, lifting up one hand. “We’re Awkward High-Five.”
Seokmin came up from behind the drums to slap his hand against Vernon’s. Minghao bumped his shoulder as they all jumped off stage, muttering, “We have to change the name. I was busy when you guys voted on it. It’s terrible. Even Woozi agrees with me.”
Jihoon pinched the bridge of his nose, already walking off to the bar for a drink.
“You’ll get over it, Hao,” Vernon replied, his stare completely focused on you. Minghao rolled his eyes before heading outside to have a cigarette, Seokmin quickly following behind. You were so nervous that you weren’t sure how to unclench your fists. It felt like it was only you two in the room as he walked over, your gazes unwavering. Even your friends stepped off to the side to give you privacy, or maybe Hana just wanted to talk to Jihoon. It didn’t matter, because you couldn’t focus on anything but the way Vernon was smiling at you. And now you were grinning even bigger. And the world felt like it was so small, fit for only you and him.
“Hi,” you murmured.
“Hey.” One of his hands reached out to caress your wrist. Just barely, only for a second. But enough to make your cheeks heat. “You came.”
“You called.”
He nodded, “Indeed. I knew it’d be tough to tear you away from your computer though.”
“It was, but …” You tried stopping yourself, teeth sinking into your bottom lip, and he noticed, eyes flickering just for a moment. They softened for you. And finally, you admitted, “I missed you.”
His mouth formed into that cat-like smile again, eyes crinkling at the edges. “Let me buy you a drink.”
He bought you a Shirley Temple because you expressed that you didn’t want alcohol tonight, and he joined you. The drink was sweet and syrupy, and gave you a quick glimpse of him being able to tie a cherry stem with his tongue. He didn’t let you dwell on it though – that’d be too dangerous – and he tugged on your hand to force you to introduce him to your friends. He spent an hour chatting with all of you, making an effort to tease Seungkwan because he noticed the way your friend laughed when he did. All the while, you felt his free hand skim the small of your back. Hardly there, a ghost of a touch. You felt it though. You always felt him.
When both of your glasses were empty, he turned to your friends instead of you and asked, “Would you guys mind if I drove her home?”
You shook your head. “Do I have a say in this?”
“No,” they said in unison, and then Seungkwan added, “You should drive her home, Vernon.”
“Better than taking the subway,” Hana added. “Not many people have a warm car in this city.”
You rolled your eyes before you gaze locked with his, allowing him to lead you out of the bar with a firm hand on your back this time. Minghao and Seokmin were tossing their instruments back of a van while Jihoon smoked what was left of the joint in his pocket. He offered it to Vernon as he said goodbye to all of them, but he simply waved his hand. “Nah,” he answered, “gotta drive home.”
He never turned down a joint before.
Blasting the heat as soon as you both got inside his car, the memories of Saturday night became a little more clear. You didn’t voice it, but you suddenly remembered the plushness of his passenger seat, the way his glove box didn’t close fully, the stench of weed and cologne that lingered in the fabric walls. You gave him your address, wondering if he’d give himself up, but he simply nodded and pulled out of his spot on the curb.
He handed you his phone with Spotify open. You looked at him with confusion, pushing the aux cord in when it tried to pop out. “Show me an album you like,” he said with a jut of his chin.
“Really?”
He nodded eagerly. “Really.” His eyes flickered over to you quickly, noticing the way you lit up as you scrolled through his phone. Your tongue stuck out slightly from the corner of your mouth when you concentrated, and he hated that he had to tear his eyes away from you to drive. You had no idea, and how could you have know, how much it meant for you to show him music you liked. How you were engaging in a love language he never realized was there.
After much deliberation, you set his phone down and the familiar sound of Katy Perry’s voice filled his old speakers. He recognized this song from somewhere – Hackensack? – but it was acoustic. He’d never heard any of Katy’s softer work. Flicking his phone screen on for a moment, he saw an album cover that said, Katy Perry: MTV Unplugged 2009.
“I realize how random this is,” you began when his eyes met yours before turning back to the stop sign ahead. A smirk played at his lips. “Don’t laugh. I’ve listened to this album at least every week since I was a kid. I just really love it.”
The songs faded into each other – from Lost to Waking Up in Vegas – taking him back to his childhood too. He remembered when his sister used to sing these songs into her hairbrush, screaming in his ear just to piss him off. Did you experience them a different way? Or did you, too, jump around your room with your hairbrush pressed against your mouth as you belted? He wondered how much this album meant to you, if you listened to it in times of distress, if you had your first car make out to a song as silly as I Kissed a Girl. There were a million memories that you probably had with this album and he was now hearing it for the first time, through your eyes.
He slowed down at a red light as the chorus to Thinking of You picked up, and you sunk into the passenger seat, watching the streetlights twinkle outside as you warmed your hands inside your jacket sleeves. Vernon had never heard this song like this before, had never taken the time to hear the lyrics or how the guitar riff slowed: Cause when I’m with him, I am thinking of you … What you would do … If you were the one who was spending the night …
Vernon was looking at you now – really looking at you – and he wondered if the world had stopped because all he could hear was white noise in his ears. The way your lips tugged into a smile made your cheeks dip. The way your eyes lit up at the smallest of things. How proud you got when you did something right. When you got excited to talk about your studies. Everything hit him in that moment and he realized how icing you out this week because he was being an awkward asshole made him miss you. Miss this. Just you and him.
The ringing stopped, and the song filtered through.
Oh, I wish that I was looking into your eyes …
Vernon pursed his lips. “Do you want to go somewhere else instead of your apartment right now?”
You turned to him, beaming, all warm like the shit heating system in his car. “Sure.”
He nodded, finally looking back as the light turned green. Instead of going straight, he took a right, heading for one of the parks in Brooklyn. Pulling into the parking lot, you were greeted with the sight of Prospect Park Lake at night, something you hadn’t considered seeing before. The lake was man-made, sure, but the stars shined down on it just right, making the water glitter like diamonds.
Vernon parked right in front of the snow piles, but you both could still see the lake from here. He leaned back in his seat, his elbow resting on the edge of the window while his cheek pressed onto his fist. “I used to practice guitar here when I was a teenager,” he mused, watching the water. “I didn’t have the money for lessons, so I had to teach myself. The lake was the only place where I found peace and quiet in the city. Usually, it would just be me here and someone’s dad fishing.”
“How did you afford a guitar back then if you couldn’t get lessons?”
He sneered. “I have always been a yard sale fiend.”
Settling into a comfortable silence, the Katy Perry album ended and transitioned into his liked songs. You could tell because the Cure was now playing, a song he had showed you months ago. Your hands twitched, and you eventually turned on your side in the passenger seat to face him. He was still staring at the water lick against the rocks, running a hand over his spiked hair. “Did you bring me here to kill me?” You asked, brows narrowing.
“What?” His head whipped to yours. “Why would you ask me that?”
You tilted your head. Was he that oblivious, or did he want you to say it? This had to be one of your worst nightmares. “You’ve been acting so strange around me recently,” you answered, now playing with the broken zipper dangling by your waist. “I mean, for instance … why didn’t you tell me about your band before?”
He shrugged. “I didn’t think you’d be interested.”
“Tell me,” you said quickly, your mouth forming in a soft smile “I’m interested.”
You made his words more beautiful, like wind chimes on the first day of spring.
So he told you. Turning in the driver’s seat, he spoke about when he met his friends, how they decided to make music. It had been Jihoon’s idea; he was the mastermind behind everything. When they weren’t practicing covers of songs they all grew up listening to, Jihoon was writing their music or putting together melodies. He would get home from his 9 to 5 accounting job and immediately open his notebook to write, finding joy in this as much as his other friends. They had only been doing this for a year as a hobby, and just recently decided on a name, but he wondered if maybe, just maybe, if they applied themselves … “I don’t want to get my hopes up though,” Vernon waved his hand. "Especially with Hao’s bad attitude about the name.”
“He’ll get used to it. Hopefully,” you snickered. “The name is … well –”
“Not you too,” he sighed.
He was looking at you again, and suddenly, it felt like you were the Mona Lisa. Like you were an LP being ogled by a customer chasing a deal. His eyes were intimate, almost hungry, and his words were slightly laced with the impulse to be closer: “I missed talking to you this week. I know we didn’t share a lot of shifts, but I didn’t text you. I know I was being weird.”
His palm was open and resting on the center console. You couldn’t help but reach out and coast your fingertip over one of the lines. Without looking at him, you asked, “Why did you lie about driving me home after the concert last weekend?”
“Caught red-handed,” he muttered, closing his fingers around yours, but only for a moment. Your gaze flicked up and met his. “I was embarrassed.”
“Because …?”
“Because I was jealous that you didn’t ask me to go with you,” he admitted, running a hand down his face. “Because I was being possessive over your time when … well, when that’s not for me to dictate.”
“You can be possessive over my time, Vernon. Just ask me first.” You flicked his arm, and he opened two fingers over his eyes to look at you. “And no more lying.”
He let the hand fall from his pretty brown eyes, grinning so big that he was showing his perfect teeth. You were almost jealous of him now, his nice, straight teeth, not one out of place. But he was staring at you like your smile lines didn’t mean a thing, like your front teeth weren’t stained from years of black coffee or that stress zit near your chin didn’t exist. His hand closed around your wrist again, thumb running over your pulse point. It was so intimate and yet so far away and oh, my god – you were finally going to say it –
“Vernon.” Your voice was so quiet you almost didn’t recognize it. “What are we doing?”
He stifled a laugh. “I’m not sure.”
You didn’t respond, unsure how to take it, but his thumb was still caressing your wrist and sending shivers up your spine that you hadn’t felt in years. When was the last time someone touched you this way? With reverence, with actual desire?
“Pretty certain you can’t go back to being friends after admitting I got jealous over you,” he clicked his tongue, and then tilted his head up. Brow furrowing and his other palm out on the console, he added, “It was never about Mingyu, FYI. But did you really have to go with him? I mean, like, the guy’s a god.”
You giggled. Actually giggled. The sound was unfamiliar, but never with him. “I don’t like Mingyu in that way.”
He squinted one of his eyes, a snarky reply on the tip of his tongue. But he wanted for you to continue; too scared to admit more of the truth. Rejection was fleeting, not painless, and he could see that you were fighting the same battle with the way you were biting your lip. God, did that make him want to kiss you more –
“I like you,” you whispered back, resting your palm over his other one. “And I’ve just been … too scared to ruin this. But I know I can’t be anymore. So if you didn’t bring me here to kill me, the least you could do is –”
He didn’t let you finish your sentence, leaning over the center console to crash his lips onto yours. Noses bumped, teeth gnashed, but when his hand came up to cradle your jaw, you let yourself melt into it. His kiss was slow, despite all the pent-up tension that had been riddling inside him. Morrissey’s voice filtered through the speakers – And you never knew … How much I really liked you … Because I never even told you … – as Vernon licked into your mouth in a way that had your thighs pressing together in the cramped passenger seat.
He tugged on your bottom lip, and then let go. He pushed himself back against his seat, realizing he’d gotten a little more excited than planned. But he’d finally got to kiss you, and your lips were so soft, and the way your soft sounds filtered into his mouth made him undoubtedly hard –
He noticed you bring a hand to your bottom lip, swiping a droplet of blood, and that was all it took.
Cranking his seat back, you let him pick you up as if you were nothing but a doll, sliding you over the console until your hips were flush against his. You had to lean forward to prevent your head from bumping against the roof of the car and your legs were even more cramped as you kneeled on his lap, but you were doing this. How could you not when his hands were so slow, precise? They trembled slightly from pure excitement as he unzipped your jacket, letting them glide up the tight thermal you were thankful you chose to wear.
The windows began to fog up from the heat, but he didn’t notice a damn thing except for the way you were sitting so perfectly on his lap. He sat up a little, and you guided his hand to cup the swell of your breast. “Christ,” he muttered, now against your lips, “you have no idea …”
“About what?” Your hot breath fanned his cheek. His touch was barely there as he ran his thumb over your nipple, feeling it harden underneath your shirt. It felt like he was ripping you open and putting you back together just from a graze of his finger.
“How much … how much I’ve wanted to touch you,” he confessed, nibbling on your lower lip for a brief second. You pushed yourself more against him, and he almost moaned from the weight of your breasts in his palms. “I held myself back because we were friends and I didn’t want to become one of those guys. But every time we were alone, I couldn’t help but think about what it would be like to kiss you, especially when your eyes got all glassy after we smoked a joint, and sometimes I’d have to excuse myself to go to the bathroom because just being near you got me fucking hard. And it was so pathetic and needy, and so unlike me, but I started thinking about you when I jerked off –”
“I thought about you when I touched myself too.”
“Oh, fuck.”
You kissed each other like it was pure instinct, and it was rough, desperate, but needed. So needed. It was like watching the Discovery Channel, even Animal Planet – two mammals surviving on basic intuition and barbaric bliss. He kissed you like he’d been waiting for centuries, one hand pulling your hips against his while the other squeezed your breast. You pressed down on him, waiting until you heard that – oh, there it was – groan of his enter your mouth and his cock hardened in his jeans. You chased it, feeling it strain against his zipper, grinding down on it as he kissed you without trying to pathetically moan into your mouth. But it was hard – he was fucking hard – and you were so pretty on his lap that he could almost cum without being touched.
He needed to distract himself from his impending doom of cumming too early, so he took off his jacket – quite haphazardly, enough to make you chuckle – before he peeled off your thermal top, leaving you in just a lace bralette you threw on, not even thinking another soul would see it tonight. But here you were, and now he was swallowing hard, drinking in the sight of your hard nipples pressed against the flimsy fabric. And he simply couldn’t help himself, leaning forward and yanking down the lace, dragging his tongue around one nipple. You shivered in his hold, nails raking through the short hair at the nape of his neck. “Vernon,” you whined.
“Hansol,” he corrected, looking up at you as he shifted, tongue flicking against the other nipple.
“Huh?”
“Hansol tonight. Please.”
“Okay,” you whispered, the need in his voice making the hair on your arms stand up. Or maybe it was just his tongue, switching between both breasts as he lathered them with his spit. He wouldn’t stop, like he couldn’t get enough of you, like the goosebumps rising on your sensitive skin was the only thing keeping him alive. Eventually, you cut in, “But, Vern – Hansol –”
He chuckled, low and husky. “Yeah?”
“How the hell am I going to get my pants off?”
“Oh.” He leaned back, seeing the zipper on your jeans just halfway undone, hardly any room for you to move around. “That would be helpful.”
You practically snorted, pecking his lips before sliding off his lap and back into the passenger seat. Having you leave his lap was torture, but he tried to divert his attention away from his aching cock by struggling to take off his long-sleeve tee. Even you were grappling with kicking off your pants in the small vehicle, your panties so soaked just from dry humping that you had to shuck them off.
Vernon didn’t think this moment would ever come: you, sitting in his passenger seat, fully naked. It was something out of one of those wet dreams – and he had many about you – but he knew this was real because you were already climbing over the console and perching yourself right back on his lap, bare pussy pressed against his clothed erection. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, sitting up again as he watched your arousal seep into his jeans.
He was never washing these again.
Actually, he didn’t want to be gross. He would wash these.
(Theoretically, he wasn’t washing these jeans again.)
“I’ve never called you Hansol before,” you mused, pushing back his hair. “Why tonight?”
He grinned, all teeth. “I like the way you say it.”
“What if I mistakenly call you Vernon at one point?”
“That’s okay.” His hands skimmed up your sides again. “I just want to touch you.”
“Your pants are still on though.”
“Emphasis on touch,” he quipped. “We can worry about that after this.”
Holding onto your waist, he looked down and let one of his fingers trail over your folds, smearing the wetness. You breathed out a sigh, leaning back against the steering wheel, opening yourself up to him as much as you could in this confined space. It occurred to you then that if you guys had simply gone back to your apartment, he could’ve fucked you into the mattress, but it seemed fate simply wanted you both to have sex in a car at Prospect Park Lake.
As he watched you leak onto the pads of his fingers, you couldn’t help but blurt out, “It can become like Niagara Falls down there. You’re in the splash zone.”
He immediately let out the loudest laugh, leaning back in the seat as his nose scrunched up. The way he laughed made more butterflies rise in your stomach, igniting a fire in you that not even his fingers could do. You were unable to contain yourself, smiling from ear to ear. “Holy shit,” he breathed out when his amusement subsided, and then subtly tasted you on his fingers when he thought you didn’t notice. He had to fight the urge to groan at the flavor. “Good to know. Thanks.”
“Not a problem,” you joked, lifting up a hand.
He reached down again, but before he went any further, he met your gaze. “You still want to do this?”
“Yeah, Hansol,” you replied, and his eyes fucking lit up when he heard that name come from your lips. “I want to.”
“Okay,” he smiled, straightening his back and lifting his dominant hand up. Before you could ask what he was doing, he said, “Open up.”
Your brow furrowed, but you opened your mouth anyway.
He placed three fingers on your tongue, and you closed your lips around them automatically. No hesitation needed. He watched you, felt your tongue swirl around his digits, transfixed and fantasizing what else you could fit in your mouth. But that was for another time. And if he didn’t get his fingers inside you soon, he just might die.
A trail of salvia connected your mouth to his fingers as he slipped them out, but he made sure to wipe it away with his thumb. Snaking his hand between your bodies, both of you practically folded like pretzels, he tested the waters by dipping a single finger inside your tight channel, looking up to check if you were okay. You arched slightly against the steering wheel, careful not to hit the car horn and ruin the entire moment. He swirled that finger deeper, and you keened, pushing against him.
You cracked one eye open. “I can take more than one finger, you know.”
“Well,” he huffed playfully, “now you’re just sounding ungrateful.”
“I’m not –”
He shoved three fingers inside of you and curled. You gasped like the wind had been knocked out of you. “Fucking Christ, Hansol –”
“Not so ungrateful anymore, huh?”
You opened both eyes, seeing him smile at you, and your own expression reflected his. Grabbing the interior handle above your head, you rocked you hips into his hand. He let out a ragged, heartbreaking breath as he began to piston those three fingers inside you. His gaze was laser focused, watching your essence drip onto his palm. The sounds you made only spurred him on, wanting to go deeper, to find that spot that made you see stars. You were still a little tense, and that might have to do with the limited space you were in. So he pressed his thumb down, flicking your clit like it was the only thing he knew how to do, and viewed up when he heard you whine.
“Like that?” He asked, and your response came in the form of another mewl. “Okay, I got you. Come closer.”
Before you could shift, he was wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you forward. He sat up, letting your chest become flushed with his, leaving no room for you to escape his long fingers. He shoved them back inside, crooked them even deeper, and your hips jumped in a way that told him he found it. That place. And now, you were whispering his name just as pathetically as he did with yours when he jerked off. “Hansol, please –”
“I know,” he cooed, tilting his head to graze his lips against yours. “Lemme make you cum. Soak my fingers.”
You nodded weakly, pressing your cheek against his as he fucked those three fingers into you. Your nails dug into his shoulders, anchoring yourself to him, as your hips began to roll in time with his hand. His praise was like a soothing rhythm in your ear, but you could tell he was desperate. He was so hard underneath you that you felt his precum soak through his jeans. His fingers moved faster, pressing down on your clit while you heaved out his name. And then you were letting go, stars exploding behind your eyes when his fingers curled just right inside of you, his thumb rubbing harshly on your swollen clit at the same time. You gushed around his fingers and he was huffing like it was his first time all over again, and god, if this is how you felt around his fingers, he didn’t want to imagine how you were going to feel wrapped around his cock –
“Hansol?”
He lifted his head up again, meeting your half-lidded eyes. It took everything in him to pull his fingers out of you, to lick your release off his fingers and try not to moan loud enough to scare you off. Your stare was already so fucked out and there was sweat at your hairline and holy shit, your lips – parted with just a tiny bit of drool lingering at the corner. Fuck, he was – “I’m so fucking obsessed with you,” he murmured, and then his face twisted. “I’m sorry. I sound like such a loser.”
“No, you don’t,” you chuckled softly. “You’re usually so confident. Where did all that go?”
“I think I turned to mush when you came on my fingers.”
Your brow shot up.
“I just …” He struggled to find the words, eyes darting around the car. “I didn’t really expect this to happen. Like ever. And the last place you’ve probably ever wanted to be is in my car, and –”
“Hansol,” you said, grabbing his face so he would look at you. “This is the only place I want to be. Do you want to have sex?”
“Yes,” he answered without hesitation. “I kind of need to be inside you.”
You both laughed together, sitting back on his lap as he unzipped his jeans and wrestled with shucking them down enough. Your eyes raked down him then, finally noticing just how toned he was without a shirt. His skin was soft, but almost had a pearly hue in the moonlight streaming through the foggy windows. His chest was wide and his arms were slender, yet toned. His collarbones were pronounced, and you realized there was a silver chain dangling on his neck. You reached out, playing with it, as he eventually pulled his cock out.
He was longer than you assumed – at least, longer than average – with not a lot of girth, but enough to make you gawk a little. A few veins ran up the shaft, and a pretty pink head with precum running down his knuckles now. His erection, once neglected, was now demanding attention, and Vernon held it as if he was scared of being inside you, as if the mere thought of you wrapped around him was too much of a fantasy to bear. He met your eyes and you slid forward, his cologne beckoning you closer.
At one point, it was that very cologne that made you want to move further away. How the tables had turned.
You reached out, hesitated, until he realized what you were doing and allowed you to wrap your nimble fingers around him. You gave an experimental stroke, and then another, and another. His cock was hard and throbbing, but the skin was as soft and delicate. Vernon’s breath hitched, making you whisper, “Hansol …” Your thumb rubbed circles on the tip and more precum drooled out. “I thought … thought about doing this … when I touched myself,” you mewled for him, and his head fell forward.
“Jesus Christ,” he moaned, his warm breath hitting your nipples in the best way possible. Your strokes were lazy, but enough to make his balls ache. “If you … if you keep touching me like that, I’m not gonna fucking last.”
You chuckled. “Okay, I won’t torture you any longer.”
“You can. Some other time,” he promised with a grin. “But don’t expect to get nothing in return. I think I need to spend a few hours with my face between your legs.”
The giggle you released turned into a snort, and you flicked his nose before aligning his cock with your entrance. “I can agree to those terms, if you survive tonight.” You hovered above him, your head bent over the roof of the car in perhaps the most uncomfortable position possible. You made it work though, allowing your lips to just barely graze his tip, the friction making you both keen.
Vernon sighed heavily. “Fuck, I might not.”
Slowly, reverently, you sank down on Vernon’s cock, taking him inch by inch. You let out a deep whimper as he filled you, the angle making you feel the length of him almost in your stomach. The moment he was seated fully inside, he let out a groan that was unrecognizable. A pathetic tilt resounded at the end, his breathing getting heavier and heavier the longer you simply didn’t move. He swallowed hard and demanded, “You need to move.”
“Are you going to cum just from that?” You asked, nearly out of breath.
“I might,” he confessed. “I wasn’t joking that I’ve been thinking about this forever. If you don’t move, I’m going to move you.”
You lifted your head to give him a look. “You’re so –”
His hands seized your hips, kneading hard, as he lifted you slightly off his cock before slamming you back down. You practically choked on your own spit, looking at him underneath you. He was smirking, and your jaw was unhinging. You didn’t have to say it; he could tell from your eyes that they were saying, Do it again. So his grip on you got firmer, and he began fucking you onto his cock.
Your hips ground against his, not wanting to be separated from him, and your arms wound around his neck. His moans turned louder, tongue lapping at one of your nipples again as you writhed on top of him. “Hansol,” dripped from your mouth like honey, causing his fingers to dig into your hips deeper with each pass. His breathing was so heavy, so pretty, close to a whine and making him sound absolutely ruined even though he was the one wrecking you like his life depended on it. Maybe it did. Because you were trembling and drenching his cock in your essence and fuck, you felt like a vice around him.
“I want –” He hit a spot inside you that made you almost double over. You met his eyes as he tweaked your nipple with his teeth. “I want you to cum inside me.”
He leaned back releasing your nipple that was now red and coated in his spit. “Probably not a good idea.”
“I’m on the pill.”
“Fuck, oh my god,” he murmured – anguished, desperate. “Why did you tell me that?”
It was like you flipped a switch inside him. He bounced you on his cock with renewed vigor, not even giving you the room to rock against him. There was a finish line now; there was a reason to keep touching you and a reason to have you gripping his hair like this was a ride you wouldn’t survive. He was panting now in your ear, taking a few moments in between to bite on the lobe, and when he felt his balls draw up, he somehow was able to snake a hand in between you without you noticing. His thumb was back on your clit, rubbing hard circles, and you whined and moaned, feeling like melted ice cream on a hot summer day.
Sparks blotted your vision. You saw white, and then realized what was happening. You were clenching around him so taut that you both moaned in unison. You soaked his entire shaft, and he was still fucking you through it, pinching your clit just right to prolong your orgasm. Your body was reeling, tears pricking at your eyes, not sure how much more you could take and wondering if you’d been cumming for hours. His voice sounded gruff and distant in your ear.
“Oh, my fucking – you’re so tight when you cum. I think I’m gonna die – shit,” he muttered, a whine echoing at the end. “When was the last time you got f–”
“A while,” you huffed, forehead falling into the crook of his neck as his movements slowed a little. He was rocking you into him now, trying not to cum so quick, but you knew he’d been at the edge for a while now, and Christ, you just wanted him to fill you so badly. “So make this worth it, Vernon.”
He snickered, “Yes, ma’am.”
You gasped when you felt him fuck up into you, thrusting his hips somehow in this cramped space. Teeth biting into his shoulder, you cried out his name. You were overstimulated and fucked out, but he needed to cum. So you clenched around him again, making him breathe hard and then – there it was. That groan again. So desperate and loud and whiney as his release spilled into you. Your fingers were in his hair now, tugging, and his head fell back enough so your lips could connect. His moans poured into your mouth and they tasted sweet like grenadine. Warmth filled you, dripping between your legs when he finally stopped bucking up into you.
Mouths detached then, hot breath fanning both your faces. Your hands now cradled his face as your lips barely ghosted over his. It took all your strength to finally sit up, feeling his softening cock begin to slip out of you, and he laid back in the seat to give you a better angle. When you were finally free, you slid over the center console and fell into the passenger seat. Neither of you bothered to put your clothes back on. The car was warm enough, the windows completely fogged, and you agreed that the only thing you wanted to do right now was just lie back.
Eventually, you both began to laugh, tickled at the absurdity of what just happened. Vernon flipped open his glove box in front of you and pulled out a small metal tin. He flicked the lid open, revealing two hand rolled joints and a quarter of one left. He took one of the full ones and lit the end with a lighter he conveniently had in one of his cupholders. After taking a heavy drag, he handed it over to you.
Bending your seat back all the way like his, you took the joint and let the smoke fill your lungs. You opened the window a crack, just to flick a few ashes out. The leather of the seat became sticky as some of your combined releases trickled out, but neither of you, not even him, cared enough to do anything but smoke this joint and giggle.
As you relit the end, he turned to you, his lips tugging up. “So,” he began, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear, “since I survived tonight, mind if I take you home to do as I promised?”
You inhaled and choked at the same time, passing the joint back to him as you coughed. He patted your back, concerned, until you started laughing uncontrollably. “We finally have hook up,” you said in between snorts, “and that’s the first thing you say?”
“Do you not want to then?” He asked with the joint hanging from the corner of his mouth.
“I would be a fool to say no, Hansol.” You made an effort to call him his chosen name even when you weren’t being intimate, and that, above all, was what made his cheeks flush. The thought of his face spending hours between your thighs made your skin prick. Your pinky slowly found his on the console. “I’ll agree to your terms, if … if you promise to take me on a real date. Not some listening party in your apartment, although those are fun. Even if it’s just pizza at Tony’s. I want it to be real.”
With the joint still in between his teeth, he held up your locked pinky fingers and smiled. “You got yourself a deal.”
A/N: bestie @jaja-salute requested somno + needy, and we both discussed loser nerdy!hoshi eatssssss so I hope you like :)
Warnings: mdni 18+, loser nerdy!hoshi, down bad!hoshi, free use, somno [consented], needy!hoshi, cream pie, unprotected [wrap it up irl pls] hoshi big boy
WC: 1821
Soonyoung hopes he sees you when he gets back to his dorm. Ever since he’s been with you, he’s been down bad. Whipped is the best word to describe him.
And he would tell anyone he was happily whipped. His cheeks flush like the tips of his ears, eyes wide, mouth salivating from just the thought of you. You, who is so pretty and popular, who took his spare keys to his dorm with a sly smile after taking his heart. His eyes glossed over as his mind started to replay how you ruined him for anyone else. Your lips wrapped around his big cock, sucking him so sweetly until he was a quivering mess. And then shoving your panties in his mouth as you rode him like your personal dildo?
A shiver runs down Hoshi’s spine, his cock swelling, straining against his pants as he gets off the elevator. His feet carried him down the hallway, his tongue wetting his lips in anticipation. You had told him how good he felt, that you wanted him, and he was free to have you as much as he liked.
Soonyoung’s keys fumbled in his hand. He really hoped you were in his bed right now. Fuck, just being in his dorm was enough. Heat crawled up his neck, his chest heaving for air as his mind raced. He didn’t want to masturbate in the shower to the thought of you if you weren’t there. He wanted you, he needed you.
He stumbled through his front door, his eyes hazed, scanning the living room and kitchen, a pout forming when he didn’t see you. “Pretty?” He called out, his ears perking up to hear your pretty voice, but no luck.
He sighed heavily, his cock was hard and already leaking precum, and he dropped all his stuff on the couch. It seemed he had a date with his hand tonight, but maybe he could call you? A blush darkened on his cheeks as he thought about it. He could listen to your pretty voice as you teased him, call him needy, fuck maybe he could send you a video of what you did to him. Show you how hard he was for you as he fucked his fist to the thought of you.
He was already tossing his shirt onto the ground, his fingers fumbling with his pants as he staggered into his bedroom.
And oh-
You were here. And you were in his bed. Sleeping on your stomach, wearing one of his big punk T-shirts, and nothing else. One of your legs was hooked up higher than your other one, and he could see your pretty pussy peeking under his shirt.
Oh fuck.
His eyes glossed over, his brain fogging up. So pretty, you were so pretty. And he only had one thought: he needed you.
The room felt too hot, his hands shoving the rest of his clothes off as he kept his eyes on your sleeping form. His heart raced, climbing onto his bed, his body lying next to yours, only his shirt that you were wearing, separating him from you. His hand hesitated. You had told him this type of scenario would be okay. That it would be so hot to wake up to him. And why else would you have let yourself in his dorm, lying in his bed in nothing but his shirt?
He knows he has your permission, but it still makes his breath catch in his throat. He’s so hard his mind spins. And he can’t keep his eyes off your pretty face, his palm sliding down between your open legs. You’re so warm, the heat between your thighs only making his mouth water more.
He starts slow. Dipping his two fingers through your folds, you’re wet, and it only makes his jaw clench. Did you go to sleep thinking about him finding you like this? Are you dreaming about him? His fingertips gather the sweet slick, dragging it down until he can smear it on your sensitive clit. And the soft sigh you let out sends a thrill through him. His breathing grows shallow, his eyes taking in every little shift of your sleeping form. You melt into the mattress when his fingers rub slowly and steadily, and he can feel you getting wetter after each stroke.
Fuck, he needs more. He needs you.
His sanity hangs by a thread when he’s sinking two fingers into your pretty pussy. His breath hitched, his eyes rolling to the back of his head when he feels your gummy walls grip his fingers tightly. He stills when you gasp, his eyes flickering from where he’s stuffing you with his fingers to your pretty face. Your nose scrunches for a second, but then you're shifting back, welcoming his fingers deeper into your wet channel, your legs opening wider for him subconsciously.
He curls his digits, his coarse fingertips dragging down your sensitive walls as he thrusts deep and slow. The room fills with the wet squelches of your pussy slurping his fingers, your body relaxing enough for him to give you a third finger, earning him another sigh from you. Fuck, he’s enjoying this so much. Watching your sleeping form take his fingers so warmly. He wants to think subconsciously, you know it’s him, and that’s why you’re dripping your sweet juices so heavily. And the thought of it being true is enough to make the last of his resolve snap.
His fingers slip from your drooling cunt, only to wrap around his shaft. He covers his length in your slick, mixing it with his precum before he’s kneeling between your open legs. He presses a kiss to the back of your shoulder, “I need you so badly.” A confession whimpered into your skin as he notches the tip of his fat cock on your entrance.
Hoshi’s jaw drops, his eyelashes fluttering as his first few inches sink into your sopping pussy. Your walls throb around his thick girth, feeling every ridge and pulse of his veins that run along his cock, rubbing your gummy walls deliciously. He could cum right now if he wasn’t doing everything he could not to. His fingers curl tightly into the bedsheets, his abs flexing, biceps shaking as he finally bottoms out.
Heaven sent. Your pussy was heaven-sent. Made for him. He could feel his drool threatening to escape past his lips as he pulled his hips back about halfway. Your cunt constricted, squeezing him, trying to keep him from leaving. And if he could stay inside you forever, he would.
He’s absolutely addicted, and his sanity finally breaks. He wanted to be in control, to go nice and slow for you. But the grip your pussy has on him makes his whole body shake.
His first thrust is hard. Rough enough that he’s got your body moving up higher onto his bed. And your yelp lets him know you’re awake. Your mouth hangs, your eyes widen, and your moan is loud. His thick cock splits you open, forcing its way deep inside you, that his mushroom tip - angry red - smooches your cervix with a filthy kiss, globs of his precum coating your walls with each thrust.
“Oh my god,” your back arches, and Soonyoung whines. His hands are on either side of your head, trapping you underneath him as his cum-heavy balls smack your pretty clit with each dangerous roll of his hips.
He sniffles, his eyes blurry as his mouth parts for his whimpers. “N-needed you,” he sounds wrecked. Rutting into your dripping cunt harder, desperately, “co-couldn’t help m'self-“ One of his legs hooks over yours, and he grinds deeper, as if he was trying to reach your throat.
Your gummy walls clench hard around him, your jaw slacking open wider as you gasp. Your hands reach up to rest on the wall above your head, protecting you from being rammed into it from how rough Hoshi pounds into you. He’s like an animal in heat, his hands wrapping around your throat as his lips mouth your ear sloppily. Your cunt sloshes, soaking his cock and dripping onto the sheets under you. “Feel so good, jus’ like that-“ your praise only makes Soonyoung more frenzied.
He loved your praise, loved that he was making you feel as good as you did for him. Your hips pushed back to meet each one of his thrusts, and he groaned in your ear.
You loved how vocal Soonyoung was. He could never hide his feelings, and each groan, each whimper only made the fire in your stomach burn brighter.
And Soonyoung is right there with you. His hand is a warm anchor around your throat as his forehead rests on the back of your shoulder. He could hear the slams of his bed knocking into the wall mix with the splashes of your pussy creaming around his cock. And he couldn’t help but babble. Tell you how good you felt wrapped around him. “Sq-squeezin’ me s’hard, Pretty. ‘M gonna cum,” your movements to meet his grew sloppier, faster, his words making you moan obscenely. His lungs burned, and he quickly realized you like that. “You want me to cum?”
Your eyes were glossy like your lips, your head nodding enthusiastically. “Inside, you ca-can cum ins-side, Baby.” Your tongue lolls out, feeling his cock stir inside you deliciously. Fuck, he felt so good.
And hearing your permission only had him moving harder. His breath caught in his throat, a pathetic whine leaving his lips as he grabbed your waist. His fingers dipped into your soft hips, his jaw clenching as he manhandled you to move up and down his cock for him. With each smack of his hips, his balls tapped against your puffy clit, sending jolts of electricity to zap through your body.
A few more rough thrusts turned sloppy, and Hoshi was babbling 'thank you' over and over again before his cock swelled. The tip of his cock twitched against your sweet spot as stripe after stripe of his sticky cum filled your pretty pussy white. His jaw slacked, his head tilting up to the ceiling, and he groaned as he stuffed you full.
Feeling him twitch, sinking his cock as deep as he could in you, triggered your own orgasm. Your gummy walls milked his cock, gushing your own arousal and having a mix of both of your cum to seep from your overfilled pussy. It dripped down onto his bed messily while you both rode out your orgasms, panting heavily.
And it was once Hoshi finally slipped out of you, falling to the right side of you, that you couldn't hold in your giggles any longer. Soonyoung's cheeks were flushed, his lips parted as he panted, but his eyes still twinkled towards you. "That's one way to wake me up," you laughed, and Soonyoung grinned.
"Missed you, Pretty."
-
A/N: As always, comments, kudos, and feedback are greatly appreciated. Otherwise, it sometimes feels like talking to a wall lmao- hope y'all enjoyyyeedd!
Note from author: OMg my girlypops, it feels like I have been gone for forever, but I am not going to lie, I went through a midlife crisis. But YOLO, so we are back and better than ever. Sorry for disappearing off the face of the earth, but thank you for all your messages and support, and THANK YOU FOR 1000 OF YOUR CUTE FACES following me. It feels crazy since I only started writing on this blog in April this year, but you guys make it so wholesome with the support and sweet messages. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. ♥️ ❤️🤍🤍
Summary: ot'13 as your situationship
Warnings: Friends with Benefits, Mutual attachment issues.
1️⃣ S.Coups:
How you ended up in a situationship with one of the most well-known leaders in K-pop isn’t exactly a story people would believe. You and Cheol had crossed paths plenty of times before, backstage at award shows, during overlapping promotions at Music Bank, or in crowded hallways lined with staff rushing idols from one stage to the next. Everyone knows the routine, a quick bow, a polite whisper of “good luck,” and the practiced, tight-lipped smile.
You can’t quite pinpoint when the line between acquaintances and friends began to blur, but you remember the night perfectly. Five months ago, after the MAMA Awards, a restaurant buzzing with idols and staff, too much food, too much wine, and laughter that lasted hours. The next thing you knew, you were waking up in a ridiculously expensive hotel room with a strong arm draped across your bare waist.
Nothing was ever officially agreed upon, but in an industry where loneliness creeps in faster than you’d like to admit, you both found comfort in each other. Still, don’t get it twisted, Cheol is every bit the “alpha male” people imagine him to be. Whatever you two have, it’s not about candlelit dates or whispered promises. When the sun rises, you’re nothing more than two friends who sometimes share a bed.
At least, that’s the illusion. Because God forbid you get too friendly with another man anywhere near him. You’ve lost count of how many arguments ended in breathless, messy makeup sex because Cheol has a temper that flares quicker than dry tinder catching a spark.
Being with him, in this not-quite-relationship, is like tricking yourself into believing it’s nothing more than companionship. But the truth slips through in small ways, like the huge bouquets of peonies he sends whenever you hit a milestone, or the nights he shows up unannounced in his blacked-out Mercedes just to make sure you don’t walk home in the rain, or the little notes he sneaks into your jacket during showcases, when all he can do is smile at you from across the stage.
Somehow, he isn’t yours. And yet, you are only his.
2️⃣ Jeonghan:
Lowkey, highkey, this situationship started because the two of you were nothing but sarcastic little shits. What began with a polite introduction over a brand partnership turned into easy comfort, which turned into constant teasing, which eventually spiralled into a game of seeing who could push the other further before one of you snapped.
And that’s exactly what happened that Thursday night, in that oversized elevator. A harmless, sarcastic argument escalated until you found yourself pinned against the cold metal wall, Jeonghan stealing every possible breath from your lips. His left hand tangled in your hair, his right tightening around your neck, and suddenly the tension you both thrived on tipped into something else entirely.
Of course, the sarcasm never stopped. Maybe that’s why you both decided to label this as temporary from the start. Because Jeonghan has the kind of habits that drive you insane, teasing you just enough to make you jealous on purpose, ignoring your texts for hours only to show up at your door like nothing happened, acting like you don’t exist when you’re forced to share a stage during professional hours… then pinning you against any available hard surface in his apartment after midnight.
Having Jeonghan as your situationship looks like getting your nails done at his sister’s salon while praying she doesn’t notice you’re wearing his T-shirt on a Monday morning, especially when you know he’s sitting in his car just a few meters away, waiting for you like he always does.
3️⃣ Joshua:
This kind of situationship makes you fall in love in either two minutes or two days, there’s no in-between. Having one with Joshua, especially as a fellow idol, feels like living inside a fairytale you’re not supposed to believe in. He’s attentive down to the smallest detail, the kind of man who notices everything without making a show of it. A true mama’s boy, gentle, grounded, never once disrespectful, but clear from the very beginning about where his priorities lie.
He’s the type to stop you backstage after a big show, slip in a quiet “congrats” with that signature wink, and later send a massive bouquet of your favourite flowers, the card written in his impossibly neat handwriting.
Situationships with Joshua meant Saturday night sleepovers, the two of you tangled in laughter over the dumbest things, half-buried under blankets and inside jokes. Sunday mornings smelled like coffee and comfort, him half-asleep in the living room, trying to convince you to stay for lunch with a soft, pleading smile that made it almost impossible to say no.
You knew you were in love when people started teasing you for the way you smiled at your phone. How every text from him could turn your entire day around. And when he couldn’t see you in person, he’d FaceTime you late at night, whispering things that made you laugh until your eyes watered. Those calls always started with small talk, updates, teasing, shared stories, and ended with both of you tangled in that charged silence that said everything words couldn’t. More often than not, they ended with you searching for your bra somewhere under the chaos of your room, both of you breathless and laughing.
Being in a situationship with Joshua meant living in a constant state of quiet hope. Hoping he wouldn’t wake up one morning and decide it was time to move on. Hoping that what you had, even if it didn’t have a label, was enough to keep him close. You knew exactly how much power he held over you, the way his absence could hollow out your mood, the way a single message from him could bring it all back to life.
4️⃣ Jun:
You still don’t know how you ended up in a situationship with the sweetest man on earth. Maybe it started when you two got paired up as the main couple leads. A few on-screen kisses slowly turned into full-blown make-out sessions, in the elevator, the car on the way to the studio, hotel rooms during the press tour, and even during “shower breaks” between takes.
Your arrangement had a clear rule: it stayed physical, no feelings involved. But Jun seemed to enjoy hanging out with you outside of that a little more than expected. He’d show up at your hotel room door at 2 a.m., knocking like a man on a mission, claiming he couldn’t sleep. Then he’d drag you out, still in your robe and random slides to grab boba or wander through some quiet park under the streetlights.
Playing a couple on-screen made it easy to hide things. The lingering hugs between takes, the way Jun “accidentally” messed up a kiss scene one too many times, the directors would just roll their eyes, assuming it was for chemistry.
Press tours were a walk in the park for you two. The chemistry was effortless, electric, fans were eating it up. You’d lost count of how many times you both said, “We’re just friends, it’s all work.” It was the perfect cover, really. Kept everything neat, controlled.
Well, at least outside the hotel room walls.
5️⃣ Hoshi:
You have no idea what’s harder, keeping your situationship hidden, or dodging Hoshi at every public event your groups have to attend together.
Hoshi is a menace. The kind of little shit who’ll stare you down from across the room, smirking and biting the inside of his cheek just to watch you stumble over your words during interviews. Don’t get him wrong, he wants to keep things quiet, far from curious eyes, but he lives for teasing you. He knows exactly how to get under your skin, how to make you hot and bothered with just a look. It’s one of the many things you both hate and adore about him.
He’s that sneaky link who has no business being as bold as he is. Everywhere he spots you, he’ll talk to you like you’re the only person in the room, a social butterfly when it comes to you, yet shy and reserved around everyone else.
He’s your loudest cheerleader too. Your group wins an award at a joint show? He’s on his feet, screaming like a proud parent, until Woozi has to shoot him a look and hiss for him to sit his ass down.
You drop a new song? He’s the first to post it on his story, captioned with a trail of fire emojis.
You’re too tired to cook dinner? He’s showing up at your door with containers of his mom’s homemade food, and of course, he’s staying the night. You both know he expects his payment in a way that doesn’t involve money.
Being with Hoshi means slow kisses in the shower and heated make-out sessions in the doorway when he’s supposed to leave.
He knows his place with you, or at least pretends to, but deep down, you both know the truth: his eyes are only for you, and yours are only for him.
6️⃣ Wonwoo:
Ah yes, the emotionally unavailable man, the kind who makes you risk your career every other night just to sneak into his apartment through sketchy back alleys. You and Wonwoo kept your distance in public, pretending not to know each other. And honestly, it was perfect that way. You loved the secrecy of it all, the thrill of your situationship. Maybe it was the rush of sneaking glances across an award ceremony, knowing damn well your dress would be on his bedroom floor in about three hours. Or maybe it was how easily you could make him jealous, a light touch on another man’s arm, and he’d tense up instantly.
Wonwoo was the ideal match for your non-attachment tendencies. He made it easy, fun, even. You’d hang out in the recording studio while he worked on a track with the others, or take spontaneous midnight road trips to Busan, both of you disguised under masks, caps, and oversized hoodies.
Being in a situationship with Wonwoo was effortless. Not in the mood to hang out tonight? No problem, he’d hop on a game with the boys. Not in the mood for anything intimate? Fine, he had a movie queued up that he’d been wanting to watch with you anyway.
It was like having the most emotionally intelligent girlfriend, one who somehow also knew every single way to make your knees go weak.
7️⃣ Woozi:
So you thought Cheol was the epitome of a jealous man?
Well, let me introduce you to Lee Jihoon, the ultimate example of “don’t judge a book by its cover.” Because, oh, were you in for a ride when you met him.
Having Woozi as your situationship was, admittedly, the definition of cliché, two idols, late-night studio sessions, and way too much creative tension. You were assigned as a co-writer for a Seventeen collab, and one too many nights locked in the recording studio led to… well, let’s just say things escalated.
At first, it was strange. At 3 p.m., he’d barely look at you, acting all cold and detached because you couldn’t agree on a bridge. But by 1 a.m.? You were clutching the headboard of his bed, wondering how the hell that even happened.
And whoever told you that Woozi would be a walk in the park, that he was heartless or indifferent, they lied. You both made it crystal clear from the start: no relationship, no feelings, just… whatever this was. Did that make it easier to deal with Woozi’s raging jealousy issues and complete inability to express emotions? Abso-fucking-lutely not.
You lost count of the number of times he hit you with the silent treatment because you posted a photo with another idol on your private Instagram. Or the times he’d sulk because you didn’t reply to his texts while you were out, even though you assumed he didn’t care anyway.
He knew his place with you, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to make sure he didn’t look like a fool. Being in a situationship with Woozi meant you had to be painfully clear with your words, otherwise, your message would get lost somewhere between weird emojis, passive-aggressive texts, and too many energy drinks.
It also meant you had to double-check your reflection before leaving his studio to make sure your makeup wasn’t smudged, and act completely unfazed whenever an interviewer asked about your “ideal type.”
8️⃣ Dokyeom:
You weren’t entirely sure he even knew what a situationship meant. Because tell me why, just a month into you two fooling around, you suddenly found yourself sitting across from his mom and dad, Dokyeom right next to you, while the meat sizzled on the small steel grill in the middle of the table. Yeah, safe to say Dokyeom didn’t quite grasp the “no feelings attached” part in the beginning. But eventually, he sort of got the hang of it. Sort of.
To be honest, even you weren’t sure whether what you had was a situationship or a full-on relationship. Most of the time, it didn’t feel all that different from a typical idol relationship, keeping everything under wraps, sneaking around, and meeting only at each other’s places or on those rare, stolen weekends outside Seoul. Never driving in the same car unless it was 3 a.m., hood up, lights low. Constant FaceTimes whenever one of you was away for schedules.
And yet, despite all that secrecy, it felt surprisingly normal. Wholesome, even. You knew you weren’t supposed to give your all, that wasn’t what this was supposed to be, but Dokyeom never seemed to care about that rule. Every month, without fail, he sent flowers to mark the “anniversary” of the night you first hooked up. He always insisted on picking up the bill, whether you were ordering in or showing up in a taxi. His parents knew about you, though he’d had to sit his mom down and carefully explain why you couldn’t come over for Christmas. And through it all, he made sure you were comfortable, that you had what you needed.
Even if it wasn’t supposed to mean that much… he made it feel like it did.
9️⃣ Mingyu:
This man was on the hit list of half your idol friends, and you’d be lying through your teeth if you said you hadn’t had your eyes on him too. Luckily for you, he very much had his eye on you.
You and Mingyu hit it off fast. And by fast, that meant you met at a magazine event on a Thursday, and by Saturday morning, you were waking up in his bed with his arms draped around your bare waist.
Mingyu was perfectly content with whatever this was. His schedule was insane, packed with filming, rehearsals, and overseas shoots, and it wasn’t that you weren’t worth a proper relationship, it was that he simply didn’t have the time to give you one. When you both realized you wanted the same thing, something real enough to feel, but light enough not to drown, it was like a match made in heaven.
He’d come home after weeks away in the U.S., and you’d be there in his apartment, wearing one of his shirts and cooking his favorite pasta. After a brutal week of nonstop practices for your group’s comeback, he’d be the one waiting, drawing a hot bath and promising to “take care of you this time.”
You’d be lying again if you said it didn’t feed your ego, the way other girls would practically trip over themselves for him, while his eyes would always find you in the crowd, that signature wink sealing the deal.
Having Mingyu as your situationship meant everyone just assumed you were another one of his close friends. He was a social butterfly, after all. No one batted an eye when you two were spotted grabbing ramen down the street from HYBE, or when you, Mingyu, and a few other idols took a “friendly” getaway to Hawaii.
It almost felt like you had a free pass in the industry, all because this man was simply too good to be true.
1️⃣0️⃣ Minghao:
You had to give yourself a pat on the goddamn back, because it did mean something to have none other than Minghao batting his eyelashes at you, half his body hanging off the bed, one arm wrapped around your leg, practically begging you to come back.
Having Minghao as your situationship required precision, careful control over what could ever see daylight. There had never been a single rumor about the two of you, and you intended to keep it that way. Neither of you could afford to risk your hard-earned careers for something that wasn’t even a real relationship. But don’t get it twisted, he treated you like it was. Maybe even better.
He was always on time when you made plans, always asked about your day, and actually listened when you talked about things that mattered. Not once did he make you question yourself or your place with him.
Minghao was never one for grand gestures, which is why you were caught completely off guard when he told you he’d be in China for three weeks on personal business, and instead of swinging by to say goodbye, he sent you an email. Not just any email, though. Attached was a first-class ticket to Anshan.
Yeah, Minghao understood what a situationship was. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t go after what he wanted. And right then, he wanted you where he was.
Besides, what could be better than spending time in a city where no one gave a damn whether you held hands on the street or not?
1️⃣1️⃣ Seungkwan:
It took you a while to realize that something was actually happening between you and Seungkwan, mostly because this man spent weeks acting like there was absolutely nothing going on. He had this annoying habit of keeping you at arm’s length, all charm and jokes and not a single hint of real intention.
Maybe that’s why that third run along the Han River caught you off guard. The two of you jogged side by side, occasionally bumping shoulders, trading complaints about sore legs and bad playlists. When the run ended, he walked you home, same as always, easy banter, that smug grin of his.
You were halfway through a sentence when you reached your building. You turned toward the door, about to punch in your code, when he said your name, soft, almost like a warning. Before you could ask what was wrong, his hand was at the back of your neck, and he kissed you.
It wasn’t rushed, but it wasn’t gentle either. It felt like something that had been waiting to happen for weeks, finally snapping into place. And then, just as you were catching your breath, he stepped back, gave you a small smile, and said, “See you tomorrow,” like he hadn’t just scrambled your entire nervous system. Then he turned around and left.
Having Seungkwan as your situationship basically meant laughing your way straight into the bedroom. You know how they say funny guys are dangerous? Because they make you laugh and laugh, and then, suddenly, you’re in too deep, and your clothes are mysteriously gone. That was exactly what it was like with him. Everything felt light, fun, spontaneous. You’d tell yourself it was casual, that you were just enjoying each other’s company, but then he’d look at you a certain way, and it would feel like something heavier was hiding beneath the jokes.
You had the luck, or the unluck, depending on your mood that day, to get paired up as MCs for a show that lasted three weeks. Three entire weeks of working side by side, sharing a dressing room wall, and trying not to make it obvious that something was going on. It was a disaster waiting to happen. Because Seungkwan lived for the thrill of stealing kisses in between water breaks and letting his hands wander a bit too much in your dressing room.
1️⃣2️⃣ Vernon:
You weren’t even sure what the two of you were, to be honest. It had taken a full month of late-night texts and half-teasing conversations, followed by him stealing a kiss on his way out of your apartment, so casually it almost felt like a throwaway gesture, for you to realize that this was something more than just playful banter, yet still less than boyfriend and girlfriend.
Vernon was never one for grand declarations or sweeping gestures. He didn’t need them. He knew where he stood with you, and he liked it there. His life was messy, full, constantly moving, and yours wasn’t all that different. With you, he didn’t have to explain why he couldn’t go on a proper date in broad daylight or why plans sometimes slipped through his fingers. There was comfort in not having to justify himself, and even more comfort in knowing you understood without needing the explanation.
Being in this half-undefined space with Vernon meant sharing a table at his dad’s restaurant with friends, pretending you hadn’t been tangled together in the backseat of your car barely half an hour before. It meant learning how to read between the lines with him, knowing when his energy was too drained for anything physical, when what he needed most was just quiet company. Sometimes that looked like the two of you on opposite ends of his couch, your legs brushing lightly while you both scrolled through your phones. Strangely enough, those nights, the ones with no pressure, no performance, felt more intimate to him than any relationship he’d had before.
With Vernon, it was like having a friend who could make you laugh, who understood your silences, who met your physical needs without making it the whole story. But more than that, he was a safe place, the person you found yourself running to when the outside world became too heavy to carry alone.
1️⃣3️⃣ Dino:
Dino never does things halfway, and somehow he manages to hold up his side of the situationship. It starts off awkward, almost laughably so, a heated kiss after the two of you get paired up for an unexpected stage. Definitely not the kind of professionalism anyone imagines when collaborating with a fellow idol. But he didn’t hold back, not one bit, and he made sure you knew he didn’t want to inconvenience you either.
Chan, however, was impossible to keep away. And truthfully, you didn’t try very hard.
In the beginning, it felt almost innocent, like two high schoolers sneaking into supply closets just to steal a kiss between classes. But as time passed, the whole thing shifted. He’d start showing up at your door on Fridays at eleven at night, staying until Saturday evening before heading off to practice. It was safe to say you two rarely made it past the bedsheets.
Still, Chan never let the respect slip. You’ve lost count of the times he stopped mid-moment just to ask if this was really what you wanted. The times he’d appear with a slice of cake after some petty argument, neither of you even remembered the reason for. The times he reminded you, gently but firmly, that if you ever felt yourself falling for someone else, he would let go without hesitation.
Being in a situationship with Chan felt easy, too easy, maybe. A little too stable for something that was supposed to be careless, halfhearted, and temporary.
Commentary: i miss my furry freak, and his pretty kissable face. I guess the break is over, idk at which pace i'll publish tho. This drabble was written at 01:00PM under a creative horny burst, on the phone, sorry if there are any spelling mistakes; idk the wordcount, but is short
He looks so good, all dolled up. Be that for a photoshoot, a music video or for promoting whichever brand that fell in love with his features yet again. The makeup artists putting maximum effort to make his face look like a masterpiece.
So there he is, hands tied with the silk LV scarf he gifted you, to accessorise your brand new designer bag, loose enough not to stop his blood flow, tight enough to leave marks. His thighs are spread, the thick meat decorated in shades of purple, red and blue, trembling, jerking, threatening to close with each spasm.
The colourful path rising up to his chest, some teeth marks looking still fresh, his skin still holding the shape, red from the pinch.
His neck is a true work of art, displaying a necklace of organic rubies and sapphires, glistening with drops of your spit and his sweat. A deep bite around his Adam's apple being the finishing touch, adorning his throat.
His breath is uneven, chest heavily rising and dropping, air catching in his lungs, as you work between his legs. Prettiest dick in your mouth, lazily being suckled like a popsicle, savouring the taste and consistency, meaty and warm in your mouth. Each lick pulling a whimper or a high-pitched groan from his tired chest, words lost after the first thirty minutes in the game. You have been edging him for almost an hour now, making all his nerves coil and become so sensitive, that even the most featherlight of touches makes him jolt.
You slowly take his length down your throat, humming as your nose presses against his neatly trimmed hair. A deep groan escapes from his mouth, a distorted version of your own name, pleading tone latched to it.
Your hand rises and strokes his chest first, circling his nipple with your thumb, making him arch into your touch. Then it slowly retreats back between his legs, now teasing his balls, cupping them gently and lightly squeezing. Your head starts to bob up and down his shaft, a soft sob leaving his lips. He feels himself tensing up again, climax closing on him, before it's taken away from him and he wants to scream his lungs out.
A Sisyphean curse.
His pretty eyes, now turned into pitch black pools, are shining, the tears in them making them sparkle in the dim light. He calls out for you, repeatedly, a sweet litany of breathless and mispronounced versions of your name reaching your ears and making you smile.
"So good for me, Soonie, so pretty." You resume kissing him, all over his pelvis and tip as you keep stroking him, until you take him one last time in your wet, warm mouth. He is getting louder, more desperate with each stroke. Your free hand creeps between his legs again, teasing his balls, thumb sliding past and pressing on his perineum. Soonyoung lets out the most pornographic sound you've ever heard him make, feeling everything all at once, and, finally, vertiginously reaching his high and falling from the peak.
He paints himself and your lips with his cum, milky white and translucent stickiness.
You glance up, now looking at him fully. His cheeks are flushed deep red, his lips swollen from all the biting to stifle moans, drool running from the corners of his mouth, pearls of sweat on his forehead and dripping from his temples.
genre; smut (minor dni), TOXIC, heavy angst, university au, 00's au
summary; A girl in a red dress sees me. A girl in a red dress swoons. I’m not done tonight. What do you make of it? I got a little red Corvette parked outside with your name.
content warnings; mental and verbal abuse, shaming, jealousy, jeonghan isn't your knight in shining armor, alcohol, eating/drinking, smoking, reckless driving, degrading names, fighting/arguing, crying, depression, stress/anxiety, mention of parents/arguing with parents, fuckboy mentality, lovebombing, yandere!jeonghan
smut warnings; unprotected sex, outdoor sex, car sex, virgin!reader, oral (f & m giving/receiving), fingering, dirty talk, degrading/praising, pet names, crying, impact play
w/c; 27k and some change [3.8k teaser] (569 patreon bonus)
a/n; thank you to @junkissed for proofreading. you know i am always grateful, but i know this one was heavy. please read all the warnings and know this is the most toxic fic i've ever written. it might not be your cup of tea. but if you do read, I hope you enjoy it!
this fic will be released 6/1 to read the full fic with the bonus now subscribe to my patreon and click here
Tapping his fingers against the counter, Jeonghan sighs as he waits for you to answer him. He had to admit, your text didn’t really sound like how he expected you to text. It was too perky, but then again, he had only met you for a few minutes.
“Dude… If you don’t stock the freezer, I swear to God I will shove this mop up your ass. I promise you won’t like it.”
“How do you know?” Avoiding an empty bottle of cleaner, Jeonghan laughs as he pops back up over the counter to meet Joshua Hong’s eyes. He enjoyed the days his schedule overlapped with his best friend's. They had met in middle school, decided to share a desk, become best friends, and ruin their homeroom teacher’s morning all on the same day.
“I’m not kidding. I want to get out of here and get to Mina’s.”
That was code for I want to get my dick wet and that Jeonghan could respect. Holding up his hands, Jeonghan leaves his phone on the counter as he moves to the walk-in freezer, dragging out a few of the large containers of ice cream that needed to be replaced. Joshua was right anyway; the quicker this was done, the faster they both could get out of here and on to something bigger and better.
Seeing Jeonghan’s phone light up, Joshua lifts his brows, letting his curiosity get the better of him while Jeonghan switches out the tubs of ice cream. “Who’s Y/N? Is this the college girl you’re trying to fuck?”
You had texted him back. Dropping the ice cream without much care, Jeonghan smirks, swiping his phone out of Joshua’s hand so he can read your text.
Y/N: Just in my room. Not really doing anything. Might take a walk in a bit. WBU?
Now this sounded more like what Jeonghan expected you to text like. Lifting his brows, he nods to Joshua’s question, resting his hip against the counter as his thumbs move quickly along the keys on his phone. “Yeah, she’s cute as hell. Just my type…”
Jeonghan: Sounds cute. Want company? I’m finishing up at work xx
Joshua knew what that meant—just Jeonghan’s type. Rolling his eyes, Joshua wrings out the mop one last time as Jeonghan finishes his text, that stupid smirk on his lips. “So she’s helpless and probably dumber than a box of rocks. Could you be any more deranged?”
Shooting Joshua a dirty look, Jeonghan puts his phone back down on the counter with an annoyed sigh. “No. I mean, not all of that. She’s not dumb. In fact, she’s a pre-med student. So take that and shove it up your ass, Hong.” He couldn’t fight Joshua on the point that you were helpless. You had looked like you were made of glass and just the right amount of pressure might cause you to crack. Jeonghan couldn’t wait to see how much pressure that was.
Y/N: You want to go on a walk with me? Is that boring?
“Ooo, pre-med. She could still be stupid. I mean, fuck… She’s talking to you.”
“Fuck you. I’m a catch and you know it. Finish your mopping and go stick your dick in Mina. You are mean when you’re horny, Shua.”
Not hiding his amusement as Jeonghan sulks at his phone, Joshua shakes his head. “And you are a sensitive pussy when you aren’t getting any. Hope she puts out.” Dodging a pen being launched at his head by Jeonghan, Joshua laughs as he pushes his mop and bucket towards the back.
“Asshole…” Joshua wasn’t wrong. Jeonghan was on edge. He had put all of his eggs in one basket this week, that basket being you. He didn’t have anything else lined up; there was only you and a hope that you’d be worth his time. Were you already playing hard to get or was this confused routine you were playing at over text real?
Jeonghan: Not boring. I’ll finish up here in like 20 mins and head towards the campus. See you soon bbz xx
You were panicking. This had not been the plan. You always took a walk in the evening. That had been your reasoning behind telling Jeonghan about it, not so that he would take it as an invitation to join you. Why would he even want to do that?
Quickly sliding off your bed, you whine under your breath, standing in front of your floor-length mirror attached to the back of your dorm door. You were not in the condition to be hanging out with anyone, much less someone like Jeonghan. You didn’t even know this guy and he already made you so nervous your hands wouldn’t stop trembling.
It took the entire twenty minutes and then some for you to get dressed and to slap on a fresh coat of makeup that made you look decent without seeming like you were trying too hard. It was just a walk; literally nothing special about that at all and yet you now had clothes scattered across your bed from the amount of outfits you had deemed not good enough before settling on a pair of jean shorts and a light sweater.
By the time that you stand in front of the mirror again, fussing over the details, you hear your ringtone obnoxiously blaring as your phone vibrates loudly on your desk. Clearing your throat, you look down at Jeonghan’s name on the phone in your hand before flipping it open and putting it to your ear and smiling so that you sound more confident than you feel. “Hello?”
“Hi, gorgeous. Where the hell am I going? There are too many dorms and I don’t wanna look like a creeper driving around the campus in circles…”
Jeonghan’s voice causes your stomach to tighten and heat up. You felt like you should ask him to stop calling you pet names, but at the same time, did you really want that? You were enjoying it too much. “Um—” Laughing softly into the phone, you grab your keys and lock your door behind you. “So I’m at Elkstone Hall…”
Leaning to look at the signs, Jeonghan mutters the names mostly to himself before nodding. “Elkstone, got it. Be there in like two seconds…”
“‘Kay, um, hey… You can park in 287. That—that’s my spot. I don’t actually have a car, but they gave me a spot anyway.”
Smirking to himself, Jeonghan glances towards the building in front of him before turning into the parking lot, searching the spots by the numbers on the ground. “Gotcha. 270—Oh, got it. Nice spot… Must have cost Mommy and Daddy out the ass to get.”
You aren’t sure why Jeonghan’s comment makes you slow your steps, but yet you still laugh, awkwardly tilting your head. “Um, yeah. Wasn’t cheap, but it was required. You know, in case I get a car or something. Plus my parents use it when they visit… So not a complete waste of money.”
This was a good judge of your character already. You were timid about something as simple as how much a parking spot cost—interesting. Jeonghan could hear a bit of shame in your voice when you talked about it. Your family probably had money, but you didn’t brag about it and didn’t show off. So sweet and pure. Smirking to himself, Jeonghan locks his car and glances towards the building, seeing you waiting on the sidewalk, your phone pressed up against your cheek. Sweet, pure, fucking adorable, and his.
“Nah, makes sense, Gorgeous. I’m here, by the way.” Lifting his hand to get your attention, Jeonghan takes his phone away from his ear and hits end when you finally do meet his eyes. “You always look this fucking cute when you take a walk?” He was still a few feet away, but Jeonghan could almost see the embarrassment coming off you in waves as you tugged at the sleeves of your sweater.
“I—what? No, I don’t look cute.” You couldn’t look at Jeonghan, not directly at least. He was standing right in front of you now; you could feel his eyes on you, but it was akin to feeling the sun on your skin. “Just, you know, pulled on something.”
Jeonghan doubted that very much. He could see the bit of makeup you must have put on, though he doubted that you needed it. You had put in some effort to come outside because he was going to be here. It was cute and you were so shy that his head was going to explode. Reaching up to push his index finger under your chin, Jeonghan bites his bottom lip as he meets your eyes. “You’re perfect and you look cute. Come on, I’m here for an evening stroll.”
Looking down at Jeonghan’s hand, his palm facing up as he waits for you to take it, you feel your hands start to shake slightly. Guys never made you this nervous. Not that you took much time to date. There had been a guy or two here and there, but nothing that ever lasted for long. You were too busy and, worst of all, in their opinion, wouldn’t give it up. You weren’t a virgin, just not heavily experienced like the guys at university expected you to be. You weren’t getting on your knees at the sight of a cute guy wanting to look at his probably very ugly dick. So why now was this guy you had met a single time making you feel weak?
“Why?” Clearing your throat, you shake your head gently, sliding your hand into Jeonghan’s and feeling him lace his fingers with yours. “I mean, why would you wanna come all the way out here to take a walk with me?”
Jeonghan liked the feeling of your hand in his. He liked how you let him hold your hand properly. This wasn’t any of that middle school hand-holding; this was fingers laced, palms together hand-holding. This made girls know you were sincere about what you were saying—or at least seem like you were. “Well, baby doll, because I wanna get to know you. Isn’t it obvious that I like you?”
Could he feel your heart beating hard? It felt like it was beating so hard and quick that it was radiating throughout your entire body. The smile that pulls at your lips has you feeling even more shy as you lower your head and turn slightly away from Jeonghan. This was insane. Jeonghan’s words had to feel like you were both drowning and flying at the same time. The butterflies in your stomach were fluttering around so quickly that you almost felt sick, but when he stopped walking and guided you back towards him, you whined. “No, I mean—this is crazy. You don’t even know me.”
Your cheek is hot under Jeonghan’s thumb as he gently lifts your face back up so he can look at you again. “It’s not crazy. Crazy is not realizing you were in this stupid town all this time.” Laughing when you whine again, Jeonghan gives you a bit of mercy, moving his hand from your face and letting you walk beside him again. “I told you, I wanna get to know you. The good, the bad, the ugly...”
Sighing under your breath, you gently tug at Jeonghan’s fingers as you turn to walk backwards for a moment, looking at him to make sure he’s serious. The look on his face seems so sincere that it breaks your resolve. Moving back to his side, you let yourself linger closer to him, not seeing the smirk on his face as you give him exactly what he wants. “Okay. Um, then you should know that the first text today wasn’t from me.” Furrowing your brows, you timidly look up to meet Jeonghan’s eyes afraid that you’ll see disappointment behind them, but instead you just see slight amusement. “Megan took my phone.”
“Ah… That makes more sense. I thought you seemed different from one text to another. Less—” Laughing into his words, Jeonghan sways a bit on his feet, playfully pulling you with him, enjoying how easy it is to make you laugh along with him. “Perky.”
Jeonghan was making this easy. You were enjoying this. It felt natural. Nothing was expected of you. Just a girl taking a walk with a cute guy who could make her laugh. It almost felt too good to be true. “Mm, yeah. She’s like that, but she means well. She’s maybe overly excited about the possibility of—” The idea of saying anything about you and Jeonghan makes your nerves take over you in that moment. The bit of confidence you had gained in those few moments fades away just like your words, your eyes on the ground.
“Possibility of?” Bumping his arm into yours, Jeonghan smiles at your sudden mood change. You were interesting. Not just a beautiful face and a body he’d love to ravish, but a mind he’d love to explore for at least a little while. Jeonghan could see himself getting addicted to you quickly. “Possibility of this? Me and you, baby? Why are you scared of it? I’m not gonna bite you.”
He had a point. Jeonghan hadn’t done a single thing wrong. In fact, he had only done a hundred things right so far. You hadn’t known him long and maybe all the pet names this quick was a little bit of a shock, but they kind of felt nice to hear. You didn’t mind being Jeonghan’s baby, his baby doll, or being called gorgeous. “I don’t know. Haven’t had the best track record with guys—”
“Fuck ‘em. They aren't me, Y/N.” Taking a step backward, Jeonghan guides you with him until he reaches the retaining wall. “I’m not some burnout, college dipshit, who’s just wasting his daddy’s money...” Jeonghan doesn’t hide his smirk when you gasp at the feeling of him picking you up and sitting you on the short retaining wall so he can stand between your thighs, getting eye level with you. He liked having you like this. He knew that if he touched your cheeks again, they’d be hot like you’d been standing next to an oven. Standing like this, Jeonghan could slide his hands over your knees, testing the waters and keeping his fingers from going any higher. “You know that, right, baby doll?”
Nodding quickly, feeling chill bumps erupting along your skin under Jeonghan’s fingers, you take a deep breath to steady yourself. “Uh huh. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“Shh, I know. Just—fuck.” Glancing down at your legs, Jeonghan carefully slides his hands along your thighs, squeezing gently at the meatiest part and hearing you gasp only to swallow the sound. You were fucking perfect. Everything about you. From the way you looked to the way you reacted to him. “Making me have to remind myself to behave.” Putting on a smooth, sweet smile, Jeonghan meets your eyes once again, noticing how your lips are parted just slightly as if you were on the edge of a moan. God, what he wouldn’t give to pull it out of you. Patience. He had to be patient. “You know none of the guys on this stupid, fucking campus deserve you, right? You know that, gorgeous?”
Jeonghan’s fingers glide over your skin, staying closer to your knees, but you can still feel him higher on your legs. You feel the shame bubbling inside you because you want him to touch you like that again. Swallowing hard, you nod, agreeing with Jeonghan quickly even if you don’t actually agree with him. Why were you doing that? Did it even matter?
“That’s right. You know it. My smart girl.” Brushing this thumb over your cheek, Jeonghan coos softly as your lips part once again, your eyes falling to his lips before, quick as lightning, looking away. You wanted to kiss him. The feeling was mutual. “It’s getting late and I wouldn’t dare risk you being out here after dark without me. Not with these shorts on, angel.”
Starting to speak to tell Jeonghan you’ve worn these shorts hundreds of times and nothing has ever happened to you, you stop when his thumb brushes over your bottom lip. The action not only stuns you but also does wonders to keep you agreeable. “Uh huh… okay, Jeonghan.”
Like clay in his hands already. You were speaking so sweetly, almost lazily, against his thumb. Jeonghan bet he could get you to do almost anything he wanted right now, but that would ruin the fun of this and the point of it. You were pumping through his veins now. He had thought he could get addicted… He just didn’t know how fast.
With you walking back at his side, your fingers laced with his, Jeonghan smiles, feeling your head lean towards his shoulder. It was almost night and day compared to the walk to the end of the road to coming back to the large, ugly building you were calling home. Jeonghan hated it already. It looked too much like a prison and like somewhere he couldn’t get into on a whim. “What do you have left to do tonight, baby?”
God, you loved that. Baby. You shouldn’t. You weren’t anything to Jeonghan. Not yet. You couldn’t be—that was impossible—and yet you felt like getting down on your knees and begging him to give it a label already—but you had more pride than that still. “Um, I was working on—” Smiling at the idea of what you had been doing, you shake your head and lean your head back, feeling embarrassed. “God, it’s stupid. I was getting a head start on my reading for my classes next week.”
A little overachiever. That’s adorable. Smirking to himself as the thoughts cross his mind, Jeonghan nods along with you, letting your fingers slide to the end of his as you start to walk backwards toward the building. “Can’t even let yourself enjoy a break properly, huh? Good thing you got me to take you to a party and keep you distracted for a night, right? What am I going to do with you, sweetheart?”
Swallowing hard when Jeonghan takes a step towards you so that he can slide his arm around your waist, you press your lips together and shake your head. “I—I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?” Carefully moving his fingers along your back, Jeonghan bunches your sweater into his hand, letting out a soft sigh into his words. “Gotta get you to relax somehow.”
Your eyes migrate down to Jeonghan’s lips one more time, but this time they linger before you watch them pull up into a smile. “I—I can relax. ‘M relaxed…”
You were practically begging for it. You were looking at Jeonghan’s lips like they were made of candy. Licking his lips, Jeonghan nods along with your stumbled words as he rocks you in his arms once, just back and forth, testing how stiff you are. “Don’t seem very relaxed. Seem focused on something. You wanna ask for something, baby doll?”
Why was he making you ask for it? Didn’t guys just usually do what they wanted anyway? No guy that you had never gone on a date with had asked you or made you ask for a kiss. You’d get back to the door or, god forbid, their apartment, and they’d just kiss you or try to make a move. Jeonghan was clearly so different. Whining under your breath, you furrow your brows, starting to turn your head away, only for Jeonghan to gently hold your head in place with his thumb and forefinger on your chin.
“Ask me or I won’t kiss you. Say please, baby.”
It felt degrading and yet your knees were weak, making you rely on Jeonghan to keep you upright. “I—please, Jeonghan.” Seeing him nod once as if to tell you to keep going, you blink a few times and lick your lips, trying to gain the confidence to speak up. “Please kiss me?”
Perfect. Pliable. His.
Cooing at your request, Jeonghan pouts slightly, running his fingers behind your ear before sighing. “You are beautiful and you asked so sweetly. I don’t know if I should…”
Just when you think Jeonghan isn’t going to give you what you had asked for, that he’s going to make you ask him again, beg for it, he smiles and presses his lips against yours, taking your breath away. You feel boneless for a moment, no air in your lungs; it’s like your heart paused for just a couple of seconds to let you live in that moment until Jeonghan’s lips are off yours. The second that happens, your chest practically aches. Your brows furrow tightly, your fingers digging into the sides of Jeonghan’s shirt to keep him close to you as he laughs softly under his breath, giving into you and brushing his lips against yours for just a second more.
“Time for you to go inside and get ready for bed, baby. I wanna see you get through that door before I leave. Make sure nothing touches my girl.”
His girl. Sighing almost as if you were swooning over Jeonghan, because if you were honest with yourself, you were swooning, you nod to his words. “Mmkay. You’ll text me?”
You were his. What a silly question for you to ask, and yet that question made Jeonghan pleased. You were just as hooked as he was. “Of course I will. Now—” Sliding his hand from yours, Jeonghan kisses your cheek, letting his hand that had been on your back slide over your ass before he takes a step back from you. “Get your cute little ass inside. Be a good girl.”
Maybe Jeonghan hadn’t meant to let his hand go that low, but your face was on fire again. Biting at your thumbnail, you just nod and walk backwards for a couple of steps before finally turning to walk normally. Every couple of steps, you look over your shoulder to see if Jeonghan is doing what he said to find him with his hands resting in his jacket pockets as he watches you make your way to the door.
Jeonghan waits until the door shuts before he grins and turns back towards the parking lot. Taking the keys from his pocket, he shakes his head and lifts his brows, feeling the rush of adrenaline pulsing through him. This had gone better than he could have imagined it going. Sliding behind the wheel of his Corvette, Jeonghan takes out his cellphone and smirks. He could wait and send you a message later but why when you were already wrapped around his finger?
Jeonghan: You are already running circles in my mind, baby girl. I can’t wait to see you on Friday. xx <3
summary: 10 sfw & 10 nsfw ot13 svt with individual member sections reader insert fics :)
contains: 18+ nsfw (mdni!!) majority is afab reader
✩ svt writing & fic rec masterlist ✩
✩ sfw section ✩
❥ s/o in lap - @lovingseventeen
❥ call them husband - @babyleostuff
❥ 🚏 subtle svt dating. - @xinganhao
❥ whatever you say beautiful - @wooahaes
❥ seventeen with an s/o who loves physical touch - @wheeboo
❥ seventeen reacting to natural aegyo - @fairyhaos
❥ svt mtl blanket hog - @rubyreduji
❥ OT13 getting replaced by their miniteen plushie - @oojiehae
❥ seventeen when you forget to kiss them goodbye ! - @dokyumms
✩ nsfw section ✩
❥ svt's reaction to their s/o being cockdrunk - @hoshifighting
❥ most to least to have a degradation kink - @nsfwhao
❥ them waking up from a wet dream about you - @hannieehaee
❥ praise kinks - @mountainficss
❥ degradation vs praise - @svtswhorehouse
❥ why svt like to eat pussy - @hoshifighting
❥ reaction to you liking to cockwarm them - @hannieehaee
❥ seventeen doing the cupid chokehold's trend - @welcometomyoasis
❥ the type of sex they like - @wildfluwer
❥ svt reaction to you telling them to say “please”/ask nicely before they could cum - @hoshifighting
ames note: i hope everyone enjoyed caratland last week and is excited for svt's upcoming performance at tecate pa'l norte!! i'm excited to make that mingyu birthday fic rec post hehe <3 ik nonu is enlisting soon, but we'll get through it!!!!
📲 Bsf!Seventeen drunkenly confessing to you | '97 LINE
Paring: seventeen x f!reader. Genre | tags: smau, mini-series, reactions, humor/comedy, fluff. Warnings: Alcohol consumption, spelling mistakes because members are drunk, please let me know if there's more. Requested: yes/no.
― REQUESTS ARE OPEN ♡
MASTERLIST | TAGLIST | 95 line ver. | 96 line ver.
THANK YOU FOR 300 ON THE LAST MINGYY BF TEXTS THATS INSANE
also i am trying to post every other day or so but please dont hold me to that as i have exams coming up and i am trying to not procrastinate too much 😭
