pairing: scoups x reader
genre: fluff, est. relationship
wc: 1.1k
a/n: i used a lip plumper for the first time. my lips look like two bums now lmao. anyhoo this is part 3 of kissy face cheol uwu
part1 part 2
"How much time do we have left?" You shout from your shared bedroom. You take one last look at yourself in the mirror, smoothing down the front of your outfit before reaching for the tiny tube sitting on the vanity.
The lip plumper you bought three days ago after getting influenced by a girl on TikTok with impossibly glossy lips.You grab it with a quiet hum, twisting the cap open before smoothing the cool product carefully across your mouth.
From outside the room, you hear Seungcheol's voice carrying lazily through the apartment. "Baby, we're not late yet, take your time."
You smile to yourself automatically. He says it so casually, like it's obvious he'd wait forever for you if he had to.
And honestly, he probably would.
Seungcheol has never once rushed you while getting ready. Never complained when you changed outfits four times. Never sighed dramatically or checked the clock every thirty seconds like some boyfriends did. If anything, he liked watching you get ready. Liked sitting nearby and talking to you while you did your makeup.
You give your lips one final press together before grabbing your bag and stepping out into the living room.
Seungcheol is exactly where you expected him to be—spread comfortably across the sofa with one arm resting behind his head, phone balanced in his hand while he scrolls absentmindedly through something. He's dressed already, dark jacket thrown over a simple shirt, hair slightly messy in that way that somehow only makes him look softer.
The second he hears you approach, he looks up and smiles lovingly.
"There's my girl," he murmurs, locking his phone and sitting up properly. "Ready to go, babe?"
You nod while walking toward him, already leaning down instinctively before you even stop in front of him. "Mhm."
Your lips brush against his in a quick kiss. His hand settle naturally against your waist, thumb rubbing absent circles through the fabric of your outfit before you pull away.
"Lemme just put on my heels," you mumble, pressing a kiss on his dimple.
By the time you're out, Seungcheol has already taken out the car. As you slide into the passenger seat,you see him tapping lightly against the steering wheel to the music playing softly through the speakers. The inside of the car smells faintly like his cologne and the iced coffee he insisted on grabbing earlier.
The moment you settle into your seat, he turns toward you slightly.
"You warm enough?" he asks automatically.
"Yes, dad."
"I'm serious," he says, reaching over to tug lightly at the sleeve of your jacket. "Last time you said you were fine and then stole my coat an hour later."
"That's because you're basically a human heater."
"You love it."
You do.
Instead of answering, you lean across the center console and kiss him again before buckling your seatbelt. This kiss lasts longer than the one from earlier.
Seungcheol kisses you lazily, one hand still resting on the wheel while the other comes up automatically to cup your jaw for a second. His lips are warm against yours, soft and familiar enough that kissing him feels less like an action and more like muscle memory at this point.
When you finally pull away, he looks faintly dazed for a second before starting the car properly.
The drive begins quietly.
Your phone rests in your lap while you scroll mindlessly through notifications, occasionally glancing up to look outside at the passing streetlights. Seungcheol hums softly along to the music under his breath, fingers tapping against the steering wheel.
Suddenly, you hear a tiny hiss from your side. Your brows pinch slightly, but you ignore it. When it happens again, you immediately glance up.
Seungcheol's face is scrunched slightly in confusion while he presses his lips together awkwardly. His tongue darts out to wet them before he bites lightly at the bottom one like he's trying to figure something out.
"What's wrong?" you ask.
"Dunno hun." He glances at you briefly before looking back at the road. "My lips feel weird."
"Weird how?"
"I don't know?" he tilts his head. "Like…burning?"
Your gaze drifts to his mouth,and the second you properly notice it, laughter bursts out of you so suddenly you nearly choke on air.
Seungcheol's head snaps toward you immediately. "Why are you laughing?"
"You—" you gasp between laughs, pointing uselessly toward him. "Babe, your lips."
"What about my lips?"
"Your lips got bigger." You wheeze.
"Babe stop playing." His voice drops.
"I'm serious!"
The panic on his face appears almost immediately after that. One hand flies up to yank down the vanity mirror above him while the other keeps the wheel steady. You watch his expression morph from confusion to absolute betrayal in real time.
"WHAT THE FUCK?"
The sound that leaves your mouth after that is somewhere between a laugh and a wheeze. Because his lips really are noticeably puffier now—soft and swollen and ridiculously glossy from him constantly rubbing them together.
"Oh my god," he groans, still staring at himself in horror. "Why do I look like I lost a fight with bees?"
"It's the lip plumper!" you finally manage to say. "I forgot I put it on!"
"You forgot?!" He looks genuinely scandalized. "You can transfer that stuff through kissing?!"
"I guess so!"
Despite his complaining, he keeps absentmindedly touching his lips every few seconds, brows furrowed while he processes the sensation.
Honestly, it's adorable. Especially because beneath all the whining, he still keeps leaning toward you at every red light like his body naturally gravitates in your direction.
"Babeuhhh," he whines miserably, sinking lower into his seat. "What am I supposed to do now? Your parents are gonna open the door and immediately start laughing at me."
"They are not." You place your hand over his thigh.
"Yes they are! Look at me!"
You laugh harder at the genuine panic in his voice
"They honestly don't even look that different," you insist. "Your lips were already big.”
He gasps softly, turning to look at you. "…You flirting with me right now while I'm suffering?"
You shrug casually, leaning across the center console again. This time, when you kiss him, he lets out the tiniest wounded whine into your mouth because the tingling definitely got worse but he still kisses you back immediately.
You pull away at the sound, eyes narrowing offended. "Do you not want me to kiss you?"
"When did I say that?" he mumbles instantly, pouting.
The pout only makes his lips look bigger.
You wanted laughed again. Instead, you lean in and kiss him once more. And despite the burning sensation, despite the whining, despite the fact that he keeps complaining every thirty seconds—Seungcheol still tilts toward you every single time like he physically cannot help himself.
summary: They plan a surprise (they are the surprise) and you get dragged into it. It's a family activity after all.
see end of post for a/n.
It was a Saturday. You had errands to run, so unfortunately, you had to sacrifice a nice day at home with your family.
You were tired but happy when at last you toed your shoes off by the entryway. "I'm back!" You called.
"In here, love!" You smile as you hear your husband's call faintly from somewhere further inside the house.
You follow his voice, dropping your bag in the couch as you pass it heading down the hallway leading towards your bedroom, "Where's-" and you stop right there at the doorway.
You almost missed it, blending with Seungcheol's own hoodie of the same colour. He's in your bed, and sitting in his lap there's a small bundle of soft, cozy white fabric.
"Look, baby. Mommy's home."
Your six month old son (practically a mini version of your husband, your genes clearly losing the battle.) squirms and flails his little arms, tiny fists closed around the front of Seungcheol's clothes, and squeals in delight once he spots you. He shakes his head a little, the hood of the onesie he's in falling over his eyes, a teeny bit too big. A bear onesie.
Seungcheol smiles wide at your surprise. You snap out of your initial struck and coo at your baby, rushing the rest of the way into the room and picking him up in your arms. "Oh my God. Hi, baby." You get his little happy babbles in response. "Why are you dressed so cute?" It's almost too much for your heart. You leave kisses all over his face on his round cheeks. "Cheol, when did you get him this?"
Now you really think you might combust right where you stand. While you fawned over your baby boy, Seungcheol pulled the hood of his own hoodie on. It's a matching one. You can't believe it. You take in the slight rosy tint on your husband's cheeks as he meets your starry eyes. "Where are my kisses?" Seungcheol says, getting up from the bed to stand beside you, one arm wrapping around you, his other hand placed behind your baby protectively.
"I am dying here." It's too much. Too adorable. You press a kiss to his puckered lips, and another, and another, until you can't no more with how much you're smiling.
"We're not having another one yet." You joke. It does come a little weaker than before, he notices.
Although he didn't plan this little surprise with the intention of triggering baby fever, he does want another one. Aaand maybe another one. And a baby girl just like you running around the house with her brothers to protect her, the princess of the castle you've built together. So if this gets you to cave a little sooner…, he thinks, fingers absentmindedly brushing over your belly.
Seungcheol shakes his head, chuckles, "I got you one too." and walks over to get it.
You stare after him, "No way." and automatically decline, though you know it'd most likely be useless. Once Seungcheol puts his mind into something, he won't give up until he gets it. You really like cute things like this even though you don't consider yourself a 'cutesy' person. It just doesn't fit you. Seungcheol wholeheartedly disagrees with that statement. It's like you don't know what you do to him.
"You have to, baby. Please?" You try to avoid as he looks pleadingly at you once he walks back, holding the matching hoodie for you. He's cheating. He knows what those eyes do to you. You shake your head, focusing on your baby boy instead as his little hands rest on your face. "Just for me?" And you also know that's a lie, already picturing him with a proud smile saying how your families and friends would go crazy over it after taking photos of you three. "Baby wants you to do it."
Your baby continues to coo and babble in your arms at the sound of his daddy's voice, almost like he's trying to take part of the conversation and he understands what you two are talking about. Big, bright, brown eyes just like Seungcheol's stare up at you. They're definitely ganging up on you.
A small frown and a sigh. Seungcheol's smile slowly taking over his face triumphantly because he knows,
"Fine."
a/n: Et voilà. I'm not sure about this one. Part of me wants to take it down bc tbh I'm not sure abt any of my writing rn. Or about anything for that matter (I might've crashed out a couple days ago). But after coupsbear I was not okay so i had this little idea. Wasn't going to post it but here you go, for my 200 followers milestone. I tried a bit harder on the banner. Instead of doing one thing I truly went and did everything: flash get to know me post, face reveal (it went poof! in like 15 minutes lol so idk if anyone actually caught that) and a little story. If you got this far thank you and thank you for reading.
genre: fluff, cheol as a girl dad
wc: 0.3k
an: saw a reel on instagram, and immediately thought it was cheol coded, ended up writing a lil drabble :)
it early in the morning. seungcheol is sitting next to his daughter. she is curled up in the blanket, eyes resting closed as her tiny chest rises and falls in a soft rhythm. sunlight spills through the window casting a soft shadow on his cheeks, as he rests his head next to his daughter, eyes softening noticeably.
"aren't you the cutest?" he coos at her, lightly poking her cheeks. hana stirs in her sleep but does not wake up, her hold on the stuffed bunny tightens. seungcheol smiles as his fingers trace a line across her cheeks. "wake up princess, its morning." he says, but hana doesn't stir. if anything, she seems to settle depper into the warm cocoon of her blanket.
he chuckles, leaning closer. "what? you don't want to wake up?" he asks, and hana stirs slightly. he sees the moment her eyes open before abruptly closing again.
"oh did you get up baby?" he asks her. but she squeezes her eyes shut and continues to sleep, but the corner of her lips curl up.
"i wonder if my baby is sleeping?" cheol says in wonder as he tickles her slightly. a smile breaks on hana's face but she keeps her eyes closed.
"yeah she's definitely asleep." cheol says, tickling her sides.
hana squirms in glee, a soft giggle escapes her and her eyes flutter, her gummy smile showing as she buries her face into the pillows.
"i can't see if my baby is sleeping." cheol is teasing her, now fully tickling her sides. hana's giggles fill the air as she squeals in response. cheol laughs along. "gotchu princess." he says smiling as he picks his daughter up, who has a wide grin on her face as cheol carries her off the bed.
summary — what happens after you’ve slept with your boyfriend and your ex-boyfriend?
wc — 1.5k
warnings — nsfw. minors dni. smut, pure filth, threesome, double vaginal penetration, size kink, creampie, polyamory, a little surprise at the end ;)
author’s note — this is so short and i’m sorry but i just wanted u guys to have this while i work on the next gyucheol wip which will be a little longer! i think i’m going to make this its own little universe hehe
this is set in the same universe as ‘byob (bring your own boyfriend)’. it is recommended that you read that first as this fic is a continuation of the plot :)
You, Mingyu, and Seungcheol can’t keep your hands off each other.
After that night where they had both ended up in your bed, there were no doubts in you or Mingyu’s minds that you didn’t just want Seungcheol to be an occasional guest; that you wanted him to be part of things forever. There was no denying the chemistry between all three of you anyway, let alone the love that you had for both of them. Choosing one or the other was not an option.
A few days later, you and Mingyu had invited Seungcheol over to talk— to lay everything out on the table. He took some time to think about it, which was understandable. Three-person relationships weren’t something you could jump into. The fact of the matter, however, was that he still loved you too, and he liked Mingyu, and so he showed up again two days later, and two became three.
Since then, the three of you have been going at it like rabbits.
The night had started messy, the way it usually does. The three of you made out for what felt like hours, going back and forth: you with Seungcheol, Seungcheol with Mingyu, Mingyu with you, all in a sloppy exchange of tongues and lips and spit, until someone (you) grew needy enough to snap. Clothes were shed, necks were bitten and marked.
You took Mingyu's cock in your mouth while he took Seungcheol's in his, but that didn't last very long. They're givers, of course, always putting your pleasure first before their own, always doing whatever it took to make you happy, however today they were just too hungry.
That's how you ended up here: your nails are buried in the skin of Seungcheol's toned back, your arms draped over his shoulders as his biceps keep you upright against his warm, damp chest and his fat cock drives in and out of you so ruthlessly that you're losing touch with reality. Behind you, Mingyu's hands squeeze at your thighs, your ass, your hips, all while his own thick length fucks in and out of you in rhythm with Seungcheol's.
You're being handled in every which way, bounced up and down like a mere ragdoll as your men use you to their pleasure. Selfish for once, submitting to their deepest primal desires. You let them. Of course you do. You take pride in the way the tight grip of your cunt makes them toe the line of their self-control.
They grunt and groan, their breaths hot against your skin, their voices blending together in a heavy, crude melody. Their balls smack against you with each thrust, and it's so vigorous that it sends fluids splashing and dripping to the floor.
It should be too much. They're challenging enough to take on their own, but they'd managed to stuff both of their girths inside your poor, weeping pussy (with an unbelievable amount of lube, of course), and the stretch was almost enough to make you pass out at first. It took you a while, but with the help of your boyfriends' soft, cooed praises, the sting of being borderline ripped apart had blurred into a deep fullness unlike anything you had ever felt before.
Now you're on the verge of both climax and insanity while your boyfriends stand up with you in their arms, treating you like a mere fleshlight.
"Doing so good for us, aren't you, princess?" comes Seungcheol's voice, hoarse and a little out of breath, his teeth slightly gritted. He knows how it affects you when he talks to you— when Mingyu does, too— keeping you grounded when he prompts you to reply, yet simultaneously coaxing you closer to your orgasm. "How does it feel?"
"S-so fucking full," you manage in a whimper. It's a wonder how you can still speak, your head empty with nothing but the thought of cock.
"But it feels good, right, baby?" Mingyu rasps behind you, mouthing at your neck with those fangs you love so much, his hands squeezing at your thighs.
"Yes!" you cry, your head falling back against Mingyu's shoulder. "I love it."
"Good girl," Seungcheol groans, bouncing you up and down with a little more vigour now. "Gyu, you close?"
"Been close the whole time, hyung," Mingyu replies, his voice strained with what you now recognise as discipline. "My boyfriend's cock rubbing against mine inside our tight little girlfriend… I almost busted immediately."
Seungcheol barks out a breathless laugh while you whine, your cunt clenching around them both at the picture Mingyu paints.
"Please do it… Want all of it," you pant, reaching your hand backwards to grab Mingyu's neck, pulling his mouth to yours in a hard, sloppy kiss. It's hard to not get lost in the taste of him, your tongues tangling in a wet, hot dance while Seungcheol groans at the sight.
"You want our cum, baby?" he rasps, his hand reaching for your face, pulling you away from Mingyu with a firm hand forcing you to stare at him. There's still a lingering jealousy in his actions sometimes. You expected it— Choi Seungcheol is possessive to his core. Though it's not like you and Mingyu are all that innocent either.
"So fucking bad," you cry, your words slurring together now.
"Cum for us first, pretty girl, then we'll give you what you want, yeah?" Seungcheol says. How chivalrous.
You give a weak whimper, neither in protest or agreement, while Mingyu moans out: "hyung… I don't know if I can hold out."
"Yeah, you can," Seungcheol coos with soft encouragement in his voice, but there's a glimmer of something a little darker in it— a flash of the authoritativeness that lives deep inside in him— and that's all it takes to quell Mingyu's argument.
The younger man bites down on his bottom lip hard, channelling every drop of discipline he's ever learned into staving off his orgasm. He tries not to think about how fucking tight it is, shifts all of his focus to grinding his cock against that sweet spot that'll have you falling apart as soon as possible.
It only takes another few moments, of course, as the deep fullness of having your pussy stuffed with two cocks becomes too much to handle and your orgasm comes hurtling towards you. You cry out, loud and depraved, curses spilling from your lips as your body becomes utterly taut with white hot pleasure.
Seungcheol and Mingyu hold you in their arms as you fall apart, their hips hardly letting up their relentless, animalistic thrusts, your walls clamping down around them so harshly that it's impossible for them not to cum right after.
And Mingyu is always a little louder when he cums, more whiny and depraved. Seungcheol whines too, only he's a little more reserved, but not out of timidness. Rather, he is usually too breathless. He runs out of stamina quicker. Doesn't have the energy to moan by the time he's finishing, too spent and exhausted from the weight of giving.
They fill you up until you're thoroughly, positively stuffed. Until it oozes out and ruins the sheets below, but even then, your men only watch, grinning like insatiably hungry dogs.
Your period is late. It shouldn't be late. It's never late.
It's just stress, you tell yourself. You're not eating right. Maybe you got your menopause early.
It wouldn't hurt to check though, you think. Just in case, right?
Mingyu and Seungcheol are at the gym together, so you tuck yourself away in the bathroom, and you wait. You're too anxious to look away from the stick as you wait, recalling every time you had taken your pill, assuring yourself that you're far too meticulous and careful to slip up.
Your boyfriends come home right as you let yourself relax with a sigh because you're right— there's only one line.
What you don't expect is for them to burst into the bathroom, glossy with sweat, looking pumped up in their matching tight shirts, and wearing matching little devious grins.
"Hi, baby," says Seungcheol. "We were hoping you'd shower with us."
Mingyu spots it on the counter first, but he's always been a little more attentive.
"What's that?" he asks, as if he doesn't know.
You scramble to hold it up to them. "It's false!" you insist, stifling a laugh as they blink almost simultaneously. "My period was late, so I did it just in case."
Mingyu's brows furrow as he takes the stick from your hand and holds it up close to his eyes. You want to remind him that you've… peed on it, but then he speaks. "There are two lines."
"Gyu, you're seeing things," you say, rolling your eyes as you grab it back out of his hand and look at it again, a little closer this time, and your heart drops to the floor.
thank you for reading! feedback, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated :)
synopsis: it was never supposed to be you. his best friend’s little sister. one of the dancers he stood beside every day. someone he would have to pretend meant nothing to him, because wanting you was already too dangerous to be anything but a secret. what started as something small and greedy turned into something neither of you knew how to let go of, until he did it for the both of you. he told himself it was the right thing to do. you told yourself you’d be fine. after that, it became a matter of restraint — of careful distance and practiced indifference, of pretending there isn’t still something continuously pulling you back towards each other.
authors note: this fic is so so special to me because it’s actually one of the first fics i’ve ever written! there’s actually a whole other part to this story (it’s like 19k words) where seungcheol finds out about their relationship and basically beats the crap out of mingyu lolol. i wasn’t planning on posting it, but if enough of you actually want it, i will!! as always, i really hope that you enjoy, and feel free to let me know what you think! feedback is always welcomed and appreciated ♡
CHAPTER ONE: THE FALLOUT
you should’ve known it would get messy the first time he kissed you.
it wasn’t sweet. it wasn’t slow.
it happened behind the wardrobe rack in one of the pledis dressing rooms, thirty minutes before a run-through while the crew scrambled to fix a lighting issue.
you were in a sports bra and sweatpants, makeup half-finished, with second-day curls falling effortlessly down your back.
he was in his usual all-black rehearsal outfit, a gold chain hanging on his collarbone, and something unreadable behind his eyes.
“you’re not supposed to look at me like that,” he muttered, jaw tense, his gaze fixed on yours.
you crossed your arms. “i’m not looking at you like anything.”
he stepped in closer. “you keep doing those little moves. the ones you know drive me fucking crazy.”
“you mean the choreography?” you shot back, lifting a brow. “i’m literally just doing my job.”
“that thing in the second chorus,” he said, his voice lower now. “when you drop low and bite your lip. you do that for me. don’t lie, beautiful.”
you rolled your eyes, but your breath caught when he moved again, pressing his body flush against yours.
“you want me to lose it, don’t you?”
you didn’t answer. you couldn’t.
the way he looked at you was hungry. frustrated. like he’d been holding something back for far too long, and it lit something dangerous inside you.
before you could even speak, his mouth was on yours.
your back hit the wall as his hands gripped possessively at your waist.
your fingers curled into his shirt like it was an instinct.
his tongue, his hands, the way he groaned when you tugged his hair. everything about it was messy.
and it didn’t stop there.
the backstage hookups became a pattern. between rehearsals. after fittings. corners of the studio with fogged mirrors and locked doors.
always hidden. always rushed. always too much but somehow never enough.
you gave him your first time on the studio couch, the same one you always collapsed on after long nights.
not out of romance, but something heavier. needier.
your legs wrapped around his waist. your fingers in his hair like you were clinging to gravity.
and he always let you.
let you take. let you tremble.
let you come undone in his lap while his mouth traced your collarbone like a promise he’d never speak out loud.
no one knew about this, either.
not the stylists. not the other dancers. not even his own bandmates.
and especially not seungcheol.
your older brother would’ve lost his damn mind. maybe even burned the whole building down if he ever found out.
because of course, out of all the people in the world, it had to be him.
kim fucking mingyu.
his best friend. his closest friend.
the one person who had no business even looking at you like that; let alone touching you, wanting you, needing you.
and yet somehow, he was always there.
for months, you told yourself it didn’t mean anything.
that the way he touched you like he needed you — like breathing wasn’t enough unless you were under him, around him, full of him — was just part of the act.
that the way he lingered after, brushing hair from your face like it mattered, wasn’t real either.
you told yourself you could handle it.
that you were strong enough to keep it casual. quiet. hidden.
but it got harder to lie every time he pulled you in and didn’t let go.
every time he stayed a little longer.
every time he looked at you like maybe, just maybe, you were more than a secret.
still, you never asked for more. i mean, how could you?
he was your brother’s best friend. this was never supposed to happen.
but it did.
over and over again, like a bad habit neither of you could quit.
you didn’t plan to fall for him. didn’t mean to hope he’d stay the night, or kiss you like it meant something.
but you did. god, of course you did.
i mean, how could you not?
he touched you like you were fragile, but fucked you like you were the only thing that’s ever made him come undone.
he zipped up your jacket for you like it was just an excuse to touch you again.
he continuously found your eyes across any room like they were the only ones that existed.
for a while, you let yourself believe he felt it too.
until about a month ago, when he decided that pretending it meant nothing became easier than admitting it ever meant anything at all.
it happened in your dressing room. you’d just touched up your lip gloss, and casually asked him if he was coming over that night.
it was the same routine. same rhythm.
he didn’t answer right away though. he just stood there, still and silent.
you turned, confused, watching the way his jaw clenched and how he couldn’t quite meet your eyes.
when he finally looked at you, you knew. before he even opened his mouth, you could feel it.
“we can’t keep doing this.”
your stomach still dropped. “what?”
“this…whatever it is…it needs to stop.”
“don’t do that. don’t act like this wasn’t real.”
his jaw tightened as he looked away. “it was a mistake.”
“say it and mean it,” you snapped.
he didn’t hesitate this time. “it was a mistake.”
your laugh came out sharp and bitter. “tell yourself whatever you need to sleep at night, but don’t stand there and pretend that i didn’t mean a damn thing to you.”
“y/n—” he started, but you cut him off.
“fuck you, mingyu.”
he met your eyes again, his throat tight, almost as if he wanted to say something else, but it was stuck somewhere between his ribs and his pride.
however, he didn’t answer. he just let the silence grow between you.
let it choke on everything that hadn’t been said. let it mean more than the truth ever would’ve.
“i’m sorry,” he finally said.
not a reason. not an explanation.
just those two words, and then he walked out.
no goodbye. no chance to respond. no space to fall apart.
just the door clicking shut behind him like none of it had ever meant anything. like you had never meant anything.
the worst part wasn’t even the way it ended.
it was how nothing else did.
rehearsals still ran long. the mirrors still fogged with sweat. the playlist still cycled through the same tracks you used to hum when you thought no one could hear you.
he was always there. of course he was.
not in the way that mattered though. not in the way you needed. just in the way that somehow made it worse.
that same smirk. same swagger. same easy charm that made everyone else feel like nothing had changed.
like he hadn’t ruined you with nothing but his mouth and a handful of whispered promises he never intended to keep.
he still showed up to rehearsals like none of it ever happened.
he still carried his favourite hoodie; the one he never left home without.
everyone thought it was a comfort thing; a habit, maybe. something worn-in and familiar. assumed he just loved it.
and maybe he did. but it wasn't because it was warm, or soft, or broken in just right.
it was because it was yours.
he never carried it for himself. he carried it for you.
you never brought your own. you hated feeling cold, but hated asking for help even more.
with mingyu, you never had to ask. he paid attention to the way you’d rub slow circles into your arm, tuck your hands under your thighs, sometimes even press your tongue to the roof of your mouth just to stay quiet.
tiny things. things no one else could ever pick up on.
and yet somehow, he always did.
you never had to ask. he’d just offer it. sometimes with just a glance, sometimes with a soft, “here.”
and if you ever hesitated, he’d pull it over your head himself. like he was allowed to. like it meant something.
the other boys never questioned it. of course they didn’t. they would’ve done the same. they had before, on the rare days mingyu wasn’t around. but when he was, they never got the chance.
but now, he wears it again like it doesn't hold your scent. your shape. every version of you that he’s ever pulled close. like it's just a hoodie.
however, this didn't stop you from showing up to rehearsals every day too.
because that’s what professionals do, right?
they show up, even when it hurts.
even when the person they can’t stop dreaming about is stretching ten feet away.
still laughing with everyone like he wasn’t one secret away from getting his jaw broken by your older brother.
there was no wreckage. no huge fall-out. just absence.
no one knew what had been taken because nothing, on the surface, was missing.
but you felt it. in every glance he didn’t give you. in every touch that didn’t happen, but almost did.
you were angry.
angry that he ended it without warning. angry that he made that decision for the both of you. angry that he could walk away without looking back.
you were angry at yourself for still caring.
you hated that your eyes searched for him when you entered the room. that your skin remembered him better than your brain wanted it to. how some part of you still wished he’d turn around and take it all back.
but he never did. not once.
rehearsal had run longer than usual today. the sun had dipped somewhere behind the city skyline without you noticing. shadows were now stretching across the floor as the studio emptied, one by one.
you stayed behind, stretching in silence, letting the burn in your muscles distract you from the burn in your chest.
you suddenly heard your brother’s loud voice, which snapped you out of whatever trance you were in. “dinner. let’s go.”
you didn’t even blink. still stretched out on the floor, one leg bent and arms braced behind you. “pass.”
seungcheol frowned. “you didn’t even ask where.”
“don’t need to,” you said coolly. “you’re painfully predictable.”
jeonghan raised a brow. “she’s got you there.”
“actually, i’m switching it up tonight,” seungcheol insisted. “new place. no kimchi stew.”
you finally looked up, unimpressed. “who’s paying you to try their new restaurant?”
he crossed his arms. “no one. i just think you need some real food in you. something with protein. maybe even a vegetable.”
“tempting,” you said, standing up and stretching your arms over your head. “but i can’t. i’ve got plans.”
“plans?” seungcheol’s voice cracked like he’d just heard you say you were moving out and never coming back.
you grabbed your water. “yep.”
“what kind of plans?”
“the kind that don’t include you,” you said, smiling sweetly.
seokmin’s head popped up from behind his duffel. “wait. are we talking…plans plans?”
you just sipped your water like it was nothing, which, naturally, made it into something.
seungkwan narrowed his eyes. “that look. that’s a ‘plans with a boy’ look if i’ve ever seen one.”
you didn’t answer. you didn’t need to. it was much more entertaining to watch them spiral on their own.
“i didn’t say that,” you replied, smoothing your hair down.
“but you didn’t not say it.”
you gave the smallest shrug, which, unfortunately, said everything, once again.
seokmin gasped like he’d been betrayed. “you’re seeing someone? since when?”
“relax,” you said, throwing your towel over your shoulder. “you’re acting like i announced an engagement.”
“it’s a bit hard to relax when you’re acting suspiciously vague,” seungkwan countered.
“which means it’s serious,” jeonghan added while nodding. “you’re protecting him.”
you raised a brow. “or i’m protecting you idiots from a full-blown meltdown.”
seungcheol squinted. “who is it?”
“none of your business.”
“it is absolutely my business if some dude is out here making googly eyes at my baby sister behind my back!”
“googly eyes?” you echoed, half-laughing. “what are we, twelve?”
“i’m being serious, y/n.”
“i can tell, cheolie. you’re very intimidating.”
“is it someone we know?” chan asked, his voice filled with curiosity. “because i feel like it’s someone we know.”
“you don’t know him,” you replied, which wasn’t technically a lie.
there was no him, but they didn’t need to know that.
especially not the one sitting on the bench near the mirror, completely silent.
mingyu hadn’t said a word. hadn’t even moved a muscle. he just sat there with his towel around his neck, keeping eyes on the floor.
but you saw the tension in his hands. the way his jaw was set so tightly, it almost looked like it hurt.
the sight gave you just enough fuel to keep going.
seungcheol was still spiraling. “i don’t like this. what if he’s some asshole? what if he’s just trying to—”
“then i’ll deal with it,” you replied calmly. “i’m perfectly capable of throwing hands.”
“still don’t like it.”
“you’re not supposed to, cheolie.”
and that’s when mingyu spoke. low. dismissive. deadly. “just let her go.”
everyone turned towards him, mostly in shock.
seungcheol blinked. “huh?”
“if she’s got plans, she’s got plans,” mingyu said, not looking at you. not looking at anyone. “it’s not our business.”
“oh, wow,” seokmin muttered. “traitor.”
“you’re not even gonna try to talk her out of it?” seungcheol asked, almost sounding dumbfounded.
“she’s allowed to do whatever she wants,” mingyu replied, tossing his towel aside like the whole conversation bored him. “if it’s a date, then…let her have fun.”
you said nothing. you just stared at him.
after a long second, he finally looked up, just for a heartbeat. just long enough to meet your eyes.
and there it was. buried under the surface; jealousy. regret. hurt.
only things that you could see. the things he couldn’t say. the ones you never needed him to.
“thanks for your support, gyu,” you said sweetly, using the nickname you rarely used for him anymore.
he didn’t answer, but you didn’t wait for one either. you just grabbed your bag and threw it over your shoulder.
“anyways, don’t wait up!” you shouted, turning and blowing a kiss towards the boys as you walked towards the door.
soonyoung clutched his chest. “she’s so going to make out with him.”
“i’m gonna vomit,” seungcheol muttered, shaking his head in disgust.
you walked out giggling without looking back again.
mingyu didn’t move. didn’t even blink. just stared at the door like it might swing back open and undo all of it.
it didn’t.
he noticed the tremble in your hands as you reached for your bag. it was faint, almost invisible. the kind of shake that came when your body had given too much.
he always noticed the little things about you; it was like a curse. a reflex. a silent devotion to you that he never meant to make a habit.
you were clearly overstimulated, vibrating underneath your skin, and no one else seemed to care.
but he did. he always did.
the boys were still talking. still laughing. but their voices echoed as if they were underwater.
jeonghan was teasing seungcheol about running a background check. seokmin was already trying to guess the date’s name. one of them joked about texting you the restaurant address ‘in case lover boy stands you up.’
mingyu didn’t laugh. he couldn’t.
because the silence left in your absence was louder than anything they were saying. and beneath it, something ugly twisted in his chest.
he knew you weren’t dressed for a date. your hair was wild and your face was bare, still glowing with sweat and adrenaline.
you didn’t look like someone trying to impress a man, not that you needed to. you just looked like you. the version that mingyu had memorized in the low light of his apartment, curled into his sheets, still trembling from his mouth on your skin.
and somehow, that made it worse.
because what if this new guy didn’t care enough to notice the small things mingyu had?
what if he didn’t realize how you go quiet when you’re overwhelmed; not out of moodiness, but because your brain shuts down under too much noise?
what if he didn’t know how sometimes you can’t ask for help, because you don’t even know what you need?
what about that you chew the inside of your cheek when you’re anxious? or that you tap your thumb against your middle finger when you’re trying not to cry?
would he know that you hated the sound of ticking clocks? that certain words made your skin crawl? that sometimes, dancing was the only thing that kept your thoughts from devouring you whole?
mingyu did. he knew all of it.
he knew how to sit behind you on the studio floor when everything got to be too much; legs stretched out on either side of you, his chest pressed against your back.
he knew not to ask what was wrong. he knew that you didn’t always know, and that asking only made it worse.
just to let you press your ear over his heart and listen to the rhythm of his heartbeat until your lungs remembered how to breathe properly on their own again.
he knew the hoodie he always carried for you was your lifeline when you needed comfort. which songs made you cry even if you didn’t quite know why.
he knew you couldn’t sit in the backseat of a car because it always made you nauseous. which corners of your body held tension so tightly, you didn’t even realize they hurt until he pressed his fingers there.
he learned you like a prayer. a warning. a song that never stopped playing in the back of his head.
and now, someone else might get to touch you. might get to pretend they know you. run their hands down a body they hadn’t earned. kiss a mouth that didn’t belong to them.
and mingyu fucking hated that.
because yeah, it started as just sex.
reckless. rushed. hidden in between rehearsals and outfit changes. in cars, stairwells and hotel rooms too quiet for what the two of you were doing.
but it stopped being just sex a long time ago.
he didn’t know when exactly it shifted. maybe it was the first night you told him not to ask, but to just take. when you grabbed his wrist and pulled it to your throat. when you told him to ruin you.
or maybe it was the one night he didn’t.
the night he slowed down.
held your jaw in both hands like you were made of glass and kissed you like he had something to lose.
told you how perfect you were. how you take him so well. how you were made for him.
you came apart for him like you believed it. like you needed it.
surely that’s when he realized it wasn’t just sex. at least, not anymore.
because you didn’t just let him have your body, you gave it to him. not with words; not directly.
in the way you trembled under his touch. in the way you arched into his hands. in the way you moaned his name like it meant something.
and fuck, it did. it meant everything.
he memorized you. not just the way your thighs shook when you were close or the spot beneath your ribs that made you gasp when he kissed it for the first time.
he knew your body better than he knew his own.
he memorized the curve of your spine. the pitch of your moans. the shape of your mouth when you were too fucked-out to speak.
he knew exactly where to touch to make you fall apart, but also exactly how to hold you when you couldn’t put yourself back together.
he hated himself for it.
for needing you. for learning you. for turning every sound you made into a song he couldn’t stop humming in his own head.
because the more he gave, the more he wanted. and the more he wanted, the more it hurt.
he told himself that ending it was the right call, and maybe it was.
you were seungcheol’s little sister, after all. this was doomed from the moment it started.
but god, he missed you.
you were the only one he ever let see him for who he really was, and now you were gone. and he has no one else to blame for that but himself.
his thumb pressed into the palm of his opposite hand; hard. a grounding technique, one that you taught him. one that never worked unless it was your voice talking him through it.
he barely felt the pain.
he just sat there, spine tense, gaze still locked on the scuffed floor where you’d been standing just a few moments ago.
the room still buzzed with conversation; low laughter, the rustle of jackets, someone still talking about dinner plans.
but it all felt far away. almost like he was watching it through a sheet of glass that was thick and smudged with fingerprints.
he didn’t hear what they said. he didn’t care either.
because all he could think about was the look on your face before you walked out.
not happy. not angry. not sad either.
he honestly wasn’t quite sure what you were thinking, and that scared him a little.
he remembers how you used to look at him. like you saw through everything; the ego, the performance, the chaos.
that was because you did, and yet, you still chose him.
every. single. time.
but now, you didn’t even look back.
“hyung?” chan said cautiously, his tone lighter than his expression. “you good?”
mingyu blinked like he was waking up from a dream. “what?”
“you’ve been acting kinda weird lately,” jihoon said from behind him. “and not just today either.”
“yeah,” soonyoung added. “like the last few weeks.”
mingyu exhaled through his nose, forcing a shrug. “just tired.”
seungcheol looked up from where he was zipping his bag. “gyu.”
mingyu flinched like his name stung.
“talk to us,” seungcheol said, voice low, less like a demand and more like a plea. “we’ve been worried. you don’t laugh the same anymore. you barely even show up.”
“i’m fine,” he said, sharper this time, like if he said it hard enough, they’d believe it.
“we’re not trying to push,” seokmin said gently. “we just miss you, man.”
mingyu’s throat was tight. he couldn’t look any of them in the eye.
“i’ll see you guys later,” he spoke suddenly, already halfway to the door.
“what?” wonwoo called after him. “you’re not coming to eat?”
“not hungry.”
seungcheol took a step forward. “mingyu—wait.”
but the door was already closing behind him. and just like that, he was gone. his feet moved without thinking. down the hallway, out of the building, and into the night.
but on the inside, he was somewhere else entirely.
back in the dressing room. back in your bed. back in that goddamn moment where you looked up at him like you were his, even though you both knew you weren’t.
he can still feel it.
the weight of your body curled under his. your nails in his skin. his name on your tongue.
the breath you let out when he called you sweetheart like it meant something.
the quietness afterwards that felt like a promise, even though neither of you ever made one.
it should’ve faded by now, but it hasn’t. it’s still there.
in the way his chest tightens when someone says your name.
in the way his hands curl into fists when he pictures you laughing with someone else.
in the way the silence feels heavier when you’re not around to fill it.
and now, he has to act like it didn’t happen. like it didn’t mean anything. like you didn’t mean everything.
he hates himself for how much he still cares.
hates that he let it get this far. that he let you in. that he let it mean something.
but more than anything, he hates that he can’t stop hoping it meant something to you, too.
because no matter how far he lets you go, he will always believe that no one else will ever have you in the way that he did.
and maybe that makes him selfish.
but it also makes him right.
CHAPTER TWO: THE BREAKING POINT
you didn’t turn on the lights when you got home.
the dark didn’t bother you. there was enough of the city bleeding through the windows to guide you, just enough for you to not trip. just enough to find the couch with muscle memory.
your keys landed somewhere on the counter. you didn’t check where. you’d stopped caring about details like that a while ago.
you weren’t really much of a drinker. everyone knew that. you were a lightweight, through and through.
one glass and you were warm. two and you were soft. three and you were completely falling apart.
mingyu used to joke about it. not in an unkindly way, but more in a best friend type of way.
“you get cuddly first,” he’d say, brushing your hand off his thigh like he didn’t secretly like it. “then mean. then quiet. it’s like a little timeline.”
you would pretend to roll your eyes, but you never denied it.
he always noticed the shift before you did. he was like that; observant in ways you didn’t always want him to be.
he’d notice when your voice pitched higher at the end of your sentences. when you wore long sleeves even when it was warm out. when you twisted the hem of your shirt because you wanted to say something but were too shy to speak up.
he didn’t always ask, but he always knew.
your eyes caught on the unopened bottle of wine beside the sink, still in the gift bag from your last birthday.
you stared at it for too long, as if it might disappear if you blinked.
you’d been saving it for something special; some date in the future where you were happy and in love.
apparently heartbreak counted too.
you pulled it out of the bag and twisted the cap off with shaking fingers. no hesitation, just acception.
the first glass disappeared before you even realized you’d finished it. the second one sat a little heavier.
by the third, your throat stopped burning when you swallowed.
by the fourth, you were just staring at the tile floor, wondering how it always looked a little bit dirty no matter how often you cleaned it.
your fingers ached. not from anything in particular; just from holding too much.
you left the glass half-full on the coffee table and wandered to your bedroom. your body was tired, but not in the way that made you want to sleep.
you were just…done. like your bones had decided to stop holding you upright.
the dresser drawer got stuck like always. you yanked it open harder than you meant to, causing it to groan in protest.
you reached for something loose. something soft. something that didn’t feel like it would suffocate you.
your hand brushed cotton. worn thin. familiar.
his shirt.
black. faded. a little frayed at the collar. one of the sleeves slightly more stretched than the other.
you hadn’t meant to keep it. or maybe you had. you could never really decide.
he left it here one night after a show. showed up at your door smelling like sweat, cologne and adrenaline, dropped his jacket on the floor, and collapsed onto your bed like it belonged to him.
you remember how he was always so gentle afterwards.
after the noise and the chaos. after the mess of you.
he’d hum sometimes when he held you. sort of off-key and quiet, like he didn’t even realize he was doing it.
you’d asked him once why he didn’t just take the shirt home.
“you wear it better,” he said, eyes still closed.
he never asked for it back.
you slipped it over your head before you could talk yourself out of it. it smelled mostly like detergent now. but there was something else too; something almost like him, but fading.
still enough to hurt.
you stood in front of the mirror, tugging at the hem like you didn’t know what else to do with your hands.
“it looks like a damn dress on you,” he’d muttered once, arms around your waist, mouth at your neck.
you’d laughed. “you’re so annoying sometimes.”
he’d grinned against your skin. “you love it.”
and you did. of course you did.
for a second, just a second, you swore you saw him there again. in the mirror behind you. half-asleep, messy hair, and the softest eyes you’d ever seen.
gone.
you didn’t let yourself look twice.
you padded barefoot back to the living room and dropped into the couch like it was waiting to catch you.
it creaked under your weight. it was familiar. the shirt brushed your thighs when you curled up. your knees pulled tight to your chest.
you exhaled slowly as you poured another glass and didn’t taste it as it went down.
grey’s anatomy was already on the screen. low volume. autoplay. not for entertainment, just for something to fill the quiet. something predictable.
the theme song started and you felt it. the ache you’d been holding back all night, rising up like a wave.
because you remembered how you had to beg him to watch it with you for the first time. you remembered how dramatic he was. your head in his lap, and his fingers in your hair.
“just one episode,” you said, dragging out the vowels.
he groaned. “do we have to?”
but he didn’t move when you clicked play.
ten minutes in and he was deeply invested, muttering under his breath. “wait—wait, that’s her boss? what the fuck?”
you laughed so hard you dropped your drink all over the floor.
he was laughing too, mostly at you, but still handed you a napkin.
after that, it became a thing. your thing. every time he stayed the night, you put it on.
he never argued after the first time, just tucked himself against you like a habit he didn’t want to break.
some nights, it felt real.
he’d hold you through an episode and you’d think, maybe. maybe this is more than what we said it was. maybe, this time, he’ll stay.
sometimes he did. but mostly, he didn’t.
you blinked hard and snapped yourself out of your train of thought.
someone on screen was crying. someone else was dying. it all sounded the same at this point.
your glass was empty. again. the bottle was almost empty too. you didn’t remember finishing it.
you just shifted deeper into the couch, into the silence, into the memory.
the shirt still clung to your skin, soft and warm all at once.
you hated it.
you hated how this apartment still looked like it was waiting for him. how every room felt a little off-balance.
how every silence sounded like something he forgot to say.
you missed him.
not the sex. not the late-night texts. not even the breathless, messy way he used to kiss you when you pulled him in too fast.
you missed the quiet things.
the way he made tea without asking. how he always gave you the mug with the chipped rim because you said it was your favorite. how he pulled his knees up on the couch when he was cold but never said it out loud.
how he used to press his lips to your temple and murmur, “you’re too much,” in the same tone people use to say i love you.
you missed the parts of him he didn’t show anyone else.
you were wiping your eyes with the collar of his shirt when your phone suddenly buzzed.
just once.
you flinched, then stared.
the soft glow of the screen lit up the room.
no one had texted you all night. they all thought you were on a date.
finally, you leaned forward to see the screen more clearly.
mingyu: hyung’s asking if you got home okay. figured i’d check so he’ll stop hovering.
your chest hollowed. you stared at the message like it might rearrange itself into something that made sense.
you let your head fall back against the couch, and exhaled through your teeth.
liar.
you knew seungcheol hadn’t said anything. he would have just messaged you himself.
mingyu just needed an excuse. this was his way of knocking without knocking. caring without crossing a line.
of saying i’m still thinking about you without letting the words leave a mark.
you didn’t reply. mostly because you didn’t know what to say.
the only options you could think of were,
yes. i got home.
i’m fine.
i’m actually wearing your shirt and crying over the way you used to make me laugh during the commercials.
your eyes burned. you pressed your fingers to your face and stayed like that.
still. quiet. waiting for something to give, and to your surprise, something eventually did.
the knock was soft.
you didn’t move.
at first, you thought it was the tv or maybe your imagination. maybe you wanted it to be someone else so badly that your mind was just inventing things.
but then it came again, firmer this time. not urgent. not polite either. like whoever it was knew exactly how much pressure to apply to say ‘i know you’re home’.
you pushed yourself off the couch.
everything felt heavier than it should’ve; your legs, your arms, the weight of your chest. like gravity was suddenly stronger in this apartment. like your body didn’t want you to answer the door.
and maybe you shouldn’t have.
because when you opened it and saw him standing there — hood up, face red from the cold or maybe from running, chest heaving like he hadn’t stopped to think before showing up — you froze.
you didn’t say anything. you didn’t have to.
your body reacted before your brain did. your hand gripping was the door, and starting to slam it shut like a reflex.
but his hand was already there. flat against the wood. not forcefully or aggressive, but steady.
steady, like he knew you’d do that. like he deserved it. like he didn’t plan to move until you forced him to.
“y/n—wait.”
his voice was soft. strained. almost careful.
you stared at the edge of the door where his hand met it. your own knuckles had gone white around the handle. your throat burned.
he didn’t push the door open. didn’t beg on his knees.
he just sighed. “please.”
you hated the way your fingers relaxed, and hated it more when you stepped back.
you didn’t want him in your apartment. didn’t want him in your space, in your air, or anywhere near the unraveling mess you’d been trying to clean up since the night he left.
but the door opened anyway.
he didn’t move, not right away.
he just stood there; eyes wide under the edge of his hood, blinking like he didn’t think you’d actually let him in.
“what do you want, mingyu?” your voice was sharp. sharp enough to sting. not because you meant to hurt him, but because it hurt to say his name out loud again.
he flinched, just barely. “you didn’t answer my message.”
you scoffed, turning back towards the couch. “that’s not usually an emergency.”
“you said you were going on a date.”
you didn’t look at him. “so?”
“and yet you’re here,” he said. “wearing my shirt and drinking alone.”
your spine straightened. “so what? you came to shame me for lying?”
he blinked. “no. i came because i was worried.”
you stopped, just for a beat, but he caught it. the flicker. the crack in your armor.
you covered it fast. “you don’t get to worry about me anymore,” you muttered, walking back into the apartment.
you didn’t tell him to follow, but he did. deep down, you knew he would.
because that’s what he always did; came close enough to make it hurt, then pulled back the second you reached for him.
the tv was still playing. volume low and characters mouthing drama you had already heard before.
you dropped into the couch like you’d never left it. like your body already remembered how to be this low.
your fingers wrapped around the stem of the wine glass like it was a lifeline. and maybe it was. it was the only thing in this room that hadn’t walked away from you.
he hovered for a second. didn’t sit. didn’t speak.
but eventually he moved. walked around the table and dropped onto the edge of it, elbows on his knees, close enough to touch you but not stupid enough to try.
his eyes scanned your face. the puffy lids. the tear-dried cheeks. the shirt that used to be his.
his voice was quieter when it came. “how much have you had?”
“not enough.”
he exhaled. “y/n—”
“don’t.” you said sharply as you tipped the glass toward your mouth.
and he took it. without even asking.
your eyes cut to him. “what the fuck are you doing?”
“you’ve had enough.”
“you don’t get to say that,” you snapped. “you don’t get to come here, uninvited, and act like you give a shit.”
he didn’t argue. just tipped the glass back and drank the rest in one mouthful.
your mouth fell open. “you hate wine.”
“yeah,” he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “but you hate it more.”
and there it was.
you laughed, sharp and humorless. “fuck you.”
his eyes flashed. “y/n—”
“no. fuck you. you’re not allowed to say things like that to me anymore.”
“i didn’t come here to fight.”
“no? then why did you come? to feel better about yourself? to make sure i’m still heartbroken enough for your ego to stay intact?”
“you think that’s what this is?” he said, almost sounding offended that you would think that lowly of him.
“isn’t it?” your voice rose. “what, you saw me in rehearsal and couldn’t handle the idea of me going on a date? you saw me smiling about someone else and had to remind yourself that i still belong to you?”
his jaw visibly clenched.
“you told me we were a mistake,” you said, pushing yourself up off of the couch. “you told me we never should’ve happened. and now what, you’re mad because i’m not sitting around pining for you anymore?”
“it’s been a month, y/n.”
“and whose fucking fault is that?”
he stood up now too, matching your energy. “what do you want me to say?”
“i want you to hurt the way i hurt,” you snapped. “i want you to feel what it’s like to have your chest torn in half every time someone says your name. i want you to live with the fucking silence you left me in. i want you to be just as ruined as i am.”
he didn’t say anything, not at first. his hands stayed clenched at his sides.
your fists weakly hit his chest. “say something. fight back. do something.”
nothing.
you shoved him again.
“don’t you dare stand there and act like you’re the victim,” you sobbed, shoving at him with all the force your body could gather. “say something, mingyu! scream at me! tell me you hate me! fucking lie if you have to, just—”
“fine!” he exploded. “you want me to scream? i’ll fucking scream!”
your chest snapped tight, but you didn’t back down.
“you think i wanted to leave?” he barked, louder now. “you think i wanted to walk away from the only person who’s ever—who fucking saw me?! you think it didn’t kill me to do that?!”
“then why’d you do it, mingyu?!” you threw back. “if it hurt so bad, why the hell did you choose it?”
“because i didn’t know how else to protect you!” his voice cracked, sharp and fraying. “you’re my best friend’s little sister. i was never supposed to touch you, let alone fall for you.”
you scoffed. “yeah. i was never supposed to happen, right? just one big fucking—”
“you’re not a mistake!” he screamed, stepping closer. “but do you think hyung would’ve forgiven me if he found out? do you think i would’ve forgiven myself?”
“so instead you just fucked me and left.”
he flinched like you slapped him.
“don’t you dare.” his voice dropped lower. “don’t fucking reduce us to that.”
“why not?” you shot back. “that’s exactly what you did.”
“because it wasn’t just sex and you know that!” he shouted. “you know exactly what it was between us and you’re acting like it was nothing just so that you can be the one who’s hurting more!”
“i am the one who’s hurting more—”
“bullshit!” he roared, suddenly even more furious. “you don’t get to fucking claim that, y/n. you have no idea what this past month has been like for me. i’ve been going insane. i haven’t slept. i can’t eat. i’ve been replaying every fucking moment in my head, wondering how the hell i’m supposed to keep breathing when you won’t even look at me.”
you blinked hard, like the tears burning your eyes were somehow his fault too.
“what do you want me to say?” your voice cracked. “that i’m sorry you chose to leave? sorry i listened when you told me it was over?”
he scoffed. “don’t put this all on me.”
you stepped back like he’d shoved you. “you said it was a mistake.”
“i said it because i didn’t know how else to let you go!” he shouted. “i said it because it was the only thing that would make you hate me enough to stop loving me!”
you froze, but he didn’t stop.
“you think this was easy for me?” his voice broke around the edges, but the fire inside of him didn’t die. “you think i wanted to walk away from you? i’ve spent the last month trying to pretend like i don’t see you in every goddamn room we walk into. do you know what that’s like?”
you didn’t answer, but your jaw locked.
“no,” he said, stepping closer. “you don’t. because clearly you’ve been too busy drowning in wine and watching tv in my fucking shirt—”
“fuck you—” you tried to retaliate, but he wasn’t done.
“—like we were nothing but a hookup.”
your lungs started to feel heavier.
“like i didn’t hold you almost every night,” he snapped. “like you didn’t kiss me like i was the only thing keeping you grounded. like you didn’t mean it.”
you shook your head, voice quieter now. “shut up, mingyu.”
“i should have never touched you. i should’ve stayed the hell away.” he said, eyes wild.
“you were never supposed to be mine.” he shouted, fists clenched like the words were fighting to tear out of him. “i should’ve walked the fuck away the second i started looking at you differently.”
you still didn’t speak. you couldn’t.
and he saw it. the way your lips trembled. the way your hands twitched at your sides like they didn’t know what to do.
yet he kept going, mostly because he was already in too deep.
“but i didn’t,” he snarled. “because i was selfish. because you looked at me like i was someone worth ruining everything for, and i—i let you.”
his voice cracked on the last word. but he didn’t slow down.
“i let you. i let you kiss me like i meant something, i let you crawl into my bed and into my fucking life like it wasn’t going to destroy me.”
you physically flinched, and he saw it.
“i spent months pretending it was just physical,” he spat, eyes burning. “like holding you didn’t feel like breathing for the first time. like hearing your laugh didn’t fucking gut me. like i didn’t fall asleep every goddamn night with your name in my head because i love you and i fucking hate that i do—”
you stopped breathing, but he didn’t.
because he didn’t even realize what he’d said. he was too far gone. too angry. too hurt.
“—i hate that i love you,” he continued. “i hate that i can’t fucking stop, i hate that i still see you in everything that i do, and i hate that you’re looking at me like i’m the one who gave up when i never fucking wanted to leave in the first place!”
his face was wet. his voice was shaking. he wasn’t yelling anymore, he was pleading. unraveling.
and still, you didn’t move.
your eyes were wide, cheeks drenched in tears, your chest starting to hitch like every breath scraped the inside of your ribs. your mouth opened, just slightly, but no sound came out.
he saw it immediately.
the way your fingers twitched at your side. the tapping; middle to thumb, over and over. how your shoulders tensed, your jaw clenched, the way your teeth sank into the inside of your cheek like you didn’t even realize you were doing it.
“fuck,” he whispered, his anger breaking like glass beneath him. “no, no—baby, hey—”
but you were already backing up. slowly. stumbling one step at a time, like distance would fix the fire clawing up your throat. your breaths came faster. louder. more shallow. like your lungs had started folding in on themselves.
he followed you without thinking.
“y/n,” he said, moving with you. “y/n, baby, look at me. please.”
you tried. god, you really tried. your mouth moved like you were trying to answer, to scream at him, to curse his name, but nothing came out. just air, broken and sharp, each inhale shallower than the last.
“you don’t—” you only got one word out. maybe two. your own voice didn’t even sound like yours anymore.
your back hit the hallway wall, snapping you back into reality for only a quick moment.
you pressed your palms to it like it might keep you up. like you could push yourself back into your body if you just held on hard enough.
but your body had already given up on you.
you collapsed forward, hard and fast. chest folding, legs buckling, and a sob ripped straight from your lungs.
he caught you instantly. mid-fall, arms locking around you with instinctive force. his back slammed into the wall behind him as he dragged you down with him, pulling you into his lap, shielding you from the floor like it was something that could break you worse than this.
“no—no, i’ve got you,” he breathed, already winded and trembling. “i’ve got you, baby, i’ve got you—”
you didn’t care. you thrashed in his grip. it was wild, broken, and feral.
your fists landed wherever they could. his chest, his arms, the side of his neck. your nails scraped, your elbows dug, your legs kicked out as your body folded into itself and tried to fight its way out.
“get off me—get—fuck off—i hate you—” your voice cracked and fell apart, less a scream than a sob torn open mid-breath. “i hate you, i fucking hate you—”
“i know,” he said softly, one hand steady on your back, the other at the back of your head. “i know, sweetheart. it’s okay. you can hate me. you should.”
he was just as scared as you were, if not more. but, he knew he needed to force himself to stay calm. if not for himself, than for you.
you still bucked against him again violently, almost as if your body couldn’t survive being held by him.
“why,” you gasped, the word barely audible. “why—why would you—say that—why—”
your lungs stuttered, breath catching like it had to claw its way out. you couldn’t stop shaking. you couldn’t breathe either.
“i can’t—” you choked out, voice splitting down the middle. “i can’t—breathe—i can’t—fucking—breathe—”
your hands clawed at your ribs. at your throat. at anything.
“fuck—baby—look at me, please—” he whispered, his voice rough with panic. “y/n—just look at me—come on cheonsa—”
your eyes snapped up to his. and that’s when he saw it.
not hate. not rage. pure terror. not of him, but of the fight and of what he’d said.
you were afraid of your own body. of the panic. of what it was doing to you. worst of all, you were afraid it wouldn’t stop.
his entire face shattered.
“okay,” he breathed, hand shifting to cup the side of your head, cradling you as gently as he could. “okay. come here. come closer, baby, i’ve got you—just stay right here with me—”
you didn’t mean to collapse into him, but you did.
your head dropped forward, landing against his chest like it remembered the way. like it had always belonged there.
and the second it happened, everything shifted. the sound of his heartbeat was deep and steady, so loud beneath your ear. it crashed into you like a wave.
your fingers curled into the fabric of his hoodie.
his other hand came up, pressing flat to your chest, firm and grounding, almost like he could hold your heart in place.
“you feel that?” he murmured, voice cracking again. “that beat—you know it. you’ve fallen asleep to it.”
your sobs faltered, just barely. a single jagged hitch caught in your throat.
“you’ve calmed to it before,” he said quietly, his forehead coming down to rest against yours. “you told me once when you were half asleep that it made you feel like nothing could ever hurt you.”
your body gave the smallest tremor, but you didn’t lift your head. you didn’t pull away either.
“i’m sorry,” he whispered suddenly, so quiet you almost didn’t hear it. “i’m so fucking sorry for yelling. for everything. you didn’t deserve that. i was scared, and i said the wrong things, and i hurt you. i know that. i’m so sorry.”
his hand on your chest stayed right where it was. steady. anchoring. his thumb rubbed soft, careful strokes against your collarbone.
you were still gasping. still sobbing. still shaking so violently you felt like you might unravel in his arms, but your ear was still focused on his heartbeat.
his arms folded tighter around you. his body curled in, protecting and cradling you to the best of his abilities, like he could shield you from whatever part of yourself was breaking.
“you’re doing so good,” he breathed, pressing a kiss to your temple. “you’re here with me. you’re still here. just keep holding on. i’ve got you.”
“hurts,” you sobbed. “it—it hurts—i can’t—”
“i know. i know, sweet girl,” he whispered, his voice breaking entirely. “i’m right here. i’ve got you. you’re safe now, i promise.”
your whole body jolted with another sob, but your grip didn’t loosen. he pulled you in tighter, if that was even possible, curling his entire body around yours even more.
“stay with me,” he whispered, again and again. “just stay with me, beautiful. you’re safe here.”
your ear stayed pressed to his chest. his hand stayed firm against your chest. your tears soaked through the fabric of his hoodie.
but he didn’t let go. not even for a second.
your next breath came in slow. it was shaky and uneven, but deep enough to count.
your lungs burned, ribs still tight, but air finally filled them. finally.
mingyu felt it beneath the hand still splayed over your chest.
his own chest rose with it. his eyes fluttered closed for a second.
“that’s it,” he whispered, voice hoarse with something reverent. “there’s my girl. that’s it, baby. good job. i’ve got you.”
your fingers tightened in his hoodie again as you buried your face in the hollow of his neck, like the world would be softer in the spaces between his skin.
his hand stayed steady, rubbing slow circles into your back. and for a long, quiet minute, neither of you spoke.
until your voice, barely a whisper, cracked through the silence.
“mingyu…”
your voice cracked around his name; quiet, hoarse, frayed at the edges like the rest of you.
he dipped his head downwards at the sound of your voice, his nose brushing against your temple, and his arms already adjusting to hold you closer.
“i’m right here, cheonsa,” he murmured, like it was the most obvious truth in the world. “i’m not going anywhere.”
you tried to swallow, but your throat felt like it was lined with glass. “i’m sorry.”
his hand instantly moved. one palm still over your chest, but the other rising to cradle your jaw, as gently as if you were made of porcelain.
“no, sweetheart. no,” he whispered, eyes searching yours. “you don’t ever have to say that to me.”
you blinked, fighting back another wave of tears.
“but i yelled at you,” you whispered. “i hit you. i said things i didn’t mean. i just—i didn’t know what to do—i didn’t know how to stop it, gyu, i didn’t know how to come back—”
“baby,” he said softly, stroking your hair, “you don’t have to come back alone. not ever.” his thumb brushed your cheek. “you were scared. i know. i saw it all over you. but you still held on. that’s all i’ll ever ask of you.”
your breath hitched again.
“it’s never been that bad before,” you whispered. “i thought—i thought something was really wrong with me. i couldn’t breathe. i thought i was dying, gyu. i was so scared.”
“i know, love. i know you were,” he whispered. “i was scared too.”
he tilted his head down further, resting his forehead against yours, his nose brushing yours so gently it felt like comfort itself.
“but you’re here now. you’re safe. and you didn’t do anything wrong. you hear me? not one single thing.”
you nodded shakily.
without thinking, you nestled yourself even deeper into his chest, curling your arm around his waist.
his entire body moved to make room for you like it was instinct; like he was always meant to hold you just like this.
he kissed the crown of your head. “you wanna know one of my favourite memories of you? maybe it’ll help ease your mind a little.” he asked gently.
your brows knit slightly, a tired little hum leaving your lips.
he smiled softly. “it was, what—eight months ago? the night after tour rehearsals, when we all went out for dinner. you had, like…two drinks. maybe. and you were absolutely gone.”
your cheek shifted against his chest, almost like it would have been a laugh if you had more energy.
“and then, of course,” he continued, his voice light and warm, “it started pouring rain, and you didn’t wanna wait for a car. nooo, you just needed to walk. claimed it was more ‘cinematic.’”
you exhaled hard. “i’m gonna pretend i didn’t say that.”
“too late,” he grinned. “you marched us through the rain like it was a movie scene. we got to mine drenched to hell and back. i tossed the boys some of their clothes from my closet — because, yes, i steal their stuff — and told you to find something comfortable.”
you groaned softly into his shirt, not liking where this was going.
“you came out ten minutes later in one of my huge ‘i <3 mingyu’ hoodies and a pair of my boxers like it was the most normal thing in the world.”
you winced. “oh my god.”
“you weren’t even fazed. you just wandered in, soaking wet, hair brushed back, no makeup — looking so stunning, by the way — and seungkwan immediately started clapping. i think seokmin even offered you a damn flower he found lying around.”
you huffed a little through your nose. “what did seungcheol do?”
mingyu had to fight a grin. “he stared like he was about to combust. but it gets even better. once you realized how mad he was, you climbed up onto the coffee table.”
you groaned again out of embarrassment.
“you started doing poses,” he laughed. “like a full-on vogue photoshoot. slow turns. hair flips. you pointed at your hoodie and winked at him. hyung looked like he was gonna explode.”
his voice dropped, slipping into a hilariously deep tone “‘yah! you better not love mingyu like that!’”
you let out a little hiccup of a laugh involuntarily. mingyu froze. he looked down at you, a smile slowly creeping in.
“did you just hiccup?” he whispered, grinning. “are you giggling at me right now?”
your shoulders shrugged up a little, your cheek still hidden against his chest. “no.”
“liar,” he said softly, brushing his nose against your temple. “anyways, he stormed over, yanked you off the table like a ragdoll, tossed you over his shoulder, and body-slammed you onto the couch. then he started scolding you about ‘dignity’ and ‘respect’ while you snuggled into him and passed out mid-lecture.”
you laughed softly again, this time for longer.
mingyu rested his chin on the top of your head, his hand still stroking your back. “you passed out between the both of us, totally content. we all just gave up and stayed there the whole night. i think all fourteen of us slept in the living room.”
your fingers flexed against his waist.
“you don’t even remember it,” he added, quieter now. “but i do. every second of it. you looked so happy. so comfortable. like you knew you belonged there. and i think…”
he paused. exhaled slowly. “i think that was when i realized i was in love with you.”
your breath caught again. not in panic this time, not from fear either, but from the weight of everything he’d just said.
from how gently he held it all. how gently he held you.
“eight months ago?” you whispered, your voice barely there. “you—really?”
his thumb brushed beneath your eye, collecting what was left of your tears. he nodded slowly, like it still scared him to say it out loud.
“i didn’t mean to,” he said softly. “i think it just sort of happened. you were standing on my coffee table in my hoodie and boxers, looking like the absolute troublemaker you are, purposely trying to piss your brother off, and i just remember thinking, ‘yeah, that’s it. i’m screwed.’”
you stayed quiet for a beat, watching the way his lashes trembled slightly when he blinked. the way his hand never stopped tracing little lines into your back. his chest rising and falling beneath your cheek.
you tilted your head to look up at him. “you know i’m in love with you too, right?”
his breath hitched so hard it sounded like a hiccup.
his eyes snapped to yours. “you’re—wait. what?”
your lips tugged up, a soft smile blooming through the fog of emotion. “mingyu.”
“you’re—” he blinked. once. twice. “you’re in love with me?”
“you really didn’t know?”
his whole face twisted, like you’d just told him the sky was purple and he’d somehow never noticed. “no?! you—you said you hated me for months.”
you laughed, quiet but real. “well yeah, because you were being an idiot.”
his jaw dropped a little. “i—okay, valid, but still—”
“you didn’t even wonder?” you asked, leaning your chin on his chest. “not once?”
he shook his head slowly, still dazed. “i was too busy trying not to lose you.”
your heart clenched, because you’d spent so long trying not to lose him.
you exhaled with barely a sound. your hand curled into the front of his hoodie. “i think i’ve been in love with you for way longer than i even realized.”
you felt him freeze under you, almost like he couldn’t breathe, but you kept going, voice quiet but steady.
“it wasn’t one exact moment, it was a hundred little ones. when you’d wait for me after practice without ever saying why. when you’d bring me food without asking. when you made me laugh on days i wanted to disappear. when you looked at me like i wasn’t broken.”
you tilted your head just enough to meet his eyes.
his lashes were damp. his grip on your waist tightened just slightly, like he needed to hold onto you to stay grounded
“i love how stupid you are about your skincare,” you whispered, smiling through it. “i love that you care too much. i love that you act all cocky and untouchable but you’re just—” your voice cracked, but you smiled anyway. “you’re just you. and i’ve never felt happier and safer than when i’m with you.”
he still hadn’t said anything. just looked at you like the weight of your words hadn’t quite settled yet. like maybe they never would.
then, quieter than before, and rough with feeling, “come here.” he said.
you blinked, lips tugging into a small smile. “i’m already in your lap.”
his fingers flexed a little at your waist. “yeah, but it’s not close enough.”
you huffed a soft laugh and leaned up just enough to meet his eyes again. “you’re ridiculous,” you whispered, smiling. “and maybe a little obsessed.”
his mouth twitched, eyes soft. “can you blame me?”
still grinning, you shifted in his lap; tucking your arms around his neck, pressing in closer until your nose brushed the space beneath his ear. and the second you did, he folded into it like he’d been waiting his whole life for that exact closeness.
his arms came around you fully. warm. sure.
“you really mean it?” he murmured, voice barely there. “you love love me?”
you pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. “mingyu. do you seriously think i could fake all of that?”
he opened his mouth, closed it, then let out a slightly choked breath. “i don’t know! you’re a very convincing liar sometimes!”
you laughed quietly against him. “i’m not that good.”
he stared at you for a second, like he couldn’t quite believe you were real, then let out a breath that sounded like it had been holding him together.
“cool,” he mumbled. “cool cool cool. i’m in so much trouble.”
you grinned against his chest. “because you’re in love with me?”
“because i’m so in love with you,” he muttered, like it was a crime. “and now you’ve gone and said it back, and i’m never recovering.”
you giggled as he kissed your hair again, dramatic and a little breathless, almost like he was surrendering.
you shifted back down slightly so that your cheek was resting over his heart again when the silence shifted. not heavy like before, but softer now. calmer. like the part of a storm when the winds quiet, and the rain doesn’t hurt anymore.
you could feel his heartbeat picking up again. not frantic like when you’d panicked earlier, but fluttering. fast. like it was excited. nervous. happy.
you smiled a little against his chest. “your heart’s going crazy.”
mingyu let out a quiet breath through his nose, the kind that barely reached the air. “yeah, well,” he murmured, fingers brushing gently through your hair, “it does that when you’re around. it’s not really something i can control.”
you tilted your head, just enough to look up at him, causing you to notice that his cheeks were still pink.
“i thought you were supposed to be the cool one,” you whispered, soft and teasing. “all that swagger and bravado, and you’re over here blushing.”
he gave you a look that said he wanted to come up with something clever and cocky, but it never made it past his lips. instead, he just smiled.
he squinted down at you. “you’re literally wrapped in my shirt right now and talking shit?”
“just calling it how i see it,” you whispered dramatically, lips twitching.
“you’re lucky i’m in love with you.”
you tried to hide your smile in his chest again. “i know i am.”
CHAPTER THREE: THE RECOVERY
you stayed like that for a while longer. just breathing. wrapped around each other like maybe, if you stayed still enough, time would forget to move forward.
his hand never stopped tracing slow circles into your back. your cheek stayed pressed to his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat still grounding you. the world was quiet here, almost like it had been waiting for you both to catch up.
“okay,” he sighed eventually, voice warm against your ear. “as much as i’m enjoying this whole heart-to-heart-on-the-floor moment, my back is gonna give out if we stay on the floor much longer.”
you laughed quietly. “okay, old man.”
“watch it,” he muttered, but there was a smile in his voice as he tightened his arms around you.
without any warning, he stood. lifting you off the floor with ease.
you yelped, clinging to him. “mingyu!”
“shhh,” he teased, voice smug as hell. “don’t fight it. you’ve definitely wanted this treatment since day one.”
“emotional intimacy and a bridal carry?”
“exactly,” he said smoothly, heading down the hallway. “welcome to the deluxe package, baby.”
you buried your face in his neck, smiling despite yourself.
he carried you into your room like it was second nature, like he’d done it a hundred times. when he placed you down on the bed, he did it so gently, as if you were something precious and breakable. his hands lingered at your waist for a beat before he straightened up.
“don’t move,” he murmured, brushing his thumb gently across your temple to move your hair out of your face. “i’m gonna get you some water.”
you stirred just slightly, your voice quiet. “you don’t have to do that.”
“i know,” he said, and kissed your forehead like it was second nature. “but i want to.”
he left with careful footsteps, and for a few long seconds, the silence stretched around you. your body had curled in on itself, arms tucked between your legs like a barrier, but you weren’t shaking anymore. just breathing, finally breathing.
when he came back, he nudged the door open with his hip, and had two glasses of water balanced in his hands.
“here, sweetheart,” he said softly, making his way over. “slow sips, yeah?”
you sat up just enough to take one, hands reaching out automatically, and that’s when he noticed.
your arms had been tucked under your thighs, clenched close to your body. now, as your fingers curled around the glass, he caught the faint tremble in them. the way your thumb rubbed absently over your opposite forearm. the little things he always noticed, even when you didn’t even know you were doing it.
his gaze softened. “cheonsa,” he murmured, using the old nickname he always used for you out of habit.
you looked up at him, brows lifting slightly.
“you’re cold,” he said quietly, already setting his own glass aside.
“i’m not—”
“you are,” he said, without the slightest hesitation. “i can always tell. your body tells me even when you don’t want me to know.”
you opened your mouth like you might argue, but nothing came out. maybe because you knew he was right. or maybe because, before you could even respond, he was already tugging the hem of his hoodie over his head.
the fabric stretched. his hair ruffled with static. and something about the way he did it made your chest feel warm in a way that had nothing to do with body temperature.
he held it out with a crooked little smile and a tilt of his head. “arms up, trouble.”
you rolled your eyes as your cheeks went pink. “you’re ridiculous.”
“mhmm,” he hummed, carefully helping guide the sleeves over your arms. “and you’re freezing.”
the hoodie was just as soft as you remembered. still worn-in and familiar, like every version of comfort was stitched into the fabric. it smelled like him, too. that clean mix of laundry and cologne and something warmer underneath. something that always felt like home.
still warm from his body, it settled over your shoulders like it remembered you. like it had been waiting.
he pulled you in gently, settling back against the pillows with a quiet sigh like he’d been waiting all night to do this. your head rested on his chest while your hand rested lightly over his heart, and the way he tucked you under the blanket, like muscle memory, made something deep in your chest finally relax.
he grabbed the remote off the nightstand and flipped on the tv, the quiet glow lighting up both your faces. the familiar red netflix logo bloomed on screen.
you peeked up, curious. “what are you putting on?”
“just…trust me,” he said softly, scrolling through the profiles.
yours. his. seungcheol’s. jeonghan’s. seokmin’s. soonyoung’s. all with different ridiculous icons.
he paused on his own, displaying the little gold crown avatar you’d picked months ago just to mess with him. he never changed it.
he clicked into it, and sitting right at the top of his continue watching, was grey’s anatomy.
you blinked. “…really?”
he didn’t look at you. just scrolled over to it and hit play like he hadn’t just made a silent confession.
you lifted your head slightly. “i thought you hated this show.”
he shrugged. “i never said that.”
“you said it was ‘an emotional hostage situation.’”
“and it was,” he muttered. “that crash came out of nowhere.”
you grinned. “we stopped it right at the end. left it on a cliffhanger.”
“yeah,” he said, quieter now. “because we thought we’d finish it the next day.”
your smile faded a little. his hand smoothed over your arm, slow and comforting, like he could feel the shift in your chest.
“i kept thinking about it,” he admitted. “the next part. what could have happened. but i couldn’t bring myself to keep watching it without you. even though i know you’ve already seen it all.”
you didn’t answer right away. just curled in tighter, your fingers curling gently in the fabric of his shirt. “gyu…” you murmured. “you don’t have to put it on just for me. we can watch whatever you want.”
“no,” he said, almost instantly. “i want this. it feels right. you. me. this dumb show you made me pretend not to like.”
you smiled against him. “you used to say you never paid attention.”
“i paid so much attention,” he whispered dramatically. “i was emotionally invested. i just didn’t want you to know.”
you laughed, nose brushing his neck. “you’re ridiculous.”
“maybe, but i’m also in love,” he said, kissing your hair. “now hush. i’ve been on this cliffhanger for over a month.”
you giggled as the episode started, and his arms tightened around you just a little more.
neither of you moved for a long time. just your breathing, his heartbeat, and the comforting hum of something familiar filling the room again, like you’d finally picked up right where you left off.
his heartbeat was still rather quick. still fluttering beneath your cheek like it hadn’t caught up to everything yet.
you smiled against his chest. “your heart’s still going crazy.”
“yeah,” he murmured. “i already told you that it does that when you’re around.”
your breath caught. not because you didn’t already know, but because he said it like it was the easiest truth he’d ever known. like loving you had never been a question.
you didn’t say anything right away. just let your eyes fall shut, let yourself breathe him in. soak in the way his arms wrapped tighter like he was anchoring himself to you.
he was quiet too, until he wasn’t. silence never lasted long with him around.
“…y/n.” his voice cracked. just a little. barely there.
you blinked, not lifting your head. “hmm?”
he didn’t answer at first. his thumb had been tracing your hip lazily, but now it moved with more purpose, like it was trying to ground him. or you. or maybe both.
you felt him swallow. then, almost too quietly to hear, he whispered, “can you sit up? i—i wanna look at you.”
you blinked, already worried. “what’s wrong?”
“nothing,” he said quickly, eyes flicking to yours for a second before shifting away. “i just—i can’t say this while you’re laying on me. i’ll chicken out.”
you shifted slowly, pushing yourself up onto one elbow, then moving with him as he sat up slightly against the headboard. his knees bent, yours pulled close. you settled beside him.
he wouldn’t look at you. not yet. his hands fidgeted at his lap until you reached over and gently took one of them in yours. you laced your fingers through his and brushed your thumb across his skin.
he exhaled. it was shaky, but you could tell it helped ground him a little.
“this is probably gonna come out all wrong,” he muttered. “and it’s not even a big deal, it’s just—no, that’s a lie. it’s a big deal. it’s always been a big deal.”
you squeezed his hand. he looked down, then up at the ceiling, then finally, finally turned to meet your gaze. his voice was low.
“i thought i could live with just pieces of you,” he said. “i thought i’d convinced myself that was enough.”
your breath caught.
“but it wasn’t,” he went on, his eyes wide, honest and terrified. “it never was. every time i left, i left a part of myself with you. and every time i pretended it didn’t matter, i swear it killed something in me.”
your chest ached, but you stayed silent, allowing him to continue.
“you walked into a room and everything else faded. like—like static going quiet. like i could finally breathe. even when we weren’t talking. even when we were pretending none of it meant anything. it still felt like…everything.”
his grip on your hand tightened as he continued.
“and when you told me you loved me earlier, i think my heart actually stopped. i’ve wanted to hear those words for so long, i almost didn’t believe it.”
his voice cracked again. he blinked fast, causing one single tear to slip free.
“but i don’t want to love you in secret anymore. i don’t want to sneak around, or lie, or act like i’m not the luckiest person in the world just to know you.”
you reached up and wiped the tear from his cheek, your hand lingering there. his eyes fluttered shut beneath your touch.
“i love you,” he whispered. “so much i don’t know what to do with it most days. but i know what i want to do now. what i’ve always wanted to do, but was never brave enough to do before.”
he opened his eyes, gaze steady now, more sure with every word.
“i want to choose you. out loud. every single day. not just in the quiet. not just when no one’s looking. i want the real thing. i want you. in every single way.”
you swallowed hard, your eyes already stinging.
his thumb lingered against your cheek, and you could feel the nerves rolling off him; in the way his jaw clenched, in the way his knee bounced once beneath the blanket, in the way he looked everywhere but at you.
until he finally did. his eyes were watery and filled with so much love, it gave you instant butterflies in your stomach.
and then, barely above a whisper, “will you let me be your boyfriend?”
your heart stopped, but you didn’t hesitate.
“yes,” you whispered. “god, yes.”
you were crying again, but this time, the tears were the good kind. the ones that came when the ache in your chest finally had somewhere to go.
“you don’t know how long i’ve wanted to hear you ask me that.”
his inhale was sharp and shaky, like your answer knocked the air from his lungs.
he blinked at you, wide-eyed, overwhelmed, completely undone. “wait—really?” he asked, voice barely holding itself together. “you… mean it?”
you nodded, laughing through the tears now. “gyu. yes. really. why are you so surprised?”
“i don’t know,” he said honestly, voice rising with panic. “i thought you’d laugh. or throw a pillow at me. or say it’s too soon, or that i talk too much, or—”
“you do talk too much.”
“see?!”
“but i love that about you. i love everything about you.”
he made a sound, something between a laugh and a sob, and pulled you straight into his arms.
his hoodie still swallowed you whole as you curled into him, and his hands cradled the back of your head like you were something fragile.
he kissed your temple once. then again. and again. he just couldn’t get enough of you.
he eventually let out a shaky breath, eyes wide and shiny as he pulled back slightly to look at you. “okay. okay, cool. this is good. we’re good. you love me. i love you. we’re officially dating. amazing. i’m thriving. we’re thriving.”
you smiled into his chest. “we’re thriving,” you confirmed, “but i think you’re forgetting something.”
mingyu tensed. “no i’m not.”
“mm. pretty sure you are.”
“cheonsa, please.” he whispered, like he was trying to make a deal with god.
you pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. “you still have to tell seungcheol.”
he blinked. then physically recoiled, like the words themselves had slapped him. “…fuck me.”
you burst into laughter as he collapsed his head backwards, dragging both of his hands down his face like a man preparing for his own execution.
“oh my god,” he groaned, eyes fixed on the ceiling. “he’s gonna kill me. not figuratively. not even creatively. like, straight-up murder. headlines. candlelight vigil. obituary. closed casket.”
you curled into his side, still laughing. “he’s not gonna kill you.”
“he is,” mingyu insisted, grabbing a pillow and hugging it to his chest like it could protect him. “and not quickly either. he’s gonna do that thing where he talks real quiet, and just when i think i’m safe…”
he made a dramatic choking motion for dramatic effect, “boom. i’m dead.”
you tried to your absolute hardest stay serious, but your shoulders shook with laughter. “gyu baby, i think you’re being a little dramatic.”
“am i?” he shot back, lifting his head just enough to meet your gaze. “last week, i asked him if you were seeing anyone and he just…stared at me. didn’t say a god damn word. and i swear to god i felt cold. like, spiritually. in my soul.”
“you’re such a baby.”
“i had to wear two sweaters!”
you were full-on wheezing now, “you’re lucky i love you.”
“i am,” he agreed solemnly. “and i plan on reminding seungcheol of that when he’s holding me out of a window by my ankles.”
you wiped at your eyes from laughing so hard. “you’ll survive. probably. hopefully. i’ll protect you.”
“you’re very brave, saying that from the safety of my arms.”
you shifted to look at him, more tender now. “gyu, you love me. i love you. he’s gonna see that.”
he nodded slowly, his hand finding yours again beneath the blanket. “i know. i do wanna tell him. and i will. i just,” he paused and exhaled. “i hope he’ll see that it’s never been a game to me. not even for a second.”
your heart melted as you leaned in and kissed his cheek. “he’ll know.”
“yeah?”
“yeah.”
he let his head fall back again, dramatically. “cool. amazing. i’m still absolutely terrified, but at least i’ve got the girl.”
“and two sweaters,” you reminded him.
“god bless.”
you just laughed again, full of love, warmth, and maybe a tiny bit of joy at watching your usually unshakeable best friend, now boyfriend, fall completely to pieces over you.
he grinned, proud of himself, and proud of you too; just for being here. for choosing him.
the chaos settled, eventually. you curled back into his side, quieter now. the kind of quiet that felt earned.
for a while, you didn’t speak.
but then, your voice came softer. “i’m sorry it’s all so complicated.”
he didn’t answer right away. he just kissed the top of your head and held you a little tighter.
“cheonsa,” he murmured. “you don’t have to be sorry. none of this is your fault.”
“but it is,” you said. “because i’m me. and he’s…well, he’s him. it shouldn’t have to be this hard.”
he pulled back just enough to see your face, to make sure you saw how serious he was. “loving you has never been the hard part.”
your throat tightened at the sound of his words.
“it’s everything we tried to do instead of loving each other that made it hard,” he added. “all the pretending. the sneaking around. the trying to act like it didn’t mean anything.”
you didn’t speak at first.
his words just hung there, soft and certain, and you let yourself feel them. not rush past them. not change the subject. just sat with them.
he was right. you’d both made it hard. not on purpose. not to be cruel. just out of fear. out of habit. out of trying to protect something that you didn’t want to admit was already real.
your voice was quiet again when it came back. “we wasted so much time.”
he shook his head instantly. “we didn’t waste it. we just didn’t know what to do with it yet.”
you looked at him then, really looked. his hand, already resting against your thigh beneath the blanket, gave a small squeeze like he felt it too.
“it still scares me a little, if i’m being honest.” you murmured.
“it scares me too,” he said, without hesitation. “but not enough to walk away from it again.”
that undid you a little. you shifted closer, your knees brushing against his legs. his eyes flicked to the movement like he couldn’t help it, like you were magnetic.
“you make it really hard not to believe in love, you know that?” you whispered.
“i hope so,” he murmured softly. “because i want you to believe in it. in me. in this.”
“i already do.” you smiled, small and real.
your hand found the side of his neck, thumb tracing just beneath his jaw, and when you leaned into him, it was calm and familiar. like slipping into something you’d been waiting to return to.
his lips met yours with the same quiet knowing.
the kiss was soft. not rushed. not desperate. just full. like an exhale you didn’t know you’d been holding. his lips moved with the kind of certainty that didn’t need proving, just feeling.
one hand stayed warm against your thigh, the other brushed faintly at your side, like he couldn’t bear to let you go even for a second. your fingers curled at the base of his neck, anchoring you both in the quiet.
when you finally pulled back, your forehead rested gently against his. your breath intertwined, and hearts pressed close together.
his was racing, but still steady. so was yours.
“i’m so in love with you, kim mingyu.” you whispered.
he didn’t speak right away, just breathed you in; eyes closed, hand slipping around your waist like he couldn’t stand the thought of you being even an inch away.
then finally, soft like a secret, “i love you so much,” he murmured. “you don’t even know.”
but you did. you felt it in the way he looked at you. in the way he never let go.
in the way this, right here, felt like home.
you curled into his side again, resting against him. and for a while, there was nothing else. just the sound of your breaths and the faded hospital noises coming from the tv. it was the kind of quiet that only came when everything finally made sense.
eventually, and inevitably, your voice broke the silence, a little mischievous now.
“just so we’re clear,” you said, “i’m still gonna make fun of you for crying during grey’s anatomy.”
he let out a noise that sounded like a half groan, half laugh, “you promised we’d never talk about that.”
“i lied.”
“unbelievable,” he muttered while shaking his head, eyes closed and grinning.
you lifted your upper body and turned slightly to look at him, your legs still tangled beneath the blankets.
he felt the movement and opened one eye to peek at you with that boyish grin that always made you melt.
you nudged his foot beneath the blanket, not hard, but enough for him to feel it. he knew you just wanted his attention.
he kept his eyes closed, still smiling like an idiot. “was that a love tap or a threat?”
you shrugged, eyes soft. “you’ll never know.”
he opened both eyes this time, finally, and just looked at you.
and in that look, you could see it all. relief. love. disbelief that this was real; like he still couldn’t believe you were his to look at.
the silence between you wasn’t empty, it was warm. filled to the edges with everything you didn’t need to say out loud anymore.
“can i kiss you?” he asked softly, though you were unsure as to why he was even asking to begin with.
you nodded in response, unable to find the words to express how much you truly wanted him.
when he kissed you again, it was slow, deep, and full of everything he’d never be able to say.
it made you melt, just like always.
he always knew how to touch you. how to hold you. how to make you feel like the only girl in the world.
and now, you were his, and he was yours.
his mouth was on yours, gentle and unhurried, like he had nowhere else to be. like he’d waited all his life for this exact moment and now that it was here, he wasn’t about to rush it.
you sighed into the kiss. melting, sinking, surrendering. you felt his hand slide beneath the hem of the hoodie again, slow and steady.
he touched you like he was rediscovering you, like he needed to relearn every inch of your body just to survive.
“that’s it, baby,” he whispered against your lips. “just like that. just let me take care of you.”
your fingers slipped under the bottom of his t-shirt, dragging lightly over the dip of his spine, and he shivered.
even now, even after all this time, your touch still undid him.
his palm smoothed over your waist, trailing up the curve of your back until it splayed across your ribs, right beneath your left side.
you inhaled sharply.
he smiled against your mouth, so soft and so sure. “there it is,” he murmured. “that little spot that makes my girl fall apart.”
“gyu,” you breathed as your eyes fluttered shut.
he didn’t press harder. didn’t take more than you gave.
he just kissed you again, still deep and patient, and let his hand settle right there, warming that soft spot with his palm like it was his most sacred place.
“you’re so good for me, cheonsa,” he whispered, voice low and reverent, his nose brushing yours. “always so patient. always so perfect.”
your hands were in his hair, thumbs grazing the sides of his neck, and he leaned into your touch like he needed it to survive.
“i love you,” you whispered.
he pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes soft and blown wide with love. “say it again.”
you looked up at him, still a little dazed, and let a grin pull at your lips. “i looove youuu,” you repeated, dragging it out in a sing-song voice just to make him smile.
he groaned under his breath, kissing your cheek, your temple, your jaw. “god, you ruin me.”
his hand slipped lower, tracing the curve of your hip beneath the blanket, and you felt your breath catch.
“i need you to use your words for me, baby,” he whispered, nuzzling into your neck. “tell me what you want. what do you need from me, hm?”
your lips parted, but your voice came out like a breath. “just you. i need you.”
he kissed you once, lightly. then again, deeper this time. a little less restraint, a little more need. you could feel it in every part of him; how badly he wanted to give you everything.
“i’m yours,” he mumbled against your skin. “all of me. you want it slow?” kiss. “you want it rough?” another kiss. “just say the word, beautiful, and it’s yours.”
your hands gripped his shirt tighter, your body arching closer to his like it couldn’t help it; it was practically begging for more friction.
“slow,” you whispered. “please.”
his smile was tender, his eyes molten. “anything you want, gorgeous.”
he kissed you again, tasting every sound you gave him. he let his hands wander with purpose. never rushed, never really rough, even if that’s what you wanted sometimes. his touch was full of worship. admiration.
“look at you,” he murmured as his hand slid beneath the waistband of your underwear, slow and reverent. “my beautiful girl. i’ll never get enough of you.”
when you gasped his name, barely audible, he kissed you even harder, praising every little reaction, guiding you with his hands, his voice and his endless devotion.
because that’s who mingyu was with you.
soft. worshipful. in love. and entirely yours.
his fingers curled around the hem of your hoodie, giving you one last kiss before tugging it up and over your head. his gaze swept down, eyes soft and starry like he was seeing you for the first time all over again.
“god,” he breathed. “how do you keep getting more beautiful? you’re unreal.”
your hips shifted under his words, breath catching when his fingers dipped lower, skimming the soft skin of your inner thigh.
“easy,” he murmured, his voice honeyed and low. “let me take my time with you.”
you nodded, barely, eyes already glassy, lashes fluttering as your fingers clutched the blanket.
“that’s it, baby,” he whispered, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “good job. you’re always so good.”
his fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your underwear. slow and unhurried, just enough to make your breath stutter. he paused, eyes lifting to meet yours. “still okay?”
you nodded again, but he didn’t move.
“words, baby,” he said gently. “you know i like to hear you say it.”
“yes,” you breathed. “please, gyu.”
that was all he needed.
his mouth caught yours in another kiss as his fingers found your slit, causing your whole body to arch beneath him.
“oh, baby,” he whispered, smiling into the kiss. “you’re already so wet. you’ve been needing this, huh?”
you whimpered softly, nodding again, as your nails pressed lightly into his shoulder. he took his time. lazy, deliberate strokes. letting you unravel inch by inch, never once rushing the way your body opened for him.
he kissed your neck, your jaw, the corner of your mouth, never straying far.
he pushed two fingers inside of you, curling upwards to hit the spot he knows makes you weak. your moan came out filthy and full of desperation.
his cock throbbed at the sound, knowing he had you exactly where he wanted.
“that’s it,” he whispered when your hips rolled up towards his hand, “just like that. look at you, falling apart for me.”
your back arched when his thumb found your clit, teasing it with slow, deliberate circles that made your breath stutter.
“you like that, huh?” he murmured, watching your face. “mm, yeah you do. god, i could watch you like this forever.”
his fingers pumped a little quicker inside of you, causing the tremor in your thighs to to tell him exactly how close he had you.
“that’s it,” he said, voice thick. “don’t fight it. let go for me, i’ve got you.”
and you did.
with a soft gasp and a desperate little cry of his name, your hand clutching his shirt like it was the only thing anchoring you to earth.
“good girl, there you go.” he praised, while still working you through the high of your orgasm.
he waited until the last tremor in your thighs faded before he kissed your forehead, brushing your hair back from your face as you caught your breath. “that’s my girl.”
he didn’t stop there.
he kissed down your throat, over your chest, lifting the blankets slowly like he was unwrapping something sacred.
“you know i’ve seen you like this a thousand times,” he murmured, eyes sweeping over you, voice so soft it made you ache. “but now that you’re mine, it’s so much better.”
you flushed, biting your lip, your body still trembling a little from the aftershocks.
“gyu” you whispered.
“shhh,” he shushed, kissing his way down your body.
your thighs clenched around him as he slid down, causing him to chuckle under his breath.
“you’re always so sensitive,” he murmured, settling between your legs like he belonged there. “i love it.”
you opened your mouth to say something; to tease him maybe, or to warn him. but the second his mouth found you, every thought you had dissolved.
his tongue was slow at first, dragging a long, deliberate stripe from your entrance to your clit, tasting every inch of you like he’d been starving. he lingered there, his lips wrapping around you, sucking gently, just enough to make your hips twitch.
“jesus fuck,” he murmured against you, his voice low and wrecked, the vibration making you shiver. “i could stay here all day if you let me.”
your fingers buried deeper into his hair, tugging slightly when his tongue circled your clit in those slow, devastating swirls.
every sound you made, every gasp and shaky moan, earned a low hum from him, like he was savouring it just as much as he was savouring the taste of you.
he flattened his tongue against you, licking up the full length of your slit again before flicking over your clit, over and over, until your thighs started to tremble against his shoulders.
one of his hands slid lower, fingers gripping your thigh firmly, holding you open for him, while the other curved possessively around your hip, dragging you closer to his mouth.
when you moaned again, breathless and desperate, he let out a sound that was half a growl, half a groan. “god, you always taste so fucking sweet, baby,” he rasped, pulling back just far enough to breathe before diving right back in.
you were shaking uncontrollably, one hand fisting the sheets beside you, the other tugging at his hair in a way that made him groan into you again. your body was arching toward his mouth like you couldn’t help it. like it was chasing every stroke of his tongue.
his tongue settled into a steady rhythm. slow, deliberate, every drag pulling another sound from your throat. when two of his fingers slid back inside, deep and filling you just right, your breath hitched into another sharp and broken moan.
“mm, you like that, huh?” he murmured against your skin, voice low and rough, lips brushing along your thigh before his mouth found you again.
he sucked harder, lips closing around your clit while his fingers curled and pumped in perfect sync. every motion was purposeful. your thighs tightened instinctively around his shoulders, while your fingers twisted into his hair as your body jolted beneath him.
he hummed in approval at the way you clenched around him, the vibration of it rumbling against you, pulling another desperate gasp from your lips.
“g-gyu…oh my god—” you gasped, your voice shaking as your hips rocked helplessly toward his mouth. “don’t stop—please don’t stop—”
he didn’t answer. didn’t dare break the rhythm. but his grip on your thighs tightened, holding you steady as his tongue dragged over you in those slow and unrelenting strokes.
his fingers kept their pace, deep and precise. every pass had you arching higher off the mattress, your breath stuttering, and your legs trembling so hard you couldn’t hold still.
“i’m…fuck—i’m so close,” you moaned, your head tipping back, fingers tugging hard at his hair as heat built fast and sharp in your core.
he only hummed against you again, that low vibration paired with another deep curl of his fingers, like he was urging you silently; coaxing you toward the edge without ever breaking the spell.
your nails dug lightly into his scalp as a strangled moan ripped from your throat when the tension finally snapped. your whole body arched off the mattress, every muscle tightening before unraveling all at once.
“that’s it, baby,” he murmured against you, his voice a low rasp between strokes of his tongue. “good girl. give it to me.”
your legs shook around his shoulders, thighs trembling as you gasped out his name, broken and breathless. your hips jerked helplessly against his mouth, chasing every last flick of his tongue, every deliberate curl of his fingers as he worked you through it.
he didn’t stop until your moans faded into soft, shaky whimpers and your body finally slumped back against the bed.
he slowly crawled back up your body, kissing every inch of your skin along the way, slow and sweet, his lips dragging over your stomach, your chest, your throat.
“you’re perfect,” he whispered. “you’re everything.”
you reached for the waistband of his sweats, still dazed and buzzing, but he caught your wrist, smiling softly against your mouth like he knew exactly what you were thinking.
“mm-mm,” he hummed, voice low, teasing. “not so fast, baby. i’m not done loving you yet.”
your breath stuttered.
his hand slid up your side again, trailing the curve of your waist like he’d never felt it before, even though he had a thousand times.
his lips pressed to the hollow of your throat, then lower, slow kisses down the center of your chest. deliberate. reverent. like a prayer.
“you always do that,” he murmured, nose brushing your skin, “get all needy when i haven’t even fucked you yet.”
you whimpered, already arching, your fingers curled tight into the blanket.
“can’t help it,” you breathed.
he chuckled, low and warm and full of adoration.
“you ready for me, cheonsa?” he whispered, voice like velvet, his thumb stroking your cheekbone.
you nodded, so breathless it didn’t feel real. “please.”
he exhaled slowly, like he was grounding himself in that one word alone. like it was everything.
his sweats hit the floor, kicked aside without a second thought as he crawled back between your legs. his palms skimmed up your thighs, spreading you wider. his thumbs stroked your soft skin as if he needed to feel every inch of you before he could even move.
he didn’t rush. didn’t even push in yet. instead, he rocked his hips forward, letting the length of his cock drag over your slit.
the friction had you already arching, your nails digging into his shoulders. “gyu—” your voice cracked, soft but pleading. “stop teasing…i need you.”
he exhaled a low, strained laugh, his mouth brushing your jaw. “you’re already shaking, cheonsa…can’t even wait a second for me, huh?”
another slow glide, the head of his cock catching on your clit just enough to make your hips jerk. he groaned when you clenched around nothing, his grip on your thigh tightening.
“please,” you breathed, desperate now. “just—please.”
he leaned in, lips brushing against your temple as his voice dropped low, smooth but wrecked. “okay, okay. only because you asked so nicely.”
he pushed in slow, inch by inch, every movement deliberate, stretching and filling you until he was buried deep inside you.
your head fell back against the pillow, a broken moan tearing from your throat as your back arched off the bed. your thighs trembled, trying to close around him even as his body held you open.
“fuck,” you choked, nails digging into his arms. “oh my god, gyu—”
he stilled once he was all the way in, his forehead resting against yours as he tried to keep his breathing steady. his hands traced down your sides, like he was grounding himself in the feel of you.
“jesus, baby,” he murmured, his lips skimming your cheek, your jaw. “you’re so fucking tight. every time, baby…every single time, you take me like you were made for it.”
you whimpered, your body shifting under him, chasing friction without thinking. “move, gyu… please. need it—need you.”
his mouth ghosted over yours, breath warm as his hips gave the slightest roll, testing, drawing another sharp sound from your lips.
“yeah?” he murmured, voice low, his nose brushing yours. “you need me to fuck you, pretty girl?”
you nodded quickly, your fingers clawing at his shoulders. “yes—please, gyu. need all of you. please.”
he kissed you softly at first, his tongue sliding against yours as his hips started to move in slow, deep strokes that had you gasping into his mouth every time he bottomed out.
each thrust pulled another sound from you, your voice breaking around his name. “gyu—oh, fuck, you feel…so fucking good.”
his forehead dropped back to yours, his lips brushing your cheek as he whispered, “that’s it, baby. let me hear you. you know i love when you’re loud for me.”
your nails dragged down his back, your legs tightening around his waist as your hips met his with every slow thrust. your body ached for more, but every time you tried to speed him up, his palms slid down, firm against your hips, holding you down even as your body squirmed for more.
his thrusts stayed slow and deep, dragging every sound out of you like he wanted to collect them one by one. his mouth grazed your jaw, then your throat, warm and steady, every kiss full of admiration.
“you’re trying so hard to be good for me,” he murmured, his breath hot against your skin. “but i can feel it, baby. every time you clench around me like that. your body’s already begging for more.”
your nails dug into his shoulders, a whimper spilling from your lips when his hips rolled again, slow and heavy, leaving you trembling beneath him.
“you want me to give it to you faster, don’t you, pretty girl?” he whispered, his voice dipping lower, brushing over your ear.
you nodded quickly, desperate, but his hand slid higher along your side, his thumb brushing just beneath your breast in a way that made you shiver.
“uh oh,” he murmured, his tone soft but unrelenting. “you know better than that, cheonsa. tell me. use your words.”
your eyes fluttered shut, a whimper slipping free, but his hand tightened on your hip, holding you still. “look at me, baby,” he breathed, his nose brushing yours. “say it like you mean it. tell me exactly how you want me to fuck you.”
you forced your eyes open, your voice breaking on every word. “gyu…need you—harder. faster. wanna feel all of you—please. i’ll be good—i’ll do whatever you want, just…please.”
his lips brushed your cheek, his breath warm and steady even as his hips stilled for just a moment, teasing you with the pause. “see?” he murmured, soft but firm. “that wasn’t so hard, was it? you did so good for me, baby.”
before you could even react, he moved with deep, hard thrusts that made the mattress jolt beneath you, the sudden change of pace pulling a sharp cry from your throat.
“that’s it,” he breathed, his hand sliding down your spine to grip your hip, guiding you into every stroke. “this is what you needed, huh? to feel me, every inch of me—”
you gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders, while your voice broke around his name. “yes, gyu—fuck, yes—”
he kissed the side of your mouth, soft even as his rhythm stayed firm and consuming. “so perfect for me, baby. you take me so well. every damn time.”
he was everywhere. his voice in your ear, his body flush against yours, his hands worshipping every inch of you.
your moans came quicker now, catching on every breath as the tension in your body wound tighter and tighter. each thrust sent another sharp wave through you, your thighs trembling where they clung to his waist.
he felt it the second your walls started to flutter around him — that telltale pull, that desperate grip that told him exactly how close you were. his lips skimmed your jaw, his voice dropping lower, rough but still steady.
“there it is,” he murmured, his thrusts a little harder now, each one sinking deep. “you’re close, aren’t you, baby? all wound up…just waiting for me to take you over the edge.”
you whimpered, your voice breaking on his name. “gyu—please—don’t stop…i need it—need you—”
his forehead pressed to yours, his breathing sharp as his own restraint started to fray. “i’m not stopping, cheonsa. i’ve got you. let it go for me. fall apart, baby—i’m right there with you.”
the words, his voice, the way his hips snapped just a little harder; it all hit at once. your cry broke free the same moment his groan did, both of you slowly coming undone together.
“fuck—” he gasped, shuddering, “baby, baby—fuck, you’re so—”
every muscle locked tight before unravelling. your nails dug harder into his skin as his hand gripped your hip like he needed to keep you grounded through it.
he held you through it all. every ripple of pleasure. every desperate sound. every tremble your body gave him. your name left his lips like a vow as his body trembled with yours, every pulse and shudder spilling into the quiet between kisses.
when the high slowly came down, he didn’t pull away. he didn’t even try.
he stayed buried inside you, chest pressed to yours, breathing hard against your cheek like he needed the closeness just to steady himself.
his hand traced slow, grounding circles along your side while his mouth pressed to your temple, his breath warm as he whispered, almost to himself, “you’re everything i’ll ever need, cheonsa. everything.”
your fingers found his under the blanket once again, and his hand closed around yours without hesitation.
you stayed like that for awhile. quiet, steady, and sure.
no performance. no pretending. just two people who had been through a wreckage and still reached for each other.
and in the stillness, something settled. there were no more questions. no more fear.
just the quiet, certain knowing that this was real. that this would last.
2087
gummygunk
stormborns
snowghoul
blakekathryn
germansingergirl
jacobvanloon
discoholicmusic
