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@sescoups
I block blank and ageless blogs. please look at the rules, thank you <3
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name: josie
born: February 14th, 2001
kpop groups I like: seventeen, stray kids, kiss of life, ateez, itzy, idle...
occupation: software developer
hobbies: writing (obviously), playing games, crocheting, nail art
feel free to message me / send me an ask any time! I'll do my best to reply ❤️
I follow from @se-scoups - it's also where I put all my fic recs
Good morning! I’m salty.
I think we, as a general community, need to start taking this little moment more seriously.
This, right here? This is asking for consent. It’s a legal necessity, yes, but it is also you, the reader, actively consenting to see adult content; and in doing so, saying that you are of an age to see it, and that you’re emotionally capable of handling it.
You find the content you find behind this warning disgusting, horrifying, upsetting, triggering? You consented. You said you could handle it, and you were able to back out at any time. You take responsibility for yourself when you click through this, and so long as the creator used warnings and tags correctly, you bear full responsibility for its impact on you.
“Children are going to lie about their age” is probably true, but that’s the problem of them and the people who are responsible for them, not the people that they lie to.
If you’re not prepared to see adult content, created by and for adults, don’t fucking click through this. And if you do, for all that’s holy, don’t blame anyone else for it.
This needs to be reblogged today.
Consenting to see adult content doesn’t mean you should have to see a bunch of shit romanticizing incest and pedophilia you walnut
Except this is the last line of consent before the actual work. So if you’re at this button you have already done the following:
1) chosen to go onto AO3 in the first place
2) chosen the fandom you wish to read about
3) had the chance to filter for the things you do want to see like a specific pairing or a specific AU
4) had the chance to specifically filter out any tags you don’t want to see like, oh I don’t know, incest and non-con and dub-con and paedophilia
5) had the chance to set the rating level if you wish to remove any explicit content at all
6) have read the summary of the story, which aren’t always great but are the only indicator of what the story will be like writing wise so something about it was good enough for you to click on it.
7) have read the tags of the story which will tell you what is actually in the story. If you have used filters to remove stories with things you don’t want then there shouldn’t be anything in here that’s a shock to you but maybe there is. That’s why the tags are there for you to check for yourself.
8) Then you have to actually click on the story. You cannot see anything other than the summary or the tags without personally deciding that you are going to open and read this story.
9) Only here, at step number nine, do you get to the adult content warning pictured above. You have been through eight different steps, the last six of which have also been opportunities for you to see that this has adult content. And AO3 has *STILL* stopped you to ask one last time “are you sure you want to read this because it has things that only adults should see in it”.
If after this point you are reading incest and paedophilia then it’s probably because you specifically went looking for it.
You walnut.
This is the most beautiful thing that I have seen about ao3
Always important!!!!!!
Cannot stress ‘you walnut’ enough
PSA: If your blog looks like this, I’m going to assume you’re a bot and block! Even if you like my posts, it’s not enough. If I see that you have only one post reblogged, that’s also a red flag for me.
If you’re new to tumblr then at the very minimum you need to edit your profile to make it clear you’re a real person, even if you only intend to use your account to lurk (also perfectly fine).
Periodic rent-lowering-gunshots:
Fiction is not reality.
You can enjoy things in fiction that would be awful in the real world. Like playing a murderhobo in a game! In the real world, being or supporting a murderer-thief would be pretty damn awful, while in the game it's just good fun. Same with anything else you choose to do with the pixels on the screen, like kinks that don't affect anyone real, so they're okay in fiction, but would be pretty damn bad in real life.
No one else is responsible for your online experience. They are required not to harass you, but they are not and never will be obligated to not post about ships, kinks, or tropes you dislike just to avoid you seeing them. It's up to you to blacklist words or phrases, block tags, or even block users as needed to avoid seeing content that upsets you.
No one can force you to read anything against your consent. Any content you don't like seeing can be instantly avoided by closing out of the offending post/fic.
You are not owed an online experience free of discomfort.
Nothing that happens in your imagination can ever make you a bad person. Words you write or read about fictional characters will never make you a bad person.
The claim that media consumption influences real-life behavior is intellectually dishonest and serves only to excuse the behavior of real offenders.
Fiction is a safe way to explore horrifying or confusing concepts. Therapists agree that fiction, even (or especially) about taboo topics is a good coping mechanism, especially, but not exclusively, for trauma survivors. Fiction is to adults what play therapy is to children. This doesn't stop being true if the work in question is of a sexual nature.
Sex isn't an inherently worse or better motivation than anything else. A work written to create feelings of arousal isn't dirty, shameful, or in any way less pure than works written to entertain, provoke moral questions, or for other reasons. And worth noting is that multiple purposes can exist in the same story, especially fanfiction.
You aren't entitled to an explanation for why someone reads, writes, or otherwise enjoys certain works, kinks, tropes, ships, etc.
just a second.
summ: jisung is already shaking from grinding against you. somehow, he still thinks ‘just the tip’ is a reasonable suggestion.
⋆ pairing: nerd!jisung x f!reader, established relationship ⋆ genre: smut (minors dni) ⋆ tags/cw: “just the tip” trope, perv!jisung too, pet names (jagi, baby, sweetie), kissing, A LOT of whimpering and whining, tit play, edging, teasing, cumming, creampie, piv, unprotected sex, rough sex, soft ending (if you squint) ⋆ words: 2.8k
a/n: this could be my third perv!jisung fic in a row? yes. i’m totally obsessed with him. i was thinking about gatekeeping this until friday/saturday, but i’m gonna be kind and let you read this finger licking fic today 😚 this trope is my comfort zone, so i ended this asap. i hope you enjoy this as much as i do. enjoy! <3
the show was still playing from jisung’s laptop, some loud scene getting drowned out by dialogue neither of you had actually listened to in at least twenty minutes.
at some point he’d ended up on top of you, settled between your legs like it had happened by accident.
except, honestly, both of you knew it hadn’t been an accident at all. your makeout sessions always started the same way: slow, distracted, a couple soft laughs in between.
and then jisung completely lost his mind.
you felt him sigh against your mouth the second your hand slipped under his hoodie, barely brushing the warm skin of his waist.
his hips moved against you on instinct and he let out a broken sound, immediately hiding his face in your neck like he was embarrassed with himself the second after.
“fuck…” he whined, the word coming out muffled. “so wet…”
jisung kept rubbing the tip through your soaked folds, hissing every time he accidentally brushed your entrance. his fingers dug into the skin of your hips, feeling his cock throb at the thought of finally being inside you.
you breathed softly, fingers sliding up the back of his neck, playing with his hair while your nails lightly scraped at his skin. and jisung literally trembled on top of you.
you couldn’t stop the amused smile tugging at your lips. because jisung was completely gone. his eyes stayed locked on his own movements, brows furrowed as he whimpered whenever the feeling got too intense.
and still, he kept looking at you with that completely lost expression that always showed up right before he started begging.
“p-please…” he panted, voice shaky, broken. “god- baby… let me in- fuck- i promise i’ll be good…”
his doe eyes looked glossy while he stared at you like he was begging without even realizing it. his cheeks were bright red, glasses crooked, lips swollen from kissing so much he could barely close them properly anymore.
and somehow he was still trying to grind closer again, body trembling, those pathetic little sounds completely ruining your head.
“don’t,” you breathed out, frowning a little when he pushed his hips against you again.
jisung let out a small frustrated sound into your neck.
“but, baby… need you so bad,” he whimpered quietly. “need to be inside you…”
the way he said it almost ruined you too, because jisung was completely out of it.
you shook your head, finding it harder and harder to think with his cock pathetically dragging against your folds and your clit. and don’t even get started on the messy, desperate, wet kisses he kept scattering all over your body.
every touch seemed to go straight through him. he trembled whenever your nails scraped his neck, whimpered against your skin whenever you kissed him too deep, and kept burying his face in your neck every time he got embarrassed by the sounds leaving him.
jisung was inexperienced. out of all his hobbies and obsessions, he’d genuinely never considered the possibility of touching a real woman. or at least, not until you started dating a few months ago.
ever since then, every single makeout session had gotten erotic enough for jisung to cum in his pants from just a couple kisses and touches alone.
it was ridiculously adorable.
and probably the worst part was that he wasn’t even trying to act sexy. jisung just looked like this whenever he got desperate for you. messy, shaky, completely incapable of thinking straight.
“jisung,” you murmured, fingers slowly running through his damp hair. “you’re already struggling.”
he let out another one of those miserable little sounds immediately.
“if we actually have sex,” you continued, “you’re gonna lose your mind.”
and that seemed to completely destroy him.
he buried his face in your neck instantly with a muffled moan, though his hands still wandered over you absentmindedly like he physically couldn’t stop touching you. your waist, your thighs, your tits. any part of you he could hold onto without completely losing it.
his breathing was a warm mess against your skin. his movements clumsy, wandering over you just to feel how soft and warm you were.
you could feel his uneven breaths against your neck, mumbling nonsense and kissing you chaotically. you whimpered when he finally pulled back to look at you with that devoted expression he always got around you.
“maybe…” he swallowed hard, breathless. “maybe just the tip?”
your laugh came out softer than expected. because of course jisung would still try negotiating despite trembling, flushed bright red, barely able to breathe right.
“sweetie, you’re shaking,” you murmured, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “i don’t think you can handle that.”
“i’ll be good,” he insisted quickly, almost stumbling over his own words. “i swear. i’d stop if you want me to- i can do it- i-i can behave… please…”
and honestly, seeing him like this was starting to drive you insane too.
you hooked your legs around his waist, pulling him sharply against you.
jisung let out a small broken whimper that died in his throat, briefly squeezing his eyes shut when he felt your wetness drag against his aching cock.
“you’re lucky i like you,” you murmured. “all right. go on. but if you lose your mind, that’s not my fault”
“oh my god- thank you,” he blurted out almost desperately, peppering quick clumsy kisses all over your face like he had no idea what to do with himself now that you’d actually said yes.
it was impossible not to laugh a little. because just minutes ago he’d been trying to act like he could control himself, and now he looked seconds away from passing out just from having you under him.
his hands trembled slightly, his breathing still completely wrecked. even the way he looked at you seemed too vulnerable for someone who’d spent the last twenty minutes shamelessly begging.
he moved closer slowly, way too focused on every little reaction from you to think straight anymore.
he wrapped a hand around his cock and lined himself up against you eagerly. and the second he pushed the head in, barely two centimeters, finally feeling you around him, his whole body froze completely still.
“oh my god…” he breathed out in a broken whisper.
his eyes shut immediately and one hand gripped your thigh like he needed something to hold onto. you could feel him shaking above you, breathing like he’d just run miles.
“shit… okay. okay, i’m good…” he tried to say, though he sounded completely destroyed by the end of it.
the smile that spread across your lips probably made everything worse. because the second he looked at you again and saw that pleased expression on your face, something inside him seemed to snap for good.
jisung let out another embarrassed little moan and buried his face in your neck instantly, like he was trying to survive the feeling.
“you’re doing good…” you whispered, running a hand slowly down his back.
and honestly, that didn’t help either.
you could feel him trying to control himself. the way he kept taking deep breaths, the way he slowly pulled himself back out of you, clearly losing his mind from how overwhelming it felt. he’d push in just a little before stopping again, like he was trying to buy himself time before completely losing it.
he dragged against your wet folds again, whining audibly every time he felt how tightly you took him. he could feel the urge to sink fully into you, make you moan his name, fill you completely.
“i-i’m behaving,” he murmured with a weak smile that disappeared immediately after another shaky gasp slipped out. “see?”
he started this tiny little pattern that was driving him straight to insanity. teasing your folds, brushing your entrance, slowly pushing in until his head spun from the pleasure, then pulling out before he embarrassed himself by cumming too fast.
you could practically see the superhuman effort in his movements, trembling every time he got a little deeper. until eventually he let out a frustrated whine, one that sounded genuinely desperate.
and that’s when you knew he’d already lost the fight with himself.
unable to take it anymore, jisung immediately dug his fingers into your thighs and slammed fully into you in one motion, stuffing you completely. one clumsy, needy thrust, completely out of control.
the sound he let out this time was almost miserable.
and he probably could’ve cum right there from how soft, wet, tight, and warm you felt around him. it felt unbelievably good. your cunt pressed against his hips, taking him completely with no problem at all.
it felt so good that the only thing he could think to do was grip your thighs tightly just so he could stay buried inside you until he got used to how tight you were.
“ji-jisung? you- ah…” you gasped, voice breaking in surprise.
but jisung wasn’t really listening anymore. or at least not fully.
something in his expression changed instantly. that desperate little look he always got whenever you were too close, whenever you touched him just a little too much.
and then he started moving again. started thrusting in and out in this messy, hungry rhythm like he was trying to get even closer to you somehow, even though there wasn’t any possible space left between you anymore.
his broken moans and pathetic whimpers every time his tip hit your cervix mercilessly were loud enough to make you worry someone might hear. you watched his tongue fall out slightly as he panted, feeling you squeeze him impossibly tight.
“oh shit- baby, you’re so fucking tight i-” a whine interrupted him, sounding completely wrecked. “i-i think m’gonna come already. god- i-i’m sorry… i didn’t mean to- fuck…”
jisung didn’t even know where to put his hands anymore. one second he was gripping your waist and the next he was touching you everywhere like he needed to feel every inch of you before completely losing his mind.
“oh fuck- you were totally right. you feel so fucking good- mmmh- i’m already losing it…”
you literally couldn’t respond. every thrust was so deep and overwhelming that all you could do was moan incoherently, nails digging into his back for support.
jisung moved erratically against you, pleasure crashing into him nonstop. he couldn’t think anymore. he was completely buried between your legs. your body twisted beneath him, trembling and taking him fully. his hands found your breasts again, squeezing and kneading desperately, not even knowing where to start.
completely ruined.
“mmmh- you feel- fuck- you feel even better than i thought, jagi…” he sighed against your hot skin, voice completely gone.
his glasses were fogged up now. hair stuck to his forehead, lips red and swollen from all the desperate kisses he kept leaving on your neck, your tits, any skin he could reach.
and still, he kept looking at you with that devastated expression, like he couldn’t believe you were really letting him do this.
he lowered his head and pressed it between your breasts. leaving a trail of open-mouthed, wet, sucking kisses. your back arched the second you felt his hot breath against your sensitive nipples.
it felt like heaven. jisung genuinely thought nothing had ever felt as good as the moans spilling out of you with every touch, lick, and kiss he left on your skin.
“fuck- i think i’m addicted to you…” he let out between shaky breaths. “too much, too much. you’re milking me so good…”
the confession came out so pathetic and sincere that your heart literally skipped a beat.
jisung needed more. he needed everything from you. your moans and shaky breaths in his ear were pushing him right to the edge. your legs trembled, thighs hugging his body tightly, trying to pull him deeper.
jisung felt like he could do this for hours and hours. except, unfortunately, his body had completely different plans.
breathing was getting harder and harder. keeping a steady rhythm without fully losing his mind was becoming impossible. the heat in his stomach was unbearable and he knew it.
he knew it from the way his movements were getting sloppier, from how his hands trembled against your body, from how he couldn’t stop staring at you.
your broken breaths only made everything worse. every tiny sound you let out had jisung reacting immediately with a gasp, an embarrassed moan, his hips speeding up, getting sloppier before he could stop himself.
“oh my god…” he whispered in a broken breath, desperately searching for your lips.
his thrusts were deep, rough, but inexperienced. he just wanted to stay completely inside you, fucking you mercilessly until he could empty every last drop into you.
you moaned against his lips with every thrust, desperate, whiny from the feeling, and jisung could feel every sound running straight through his body and directly into his cock.
then he looked down to where your bodies met and felt the heat in his stomach become unbearable. he watched the spot where his cock disappeared into you over and over again, the way your thighs were turning pinker from how relentlessly he kept slamming into you.
“s-shit- you’re perfect. made for me. taking me so good- fuck-” he threw his head back with a whine.
his words mixed together with sloppy kisses and uneven breaths. he didn’t even seem aware of what he was saying anymore. he was just talking, completely out of his mind, like the pleasure was ripping every thought straight out of his chest.
“ji- m’so close…” you panted, your voice broken.
and those words made his cock twitch inside you. he needed to make you cum on his cock while he fucked you. he wanted to push you right to that point where all you could do was cry out his name.
“that’s it- ah… wanna hear you coming, baby… please…” he whimpered against your lips.
the kiss turned messy, chaotic. jisung couldn’t stop, even when you started writhing beneath him from the huge wave of pleasure wrapping around you. jisung let out the most wrecked sound you’d heard from him all night.
and with a couple broken whines and incoherent moans, you came violently. your body tensed, your cunt clenching around him so tightly that jisung stopped completely after hitting your cervix one more time, freezing in place.
your head fell back and your whole body trembled. you could feel jisung’s hands roaming all over you, his devoted, excited gaze fixed on your body.
he’d done all of that. made you feel so good you couldn’t stop moaning his name until the very end. it was like making you cum was the best thing that had ever happened to him.
“baby- f-fuck… i’m gonna-!”
all of it made his cock ache, throbbing harder and harder until the orgasm hit when he felt you squeeze him suffocatingly tight one more time.
nothing had ever felt this good, this deep, this overwhelming. there was nothing left for him to do except chase it. he was moaning and whining like every nerve in his body was about to explode.
he came so fast he didn’t even have time to warn you before it happened. he finished completely inside you, cock twitching while he emptied every last drop.
it lasted longer than any time he’d ever touched himself thinking about you.
his cock wouldn’t stop pulsing and spilling, feeling his release slide out of you and onto the sheets beneath. he hissed and moaned, babbling praise that made you stare at him in shock, cheeks burning red while you smiled so hard at how utterly destroyed he looked.
exhaustion finally hit him, making him collapse beside you after carefully pulling out. he immediately wrapped his arms around you tightly, leaving kisses all over your face. all you could do was hum softly and melt into his arms, your tired breathing blending together.
“d-did i… d-did i do good? did you like it?” he asked, searching your eyes for reassurance. “i know i said i could control myself but- you’re… you felt so-” his voice came out fast, nervous.
“jisung,” you murmured, cutting off his rambling. “it was good. more than good.”
you could literally see his eyes light up before he started peppering even more kisses across your face. you could feel his heart-shaped smile against your skin through every soft kiss, relaxed like he’d been waiting for your approval since the second everything started spiraling out of control.
“really?” he asked quietly.
you nodded slightly and that alone was enough to ruin him all over again.
“fuck,” he laughed tiredly before burying his face in your neck. “i was so nervous.”
your laugh vibrated against his chest and jisung immediately pressed another absentminded kiss under your jaw. then another. and another, like he physically couldn’t stop.
“you were right, though,” he murmured against your skin.
“about what?”
“if we actually did it…” he paused for a second, sighing tiredly. “i kinda lost my mind.”
he let out another soft laugh before lifting his head just enough to look at you. his hair was messy, lips swollen, eyes still half-lidded with exhaustion. completely ruined.
and somehow, he was still looking at you like you were his favorite thing in the world.
permanent taglist: @cherryblogger2003, @kloversung, @ykitsaura, @pporang-pporang, @straykitten88 @b4echo, @elylyyy, @marlboropuffs
I might be dead, actually
anonymously yours | wen junhui
SYNOPSIS. When the world falls asleep, a certain radio broadcast goes live—one hosted by none other than you and your best friend Wen Junhui. The two of you host an anonymous love confession segment, where listeners submit their deepest feelings, secrets, and late-night loves they can’t say aloud for you to unravel live on air. However, when a recurring submission starts to feel too familiar, a certain someone finds themselves wondering how long they can stay anonymous… before they are finally heard. PAIRING. radio host!wen junhui x radio host!fem!reader (ft. soonyoung as a comedic device) GENRE. fluff, best friends to lovers, crack/humour, comfort, slight angst, smut (minors dni 🔞) WARNINGS. cursing, mentions of toxic situations in relationships (situationships, cheating, love bombing), yn and jun are dumb asffff no wonder they're besties, jun feeling a lil insecure :(, lots of playful bickering and bullying, terms of endearment, kissing, grinding, fingering, oral (f. receiving), unprotected sex, they bully each other even while doing the deed 😭 WORD COUNT. 11.3k
notes: hellooo everyoneee, this is my fic for the @studiosvt First Time Caller collab! please don't forget to support all the amazing authors in the collab!! unfort this was so rushed and lowkey not proud of it SDFDS i completely forgot how to write while writing this since it was all during the stress of finals szn and other matters LMAO, but i love writing abt two stupid oblivious idiot besties who are secretly in love with each other 😔 not rlly proofread so i'm sorry for any mistakes !! there is also a skye @etherealyoungk cameo in here hehe
“No, no, no𑁋Wen Junhui, you’re being way too nice about this!” You exclaim mid-laugh, shaking your head as you lean in towards the mic. “If someone’s been stringing you along for six months with nothing but ‘I’m not ready for a relationship yet’ texts, then that’s just straight up terrorism. Not even a situationship, at this point.”
Jun lets out a laugh of his own and throws his head back, almost making his headphones nearly fall off his head. He readjusts quickly, dark hair messily falling over his forehead. The neon red of the bright ON LIVE sign on the wall behind his head casts an almost villain-like glow across his features, sharpening the curve of his already amused smile.
“Terrorism? Wow, tell us how you really feel, Y/N,” Jun retorts playfully. “But fine. Anon, if they’ve been feeding you breadcrumbs for half a year, that’s basically emotional warfare. Please save yourself and block them on everything𑁋and yes, that includes on Spotify.”
You snort at that, tapping your pen against your script notes that you’ve been barely following anyway. The show had practically devolved from advice to whatever banter you and Jun had cooked up on the spot. “Exactly. Listeners, if your situationship has an expiration date longer than expired milk, it’s time to toss it. Jun is too sweet to say it, so I’ll do it. Run.”
“I𑁋’too sweet’?!” A dramatic gasp tumbles out of Jun as he spins his chair toward you. “I was the one who told last week’s caller to roast her boyfriend’s dick like a marshmallow because he kept forgetting her birthday!”
“But you said it with, like, the sweetest voice ever!”
“That man deserved to get emotionally blue-balled! How can you forget your girlfriend’s own birthday for a second year in a row?”
You roll your eyes so hard it’s basically audible over the mic. “God, Junhui, you have the emotional range of a raccoon.”
“I’ll take it.” Jun grins at that, thrusting his shoulders back as if he’s trying to appear bigger and more intimidating. “At least raccoons are cute, right?”
On your laptop, the chat is going crazy.
user: here we go again with their flirty banter 🙄 user: JUST GET MARRIED ALREADY YOU TWO!!!!!!!!! user: i swear this radio show is hosted by 2 delusional idiots user: i think they should kiss idk
“No, we shouldn’t!” You exclaim at the chat like you’re scolding a bunch of twelve-year olds.
Jun nearly hops out of his seat. “Wait, I agree!”
“Wen Junhui!”
“What? I was agreeing with you!”
“That was not you agreeing with me,” You groan. “You agreed to kissing me.”
“Well, the chat started it, so don’t put all the blame on me,” Jun says with a pout, folding his arms together. “Plus, it would be good for research purposes, wouldn’t it?”
Your eyes bulge out of your skull, your mind and face flaming up. “You’re such a𑁋we host a radio show, not a damn lab!”
“Chemistry is still relevant! And chemistry is needed for relationships!”
“We are not in a relationship, oh my, God.”
“Hypothetically, Y/N. Think hypotheticals.” Jun clicks his tongue, letting out playful tsk-tsk-tsk. “I’m telling you our ratings would absolutely skyrocket.”
You fight back the smile threatening to split your face in half, but there’s no point in trying to battle it. After being best friends with Jun for most of your life and witnessing pretty much all the stupid shit he has ever said or done, you’ve long accepted that his brand of chaos is the only thing in this world that can make your chest too tight and too warm at the same time. Especially if it involves the playful flirting you’ve been bouncing on for years.
“Whatever, to answer your question𑁋raccoons are cute, but they’re also known for making stupid life decisions,” You point out with a victorious smirk. “So, maybe not the best comparison to make. It’s accurate, regardless.”
“Harsh,” he whines, but his eyes𑁋those stupid, unfairly expressive eyes of his𑁋sparkle with teasing delight. “Alright, onto the final submission of the night. Anonymous says…”
Dear Y/N and Jun of Love On Air, I’ve been supporting the show since the very beginning, and now, I think I’m in trouble enough to make a submission. I’m in love with my best friend. I have been for years and it struck me pretty hard this morning. Is it weird to say when I first met them it felt like love at first sight? We talk every day to the point that everyone assumes we’re together, but we’re not. They’re kind, funny, and sometimes I think they deserve someone better than me. But is it selfish of me to say that I want to keep them in my life forever? Even if that line isn’t crossed? What should I do??? 🐱
The studio falls silent for a few moments after Jun finishes reading. The shift in the air is immediately noticeable, as if all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room. When Jun picks his head back up to look at you after reading the confession, his usual smirk is still in place, but fades just a tad when he catches the contemplative expression on your face.
“Hello? Earth to Y/N?”
“Huh?” You blink back up at him. “Oh, shit. Right, uh…”
You can’t tell if it’s the late night hour getting to you or something else entirely. You’ve received so many similar confessions before𑁋a best friend falling in love with their other half, the slow and torturous ache of unspoken feelings, the fear of messing up something that’s already so beautiful itself. And ultimately, your advice has always stayed the same.
But when you meet eyes with Jun, it’s as if the words have completely cut your tongue off. You finally clear your throat.
“First of all, welcome cat anon to the club of people who are all vicariously and collectively screwed together,” You say, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “And I wish we hadn’t read yours at the very last minute since we’re about in end in five𑁋”
Jun lifts a brow. “Wait, we have about fifteen𑁋”
“𑁋but I’ll just say that you aren’t selfish for wanting to keep them in your life. But you are doing a disservice keeping it locked away forever. This kind of love doesn’t come around twice. So tell them, even if it scares you. What’s the worst that could happen, you know?”
You can feel Jun’s heavy gaze linger on the side of your face.
“Exactly, anon,” he jumps in like the professional he is. “Ripping the band-aid off would only hurt temporarily, right? And if it doesn’t work out, we’ll be here next week with some ice cream recommendations to help you cope.”
“Keep in mind what Jun said, guys,” You say, forcing a small laugh. “Thank you all for turning into Love On Air. Stay honest, stay unhinged, and send that one person a risky text. If you want to submit a confession, please send one to our email. We are live every Saturday on FM 98.7! Goodnight, everyone!”
You kill your microphone first as the ON LIVE sign on the wall blinks out with a soft click. Jun switches off his microphone right after, and the silence that washes over the studio is louder than anything else.
For a moment, neither of you moves.
You still feel the ghost of Jun’s gaze warm on your cheek from when you were giving advice just a minute ago. It’s silly, really𑁋how one singular anonymous confession is enough to make you think and contemplate so hard. You’ve given advice to more people than you can count on your hands and toes, but this specific one feels as if it grew limbs, crawled out of the screen, and sat itself between you and him.
“You rushed that ending,” Jun interrupts your thoughts as he swings his coat over his shoulders.
You scoff lightly. “I did not.”
“Did too.”
“I literally answered the question,” You shoot back, narrowing your eyes at him. “That’s our job.”
“Exactly,” he hums in response, leaning his elbow on the desk and resting his chin lazily in his palm. “You answered it like it was your first time ever hearing it.”
A pause.
“When it’s not.”
It’s not. But why𑁋out of all goddamn times you’ve read the same exact fear𑁋did this one feel like someone jabbed a finger at your chest and said: here, this is yours?
You force a laugh at that, letting out a deprecating shrug. “Maybe I’m just getting sentimental at my big age.”
“You’re literally younger than me.”
“Only by a few months. Your argument is irrelevant, grandpa.”
Jun tilts his head at your words, pushing himself off the table and invading your personal space as always. He stands only a step away from you, observing the way you’re speedily packing your belongings like some kind of punishment. When you face back up at him, he gives a light flick to your forehead. His touch lingers for a few seconds, before he brushes a stray strand of hair behind your ear. It’s playful and casual, but the way your skin tingles after isn’t.
Your heart does a stupid little flip in your chest.
“Come on, youngling, I’ll drive you home,” he says with a cheesy smile, dangling his car keys off his finger.
A groan leaves you as you allow him to drag you by the wrist and out of the studio.
To be honest, the radio show started off as one big fat joke.
It started in sophomore year of college, where you and Jun were nothing but a pair of dumb, broke college kids. Then you both decided to sign a quick gig for the campus radio station because you thought it would look good on your resumes. The two of you were supposed to do the boring music hour𑁋basically play whatever indie crap the station manager liked and read weather updates every morning.
But that didn’t exactly go as planned, as the majority of those sessions were spent with you both roasting each other’s music tastes live on air, and for some reason, the listeners seemed to eat that dynamic up.
In one particular session, Jun opened up the radio station email box live on air. You both expected for another complaint, which wasn’t uncommon knowing how immature the two of you act sometimes. However, it wasn’t a complaint this time.
It was a confession.
A girl had written about how she’d been in love with her roommate for the past two years and didn’t know how to voice it without ruining their lease together. Jun read it when his microphone was supposed to be switched off, and something in the studio shifted that night.
“Do… we answer it?” Jun had asked you warily.
You had hesitated for once, before a sudden surge of determination filled you. Perhaps it’s the delirium of two idiots who believed they could wing it, or the thought that a random person decided to reach out to both of you𑁋out of anyone else𑁋was the reason for the determination. Either way, you looked across at Jun that night and said, “Yeah. Let’s answer it.”
And that was that.
The rest of the semester became an absolute rollercoaster of love confessions, messy breakups, love bombers, situationships that made you want to pull your hair out, and the two of you slowly carving a name for yourselves as the unfiltered chaotic duo who gave sarcastic advice that came straight from the heart. The campus station extended their time slot, then the local radio station in the city picked the two of you up.
Somewhere along the way, and four years later, Love On Air stopped being a joke and became a real thing you and Jun committed together every Saturday at midnight𑁋your own little pocket of chaos in an otherwise normal adult life. For the most part, at least, because pining for your best friend is totally counted as normal.
Wen Junhui came into your life like a stray cat who decided that your doorstep looked comfortable enough to stay forever. Uninvited and unpredictable, way too pretty for his own good, yet somehow always exactly where you needed him to be. He randomly plopped down right next to you during freshman orientation, snatched the last macaron on your plate, and gave you a look that said you’d be fun to annoy for the next four years before introducing his name.
You’d never admit how absolutely starstruck you were the first time he smiled at you. Or laughed. You told yourself you were just sleep deprived and lonely being in the city all by yourself, but deep down, the voice in your head at that moment said that you wanted to keep him.
You should have been annoyed. But instead you laughed and nearly choked on your water, and that was it. Game over. And you became each other’s favourite person without either of you having to put a label on it. Best friend felt too small, and soulmate felt too big and scary for two broke college kids who couldn’t dedicate themselves to a single major.
So you just… existed together. Thrived together. Grew together through the most stupidest decisions known to mankind.
And at some point down the road, that stray cat curled up into your chest and refused to leave.
“Listeners, let’s give a full round of applause to user derangedcarat for cutting off their cheating ex-partner,” You announce into the microphone, clapping your hands like a proud mom at a recital. The chat explodes immediately.
user: 👏👏👏👏 user: FINALLY i’m so proud of u user derangedcarat queen user: anyone who cheats on their partner needs to be put on death row user: ^^^ preach!!!
“And you did the hard part, user derangedcarat,” Jun adds in. “We love growth in this household. Maybe email us a screenshot of the block so we can frame it in the studio here.”
“Exactly, and please don’t forget to take care of yourself,” You reassure into the microphone. “Block, delete, go touch some grass if you need to. You deserve someone who actually respects you.”
The next confessions run by in a blur over the next hour. Someone sends in a confession asking if it’s weird to still be hung on their high school ex, another person confesses that they’ve been naming their house plants after people who ghosted them, which the two of you undoubtedly praise for creativity.
To top off the chaos, there’s one submission an anonymous user submits with screenshots of cringe-worthy flirty text messages from a man they’re talking to, with the sender begging for the two of you to rate the messages on a scale of “smooth operator” to “immediate block”.
Jun narrows his eyes toward the screen. “Y/N, listen to this: ‘hey babygirl, how’s your night been? mine was spent thinking about u 😏’. Sent at 2:19 in the morning, left on read for three days.”
You burst out laughing, cheeks puffing out to the point it hurts. “Oh, my God. Solid negative five. That’s a biohazard right there.”
“That’s way too generous,” Jun snorts while spinning in his chair. “Anon, this man is serving nothing but expired milk. Please save yourself a headache and block his number.”
Heartbreak, confessions, and ridiculous stories𑁋you and Jun tag-team them over the next hour like strong duo you are, with the chatting eating up every particularly brutal line that leaves either of your mouths. This is what seems to happen when you give two nocturnal people a cup of bitter tar coffee and the free will to say whatever they please.
By the time the final minutes of the session comes, you and Jun decide to read out one last confession.
“...Cat anon is back with a follow-up confession.”
You perk up curiously at that. “Really? What does it say?”
Jun hesitates briefly, before clearing his throat.
Dear Y/N and Jun of Love On Air, Hi, it’s me again. The one who wrote the other week. Thank you both so much for responding to me. I listened to every word you guys said, and I think you’re right. I was almost brave the other night𑁋had this whole stupid mental speech planned to tell them when we were hanging out together. But I… chickened out. Again. Really dumb of me, I know. And I know that I look like a coward who needs a weekly pep talk, but this show feels like the only safe space I’m able to confess this. I do have a question for the two of you to answer and discuss. Do you think there’s such a thing as ‘perfect love’? I think that’s my dilemma right now. I want to be perfect for them. I want to give them that perfect love that they deserve. But how can I do that, knowing who I am? 🐱
The studio falls into a gentle kind of quiet after Jun finishes reading. The words are still processing deeply through your mind when he warily lifts his eyes back up at you, lingering on your concentrated expression. Then his heart stutters in his chest when you meet his eyes as if he got caught doing something wrong.
“Jun, why don’t you answer it first?”
Jun blinks, before shaking his head like he’s trying to clear away fog. He leans back in his chair and stretches his long arms up with a thoughtful sigh, enough for his hoodie to ride up just slightly for you to catch a sliver of skin. You try (and fail) not to notice, muting your microphone briefly to let out a cough into your hand.
“I mean, ‘perfect’ love is that type of stuff you read about in books or watch in movies, right?” He shrugs, letting his arms fall back down as his chair creaks softly beneath him. “Like no miscommunication, no timing issues, no one being stupid… which already disqualifies most of humanity, honestly.”
You lean back in to unmute your microphone. “Are you saying you’re part of that disqualification?”
“Absolutely, I’m the poster child for it,” he claims with that mischievous glint in his eyes. “I constantly forget shit, I’m nocturnal as hell, and sometimes I make objectively terrible decisions. Who would want to date me?”
The question lands a little too easily, maybe even familiar, sending an uncomfortable ripple you feel all the way down to your toes. Something about the way it left his mouth without any hesitation sends a painful grip to your heartstrings. Jun has always had this kind of self-deprecating humour, tossing it out like it was nothing at times. It makes you want to one: shake reality into him, or two: kiss him to prove him wrong.
You force out an awkward laugh, higher than it needs to be.
“Someone with terrible taste, clearly,” You answer, keeping your voice teasing despite the heaviness in your chest. “But luckily for you, the world is full of people with terrible taste.”
Jun chuckles, spinning his chair so he could study you properly.
“Yeah?” He tilts his head. “You think so?”
The chat is moving so fast now it’s basically a complete blur.
user: bro really asked who would date him while staring at his wife user: why is he so boyfriend coded still tho user: y/n should answer the question too!!! user: PERFECT LOVE IS WHEN YOU LOOK AT EACH OTHER STOPPP RNN
“Chat is right,” Jun quips. “What’s your answer to the question too, Y/N?”
The second the question leaves him, you can feel every pair of invisible eyes staring at you through the screen and your pulse kicking up loudly in your ears. Jun is still leaning back in his chair, relaxed as ever, his curious gaze fixed solely on you.
Finally, you clear your throat.
“Well, I’ve seen couples break up because their relationship isn’t ‘perfect’,” You begin. “But the ones that last? They’re the ones where both sides are a little flawed, a little messy, and a little scared, but they choose each other anyway. That’s what you would call an imperfect love, and… I think that’s the most beautiful kind of love that can exist.”
Suddenly, the tiny studio feels almost suffocating to sit in. Your eyes flick up to Jun. He isn’t laughing anymore, or even smiling. He’s just staring at you with an expression so open𑁋almost surprised, like he didn’t expect you to be so serious𑁋it steals the rest of your answer out of your throat.
You refuse to look at the chat; you already know what they’re saying.
“You really thought about it a lot, huh?” Jun asks, scratching at the back of his neck.
You could only manage a small, somewhat self-conscious nod, bringing your eyes down to the ground. “Yeah. Guess I have.”
A wave of silence washes over the studio for a minute.
“...it’s a really good answer,” he murmurs.
A pleased smile crosses over your face. “Well, I am kinda a professional at this.”
“Mm,” he hums absentmindedly in response.
You pretend to busy yourself with your laptop, trying to read over the chat that has now morphed into just meaningless spams of screaming text and heart emojis. Your cursor lingers over nothing, while your heartbeat is running a full blown marathon of panic.
But when you glance back at Jun, the panic seems to strengthen even more.
“Cat anon, we really appreciate your trust in us,” You finish softly. “And I really hope that our advice tonight resonates with you. At the end of day, we’re all just a bunch of flawed humans looking for love, right? Don’t drive yourself to be perfect, because you’re already perfectly imperfect just as you are. And if your best friend reciprocates these feelings…”
Your eyes flit back up to Jun.
“...then take the leap, because they’re probably already waiting for you.”
After a pause, you lightly kick Jun’s foot underneath the table. He jolts in his seat like you shocked him, before recovering with a nervous, boyish chuckle, sounding not even close to his usual, bright and effortless laugh. For once, he appears almost rattled, with his pupils wide and his ears pink that even the dim studio lights can hardly hide.
On the wall, the ON LIVE sign flickers in and out of its glow.
“She’s, um… Y/N is right, cat anon,” Jun agrees quietly. “You don’t have to become someone else to prove yourself worthy for someone. If they’re your person, then… who you are already is why they stayed this long.”
From that, the chat practically combusts.
user: WEN JUNHUI???? IS THERE SOMETHING U WANNA SHARE W THE CLASS??? user: why did this suddenly get so intense lmao is it hot in here or is it just me? user: i’ve been on this ship since the beginning of the show!!!!
“Alright, that’s all the time we have for tonight,” You interrupt quickly, instinctively switching back to host mode. “Thank you to everyone who sent in your confessions tonight. Stay safe, stay honest, and please don’t respond to someone who sends you a babygirl text at ungodly hours.”
Jun reaches for the switch. “Goodnight, everyone!”
Click. The ON LIVE sign dies.
Jun slides the headphones off his head and shuts down his laptop. You do the same. The two of you pack up belongings in that familiar and companionable silence that always spills into the room after a session. When you swing your bag over your shoulder, Jun glances up in your direction worriedly.
“You okay?” he asks.
You nod, offering him a small, sleepy smile. “Take me home?”
Jun swallows down the lump in his throat.
“Yeah.” He’s already opening the door for you. “Always.”
Jun remembers one of the first discussions the two of you had on the show together.
Love at first sight.
Back then, the studio was smaller, scrappier, and the chairs squeaked each time either of you moved even a centimetre. The world had fallen asleep long enough that honesty slipped through the cracks of your voices so easily. You both were running on nothing but instant noodles and caffeine, way different than the semi-functional adult routine you have established now.
He remembers the beautiful laugh that left you when the question came in halfway through a song neither of you remembered choosing.
He laughed with you too. Rolled his eyes and called it nonsense, all while pretending to not notice how your smile had gone a little soft when you answered it with that amused lilt to your voice.
“I think it exists,” You had said. “Not like movie magic, though. But… you just meet someone and your brain clicks into place, you know? Like it says, ‘Oh. It’s you.’”
“That sounds like you’re trying to make shit up to justify bad decisions,” Jun argued back with a smirk.
You gasped at that and slapped his wrist, causing him to laugh. “Excuse me? That was uncalled for.”
And the segment moved on after that.
But Jun continues to carry that sentence with him like a permanent scar.
Oh. It’s you.
“What are the chances that a confession we’ve read out is from someone we know?” Jun asks while plopping a chip in his mouth, adjusting his body from where he had been sprawled across your couch for the past few hours.
You don’t bother to spare a glance up from your laptop, but a grin crosses your features. “Pretty high, to be honest. Soonyoung once told me he submitted something to the show one time.”
Jun nearly chokes on the chip scratching at his throat. “Soonyoung? As in Kwon Soonyoung? Never shuts up, Soonyoung?” He sits up so fast he accidentally knicks his socked foot under the coffee table. “Ow! I𑁋What the hell did he confess? Was it about that girl in his dance class that was drooling over him?”
You finally look over at him, chuckling at the way his eyes have grown comically wide. “He didn’t say. Just that he sent it under a funny username and almost died when we read it out. Apparently, we just straight up told him to stop being a coward and talk to her. They went on one date together. He found out she was allergic to cats and broke her heart by saying they were incompatible. End of story.”
Jun stares at you for a full blown three seconds, before he throws his head back into the couch with a laugh so genuine you would think his soul left his body completely.
“That’s insane,” he says breathlessly. “Literally the most Soonyoung thing to do. No wonder he’s still single.”
“Actually, he’s not,” You chime back in. “I think he’s dating this new girl named… Skye, I think?”
“Sky?”
“Skye, but with an e at the end.”
“Wow,” Jun mutters, crunching down on another chip and sarcastically adds, “Character development. We love to see it.”
You roll your eyes, shutting down your laptop with a click and leaning back into the couch with Jun right next to you. You curl your knees up to your chest. “People change, Jun. Miracles happen.”
Jun offers you the bag of chips. You take one, crunching absentmindedly as your gaze travels somewhere past the TV, past the wall, past everything. He notices. Of course he does. A nudge to your leg awakens you quickly.
“Where’d you go just now?” he asks.
“Nowhere.”
Jun huffs. “Liar.”
You flick a crumb at him. “Shut up.”
“Make me,” he retorts with a lazy grin, sticking his tongue out.
You shoot a glare at him and snatch the bag of chips from his hand before he can react. A scandalised look splits his face as he lunges to grab it back from your grasp, but you manage to twist your body away and dodge his reach.
“Hey!” he exclaims, attempting to grab the back once more but you clutch it tightly to your chest. “Give that back to me!”
You yelp and scramble further into the arm of the couch, shoulders shaking with laughter as you hug the back tight enough to crush some of the chips inside. “You stole this from my pantry!”
When his fingers brush the corner of the bag, you only yank it away again. Jun narrows his eyes at you, lips twitching upwards like he’s trying not to laugh.
“Y/N.”
“No.”
“Y/N.”
“Junhui.”
“You’re being annoying on purpose.”
“And you love me for it,” You remark, sticking your tongue at him back mockingly.
That does it.
As he makes a dive for it again, you twist a little too far. The next thing you know, you’re collapsing back against the couch cushions with a soft oof, and Jun is falling down with you. Very much ungracefully.
Because one second he’s reaching, the next he finds himself tumbling down over you in a tangle of limbs and laughter, somehow managing to catch himself just beside your head before he can actually crush you into the couch. And he’s way too close.
His knee presses into the cushion in between your legs, while his hand is planted by the side of your head. His dark hair has fallen slightly into his eyes, and his breath comes out unevenly from the laughing.
Your own breathing isn’t exactly steady either.
Jun looks down at you. You look back up at him. Your apartment suddenly feels fifty times smaller, and the laughter dies instantly, replaced by a familiar heaviness in the air whenever the two of you are alone together. His eyes drop down to your lips for a singular second before flicking back up to your face, and you catch the way his ears redden in slight guilt.
You swallow down a lump in your throat. “Jun…”
And from that split second of vulnerability, he uses that opportunity to snatch the bag of chips right off your hands, catching you completely off-guard. The warmth in the air still lingers even as he pulls away from you and flops back down on the couch.
“Aha!” he exclaims triumphantly. “Victory is mine!”
You stare at him in disbelief before letting out the loudest, most offended noise imaginable as you smack his shoulder.
“Wen Junhui!”
“Hm? Sorry, I can’t hear you over the savoury taste of victory,” he quips with a grin, face beaming with pride.
“You’re such a little thief𑁋”
“You hesitated!” he argues smugly. “So that’s on you!”
“Because you were staring at me all weird!”
That makes him shut up, the smugness fading off his face so abruptly as if you accidentally powered something in his system off. The apartment goes quiet enough for you to only hear the soft buzz of the refrigerator and the honk of a car outside. You didn’t mean to say it out loud. Or maybe you did, you don’t know.
“I…” You utter weakly, trying to brush it away with a nervous chuckle. “Can we just pretend I spontaneously combusted instead?”
A soft, disbelieving laugh leaves him. “I’m sorry.”
“What?”
“For… looking at you all weird.”
“Jun𑁋”
“I think I’ll get going. It’s getting late,” he mutters, immediately standing up a little too fast. He grabs the bag of chips instinctively, realises it’s still in his hands, and sets it back down on your coffee table awkwardly.
He doesn’t look at you as he grabs his hoodie and keys, moving with a surprising speed that even your own brain can barely process what to say. When he’s scrambling to the door, you move before you think, and you grab him by the wrist before he can unlock your door.
Jun feels his pulse jump harder under your fingertips. Twisting himself back around, he’s met with your soft yet worried gaze, before flicking down to where your hand is still wrapped around his wrist. You release him immediately like you accidentally touched fire.
“Sorry,” You murmur, taking a small step back. “Just… text me when you get home, okay?”
He nods solemnly. “Yeah. Of course.” A sheepish smile graces his lips for a moment. “Goodnight, Y/N.”
“Goodnight, Jun.”
You close the door with a quiet click that somehow is louder than it should be. Now, you’re all alone in your apartment, yet the warmth of his presence still lingers through every part of your place. He’s been in here a thousand times𑁋hell, you both have slept in the same bed together a plentiful amount during all the times he’s trespassed in your space𑁋but tonight it feels like there’s a literal dent in the air itself.
The two of you have shared many awkward moments together. He’s accidentally walked in on you changing a few times; you’ve seen him stress-eat an entire family-sized bag of shrimp chips at four in the morning. You both have seen each other at some of your lowest points, but why, out of all nights, does it hit harder than anything else?
You sink back into the couch with a groan. Your phone burns a hole in your pocket. Ten minutes pass. Then fifteen. Then𑁋
Buzz.
[12:55am | menace (affectionate)] i just got home you okay?
You stare at his message for a long moment.
[12:57am | y/n] good and yeah, i’m fine. you?
[12:58am | menace (affectionate)] splendid! and … tired
[12:58am | y/n] go sleep then dumbass
[12:59am | menace (affectionate)] alright mother calm down i’m brushing my teeth
A low giggle leaves you at his response. A few minutes pass before a new text from him lights up your phone.
[01:05am | menace (affectionate)] can i ask you something really random?
[01:05am | y/n] of course
The typing bubble appears, disappears, then reappears again.
[01:07am | menace (affectionate)] do you think cat anon is okay?
A sinking feeling opens a pit in your stomach, thumb frozen over your keyboard. You stare at the screen until the words begin to blur. God, of all the questions he had to ask tonight…
[01:10am | y/n] i don’t know i hope so and that they learn it’s okay to be brave
[01:12am | menace (affectionate)] yeah. me too
You’re hardly able to think when his next text comes in quicker than you expected.
[01:12am | menace (affectionate)] goodnight y/n don’t overthink in your sleep
You smile faintly.
[01:13am | y/n] no promises goodnight jun
You lock your phone after that with a tired sigh, tossing it onto the couch cushion besides you like it might bite you back if you hold it for too long. And somewhere on the other side of the city, another phone is tossed away like a shameful piece of evidence.
As you stare blankly at your dark television and feel the exhaustion of the day weighing between your bones, you know that sleep won’t come easy tonight. It becomes even more challenging even after you brush your teeth, wash your face, doomscroll on your phone for a while, and face plant onto the bed like you just came home from a wounded battle.
“Pathetic,” You mumble into your pillow to absolutely nobody. “I’m so pathetic.”
On the other hand, Jun is… doing the exact same thing.
His ceiling fan spins lazily overhead while his phone screen dims beside him. The last text message you sent to him spirals through the air around him. He doesn’t even know what to do but let out a muffled incredulous laugh into his pillow, sighs, before abruptly sitting up in bed and realising how much of a loser he’s acting right now.
“I should’ve…” Jun groans, running a hand over his face. “I should’ve just told her… I’m such a coward.”
Because the thing about running a late-night show where love is the main topic and advice is given, is that it’s painfully easy to tell strangers to be brave when your own heart isn’t on the line, when you’re not the aforementioned person in the story who is being pined over. It’s easy to take the leap when you aren’t standing at the edge yourself. Yet for some reason, it’s only harder to take the leap when you don’t even follow the advice you give to others.
The irony is quite laughable, to be honest.
Jun grabs his laptop and forces it open, the bright screen nearly blinding him in the darkness of his bedroom, but he doesn’t care. He finds himself navigating to his email, switching to his second account, and gets greeted by a particular message that had already been forwarded to the radio show. A message that had already been read, answered, and sent under a certain pseudonym.
Dear Y/N and Jun of Love On Air…
Biting down on his bottom lip, he opens up a fresh draft and begins typing.
“Take the leap, cat anon,” he repeats to himself over and over again. “Take the leap, Wen Junhui.”
Jun texted you two hours before the show that he was sick along with a selfie of him buried in a hoodie he threw on, somehow contracting a stomach bug which he blamed on some expired convenience store gimbap. He insisted that he could still come in, yet you reassured him with a string of sobbing emojis that it’s probably in his best interest to stay home to rest, and that you could handle hosting the show on your own, even if… you’ve never really done it before.
The show must go on, after all.
So when you find yourself sitting alone within the quiet studio just mere minutes from going live, you definitely sense both the physical and mental emptiness of his presence in the room a little too sharply. His headphones are still left the way he always leaves them, and his chair is facing the wrong wrong because he spins in it so much that he never bothers to put it back properly.
A small, fond chuckle leaves you at the thought of him, and you have to chase those thoughts away the second the clock strikes midnight. From there, you roll your shoulders back to shake away any residual nerves, clear your throat, and reach over to the switch.
Taking one last deep breath, you flip it on. The ON LIVE sign sparks to life on the wall.
“Good evening to all our fellow lonely and emotionally volatile listeners,” You greet warmly into the microphone. “Welcome back to everyone’s favourite unhinged radio show, Love On Air, live at midnight every Saturday on FM 98.7.”
Your eyes can barely keep track of the live chat box being spammed with incoming messages. You read a couple of messages out of people describing their day, but it isn’t long until the elephant in the room is acknowledged.
You snort lightly. “I regret to inform you all that Jun has passed away due to… alleged food poisoning.” Some comments following your words make you laugh. “Yes, yes, you’re all invited to the funeral, don’t worry.”
user: i commence a ritual to bring him back or we riot 🙏🙏 user: bro probably slept through his alarm honestly user: WAIT BUT THIS FEELS SO WRONG W/O HIM 😭😭 user: rip… guess no husband and wife arguments for now… 😔
“He offered to join while sick, by the way,” You add in quickly. “But I personally vetoed it. I’m not letting a man who ate expired gimbap shit his way into a session. He’s probably listening in right now, so hi, Jun. Hope you’re still intact, buddy.”
After a few minutes of more interactions, you finally pull up the radio show’s inbox and begin to organise through the confessions that were received recently. That weird feeling creeps back up your spine once again as you scroll𑁋not about the confessions specifically, just the thought about doing this alone. Your eyes flick to the empty chair right next to you once more.
You read a few confessions and answer two callers𑁋there’s one from someone who felt bad for ghosting someone they actually liked, another person confesses they’re having a hard time with their partner wanting to open up their relationship, and one with expressing their fears of having their first time with the wrong person. You offer your own thoughtful answers and advice as best as you can, yet it feels so lackluster and flat without Jun’s playful interjections whenever you get too sappy on air.
“Your first time should be with someone who makes you feel safe, not just wanted,” You say gently into the microphone. “You deserve that. Don’t settle for anything less. It’s okay to wait until that safety feels undeniable.”
The chat floods with hearts and supportive messages. A few people send their thank yous for the advice. Some latecomers ask questions about Jun’s whereabouts.You smile gratefully, but it feels a little fragile tonight, not quite reaching up to your eyes.
As the final music break of the session ends, you unmute your microphone to speak.
“Alright, listeners, we’ve reached the final thirty minutes of tonight’s session. I want to thank you as always for staying up and listening into the show,” You announce confidently. “We’ve got time for… maybe a few more confessions and a possible lucky caller, so let’s see what we have left.”
Scrolling silently through the inbox, it isn’t long until your cursor hovers a familiar username once again. Your heart spikes at the sight, hesitating for a slow second.”
“Everyone, let’s welcome cat anon back to the stage with another follow-up confession.” You click the confession, take in a deep breath you’re sure the viewers can hear, and start to read it aloud.
Dear Y/N of Love On Air… Hi, it’s me again. To be honest, I don’t really know why I keep sending these, but somehow I always end up back here again. You truly have a way of words, and I really want to thank you for that. I thought about what you said about imperfect love. I used to think that if I fix every flaw about myself, then maybe I’ll be worthy of them, but now I know that love is someone seeing every fractured version of you, and staying anyway. There’s something else I want to confess too. I think I’ve been waiting so long for the “perfect” moment that I accidentally passed a thousand “imperfect” ones. It makes me terrified that they’ll meet someone more braver than me, so I’ll use this chance now to be brave for once. I’ll be ready on the line for this session and use this chance to finally face whatever happens next. I hope you’re able to answer my call whenever that may be. I have an important message to send. 🐱
Your voice comes out almost too quiet by the end you finish reading. You flit a quick glance to the ever-exploding live chat box.
user: HOLY SHITTT CAT ANON VOICE REVEAL??? user: answer the call! answer the call! user: IM GONNA THROW UP WHY AM I SO NERVOUS user: we’re witnessing a cinematic moment in history wtff
Suddenly, the blink of the call line makes your throat tighten. Your fingers hover over the console as if it might suddenly jump out and bite you. God, you don’t understand why you’re unexpectedly so nervous𑁋you’ve talked to many callers, and yet, speaking with cat anon has you on complete edge.
“Okay,” You stammer shakily into the microphone, covering up your nerves with a faint smile. “Let’s… let’s take this final call of the night, everyone.”
When you answer the line, it’s as if the world goes entirely mute, except for the intense pounding your chest. Nothing but static fills your headphones as the line struggles to connect for a few torturous moments.
Then, a quiet breath reverberates into your ears. The kind of breath that sounded like it had to claw its way out of someone’s chest.
“...hello?”
The voice is slightly distorted through the line, unmistakably low𑁋clearly a male voice𑁋and trembling slightly around the edges. It’s more of a whisper, if anything. Perhaps he’s just as nervous as you.
“Hi,” You greet warmly, slipping back into your professional radio voice. “You’re live on air with Love On Air. Is this… the one and only cat anon?”
A small, embarrassed huff of air crosses the line. He sounds a bit closer this time as he replies, “...yeah, it’s me.”
“Well, I’m giving you the floor now,” You assure firmly. “Whatever you need to say… we’re listening.”
Another shaky breath crackles through the line. You can practically touch the contemplation that’s buzzing through the call with your fingertips if that’s even possible, and even within the studio itself.
When the seconds of silence turn into a full-blown minute of consideration, the line crackles once more.
“I’m in love with you, Y/N.”
Your heart stops. Your mind draws a complete and utter blank. The abrupt clarity of his voice cuts through any lingering distortion and static and hits you like a wave. The world itself feels as if it’s tilted on its axis.
“Jun𑁋?”
“I love you,” he repeats more firmly this time, voice raw and full of everything he’s been holding back. “and I told you I was sick tonight because I couldn’t sit right next to you while you gave advice I was too scared to take. I just𑁋holy shit, I love you…”
Your mouth parts open in shock, then closes. The chat is going absolutely feral right now and you can barely read through all the comments without having this unusual urge to just slam your hand onto the console and pretend that you’re suffering from pure delirium.
On the wall, the ON AIR still glows stubbornly.
user: I FREAKING KNEW THAT CAT ANON WAS JUN user: may i find this kind of love one day what the helly 🙏 user: Y/N ARE YOU BREATHING RIGHT NOW ???? user: our stupid oblivious hosts are in love. I CALLED it
You feel as if you almost have to squeeze your voice just to get it out. “Jun…”
On the other hand, he inhales sharply.
“...yeah?”
“You’re such an idiot,” You sputter out. “Do you have any idea how… how insane this is? Confessing on our show… using a pseudonym I gave advice to𑁋”
“I know.”
“𑁋after lying about being sick𑁋”
“I know.”
“𑁋and letting me sit here and talk about love like you weren’t the one I was talking to the whole time?” You ramble on out of a sheer mix of pure disbelief and relief, tightening your grip on the microphone. “Like all the advice I said wasn’t about… us?”
You hear some rapid shuffling on the other side, and you could almost imagine Jun sitting up in bed as if he’s received the most shocking news of his entire life. Then you hear his dazed laugh flowing into your ears.
“Yeah,” he admits quietly. “It was.”
Your breath catches embarrassingly hard and your face is completely on fire. The chat combusts once again, and you have to keep mentally reminding yourself that this entire interaction is live and half the city is probably listening in at this very second.
“From the first moment I saw you back in college,” Jun continues softly. “My heart and brain did the thing, you know? That you said before𑁋where you meet someone and all you can think is: Oh, it’s you. The second I saw you, I just… I knew I wanted to keep seeing you.”
You feel your eyes start to burn.
“I should’ve said it years ago, but I’m… I’m a coward. I know I am,” he mutters helplessly. “I know it’s stupid pretending to be cat anon because it was safer than telling my best friend I’m in love with her. Stupid that I… used to remind myself that I never deserved someone as bright as you. But anytime you told someone to suck it up and take the leap, I had to do it now or else I’d lose the chance and probably explode.”
He lets out a soft, breathless, disbelieving laugh of relief at the very end. Tears are streaming down your face at this point, but you don’t care.
user: IM PASSING TISSUES DOES ANYONE ELSE NEED ONE??? user: jun confessing his undying devoted love to y/n life is worth living again!!!! user: i feel like a successful marriage counselor WTF user: the solomon paradox is REAL
“Gosh, you’re…” You wipe a tear from your eye, murmuring weakly, “Your timing really needs to be studied, Jun.”
“Wait, wait, are you crying?” Jun asks worriedly in a fit of panic. “I didn’t mean to make you cry on air𑁋oh, my God, I can take it back, I can𑁋”
“You cannot ‘take this back’, you idiot!” You cut in immediately. “I’m crying because I’m in love with your stupid ass too! And if you don’t get here and finish the show with me, I’m absolutely going to lose the rest of my dignity.”
There’s a very long, suspicious beat of silence that passes. It’s enough to have you feel like you’re going through all the stages of grief in just a matter of seconds. And you swear on Jun’s life that if he doesn’t say something in the next minute, you might actually crash out and let the world witness your breakdown.
But reality snaps back in when you hear the sound of him nearly tripping on the other end of the line.
“I’m coming,” he reassures you. “I’m sprinting as fast as I can. Stay there for me, okay? Don’t finish the show without me.”
The line goes dead.
The night is quietly young as you and Jun step back into your apartment, the door clicking shut behind to finally cut out the rest of the world.
You still can barely process what just happened. First, Jun had texted you that he was quite literally shitting bricks for the entire day (which was a lie, thank goodness), then you somehow managed to host an entire segment all on your own without losing your sanity, and now the man you’ve been secretly in love for years had confessed to you𑁋live on air, alongside an entire audience of fellow love drunk listeners𑁋and is currently standing directly in front of you, wearing a hoodie he probably put on right before sprinting to the studio and a pair of pyjama sweatpants.
Jun doesn’t waste a single second. He steps up close to you and carefully wraps his long arms around you, the comforting scent of him quickly filling all your senses. He lets his forehead rest against yours, the two of you shutting your eyes together as you simply bask in each other’s presence.
“You’re real,” he murmurs, his hands trembling where they rest on your back. “I swear I thought I hallucinated the entire night. I need someone to pinch me if𑁋hey!”
You giggle at the way his face dramatically contorts with a pout, soothing his side with a gentle squeeze. You tilt your head enough to brush your nose against his.
“Then kiss me like I’m real, you idiot.”
For a moment, he just blinks like you spoke complete gibberish. Then he cups your face and presses his lips to yours, sending immediate shivers that make your knees weak. You let out a soft sigh into his mouth as the kiss deepens ever so slightly, your hands slowly sliding up his chest. You feel him chuckle against your lips.
As you kiss, you find yourself backing up in the direction of the couch. Jun follows without breaking contact with your mouth. When the backs of his knees hit the cushions, you both tumble down together in a clumsy, giggly heap with you on top of him, straddling him.
You brace your hands on his shoulders, and Jun’s arms lock around your waist instantly, holding you flush against him. And for a second, you both just… stare at each other.
Jun is the first to break, his eyes flitting back and forth between your eyes and lips as he doesn’t know where to look. “What?”
You bite your lip to keep from smiling too wide at how ridiculously cute and disheveled he looks right now, tilting your head at him like you’re pretending to study him. You lean in a little just to tease, and instinctively, he puckers his lips together, chasing after yours when you pull back away.
“I can’t believe how stupid we are,” You whisper, brushing his lips briefly in a feather-light peck. “Giving advice to everyone but ourselves. We wasted literal years.”
Jun chases after your mouth again, capturing it properly this time and pulling away with a satisfied hum. “Mhm. Absolute morons.” His hands find their way under your shirt, tenderly mapping the bare skin of your waist. “But I’m done wasting time now.”
You chuckle into the next kiss, the sound bubbling up uncontrollably as he tries to deepen it. God, his lips are so eagerly soft, but he’s smiling so hard you momentarily knock your teeth against his.
“Mm, wait,” You mumble against his mouth as you draw back to readjust your position, causing him to suck in a breath. “Are you trying to eat my face? Where’s the technique?”
He blinks up at you dazedly, mouth parted in playful offense. His hands tighten around your waist. “I𑁋excuse me?”
“Zero finesse. One star. I expected more from cat anon.”
Jun sits up suddenly so that you’re basically pressed chest-to-chest with each other.
“You’re too cute, that’s the problem,” he says, voice deep yet still a little rough around the edges. “How am I supposed to kiss you if I short-circuit and all I could think, holy shit, she’s mine?”
Your heart does a stupid little flip from his words. “Flattery won’t save your shitty technique.”
“Oh, yeah?” He cups your face with both hands, thumbs caressing your cheeks. “Watch this.”
The next kiss is messier𑁋heated, giggly, and clumsy because you both can’t stop smiling. You feel your toes curl as he nips lightly at your bottom lip. You sigh into it, threading your hands through his hair, the heat of it enough to make you rock your hips against his growing hardness.
You feel the heat dancing up your skin and pooling into your belly as you continue your lazy grinding against him, swallowing down the broken sigh and groans that fall out of his mouth. When his mouth begins its descent down your jaw and to a particular sensitive spot behind your ear, he smirks against your warm skin.
“Fuck𑁋you like that?” he breathes out, his fingertips brushing the underside of your breast underneath your shirt.
A shaky laugh leaves you, but it melts quickly into a soft moan when his thumb brushes your already-hardened nipple. “Don’t get cocky. Still𑁋mmh𑁋mediocre at best.”
Jun lifts his brow, mouth curved into a stupidly fond grin. “Mediocrity, huh?” He pinches your nipple gently, causing you to jerk your hips into his. “Your body is saying something different, baby.”
“Ignore her. She’s… a traitor,” You croak out, grinding against the hard line of his cock through his sweatpants.
Jun merely chuckles, tugging your shirt up enough to expose your chest. He unclips your bra without any hesitation, pushing the straps off your shoulders then letting it fall uselessly to the floor. His eyes widen as he takes a few seconds to drink you in completely.
“God, you’re so beautiful…”
Then his mouth is back on you. He sucks one nipple between his lips while his hand affectionately palms the other. A crude moan slips out of you this time; it heightens his confidence even more.
As his mouth lavishes attention to your other breast, he drags his hand down your side, teasingly sliding under the waistband of your pants to cup you over your pants. He can feel how warm you are already.
“Rating?” he requests with a firm suck.
“Like a solid𑁋shit𑁋two-point-five out of five…”
Jun pulls off your breast with a wet pop, grin turning wicked. “But you’re soaked, and you’re still calling me below average? I think your pussy disagrees.”
You open your mouth to retort, but then he slides his hand into your panties, fingers circling over your slick folds, and nothing but a breathy gasp escapes you. Your hips roll down to meet his hand as he inserts a finger inside of you, curling into that spot that makes your back arch and he has to use his other hand to hold you in place.
“What’s the rating now?” he asks, watching the way your face is beautifully twisting with pleasure as a second finger slides inside.
You shoot him a death glare as you clench around his hand. “Three𑁋fuck, right there𑁋three-point-eight𑁋”
“Getting better already,” he hums in approval, leaning back down to worship your breasts once more. The dual sensation has your head falling down into the crook of his neck, your moans caressing his skin.
“Four𑁋Jun, you asshole𑁋four-point-five𑁋”
He pulls his fingers out of you unexpectedly, making you whine at the loss. Before you can complain, you find yourself being flipped on the couch as he settles in between your thighs, looking up at you with that mischievous, hungry, adoring look. He gives another tug to the waistband of your pants.
“Final rating before I eat you out?”
Your chest heaves, though you try to keep your tone light and teasing. “Four-point-seven. Don’t get lazy down there or I’m docking points, smartass.”
Jun’s eyes sparkle with challenge as he helps you out of the rest of your clothes. When you’re fully bare in front of him, he spreads your thighs even further, letting his mouth hover tantalisingly where you need him most.
“Four-point-seven,” he repeats to himself, pressing a trail of kisses to your inner thigh. “I can work with that. Watch me get that perfect five.”
Then he leans in and drags his tongue up your soaked pussy in one long stripe, a groan leaving him as he tastes you for the first time. Your hips jolt against his face, a sharp moan tumbling out of you and bouncing off the walls of your quiet apartment.
“Oh𑁋Jun𑁋”
“Hmm?” He circles your clit with the tip of his tongue before sucking it gently into his mouth, eyes flicking up to watch your face. Two fingers slide back inside of you, curling into that spot that makes your vision glassy. “God, you taste even better than I imagined…”
You slap a hand over your mouth as the pleasure starts to bloom its way out of you, but he reaches up and pulls it away, lacing your fingers together.
“Don’t do that, please,” he murmurs against your pussy. “Let me hear you, baby…”
The way he eats you out has your head spinning. It’s dizzying, a little messy, and entirely devoted to you. The wet sounds of his mouth and fingers echo and your moans and gasps travel throughout the room, only making him double down even harder to bring you over the edge.
“Five𑁋five stars𑁋ah, please𑁋”
You cum with a cry of his name, the pleasure crashing into you in waves. He continues to lazily lap at you before you start trying to push his head away, the two of you giggling breathlessly in the aftermath.
When he pulls away, his lips are shiny and he looks foolishly pleased with himself. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and crawls his way back up your body, meeting you for a deep kiss. You taste yourself on his tongue, and the thought that this absolute klutz of a man just gave you the best orgasm of your life sends another shaky giggle rolling out of you.
“You okay?” he breathes against your mouth, chuckling softly of you barely controlling your laughter. “I… what the hell just happened?”
“That was me letting go after holding back for years,” he answers without diffidence, tracing soothing circles over your bare thigh. “Do I get a final rating now?”
“Hmm, solid five-point-five. An extra half point for your enthusiasm and those cute noises you made down there.” You run your fingers through his messy hair, making him lean into your touch like a baby kitten. “But I’ll let you try for a six if you fuck me right now.”
Jun’s eyes darken instantly. “Say less.”
The two of you battle over taking off the rest of his clothes. Jun attempts to smoothly yank his hoodie off in one go, but it gets snug on something, causing him to laugh when it gets caught on his shoulders.
“Oh, my God𑁋stay still so I can take it off, you dummy!” You exclaim in frustration.
“Help me then, smartass!” His laughter is muffled into the fabric.
When you finally unsnag the hoodie and toss it somewhere on the floor, you both immediately reach for his pants at the same time, elbows bumping into each other. Rolling your eyes, you lightly smack his hand away so you can push it down his hips with borderline desperation. He kicks it off the rest of the way, his boxers following quickly.
The second he’s fully bare in front of you for the first time, he cages you into the couch right above you, littering soft kisses over your flushed cheeks. His cock rests heavily against your stomach as he stares down at you, chest rising and falling heavily.
“Hi,” he whispers stupidly, like he’s just remembered how to speak.
“Hi,” You reply with a bashful smile, reaching up to cradle his face, pinching his cheeks together. “Still waiting for my six-star performance.”
“Give me a break, I’m nervous!” he gasps defensively, grinding the underside of his dick along your slickness unconsciously. “I’ve only pictured this every single night for, like, the past four years!”
“Poor baby,” You coo impishly, reaching down to stroke him softly. “You’ve been jerking off to the thought of me for four years?”
Jun whines needily, burying his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply. “Stop bullying me when I’m trying hard not to embarrass myself right now.”
“Then embarrass yourself. I’ve waited just as long, you idiot,” You urge, bringing him closer until there’s physically no more space between your bodies.
With a sly smirk, he reaches down, lines himself up with you, and slowly pushes inside. He groans lowly as he sinks inside you until his hips are pressed against yours. For a second, he doesn’t move at all, only trembling with his forehead leaning onto yours.
“Oh fuck𑁋I think I died a little,” he grunts pitifully into your neck. “You’re so warm. And tight. Think I-I short-circuited again.”
You give his shoulder a tight squeeze. “Move, Jun. Please.”
He obeys right away, thrusting into you experimentally and drawing a collective moan out from both of you. When he snaps himself into you again, again, and again, he sets a slow, deep rhythm that has the couch creaking softly beneath you.
“Shit, Jun𑁋” Your nails rake down his back as he hits that spot perfectly inside you again and again, wrapping your legs around his waist. “You… You feel so good.”
“Yeah? You look so pretty falling apart on my cock, baby,” he praises heavily, voice sounding absolutely wrecked. “Still rating me? Am I passing?”
Your laugh dissolves into a moan when a particular thrust punches the air out of your lungs.
“You’re at…” You bite down harshly on your bottom lip, glancing down to where you’re joined together. “Five-point… seven𑁋shit, keep going like that, I’m so close…”
“I’m so close too, not gonna last,” he pants, his breath molten on your neck. “God, I love you, I love you, I love you…”
You grab him by the nape of his neck to collapse his mouth back onto yours, swallowing all his desperate little grunts and sighs as the kiss turns heated fast. His rhythm stutters for the briefest second before he regains himself swiftly, the wet slap of your bodies meeting over and over again flooding the room, with your own hips rolling to meet with each of his thrusts.
The heat of it all invades through all your nerves, that familiar coil tightening in your belly. The rating game is completely out of the window now. There’s only nothing but the drag of his cock kissing your walls and this thumb dipping in between your legs to caress your clit, encouraging you to let go.
When your orgasm finally crashes, it’s much more intense than the last. Your nails imprint sharp crescents down his back as one final broken cry rips out from your throat, stars bursting behind your ears. Your walls squeeze around him so tightly he curses, the drive of his hips faltering sloppily.
“Baby, I can’t𑁋I’m gonna𑁋where𑁋?”
“Inside,” You beg gravelly, wrapping your arms around him even tighter. “Lose yourself in me, Jun, please.”
That’s all it takes for his own orgasm to hit him. With one final thrust, he spills inside of you with a deep, guttural groan. His face drops into the crook of your sweaty neck as shaky little whimpers continue to leave him𑁋your name, I love you, fuck I love you𑁋repeatedly until he’s completely spent and melted into your arms.
For a few moments of stillness, the only sounds travelling throughout the room is your ragged breathing and the sudden hum of your refrigerator. Eventually, Jun lifts his head from where it’s been resting comfortably on your chest. His dark hair is sticking out in all sorts of places, a few strands even matted to his forehead. And his eyes are half-lidded, yet so soft and full of love that you almost want to sob.
“So…” he starts hoarsely, kissing the tip of your nose. “Final rating?”
You let out a tired, contented laugh, brushing damp strands of his hair off his face.
“Mmmh… six-point-five,” You decide sleepily, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth.
A bright, boyish grin unleashes across his face. “I’ll take it. Room for improvement for the next round.”
“I𑁋next round?!”
“I aim to achieve ten stars. Or maybe more than that.”
“God, you’re so insatiable,” You groan, shaking your head despite the smile breaking through your expression. “Later on, maybe… for now, I just want to hold you.”
Jun swears he feels himself literally melt into a puddle at that, because how could he ever deny a request like that from you? Despite the little space on your creaky couch, he pulls out of you with a wince, grabs the throw blanket that has unknowingly dropped to the floor before shifting himself more deeper into your arms. The soft fabric wraps around your bare bodies together in a warm, messy nest, one of his legs slotting in between your legs.
“Better?” he mumbles hopefully, letting his eyes fall to a close so he could listen to your heartbeat.
“Mhm. Much,” You hum in response, nosing through his hair. “I love you, you menace.”
You feel his lips meet the soft skin above your breast, right over your heartbeat.
“I love you too, dummy.”
Remember that stray cat that landed on your doorstep at the very beginning and refused to leave?
Yeah, he’s right where he wants to be now.
perm taglist (open) ʚɞ
@sn4psh00t @slytherinshua @seungkw1 @etherealyoungk @bananabubble
@parakissss @eskoupe @gent1es3xy @cherryophile @jaja-salute
@mellow-wishes @eternalse7en @hongyinujiang
I actually might scream GOD I NEED HIMMMMMM
Out of Sync || H.J.S
SUMMARY: On air, you and Joshua sound perfectly in sync—easy banter, soft laughter, the kind of chemistry listeners love. Off air, however, you can barely stand him. Unfortunately, work has a funny way of pushing you two together… and lately, avoiding Joshua is becoming impossible.
PAIRING: radio host!joshua x f!reader
GENRE: enemies2lovers, crack(?), workplace romance, one-sided love, future smut
WC: 8.5k (part 1 of ??)
A/N: written for First Time Caller collab by @studiosvt. i loveddd this collab theme, so i reaallyy hope i did justice to it. pleaseee tell me if you like it (also if you don't so i can improve next time :)) thankyouuu kay @orbitondgtl for beta reading this for me 🥹💗 do consider commenting and reblogging it means a lot to me.
"Good evening darlings! Welcome to The Love Line, this is your host Joshua. And I'm here with—"
You say your name into the mic, softly, cutting of Joshua. "The sun is setting, most of you might be just getting off work. A day with back-to-back meetings, deadlines, and managers sitting on your head—" you click your tongue sympathetically, "—you all did so great today."
Joshua lets out a soft, breathy chuckle beside you that melts straight through the headphones.
"They really did," he adds warmly, voice dipping into that smooth, honeyed tone he reserves for moments like this. "And if no one told you yet—hey, we're proud of you. Surviving the day is no small thing."
You glance at him through the glass reflection of the console, catching the small smile already waiting there.
"Look at you," you murmur, teasing lightly, "stealing my lines again."
"Occupational hazard of working with you," he shoots back easily. "You say all the good stuff first."
You hum, pretending to consider it. "Mm. I am very generous like that."
"Clearly," his lips twitch.
A soft instrumental hum swells beneath your voices—the signature opening of the show. The studio lights dim just slightly, casting everything in a warm, golden glow. You reach out absentmindedly, adjusting the angle of your mic, fingertips brushing against the metal before settling back.
You lean in closer.
"Joshua," you start, your voice slower, as if you're easing into something.
He turns his head just a little, resting his chin lightly against his knuckles, eyes flicking toward you.
"Mm?"
"You know that feeling…" you trail off, eyes dropping briefly to the console as your fingers tap lightly against it. "When you're not even doing anything special—just sitting next to someone, or maybe talking about nothing—and it still feels like the nicest part of your day?"
"Yeah," he murmurs. "Like… nothing's really happening, but you don't want it to end."
You nod faintly, a small smile forming as you continue.
"It's that kind of love that isn't loud," you exhale softly. "The kind you don't realize you're holding onto until it's not right in front of you anymore."
"Mm," Joshua hums. "Feels like a dream while you're in it."
"Now that you've said it…" you begin, a hint of a grin returning, "I'm going to play the first song of the evening—and I might be a little biased here—"
Joshua lets out a quiet, knowing huff of amusement beside you.
"—but this is one of my absolute favorites. I could listen to it on loop and never get tired of it," you continue, fingers finally pressing lightly against the button.
You lean just a fraction closer to the mic, voice dipping into something more intimate. "Here's 'Dream' by Baekhyun and Suzy."
As the opening notes of the song begins to drift through the studio, you slide back from the mic.
The rest of the show flows easily—songs playing one after another, a few sweet confessions from listeners, and light chatter between you and Joshua that keeps the night warm and relaxed. Before you know it, the final song fades out.
You lean toward the mic again with a small smile. "That's all for tonight, darlings. Thank you for spending your evening with us." Joshua follows with a gentle goodnight, and with a promise to be back tomorrow on The Love Line, the ON AIR light clicks off.
The softness that filled the studio just seconds ago disappears the moment the red light clicks off. Like a switch being flipped, your smile drops into a grim expression. Without another word, you pull your headphones off, pack up your things, and push your chair back. The wheels scrape lightly against the floor as you stand and walk out of the studio.
Joshua just watches you go for a second, lips pressed into a thin line. He lets out a small scoff under his breath and shakes his head, packing up his own things.
From the control room, Jeonghan clicks his tongue, leaning back in his chair. "Talk about being professional. The way they interact on the show, nobody would guess they're literally at each other's throats."
Vernon, who had been sitting behind the console, turns to him curiously. "I've always wondered why they're like this."
Jeonghan exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair. "Beats me," he mutters. "Anyway, good job today, intern. You can pack up for tonight." He pats Vernon's back before running out to catch you.
You pull your phone out of your pocket, glancing down at the screen to check your notifications as you walk down the corridor. A voice calls out from behind you. You stop and turn slightly. Jeonghan jogs toward you, a bright smile already spreading across his face. You slip your phone into your back pocket, returning his smile with a curious tilt of your head.
"As expected of my ace," he says, catching his breath. "That episode was so good. Especially when you addressed that last confession—"
"I won't do it." You state.
Jeonghan blinks. Your blunt interruption hangs in the air. His smile falters, eyes flickering away from you as he scratches the back of his head.
"I… don't know what you mean," he says weakly.
You sigh, already half turning away.
"You know how much I hate being on camera, and with this whole documentary thing. I can say goodbye to my privacy."
There's been all this talk about a crew coming in, filming everything—behind the scenes, personal lives, 'the struggle of radio in the age of podcasts and streaming'. Like putting a camera in the room is suddenly going to save it.
All you can picture is lenses pointed at you when you're not ready for it. Boom mics hovering just out of frame. So annoying.
"I don't want to sign up to have someone documenting how I work, how I talk, what I do in between segments—like it's something for people to pick apart later." Your voice dips lower. "I like that this job ends when I walk out of the studio. I like that there's still a line."
"Ah—just this once!" Jeonghan moves too quickly, stepping directly into your path before you can slip past him. You almost walk straight into his chest, forced to stop short as he throws his arms out slightly, like he can physically keep you from leaving if he just tries hard enough.
"You're the perfect one for this. " He says, words coming a little too fast, like he's afraid you'll disappear if he doesn't get them out in time. "Your show is literally the only one doing numbers right now."
Before you can respond, his tone softens, shifting gears as naturally as breathing. He reaches for your hand, clasping it between both of his, warm and insistent, his thumbs pressing lightly like he's trying to anchor you there.
"Do you you really want the company to look bad?" he adds, tilting his head just slightly, eyes searching your face. "Do you want me to be embarrassed?"
You give him a look, pulling your hands back.
"Jeonghan, I love you, but no." You say flatly, your voice carrying none of the softness he's trying to coax out of you. "And working extra hours with Joshua? Pass."
Speaking of the devil. Joshua struts towards the both of you and lazily puts an arm around Jeonghan. He notices the slight tension between the two of you and shakes his head in disapproval.
"Give this old man a break."
Your eyes narrow just a fraction before you roll them, turning your head away like you couldn't care less. "You're literally the same age."
Joshua ignores you entirely and instead looks at Jeonghan. "She bothering you, king?"
Jeonghan blinks. "No, actually I was asking if—"
"You know what?" Your eyes suddenly brighten as you cut him off. You clap your hands together once. "How about you have Joshua and Hana on this one?"
"What? No!" Joshua immediately shoots down the idea as if he knows what you guys are talking about.
"She's just an intern—" Jeonghan says at the exact same time.
Your lips curl into a faint, humorless smile as you fold your arms across your chest.
"Right," you murmur. "Because I'm the only one you can overwork."
You shift your weight, gaze flicking briefly toward Joshua before sliding away again.
"And Hana's not exactly helpless," you add, tone light but pointed. "She's practically glued to the studio anyway."
It’s true.
Hana is always around—hovering near the control room, lingering just a little too long after her shifts, volunteering for things no one asked her to. And more often than not, her eyes aren't on the equipment or the scripts.
They're on Joshua.
She laughs a little too quickly at his jokes, bright and eager. Finds reasons to stand close. To ask questions she already knows the answers to. And somehow, she always ends up near you—because wherever you are, Joshua isn't far behind.
"That's not the point," he says, tone more controlled now.
"Mm," you hum, unconvinced.
You don't push it further. Instead, you straighten slightly, your arms still crossed like a barrier between you and them. "Look I won't do extra hours for something that doesn't even benefit me in any way."
"It's not exactly nothing," Jeonghan starts weakly. "I mean, you will be getting a paid leave for a week."
"We are?" Joshua's head snaps towards him.
Jeonghan looks at you observing your reaction to the enticing information, hoping that this might be enough for you to change your mind.
A paid leave. A whole freaking week.
You could sleep without setting alarms. Stay in bed until the sun shifts across your room and disappears again. You could spend time with your cat—if she even still recognizes you. These days, she's always curled up somewhere by the time you get home, half-asleep, barely lifting her head when you walk in like you're just another passing presence instead of the person who feeds her.
You huff a quiet breath through your nose. A week of that sounds… dangerously tempting.
From the corner of your eye, you can feel Joshua watching you. Not saying anything, not interrupting—just waiting. And you know if you agree, he won't let you forget it. The teasing alone would be unbearable. But still… a week off.
God.
You exhale slowly, like you're forcing the decision out before you can rethink it.
"…Fine."
Jeonghan's face lights up instantly, relief breaking across his features so openly it almost makes you regret saying yes.
"But this is the first and the last time," you add firmly, already turning away and continuing down the hallway without waiting for a response.
"Of course!" Jeonghan calls after you, raising his arms above his head to make a giant heart that you don't see it. "Thank you so much! I love you!"
Joshua watches the empty space for a second longer than necessary, his gaze lingering where you vanished before he exhales quietly through his nose, shaking his head.
"Tch. All that drama just to say yes."
Jeonghan throws him a dirty look, elbowing him on the stomach. "Don't trouble her so much, you idiot."
Joshua doubles down holding his stomach. "Are you my friend or hers?"
"At work, I'm your producer."
When you agreed to the documentary, you hadn't realized it would start this soon.
You'd barely made it home the night before—shoes kicked off somewhere near the door, bag abandoned on the couch—when your phone buzzed with a new email. You remember staring at the screen, eyes still half-lidded with exhaustion, rereading the same line twice just to make sure you weren't hallucinating.
Filming begins tomorrow.
Now, barely twelve hours later, you're seated in a meeting room that feels just a little too bright, a little too cold, with cameras already set up in the corners like silent observers.
The documentary team mills about, adjusting equipment, whispering to one another. Across from you, Jeonghan sits with his usual composure, legs crossed neatly, hands resting on the table. He's smiling wide and bright.
You hadn't realized until this exact moment how deeply that smile could irritate you.
To your right, Joshua looks no different than he usually does—leaned back slightly in his chair, posture relaxed, one hand idly spinning the paperweight on the table like he has all the time in the world.
From the outside, the two of you probably look like the picture of professionalism—calm and composed. What they don't see is the way his shoe presses lightly against your ankle under the table. It is subtle at first, almost easy to dismiss as accidental, but when it happens again, and then again, the pattern becomes impossible to ignore.
You shift your leg back, drawing it closer to your chair in an attempt to create distance, but it barely lasts a second before his foot follows, closing the gap you just made. The repetition grates on your nerves, and you can feel your patience thinning as your fingers curl slightly against the edge of the table. You keep your gaze forward, fixed somewhere ahead, refusing to acknowledge him, refusing to give him the reaction he is clearly trying to provoke. Still, he does it again, pressing just enough this time to make it impossible to ignore without responding, and you feel the irritation rise sharp and immediate in your chest as you prepare to turn and finally snap at him.
Before you can, the door swings open.
"I am so sorry for the delay!" The sudden interruption cuts cleanly through the tension, breaking it apart before it can escalate any further.
A man steps inside, slightly out of breath, one hand pushing his hair back as he straightens himself and offers a quick, apologetic bow that is just a little too hurried to be polished. His tie sits slightly crooked, sleeves pushed up as if he has been rushing from one place to another, and there is a faint flush to his face that suggests he has been moving far faster than he probably should have.
Despite all of that, there is something immediately noticeable about him—an energy that feels bright and open, a little chaotic but undeniably genuine. It settles into the room almost instantly, softening the sharp edges of the moment you were just in and replacing it with something lighter, something easier, as he steps further inside with a breathless laugh and an apologetic smile that does not falter.
"There was so much traffic today," he continues, already moving further into the room. "I brought coffee for everyone—least I could do."
He carries a coffee carton as he goes around the table handing out cups one by one, offering soft apologies with each.
"Oh—" he pauses when he reaches you, the motion so slight it might have gone unnoticed if you weren't already hyper-aware of everything in the room. For a brief second, his hand hovers midair, the coffee cup still extended toward you as his eyes settle on your face.
A flicker of recognition passes his face and the soft smile on his face gets bigger as he places the coffee in your hand. A faint blush creeps up before you can stop it, and when you murmur a soft "thank you," it comes out quieter than you intended, almost betraying the sudden shift in your composure.
If no one else notices, Joshua does.
The movement under the table stops ,and a second later your chair shifts ever so slightly, nudged from the side, just enough to draw your attention without making it obvious. You turn your head, already knowing what you'll find.
He's looking at you.
One eyebrow raised, cup hovering halfway to his lips, his gaze sharp and assessing in a way that feels far more intentional than casual curiosity.
Do you know him?
Of course its his job to be nosy. And if you so much as give him anything to work with, you already know how it ends—with endless teasing, with him bringing it up at the worst possible moments, with that stupid, knowing look every time your name gets mentioned in the same breath as his.
You hold his gaze for a fraction of a second, long enough to acknowledge it but not long enough to answer. Then you look away.
When you turn back toward the front of the room, that small smile hasn't quite left your face, lingering faintly like something you haven't decided what to do with yet.
"Hello everyone," the man says, stepping forward to the head of the table. He straightens, shoulders squaring as his hands come together neatly in front of him. "I'm Lee Seokmin, the producer for this documentary."
Then he bows fully, a clean ninety degrees. A quiet laugh slips out of you before you can stop it, soft and brief, drawn more from familiarity than amusement.
Some things really don't change.
Jeonghan picks up from there without missing a beat, slipping seamlessly into his professional tone as he begins outlining schedules, expectations, and boundaries. His voice is steady, controlled, filling the room with the kind of structure everyone else seems to fall into easily. Around the table, the crew listens attentively, some jotting down notes, others glancing toward the cameras as if already piecing together how this will all look once it's edited.
You try to focus. You really do.
You follow the conversation, nod at the appropriate moments, keep your posture composed and your expression neutral—but your attention doesn't stay where it's supposed to.
Every now and then, your eyes drift.
Seokmin listens with a kind of attentiveness that feels almost deliberate, nodding along as Jeonghan speaks, occasionally adding a thought or asking a question that shows he's already thinking a few steps ahead. But once or twice his gaze shifts toward you.
Each time his gaze lingers just a second longer than it should, warm and familiar in a way that unsettles you, and each time you're the one who breaks first—looking away a little too quickly, a faint blush creeping up before you can stop it.
Across the table, Joshua grows quiet.
The paperweight in front of him sits untouched now, no longer spinning under his fingers. His foot stays still beneath the table, no longer seeking yours. And he doesn't speak unless he absolutely has to, offering nothing extra, nothing unnecessary.
—
You pack slower for someone who's always the first one out of the room the moment a meeting ends. But today, your movements drag just enough to notice. You stack your papers once, then again, aligning the edges more carefully than necessary. Your bag stays open as you pretend to look for something, fingers brushing over items you already know are exactly where they should be.
You don't know what you're waiting for. Maybe waiting to go talk to Seokmin or maybe he—
Oh fuck he's coming this way.
The realization lands all at once, sharp enough to make your stomach tighten, and you immediately drop your gaze, shoulders straightening as you shuffle your things with sudden, unnecessary urgency. You try to look occupied, focused, like you've been doing something important this entire time instead of sitting there waiting without admitting it.
A soft knock against the table pulls your attention up anyway.
He's closer than you expected.
Up close, Seokmin looks almost exactly the same, though there's something more put together about him now—his features a little sharper, his presence a little more grounded, but still carrying that same warmth you remember. His hair is slightly out of place like he's been running his hand through it, and a faint flush to his cheeks. Despite all of that, his smile is steady, easy, the kind that comes naturally without effort
"It's been so long since we met," he says, his expression brightening further as he looks at you properly, like he’s confirming what he already suspects. "How have you been?"
For a brief moment, your mind goes completely blank. You tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, fingers lingering there as you try to gather your thoughts, to form a response that doesn't sound as thrown off as you suddenly feel.
"I've been—"
"You guys know each other?" Joshua's voice cuts in smoothly, almost lazily, but there's an edge to it that makes you immediately regret not answering faster. When you glance at him, he's already watching the two of you, a wide smile stretched across his face—too interested, too entertained, like he's just found something new to pick apart.
Seokmin lets out a small laugh, glancing briefly in his direction before looking back at you.
“We do have some history,” he says.
"You…dated?" Joshua's brows lift slightly.
"No no," Seokmin laughs, shaking his head, "She's my junior from university. We were in the same club for a while."
You feel your shoulders stiffen slightly.
"She was always running around, making sure everything went smoothly," Seokmin continues, clearly unaware of your growing discomfort. "Super reliable, but also…" he pauses, glancing at you with a grin that feels a little too familiar, "…a little too energetic sometimes."
Why is he saying so much?
Joshua hums softly, clearly enjoying this more than he should.
"Our ace's history in the flesh," he says, voice laced with amusement. "I'd love to hear more about that someday."
The way he says it makes your stomach drop. You know exactly where this is going, and you have no intention of letting it get there. You push your chair back abruptly and stand, the legs scraping loudly against the floor as you cut in before Joshua can say anything else.
"Seokmin—!"
The name comes out sharper than you intend, loud enough to draw both their attention instantly. You force your expression to soften, stepping around the table as you try to recover from the abrupt interruption.
"It's so good to see you," you say, your voice quieter now, more controlled. "I didn't expect to run into you here."
Seokmin looks momentarily surprised before breaking into a warm laugh. He reaches out without thinking and ruffles your hair lightly, the gesture so casual and familiar that it catches you completely off guard.
"You haven't changed at all," he says, fondness clear in his tone.
You freeze for just a second, caught between reacting and not reacting.
Before you can decide, he turns slightly toward Joshua again, still smiling. "I have so much to tell you," he adds. "She was so bubbly. Always made things more lively."
"Bubbly…" Joshua drags, his gaze shifting back to you with a playful look. "I see."
"Seok—" you start, stepping in again, fully prepared to shut this down before it gets any worse
But you're interrupted by one of the crew members calling Seokmin from across the room, waving him over urgently. He turns, blinking, then looks back at you with an apologetic expression.
"I'm so sorry," he says quickly. "I think I have to go for a bit."
You nod, still trying to steady yourself.
"But I want to catch up," he continues, already pulling out his phone and holding it out toward you. "Give me your number?"
There's a brief hesitation before you take it, your fingers brushing lightly against his as you input your number. It's a simple action, but your heartbeat feels just a little too loud in your chest.
'See you soon, sunshine," he smiles as you hand the phone back.
The nickname lands unexpectedly, and you feel the warmth rush to your face again as you bite the inside of your lip, managing only a small nod in response.
Then he's gone. The door closes softly behind him, and the room feels quieter in his absence.
"Wasn't that fun?" Joshua says from behind you, making your shoulders tense. "I can't wait to see him again," he adds as he gathers his things, movements unhurried.
"Don't," you warn.
Joshua hums softly, like he didn't hear the warning at all. As he passes by you, his hand reaches out, ruffling your hair in the exact same way Seokmin did just moments ago. The familiarity of the gesture hits differently this time, like he knows exactly what he’s doing.
"Bye, sunshine," he says emulating Seokmin's voice.
He doesn't wait for a reaction. He just walks out, leaving you standing there.
You had gone to bed far too late that night, standing in front of your wardrobe longer than you'd like to admit, pulling out outfit after outfit only to reject each one for reasons that kept changing. Too plain. Too much. Too obvious. Not enough.
It had taken you nearly two hours to finally settle on something that felt right—something that didn't look like you were trying, even though you absolutely were.
And yet, despite the lack of sleep, you wake up ten minutes before your alarm.
Your morning moves with unusual precision. You take your time in the shower, letting the water run warmer than usual, going through every step like you're preparing for something far more important than just another workday.
Your cat greets you in the kitchen, already weaving around your legs before you've even poured your coffee. She's unusually affectionate today, tail brushing against you, lingering instead of darting away like she usually does. You crouch down, scratching lightly behind her ears as she leans into your hand.
"Wow," you murmur, narrowing your eyes at her. "You're being suspiciously nice today. Today must be a good day?"
She blinks up at you, entirely unbothered, before settling beside you as you eat.
By the time you leave, you feel put together.
The compliment comes from somewhere to your left as you walk down the hallway, followed quickly by another voice agreeing, then another.
Of course you look good. You didn't spend two hours the night before for nothing.
Still, there's a small, quiet satisfaction in the way heads turn just slightly as you pass, in the way people do double takes before catching themselves. Your hand tightens briefly around the strap of your bag as you approach the meeting room, your steps slowing just a fraction as your thoughts drift.
Seokmin.
You wonder if he'll notice. If he'll say something. If he'll smile the same way he did yesterday—
A burst of laughter from inside the room cuts the thought short. You pause for half a second, then push the door open. Both Joshua and Seokmin look up at the same time.
Seokmin's reaction is immediate. He straightens slightly in his seat, his expression lighting up in a way that feels almost automatic, like he didn't even have to think about it.
"Wow," he says, the word slipping out easily as his gaze lingers on you. "You look great."
The compliment lands softly but directly, and you feel your cheeks warm before you can stop it. You glance down briefly, biting your lip in a small, reflexive attempt to hide it, your fingers brushing lightly against the fabric of your dress as if suddenly aware of it.
"Thank—"
"Really?" Joshua cuts in, his voice calm, almost thoughtful. "I don't see any difference."
Your head snaps up, the warmth in your expression disappearing as quickly as it came, replaced by a sharp, unimpressed scowl. Your eyes lock onto his, narrowing slightly as you stare him down across the room.
Joshua meets your gaze without hesitation, completely unfazed. If anything, he looks mildly confused, his brows knitting just slightly as if he genuinely doesn't understand what he said wrong.
Seokmin lets out a small, awkward cough, the sound cutting through the moment as he glances between the two of you. You break eye contact first, exhaling quietly as you turn away and move toward your seat, setting your bag down with more force than necessary before sitting.
Seokmin clears his throat lightly, slipping back into a more professional tone as he gestures toward the crew behind him.
"So, like we discussed yesterday," he begins, his voice steadying as he shifts gears, "today we'll just be recording you guys working. We want everything to feel as natural as possible, so just… pretend we're not here. Think of it as a normal day in your lives."
You let out a quiet hum, leaning back slightly in your chair.
"If we do that," you mumble under your breath, "a war will break out any moment."
"Sorry, I didn't catch that." Seokmin says, blinking at you.
“We'll do our jobs ten times more efficiently today, bro.” Joshua cuts in smoothly, his tone bright and easy as he looks at Seokmin with a wide, almost charming smile—like he didn't just undermine you in the most deliberate way possible.
You turn your head slowly, fixing him with a flat look. "Bro?"
Joshua nods seriously, like this is a completely reasonable development.
"We're like real brothers now," he says, gesturing lightly between himself and Seokmin. "Right, bro?"
Seokmin laughs, a little surprised but clearly amused, nodding along. "Sure. If you say so."
You stare at Joshua for a second longer, your expression unimpressed, bordering on disbelief. Of course he's doing this. Of course he's inserting himself here too. It's not enough that he disrupts your rhythm, pokes at your patience, finds ways to get under your skin—now he has to compete in spaces that don't even belong to him.
You look away with a quiet scoff, crossing your arms as you settle back into your chair.
Joshua, meanwhile, looks entirely satisfied, leaning back like he's just won something no one else realized was a competition.
And somehow, that makes it worse.
The meeting dissolves into movement soon after, the crew quietly repositioning themselves around the room while you and Joshua settle into what is supposed to be a "normal work session." Laptops open, notes spread out, a half-finished outline of the next segment sitting between you like neutral ground that neither of you fully trusts.
You lean forward slightly, scanning the draft on your screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard before you begin typing. For a few minutes, it's almost peaceful. The faint hum of equipment, the soft clicks of keys, the occasional murmur from the crew trying to stay unobtrusive. If you ignore the cameras—and him—it almost feels like any other day.
"Don't you think that line's a bit too heavy?"
Joshua's voice cuts in, smooth and casual, like he's just making an observation and not deliberately interrupting your flow.
You don't look at him immediately. You finish typing the sentence, hit save, and only then turn your head slightly.
"It's supposed to be," you reply evenly. "That's the point."
He leans back in his chair, tilting his head as he looks at your screen from afar, like he doesn't even need to see it properly to disagree.
"Or," he says slowly, "it could just sound like you're trying too hard to be deep."
There it is. You feel it instantly—that small, sharp spark of irritation. Your fingers still against the keyboard as your eyes flick to him, narrowing just slightly.
"Or," you return, voice just as measured, "you could try understanding the tone before commenting on it."
"I understand it," he says. "I just don't think the listeners will."
Your jaw tightens. You're about to respond—already leaning forward slightly, words forming, ready to push back properly this time, when you catch his subtle gaze toward the camera—giving you a hint that everything is being recorded.
You sit back slowly instead, trying to ease out your expression into something softer.
"Well," you say, offering him a small, tight smile, "that's why we work together, right? Balance."
Joshua watches you for a second before smiling just as polite. "Exactly."
From the outside, it probably looks seamless. The kind of dynamic people would compliment. It makes your skin itch.
"Bitch." You grunt, deleting the words from the screen.
"Sorry what was that?" Joshua raises an eyebrow at you.
"Rich." You quickly correct yourself. "Your thought process is so…rich."
The rest of the session passes in that same rhythm—careful, controlled, every word filtered just enough to sound right without saying what you actually mean. By the time you're done, your patience feels thinner than it should be.
You close your laptop with a quiet exhale and stand, stretching slightly as you glance around the room.
Seokmin is across the space, speaking with one of the crew members, his back half-turned to you. You hesitate for only a second before making your way over.
"Seokmin," you call lightly.
He turns immediately, his expression brightening the moment he sees you. "Yeah?"
You slow to a stop in front of him, hands loosely clasped behind your back, the earlier tension easing just a fraction.
"Are you free for lunch?" you ask, tone casual, but just warm enough to feel intentional. "I was thinking we could—"
"Bro, we're still having lunch together, right?" Joshua’s voice slides in from behind you before you can finish.
Seokmin blinks, looking between the two of you. "Oh—uh—yeah, we did say—"
"Great," Joshua continues easily, stepping forward just enough to fall into your line of sight. "There's so much for us to catch up on."
Catch up on? They met two days ago. And suddenly it's catching up?
The thought flickers through your mind, sharp and immediate, irritation bubbling up before you can stop it. Because if anyone here has actual history (well not too much history) with him—if anyone should be the one catching up it's you.
You inhale slowly.
No. You're not doing this. That's exactly what he wants—to get a reaction, to pull you into something pointless, to make you slip in front of the cameras. You won't give him that.
You let the feeling pass as quickly as it came, your posture straightening slightly as you turn back to Seokmin with a small, easy smile.
"Eat well," you say, tone light, almost dismissive in its calm. "I've got some work to finish anyway. I would've joined you otherwise."
There's the faintest hint of hesitation in his expression, but he nods. "Ah… okay. Next time then?"
"Next time," you echo, still smiling.
Joshua raises an eyebrow at that, clearly amused, but you don't look at him. You just turn, already stepping away before the moment can stretch any further, before he can add anything else to it.
—
Lunch comes and goes without you noticing it at first.
The room empties gradually, chairs scraping back, quiet chatter filling the space as people start heading out in small groups. Someone asks if you're coming along, and you shake your head without looking up, mumbling something about finishing a draft. It's easy to make it sound believable when your eyes are already glued to your screen, fingers moving just enough to sell the act.
The truth settles in a little more quietly. You're not hungry.
Or maybe you were—before. But somewhere between that moment in the meeting room and now, the thought of food has dulled into something unappealing, something you don't feel like dealing with.
So you stay.
The office feels different when it's half-empty. Quieter. The distant hum of voices fades into the background, replaced by the steady tapping of your keyboard and the occasional rustle of papers. You lean into the silence, letting it fill the space instead of your thoughts.
At some point, one of the crew members lingers near your desk, glancing at you curiously.
"You're not going for lunch?" they ask.
You don't look up immediately, finishing the line you're typing before answering.
"I'll eat later," you say lightly. "Not really hungry right now."
You don't notice Joshua nearby. You keep your focus on the screen, on the words that blur together if you stare at them too long.
After a while, the stillness starts to feel heavy.
You push your chair back with a quiet sigh, rubbing your eyes briefly before standing. "Washroom," you murmur to no one in particular, more out of habit than necessity, and step out of the room.
The break is short. Just enough to clear your head, splash some water on your face. When you return, you expect the same quiet you left behind. Instead, you pause.
There's something on your desk.
A neatly wrapped sandwich. A tall milkshake beside it, condensation already forming along the sides of the cup. It looks fresh. Recently placed.
Your gaze shifts slightly to the small sticky note is tucked under the edge of the sandwich wrapper.Just a simple smiley face.
:)
Your lips part slightly in surprise, your steps slowing as you approach your desk. There's no name. No message. Just that. But you don't need one. A small, almost involuntary smile begins to form.
Seokmin.
It has to be.
You pick up the note, your thumb brushing lightly over the ink as if that might confirm it somehow. The thought settles in easily, naturally—him remembering, him noticing, him doing something like this without making a big deal out of it.
It fits.
You're still looking at it when the door opens again and Joshua walks in.
His steps slow almost immediately as his eyes land on your desk, taking in the sandwich, the milkshake, the note. There's a brief pause as he analyses your demeanor, before his expression shifts into something more casual.
"Whoa," he says, low and almost impressed as he walks closer. "Looks like you've got a secret admirer."
You glance up at him, your fingers still holding the edge of the note.
His gaze lingers on the food for a moment longer before he reaches over, picking up a few papers from the corner of your desk like that's the only reason he came back.
"Didn't think you were the type," he adds, tone light, almost teasing.
You narrow your eyes slightly at that, but don't bite. Instead, you just set the note down carefully and pull your chair out.
"Maybe I've got someone who really cares," you reply, your voice calm, a hint of something pointed beneath it.
Joshua lets out a soft hum at that, but doesn't respond. He gathers the rest of the papers he needs, tapping them lightly against the desk to straighten them.
"Clearly," he says, almost under his breath.
For a second, it feels like he might say something else. But he doesn't. He just turns and walks out, leaving as casually as he came.
The door clicks shut behind him.
You look back down at the sandwich, at the milkshake, at the small smiley face drawn on the note. The earlier heaviness in your chest feels lighter now, replaced with something softer, something easier to hold onto.
You reach for the sandwich.
Maybe you were a little hungry after all.
The next two weeks pass in a blur of cameras, scripts, and carefully manufactured normalcy.
At first, it feels unnatural—every movement slightly too deliberate, every word filtered through the quiet awareness that someone, somewhere, is watching. But slowly, the presence of the documentary crew fades into the background.
What doesn't fade is Joshua.
If anything, he becomes more present.
Every time you find a moment—any moment—with Seokmin, Joshua is there. It starts small. A passing comment when you're mid-conversation. A casual interruption masked as a joke. Then it becomes more frequent, more deliberate. He inserts himself into discussions, finishes your sentences, redirects conversations before they can settle into anything personal.
At first, you tell yourself it's coincidence. By the fourth day, it clearly isn't.
Seokmin, for his part, doesn't seem to notice, or if he does, he doesn't comment on it. He remains the same—warm, attentive, easy to talk to. He checks in on you during breaks, asks about things that have nothing to do with work, remembers details you don't recall mentioning twice. And every time you try to respond, to build on that familiarity, Joshua somehow finds his way into the space between you.
It's subtle enough that no one calls it out. But obvious enough that it drives you insane. By the end of the first week, you've stopped trying. By the end of the second, you're determined.
So when today comes—and Jeonghan, for reasons you don't question too deeply, drags Joshua away for some "special discussion"—you don't hesitate.
You don't ask what it means. You don't care.
All you know is that for the first time in two freaking weeks, you have a window. And you take it.
The restaurant is quieter than you expected, tucked just far enough away from the main street to feel removed from the usual rush. It's warm inside, soft lighting casting a comfortable glow over the tables, the low hum of conversation blending into something easy, something calm.
Seokmin pulls your chair out before you can reach for it, the gesture smooth and natural, like it's second nature to him.
"After you," he says lightly.
You smile murmuring a soft "thank you" as you sit. He moves around the table and takes the seat across from you, the distance just enough to feel proper, just enough to make the moment feel… intentional.
He reaches for the water jug without hesitation, pouring a glass for you first before filling his own.
"We finally get to eat together," he says with a small laugh, setting the jug aside.
You let out a quiet breath, something in your shoulders loosening for the first time all day.
"I was starting to think it would never happen," you admit, a faint smile tugging at your lips. "Every time I tried, something," or someone, you mutter under your breath. "Kept getting in the way."
Seokmin chuckles, resting his elbow lightly on the table. "Yeah, your co-host seems very… present."
"That's one way to put it," you mutter under your breath, earning another laugh from him.
For a while, it's easy. You talk about university—about things you barely remember until he brings them up. Late nights before events, the chaos of organizing, the way you used to run around like you had ten places to be at once. He fills in the gaps, adds details you’d forgotten, and you find yourself laughing more than you expected to.
"And you still haven't changed," he says at one point, smiling as he leans back slightly. "Still the same."
You raise a brow. "That's not always a good thing."
"It is in your case," he replies easily.
You don't respond to that but the warmth settles anyway.
Seokmin lifts his glass, taking a sip of water, and as he lowers it, his gaze shifts slightly past you. His expression brightens almost immediately, like he's just spotted something—someone—unexpected. He lifts his hand.
"Shua! Here!"
Your smile freezes.
For a split second, you don't turn around. You don't want to. Because there's no way—there's actually no way—
What the fuck.
But then you hear it.
"Hey, bro!"
Joshua's voice.
You close your eyes briefly before turning, already feeling the irritation rise as he approaches like he belongs here. He pulls out the chair beside you without hesitation and drops into it casually, like this is the most natural thing in the world.
You don't even try to hide the look you give him. Your side-eye could probably kill. Seokmin, completely oblivious to the shift in energy, smiles between the two of you.
"Let's order first, then we can all talk," he says, glancing around for the waiter.
The moment his attention shifts away, you act.
Your hand shoots out, pushing Joshua's arm—hard enough to get his attention, subtle enough to not cause a scene. When he turns to you, you're already glaring, your eyes sharp with a very clear message.
What are you doing here?
Joshua, on the other hand, looks like he's having the time of his life. His lips curl into a slow, amused smile, eyes glinting with something dangerously close to satisfaction. Instead of answering, he reaches out—completely unbothered—and ruffles your hair.
You swat his hand away immediately, your glare deepening. He doesn't even flinch. If anything, he looks more entertained.
Before you can escalate it further, the waiter arrives at the table, notepad in hand, politely asking for your orders.
The food arrives not long after, plates filling the table with just enough variety to keep the conversation flowing. For a brief moment, things almost settle. Almost.
You reach for a dumpling, lifting it carefully with your chopsticks, only to find it gone the second before it reaches your plate.
You pause. Then slowly you turn your head.
Joshua sits beside you, completely at ease, already chewing like nothing happened, his expression too neutral. You stare at him and he doesn't even look back.
You narrow your eyes slightly, then say nothing, simply reaching across the table toward his plate instead. Your chopsticks slide in smoothly, picking out a piece of meat without hesitation.
Joshua glances down this time, his gaze lingering for a moment before shifting back to yours. A beat passes in the quiet space between you, and then he reaches over again. With a practiced sort of ease, another dumpling disappears from your plate.
You don't even look surprised anymore. You just lean forward, this time taking a larger piece from his side, placing it onto your plate with deliberate calm.
Across from you, Seokmin watches the exchange unfold, his lips twitching before he lets out a soft chuckle. The sound makes both of you pause. Your chopsticks hover midair. Joshua's hand stills halfway back to his plate.
"You both are really close," Seokmin says, amusement clear in his voice as he glances between the two of you.
The words land heavier than they should. You freeze. Almost immediately, you shift your chair slightly away from Joshua, creating a visible gap between you, like distance alone can undo whatever that just looked like.
"Not really," you say quickly, your tone light but just a little too quick to be casual. You let out a small, awkward laugh, brushing it off as if it means nothing. "We just… work together."
Seokmin nods, but there's something knowing in his smile that makes you uneasy.
No. Absolutely not. The last thing you need is him getting the wrong idea.
"I'll just—" you start, already pushing your chair back slightly, "washroom."
You don't wait for a response. You stand, smoothing your outfit unnecessarily before turning and walking away, your pace just a little faster than it needs to be.
The moment you're out of sight, Seokmin's attention shifts. He leans forward slightly, resting his elbow on the table as he looks at Joshua, one brow lifting in quiet curiosity.
Joshua, meanwhile, has already picked up another dumpling, completely unbothered, popping it into his mouth as he glances back at him.
"What?" he asks around the bite, genuinely confused.
Seokmin smiles. "You have a crush on her."
It's not a question.
Joshua chokes. The dumpling goes down the wrong way, and he coughs immediately, reaching for the glass of water in front of him, grabbing it a little too quickly as he takes a hurried sip.
"Wha—what do you mean?" he manages between coughs, voice rougher than before.
"You've been following her around like a puppy for the past two weeks," he says, like he's just pointing out something obvious. "Interrupting conversations, sitting next to her, giving her food—"
"I—I don't—how did you," Joshua cuts in quickly, setting the glass down a little harder than necessary. "That's not—"
Seokmin just smiles wider. "Don't worry," he says lightly. "I'll help you."
"Help with what?" Your voice cuts in.
Seokmin doesn't even miss a beat. He leans back slightly, shaking his head with an easy smile, like nothing of importance was said at all.
"Oh, nothing much," he says casually.
torn between finding shua very cute and very annoying lmao 🙃 cute is kinda winning out oops
I will lock in tomorrow like nobody has ever locked in before
FUCKBOY!CHAN
*°࿐ cw: explicit sexual content rough sex, creampie, size kink/size difference, praise & light degradation, possessive/jealous fuckboy behavior, strong language, mild emotional vulnerability.
in which chan, who never sleeps with the same person twice, starts to realize that he can't keep away from you.
*°࿐ notes: made for this request! i've been feeling so burnt out lately, and this really helped ngl. tysm for requesting nonie~
fuckboy!Chris who never, ever fucks the same girl twice… until he meets you.
fuckboy!Chris who treats you like you’re just another number at first—another pretty face at some house party, thigh warm against his on a stranger’s couch, his hand lazily kneading at the bare skin because he’s already decided how the night ends. He gets your name once and then tells you his, slow and smug, testing how it’ll sound when you’re moaning it back at him.
fuckboy!Chris who’s so much fucking bigger when he crowds up against you—broad chest, thick arms, thighs that bracket you and make you feel tiny even before he touches you. The kind of size that makes your brain go soft because you know he could just pick you up and put you where he wants you, and the worst part is how badly you want him to.
fuckboy!Chris who shoves your back against his bedroom door that first night, one hand sliding under your ass to haul you up. Your legs fly around his waist on instinct, and he holds it there, his grip firm, fingers digging into the soft skin of your thigh. You gasp against his mouth when your hips accidentally roll over the thick, hard line of his cock, and he laughs into the kiss, low and breathy.
“Easy,” he murmurs, teeth catching your bottom lip. “I’ll take care of it.”
fuckboy!Chris who fucks like a man with something to prove. He’s used to girls falling apart in ten minutes and he’s bored of it, so with you he takes his time just to see what happens. He lays you out on his bed, gets your dress rucked up around your hips, panties shoved to the side, and spends way too long just… looking. Big hands spreading you open so his thumb can swipe through your slick, middle finger teasing at your entrance but not pushing in yet.
fuckboy!Chris who talks you through it like he’s slipping under your skin—voice all gravel and honey right by your ear while his thick cock stretches you out, inch by inch, until your nails leave crescents in his shoulders. He hitches your knees up high, folding you almost in half so your feet barely have anything to press against, your whole body pinned and helpless under the weight of him.
“That’s it,” he groans, head dropping to your throat as he bottoms out, so deep you swear you feel him in your lungs. “Take all of it for me. Knew this pretty pussy could handle me.”
fuckboy!Chris who loses his mind over the size difference—how your hand looks when it wraps around just the base of him, how your thighs tremble against his ribs when he really starts to move. He watches you in the mirror across the room, the way your tits bounce with every rough snap of his hips, your face going slack and pretty when he hits that spot inside you over and over until your voice cracks.
“Look at you,” he pants, leaning back just enough to cage your wrists above your head with one hand, the other bracing under your thigh as he pounds into you. The bedframe slams the wall, your whimpers spilling into the room. “So fucking pretty under me… you hear yourself? All those little noises just for my cock?”
fuckboy!Chris who swears he doesn’t kiss girls, not really, not the way that matters—but somehow his mouth keeps finding yours mid-thrust, stealing your breath, swallowing your broken, wrecked sounds. He groans when your legs lock around his waist like you’re trying to keep him there forever, like you’d die if he pulled out.
“Fuuuck—yeah, hold on to me,” he rasps, voice fraying. His forehead presses to yours, sweat-slick and desperate. “Clingy little thing, aren’t you? You want me to stay?”
fuckboy!Chris who was supposed to pull out. He always does. That’s the rule. No sleepovers, no cuddling, no finishing inside. But then your nails rake down his back and he feels you clamp down around him so tight he sees white.
His hips stutter, rhythm breaking as he drives into you harder, deeper, chasing it.
“Shit, baby, I’m—fuck, I’m gonna—”
He should pull back. He knows it. Instead his hand flies to your jaw, thumb pressing into your cheek as he forces your head up so you’re looking right at him when he spills, cock throbbing, hot and thick inside you. He groans into your open mouth, eyes squeezed shut.
“Fuck… shit, look what you made me do,” he pants, staying buried, cock twitching as his cum leaks out around the seal of you, sticky and obscene.
fuckboy!Chris who tells himself that’s it. One time. You were good, sure, but there’s always someone else. Except then he’s in the shower later with his head against the tile, jerking himself off to the memory of your fucked-out face, the way you gasped when he lifted your hips and pushed you down onto him like a doll. He comes too fast, embarrassingly fast, and the worst part is he still isn’t satisfied.
fuckboy!chris who tells himself he only comes back because you’re convenient. Because you’re close. Because you’re good. And you are—fuck, you’re good. You look up at him with those glassy eyes while you’re on top of him and he has to brace a hand against the mattress so he doesn’t shake, veins in his forearms popping as he rasps out, “slow down, baby, fuck— you tryna make me fall in love or what?”
fuckboy!Chris who starts seeing you everywhere after that—your lip gloss in the corner of his sheet, your hair tie on his nightstand, the faint bruise your teeth left on his throat. His phone lights up and he pretends he’s not waiting for your name, but his stomach flips every time it’s someone else.
fuckboy!Chris who texts you at 1:43 a.m. u up? fully expecting you to ignore him. When you actually answer, his fingers tighten around his phone, a slow grin spreading across his face.
yeah. why?
you know why, he sends back before he can talk himself out of it. come over.
fuckboy!Chris who never, ever fucks the same girl twice—who built a whole persona on that, on being untouchable, unbothered, too busy chasing the next warm body to even think about repeats—until you.
Until he’s on his knees between your thighs the next time, shoulders spread wide against your inner legs, licking into you like a man starved because just feeling you around his cock isn’t enough anymore. Until he’s growling against your pussy, voice rough and wrecked:
“Gonna ruin you for everyone else, you know that? You feel what I’m doing to you? No one’s ever gonna have you like this but me.”
fuckboy!Chris who starts staying after. He’ll finish with you—deep, messy, your cunt still fluttering around him—and then he’ll realize he’s still inside you ten minutes later, just lazily rocking his hips while you whimper into his neck, your fingers tracing patterns on his back. He tells himself he’s just catching his breath, that’s all.
fuckboy!Chris who hears his friends joking about how he never sticks around, never calls, never double-backs… and doesn’t say anything about the fact he’s already been in your bed three times this week. Or the way his jaw tightens when you mention some guy from class, tongue pressed into his cheek when your phone lights up with another name while you’re straddling his lap.
fuckboy!Chris who suddenly gets really opinionated about your love life for someone who “doesn’t do relationships.”
“Why you even talking to him?” he mutters, peeping over your shoulder at your phone. “His texts are dry as hell. You seriously into that?”
fuckboy!Chris who pretends it doesn’t bother him when you say, half-teasing, “Relax, you’re not my boyfriend,” after he snatches your phone and flips it screen-down. He scoffs, leans back on your pillows with his arms behind his head like he’s unbothered, shirt riding up just enough to show the cut lines of his stomach.
“I know,” he says. “I’d be a shit one.”
But he fucks you mean that night, rougher than usual, your knees hooked over his forearms as he drives into you, eyes dark and focused like he’s trying to fuck the word boyfriend right out of your vocabulary. Every thrust is deep, punishing, your breath hitching into little choked-off cries.
“Not your boyfriend,” he grits, hips slamming into the backs of your thighs. “But you let me fuck you like this, yeah? You let me be the only one who sees you like this?”
fuckboy!Chris who can’t stop talking once he’s in deep and losing it.
“Look at this little cunt,” he pants, eyes fixed where you’re stretched around him, where his cock disappears inside you again and again. “Always so ready for me, always so tight—shit, bet you’d take whatever I give you, huh? Fingers, tongue, anything I want.”
You whine his name, broken and high, and feel him shudder behind you.
“Fuck, you’re so fucking hot,” he gasps, eyes rolling to the back of his head. “You were made for this fucking cock, swear to God.”
fuckboy!Chris who starts doing stupid things, out of nowhere. Like showing up with takeout on a night you didn’t invite him. Like remembering how you take your coffee without ever meaning to. Like shrugging off his hoodie and tugging it over your head when you shiver, grumbling, “you say you run hot and then complain about being cold, unreal,” while his brain quietly short-circuits at how cute you look in it.
fuckboy!Chris who gets reckless with his own rules. You spend the night once because it’s late, and then again because you “accidentally” fall asleep on his chest, and then again because he mumbles, half-asleep, “Just stay, yeah?” into your hair, and you do.
fuckboy!Chris who wakes up hard against you, arm heavy over your waist, face tucked into your neck, and realizes—horrified—that he feels… calm. Not trapped, not itchy to leave. Just… good. Your breath soft and even, your hand curled around his fingers like you trust him with something fragile.
fuckboy!Chris who panics and pulls back. Starts answering slower. Starts making excuses. Starts trying to prove to himself he’s still the same as he was before you, going out more, letting girls press up on him in clubs, flirting just enough to remind himself he knows how.
fuckboy!Chris who can’t follow through. He gets them back to his apartment, hands on autopilot, mouth saying all the right things—until they touch him in a way that isn’t yours, until they laugh at the wrong moment, until they look up at him and he thinks, not you. Everything in him goes flat.
“Actually,” he says once, stepping back with a crooked, apologetic grin, “I just remembered I’ve got an early morning.” “Now?” she scoffs. “Seriously?”
He shrugs, already walking her to the door. “Yeah. Sorry, sweetheart.”
fuckboy!Chris who shuts the door on someone else and somehow ends up in his car, engine rumbling under his hands while his brain short-circuits. He tells himself he’s just going for a drive, just clearing his head. Definitely not typing your address into his GPS even though he could get there blindfolded by now.
fuckboy!Chris who’s halfway up your building’s stairs before he realizes he doesn’t have a reason to be there. No real one, anyway. Not one that doesn’t sound pathetic when he says it out loud.
I missed you.
He stands outside your door for a full minute, fingers flexing uselessly at his sides, heartbeat loud in his ears. He almost turns around. Almost.
He knocks.
You open the door in an old t-shirt and tiny shorts, hair a little messy, eyes going wide when you see him.
“Chris?”
He did not plan what to say. Panic hits so fast his brain grabs the first thing it can find.
“I’m sick,” he blurts.
You blink. “…What?”
“I’m—” he fakes a cough on the spot, winces at himself halfway through it and commits anyway, hunching his shoulders like he’s in a drama. “S’bad.”
There’s a beat of silence where you just stare at him, taking in the hoodie, the faint smell of cologne.
Then your mouth curls, unimpressed. “If you wanted to come over to fuck,” you say flatly, “you could’ve just said so.”
His ego flares like a personal emergency. Absolutely not. No way is he admitting that he bailed on another girl and came here because he—what, missed you? Needed you?
He coughs again.
“Nah, I’m serious,” he insists, putting a hand to his forehead like he’s checking for a fever. “Think I’ve got, like… the plague or some shit.”
You squint at him. “You walked here with the plague.”
“Drove,” he corrects, like that helps. “Didn’t wanna give it to anyone. ‘Cept you, I guess. Sorry, baby.”
You exhale, half a laugh, half a sigh. “You’re so stupid.”
But you step back to let him in.
fuckboy!Chris who instantly sheds his shoes and beelines for your couch like he lives there, flopping down with a dramatic groan. He drapes an arm over his eyes, other hand fisted in the hem of your throw blanket like he’s on his deathbed.
“Let me feel,” you mutter, stepping closer.
His brain promptly exits the chat.
“Feel what?” he asks, voice pitching up, because there are about five different answers he’d like to give that have nothing to do with health.
“Your forehead, dumbass.” You plant a hand on your hip.
He swallows and sits up a little, and it hits you—he does look off. Not just tired. His hair is a little damp at the hairline, cheeks flushed in a way that doesn’t look like his usual post-gym glow. His breathing isn’t labored, exactly, but there’s something… off-rhythm about it.
You reach out, press your palm flat to his forehead.
fuckboy!Chris who has had your hands on every inch of him and somehow still feels like he’s going to combust from the simple, cool weight of your palm on his skin. His eyes flutter shut on reflex, lashes brushing his cheeks, shoulders slumping.
“You’re hot,” you say, even though he’s not.
He opens one eye. “In a sexy way or—”
You smack his shoulder. “Christopher.”
He winces, but there’s a ghost of a grin there. It fades when you lean in again, thumb brushing the side of his neck like you’re checking his pulse. Your brows knit.
“On a scale of one to ten, how fake is this illness?”
He peeks at you from under his arm, lashes low. “Nine point seven,” he admits. Then, quickly, “But the part where I feel like shit is real.”
Your expression shifts, just a little. “Headache?”
“Yeah.” He swallows, the lie burying itself under the truth. “Headache.”
You hover for a second longer, still clearly suspicious, then your shoulders drop. “You could’ve just said you were having a bad night,” you mutter, brushing a bit of his hair back from his forehead with your fingers before you can stop yourself.
He goes very still under your touch.
“I’m having a bad night,” he says quietly.
fuckboy!Chris who says it like a joke at first—even now, his instinct is to twist everything into something lighter, something you can both laugh off later. But it sits between you too heavy to be funny, and when you don’t immediately fire back, he realizes he said it a little too honest.
You exhale, the edge in your shoulders softening against your will.
“Yeah,” you say quietly. “I kind of figured.”
You end up herding him toward your bedroom like he’s some oversized, sulky cat. He sits on the edge of your mattress, suddenly shy in a way that makes no sense given how many times he’s had you naked and begging under him.
“Top on or off?” you ask, rummaging for an extra blanket.
His brain immediately supplies a slideshow of you asking that in very different circumstances. His cock twitches in his sweats. Not the time, not the time, not the time—
“On,” he croaks, in case his body betrays him.
You snort. “Relax, I wasn’t trying to strip you. I just don’t wanna wash hoodie lint out of my sheets if you start writhing around in your ‘death throes.’”
“I don’t writhe,” he mutters, which is a lie and you both know it.
You flick off the lamp by your dresser, leave the one by your bed on low. The room shrinks around the soft pool of light, everything quieter, edges blurred. You toss the extra blanket onto the mattress, then gesture.
“Lie down properly,” you say.
He hesitates, then swings his legs up, sitting stiffly with his back against the headboard like he’s in a waiting room. His hands are flat on his thighs, fingers drumming restlessly.
You crawl onto the bed beside him, the mattress dipping with your weight. That gets his attention; his gaze tracks the movement of your body, the hem of your t-shirt riding up just a touch as you settle.
You pat your lap. “Here.”
His brows lift. “There?”
“No, the floor,” you deadpan. “Yes, here.”
He stares at you like you’ve offered him something dangerous and he’s not sure he should touch it. This is stupid, he thinks. He’s put his head between your thighs without blinking and now he’s nervous about putting it on them.
“You sure?” he asks, and even he can hear how rough it comes out.
You roll your eyes, softer this time. “Chris. C’mere.”
fuckboy!Chris who has never, ever laid his head in anyone’s lap in his life like this, not unless it was on the way to sliding down their body.
fuckboy!Chris who has never been shy about taking what he wants when it comes to your body, but somehow feels like he’s crossing a line just by shifting down the bed, turning, and easing his head onto your thighs. The mattress springs sigh, your warmth seeping through the thin cotton of your shorts.
You adjust him without ceremony—one hand at the back of his neck, thumb rubbing at the tense knot there as you guide him until he’s exactly where you want him.
“Better?” you ask.
He didn’t know he needed this until the second his head finds the curve of you and everything inside him… drops. Unwinds. Lets go.
“Yeah,” he breathes. “That’s… good.”
Your hand finds his hair like it’s been waiting there all along. You start to card your fingers through the strands, slow and deliberate, nails scratching lightly at his scalp.
fuckboy!Chris who has taken you apart with his hands, his mouth, his body—who has bent you and folded you and held you down—and yet somehow, this undoes him more than any of it.
His eyes slide shut before he can stop them. His shoulders, always so squared and ready for impact, gradually sink into the mattress. Every stroke of your fingers sends a little shiver down his spine, not sharp, not electric—just… warm. Soothing. Intimate in a way he doesn’t have a category for.
“Tired?” you murmur after a moment.
“Mm.” His voice vibrates against your thighs. “Yeah.”
“How bad was it?” you ask quietly. “Your day.”
He swallows. His first instinct is to say it was fine. To make a joke. To say something glib and easy that keeps everything on the surface where it’s always been safe for him.
Instead, your nails catch on a tender spot behind his ear and his answer slips out softer than he means it to.
“Shit,” he says. “It was shit.”
You hum, fingers never stopping. “Yeah?”
He could tell you about the girl he almost fucked tonight and couldn’t. About how he stood in his own kitchen with someone’s hands on him and felt… nothing. About the way his chest has been tight for days, like there’s a fist around his ribs that only loosens when you’re close.
Instead, he swallows it all down.
“Doesn’t matter now,” he mutters.
You don’t push. You don’t pry it open or ask for details or turn his bad day into a post-mortem. You just make a quiet, noncommittal sound and keep stroking his hair, nails lightly scratching at his scalp in slow, steady passes.
It’s such a small kindness it shouldn’t knock the air out of him.
But it does.
He feels it in the way his body reacts—like some invisible tension wire inside his chest finally snaps loose. His shoulders sink further into the mattress, muscles unspooling one by one as your fingers comb through his curls, carding from his hairline all the way back to the nape of his neck.
He lets out a sound he doesn’t recognize.
It’s tiny. Half-sigh, half-whine. It slips out of him on the exhale, vibration buzzing against the soft skin of your thigh. He goes still immediately after, like he can pull it back in by force.
You’re an angel for pretending you didn’t hear it.
Your hand just changes angle, fingertips dragging from his temple, over the shell of his ear, back to that spot at the base of his skull. You circle there, gentle pressure and lazy scratches that make his toes curl in his socks.
He doesn’t mean to, but another little noise escapes him—deeper this time, a soft, broken-edged hum that sounds suspiciously like a whimper.
“Feels that good?” you murmur, almost amused.
His cheeks burn. “Shut up,” he mutters, but it comes out breathy, not sharp at all.
“Didn’t say it was a bad thing,” you say. Your thumb strokes along his hairline, catching the dampness there, smoothing the flyaways back. Your nails skim his scalp again, slower, firmer.
He shudders.
The hand on your leg tightens, fingers digging into the flesh of your thigh like he needs something to hold on to. His other hand, the one on his chest, slides lower to grip the hem of his hoodie, knuckles going white as he clenches.
You keep touching him like you have all the time in the world. No rush, no goal, just long, repetitive strokes that make his thoughts blur at the edges.
It’s obscene, almost, how good it feels. Every drag of your fingers through his hair sends a warm, lazy heat spilling down his spine, settling in his chest, his stomach, the backs of his knees.
“Mm,” he hums, eyes squeezing shut when you scratch a little harder at his scalp. “Fuck, that’s…”
He trails off, jaw slackening. Another small sound slips out, embarrassingly close to a whine. It makes the corner of your mouth twitch.
“Good?” you supply.
“Yeah,” he breathes. “S’good. So good.”
You slow it down even more, changing the pattern—fingers threading through his curls, separating them, letting them slip through the spaces between your knuckles. You use the pads of your fingers to massage small circles into his scalp, working from one side to the other, like you’re trying to erase every leftover thought clinging to his brain.
His breathing changes.
It’s softer now, coming in slow pulls. Every exhale brushes warm over the inside of your thigh. You can feel the way his body keeps reacting in tiny involuntary flinches: the twitch of his shoulders when you scratch behind his ear, the little kick of his foot when you drag your nails right at the nape.
A soft, breathy whimper falls out of him, high in his chest, broken off halfway like he tried to swallow it and failed.
You don’t stop. If anything, your touch gentles, fingertips tracing the curve of his skull with almost ridiculous care.
“There you go,” you murmur, more to him than anything. “Just relax.”
He lets out a helpless huff of laughter. “I am,” he says, voice fuzzy. “That’s the problem.”
“Is it?” you ask.
He doesn’t answer, not really. Just hums again, the sound low and wrecked, pressing his cheek more firmly against your thigh like he’s trying to burrow inside it.
You can feel how warm he is. Not sick, not feverish, just thoroughly undone. His lashes lie dark against his cheeks, his mouth parted around soft, involuntary breaths. The notorious fuckboy, the one who always has the upper hand, the exit strategy, the next option—reduced to a whimpering puddle because you’re playing with his hair.
Your fingers slide down, combing through the curl at his nape, then drifting to stroke the side of his neck. You trace absent patterns there—little loops and lines that make his pulse jump under your touch.
He squeezes your thigh, a small, desperate gesture.
fuckboy!chan who starts to melt in earnest, muscles slack, hand slipping from a grip on your thigh to a loose, warm weight. Every so often, he makes a sound—tiny, half-formed, the kind of whine he’d mock someone else for—but he’s too blissed-out to care.
If he could hear himself, he’d be mortified. If his friends could see him, he’d never live it down.
But it’s just you here. Just you and the soft light and the quiet and the gentle drag of your fingers through his hair. And for once, he lets himself have this without thinking about what it looks like.
Without thinking about what it means.
He tips his head a little to the side, just enough that his nose brushes the inside of your thigh through the fabric. He inhales, deep and slow, like he’s trying to memorize your scent. Your hand automatically slides down again, cupping the back of his head, thumb stroking behind his ear.
“Y’gonna fall asleep on me?” you ask after a while, voice barely above a whisper.
“Maybe,” he whispers back. His words are getting fuzzy at the edges, each one a little slower than the last. “You’re… dangerous, you know that? Could get anything you want from me like this.”
“Good to know,” you say, amused. “I’ll start drafting my list.”
He huffs a quiet laugh that dissolves into a tiny, breathy “ah—” when your nails scratch lightly behind his ear again. His toes curl under the blanket. He has never been this defenseless in front of anyone, and somehow it doesn’t scare him. It just… feels right.
“You are so adorable, Channie,” you murmur without thinking, the words slipping out on a breath.
His entire body jolts.
Heat rushes up his neck, flooding his face, his chest. He feels it burn all the way to the tips of his ears. A strangled noise catches in his throat and he grips your thigh again, harder this time, fingers biting into your skin.
He doesn’t know what to do with that. With you. With the way his tough-guy persona, the fuckboy mask, all of it feels so flimsy in the face of this quiet, devastating tenderness.
So he doesn’t do anything.
He just lies there, whimpery and boneless, letting you pet him like he’s yours. Letting himself be soft where no one else can see.
fuckboy!Chris who can talk you through every way he wants to fuck you, who can narrate your own pleasure back to you in filthy detail without flinching—completely wordless now beneath your hands, all his slick lines burnt away by the simple, devastating luxury of being petted and held.
fuckboy!Chris who thought he’d come over tonight to take the edge off, to use your body like a distraction—now humming quietly into the softness of your stomach, eyes half-closed, letting you turn him into a whimpery, pliant mess with nothing more than your fingers in his hair and the steady warmth of your lap.
Something More | pt 3
-> When a misunderstanding creates distance between you and Changbin, you’re forced to confront both your feelings and the fear that you may have ruined everything.
changbin x curvy!fem!reader
best friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, suggestive, MDNI
4.8K
Warnings: making out, grinding, kissing, cursing, sexual themes, low self esteem, negative self talk, insecurities around body image and self worth
Part 1, Part 2
-------------------------------------------------
Things you didn’t know about Changbin before you started making out with him on a regular basis -- all things you probably could have gone the rest of your life not knowing and would have survived just fine, by the way...
He checks your reactions constantly. And not just when his lips are your skin, but all the time.
It’s subtle, almost unfairly so. A quick glance, just casually making sure you’re okay whenever or wherever you are. He’s always reading you, and somehow managing to do it perfectly (which is more than mildly terrifying for someone who struggles to read themselves half the time).
Then, when he notices something, he fixes it. Like your shirt when it gets twisted, or your hair when it falls in your face, or the way you’re sitting on him if it looks uncomfortable. He never points it out, never makes it a thing. Just adjusts and moves on. Like taking care of you is second nature for him, as if it's something he's been doing without thinking for years.
It’s unsettling in the most disarming way possible, because it means you can't actually hide as easily as you thought you could.
And then there are these little pauses. The ones where he just...looks at you. Not in a dramatic way, not even enough to call him out on it. He doesn't say anything, doesn't do anything. So, in retrospect, it shouldn’t matter.
But holy shit, it does. It matters a lot.
Small things. Easy to miss. Unless you’re looking for them. And now, unfortunately, you are.
Why is it unfortunate?
Because the more time you spend with him, the more details reveal themselves. Details you really really like.
You’d think being best friends with him for so many years, you would’ve clocked at least some of these already. But the closer you get, the more you realize you were too caught up in your own head, too focused on yourself to really see him before.
And now that you do, there’s no unseeing him. There's no denying just how intense your feelings for Changbin have become, and how scarily fast they're starting to grow.
“You’re staring again,” he says casually from his spot next to you on the couch.
“No, I’m not,” you shoot back, a little too quick. “I was zoning out, and you just happened to be there.”
“Mhm,” he hums, clearly entertained by your weak excuse, finally turning his head to look at you.
Fuck, he's got that look in his eyes. The one that says you’ve amused him, and thus captured his entire attention.
You narrow your eyes. “Don’t ‘mhm’ me.”
“Why not?” He leans in, way too easily, like your answer won’t change anything anyway.
“Because…” your voice falters, pulse beginning to spike.
“Because…?” he echoes, softer now, his lips hovering just short of yours.
There’s no rush; there never is. Just this quiet certainty that something is about to happen. It feels so familiar by this point, and it pulls you into the moment without any effort.
And like always, you can't help but go quiet under his gaze.
Changbin’s eyes scan over your face for a mere moment before he leans in further. Again, something easy to miss if you didn’t already know what he's doing.
He’s reading you.
And maybe that’s what makes this so damn frustrating. Because that part clashes with everything else about him during moments like this.
Honestly, he’s looking at you like he’ll have you no matter what you say, no matter what you do. Like one way or another, he’s going to kiss you, and you won’t dare stop him.
But underneath all of that confidence, there’s respectful restraint.
You’ve always had an out. You still do. Even now, when the back of his fingers gently drift over your leg, and your brain short-circuits.
He’s patient. Respectful. Somehow able to make you feel like the most desirable person in the world while never making you feel guilty for stopping him halfway.
You exhale slowly, eyes fluttering closed as he closes the distance, his lips brushing yours in that annoyingly gentle way he does before he actually kisses you properly.
And sure enough -- there it is. Your bottom lip caught between his teeth before he closes the space completely, guiding you back toward the couch with steady, careful pressure.
His hand finds your lower back, warm and sure, fingers spreading over the fabric of your shirt as he eases you backward, slowly crawling his way on top of you.
Your back meets the couch, soft and quiet, and he follows, catching himself before his full weight lands on you, one arm braced beside your head, the other still at your back.
You expect a pause. There isn’t one. His lips never leave yours.
If anything, the kiss deepens. Your hands find his shirt without thinking, his shoulders something solid to hold onto as everything narrows down to the rhythm of his breathing and the slow, steady press of his mouth against yours.
You let yourself sink further into the cushions, the space between you shrinking as you tug him down by his collar, bringing him closer.
And yet still, you sense restraint.
Somewhere in the way he kisses you, in the way his hands hold you, there’s a quiet implication that it's hard for him to fully let go.
Like you could ruin him without even trying.
His weight against you is everything in this moment, as his lips trail to your neck. The change draws a quiet breath from you. Your hands slip into his hair and your body arches into his.
Even now, there’s no rush. No sudden push for more. No impatience. Just the warmth of his lips against your skin and the occasional nibble just below your ear.
With his lips still buried in your neck, both his hands find your waist. He adjusts you underneath him with easy control, guiding your hips so they align with his. Your body follows his lead as he settles between your legs, finally able to create friction with a subtle jerk of his hips, moving against you with a deep inhale.
That pulls a breathless reaction from you in form of his name, the small moan leaving your lips before you can stop it.
He stays there, every movement slow and controlled, letting the moment stretch on instead of rushing past it. A small rut of his hips, a firm squeeze of your waist, a gentle groan into your neck.
For the past month, this has been the line. Where your thoughts start to race faster than you can keep up, and suddenly you’re hyper-aware of everything. Every place he touches, every shift of pressure, every curve and fold of your body beneath him -- until the awareness turns overwhelming, and you can’t stop thinking about how big you must feel under his hands.
Usually you just press against his chest, pull away or push him off, laugh or ask him to stop.
And he always listens. Changbin has never once insisted on going further than you felt comfortable. Never once made you feel like you owed him anything for the way he touches you. Actually, he’s the opposite. He's frustratingly patient.
That should make this easier, right? That should be enough to quiet the doubt in your heart and anxiety in your head.
But it isn't.
Something quiet and mean formed in your mind years ago, and it never really left. The kind of thought that doesn’t feel like a thought anymore, but rather self-hate you learned as fact and never questioned.
Your body isn’t the kind people want. You're not sexy. You never were and you never will be. He's not enjoying this. He's tolerating your figure because he has to. He would prefer someone else, someone...smaller.
Even with Changbin borderline worshipping your curves every chance he gets, believing someone actually craves you doesn't come easily.
But you desperately want to believe Changbin wants you and to show him how badly you want him too. If anything, you don't want whatever this is that you have with him to fizzle out just because you're self-conscious about letting him fuck you.
So, you won't stop him this time. Even though he'll probably cringe at seeing you naked and you'll probably be permanently traumatized, it's better to be judged and laughed at than end up alone, watching him walk away.
Changbin stills. Then he lifts his head from your neck and gently smiles down at you.
For a second, you think he’s just pausing to look at you because he does that sometimes, although you still aren't sure exactly why.
But then his hands slip away, he leans down and kisses your nose and then your cheek.
When you blink, he’s already pulling away, sitting up, and offering you a hand to help you do the same.
Your stomach drops as he guides you upright with an easy, careful lift. “I didn’t say stop.”
“I know, but that’s usually where you ask to stop, so..."
The words hit harder than they should.
Usually.
Of course, he’s been paying attention. Tracking your boundaries even when you don’t say them out loud. Memorizing the exact point where your breathing changes, where your hands get tense, where you start to get stiff.
“I don’t want to push you into something you’re not ready for," he says, gently tucking a piece of your hair behind your ear.
“But aren't you at least a little disappointed?"
He frowns, confused. “Why would I be?”
“I mean…I’m not exactly delivering on the whole friends-with-benefits thing.”
Little by little, the confusion folded in his brow smooths out. His gaze lingers on you a fraction longer before he looks away, the softness in his expression pulling back and replaced with something more guarded and more distant.
“Oh.”
“Sorry,” you mumble.
“For what exactly?”
“Making this awkward.” You let out a quiet chuckle. “I have no idea what I’m doing. I’ve never…done this before, if you couldn't tell.”
The silence that follows isn’t long, but it's heavy.
"Me neither."
You've made him upset. He's upset at you.
“But,” you add quickly, filling the space before it stretches too far, “I'm ready to take things to the next level now. I won't make you wait any longer, I promise."
“Yeah,” he says immediately, running a hand through his hair and over his jawline. “I get it. I mean, it's fine. I don't mind waiting."
But it doesn’t feel fine. And it definitely doesn’t sound fine.
"Changbin, I'm sorry if I frustrated you by always making us stop in the middle. I was just, you know, nervous. But I'm okay now."
You take his hand and place it on your upper thigh, but the moment you see his thumb on a stretch mark, a flicker of self-consciousness runs through you, even as you try to hold his gaze and pretend it doesn’t matter.
He sighs, "I'm glad you're not nervous anymore." He pulls his hand away. "But I'm not feeling it today."
Then he stands, gathering himself with his hands in his pockets.
"Actually a bit tired. I think I’ll head out early."
And then he leaves.
Not abruptly. Not coldly. He still presses a kiss to your forehead and reminds you to text him when you go to bed, still smiles before closing the door.
But something’s different.
And it stays different.
For weeks.
::
It’s not like Changbin to avoid you. And technically, he isn't.
He shows up every few days, jokes around before dropping onto the couch, eats your food, watches your TV, listens to your day. So, on the surface, everything seems okay.
But it’s not.
He hasn’t once tried to kiss you since that night, let alone make out with you. Every time you try to start anything, he shuts it down before you can even kiss his cheek.
It’s never obvious. Never enough to call him out without sounding ridiculous. He’ll laugh it off, redirect, brush your hand away like he just wasn’t paying attention, act like it doesn’t matter.
But it does. It really does. Because he used to meet you halfway – no, more than halfway.
And now…he just doesn’t.
He’s still kind. Still Changbin in all the ways that made you like him in the first place. He sits next to you, walks with you, talks like nothing’s changed.
But something definitely has.
It's as if he’s overthinking every inch of space between you instead of just existing in it. His eyes don’t linger on you the way they used to, although he's still reading you every chance he gets. But it feels…different now.
The way he looks at you is different.
It was subtle enough that you doubted yourself at first, but once you noticed it, you couldn't deny it. Something changed. But he never told you what it was!
And now it's messing with your head in bigger and bigger ways. Replaying conversations. Overthinking pauses. Inserting meaning into silences that used to feel safe.
Something is going down between you two, and you keep waiting for him to bring it up, but Changbin isn't addressing it directly like he usually does.
Not that you’ve tried to address it either, but that's his job! You're the chaotic, insecure, avoidant one, and he's the calm, responsible, communicative one!
Your lips press together as the realization settles uncomfortably in your chest. This isn’t just him being busy, or distracted, or giving you space.
He's…pulling away. But can you really be surprised? This wouldn't be the first time someone's gotten tired of you, after all.
Damn it, of course, he’s tired of trying. It's all because of you!
How many times did he lean in, touch you like you were something worth wanting, only for you to hesitate? To cut him off? To make him second-guess?
You drag a hand over your face, pacing your room like that’s going to chase the thought out of your head. Obviously, you're never going to be that girl, anyway. A guy like him? Wanting you like that? Wanting you at all?
That was already pushing it.
And yet somehow, you still managed to fuck it up.
You had something with him, something at least semi-real. Perhaps the realest thing a girl like you will ever get the chance at having. And you let it slip through your fingers before you even let yourself fully have it.
And even worse…you might’ve ruined the best friendship you’ve ever had, too.
You swallow hard, pacing slowing to a stop.
It can’t stay like this. One of you has to confront things. If he won't, then you will. The only other option is to keep guessing and spiraling and filling in blanks with the worst possible explanations and then crashing out.
But for once, you don’t want to be passive about it. You don’t want to wait for him to fix it, or pretend it’ll go back to normal if you ignore it long enough.
You have to be the one to say something. Even if it’s awkward. Even if you say it wrong. Even if it makes your chest feel like it’s about to cave in and all your coping mechanisms malfunction.
You exhale slowly, steadying yourself.
No jokes this time. No deflecting. No pretending this is anything less than what it is. The conversation you should’ve had weeks ago needs to happen today.
Your fingers hover over your phone for a second before you finally type out a text, simple and to the point:
[y/n] can we talk? actually talk?
You stare at it for a second, heart pounding like you're being chased by a madman. And then you hit send.
[binnie] Sure. When?
[y/n] tonight. my place? ill order pizza
[binnie] 👍
::
When he knocks, you don’t hesitate. You open the door with a small, sweet smile, doing your best to act like the bath robe you're wearing isn’t suspicious – it’s completely normal to answer the door like this at 10:58pm on a weeknight.
Changbin gives you a flat smile in return. It’s more than you expected, if you’re being honest.
“Come on in,” you say, stepping aside to let him pass.
The moment feels way too formal. You’re both used to Changbin just letting himself in because your space has also become his at this point. But now there’s a pause and a politeness that wasn’t there before. It makes your skin itch.
He toes off his shoes and follows you to the living room, to the place where you usually hang out and to the couch where you usually…well, where you used to spend most of your time together.
Watching him drop into that spot on the couch feels almost surreal after weeks of it being mostly empty. There’s something strangely comforting about seeing him settled into your space again, like nothing’s changed. Especially there. That exact spot.
The one that started all of this.
You didn’t tell him to sit there, and maybe it’s better that way.
You lower yourself beside him, leaving a small gap between your knees, your hands already fidgeting with the tie of your robe because if they don't do something, you might go insane.
“So,” he says, looking over at you with little expectation, “what’d you want to talk about?”
You’re not surprised he isn’t expecting much from this conversation. Not like you’ve ever been the confrontational type. And you haven't exactly given him a reason to think you’d suddenly sit him down and say what actually needs to be said. But you’re trying to be better. At least, for him.
“I’ll just get straight to the point if that's okay, umm,” you clear your throat. “Recently, I feel like you’ve been pulling away.”
Oh shit, you didn't know the shift in his face would be so immediate. Something flickers in his eyes. Was that guilt? Maybe he's just a little caught off guard. He doesn’t say anything. Just looks at you, waiting to see where you’re going with this.
So you keep going.
“And I know why.”
“You do?” he swallows.
You nod. “Yeah. And…I want you to know that, I'm ready.”
There’s a pause. “Ready for what?” he repeats slower, trying to understand what you mean.
Instead of explaining with words – because you've used enough of them already – you stand in front of him and let the robe slip from your shoulders and fall quietly to the floor.
The moment remains suspended for several seconds as he takes in your body wrapped up in familiar black lace, black buckles around your thighs, and a black mini skirt resting just above your ass.
And all of a sudden, he's taken right back to that first night.
To the first time you danced for him. The first time he felt himself get addicted to your weight on his lap. His heart starts racing automatically in anticipation, and his skin starts reacting as if you're already on top of him. Even his scalp starts tingling like your fingers are already threaded throughout his hair, gently pulling it to tilt his chin and capture his lips. Oh god, his lips are dry. He runs his tongue over them once, twice, hoping it doesn't make him seem like he's drooling (but it wouldn't be a lie).
Fuck, you're beautiful. But it’s not just that you look good. It’s not the way you’re dressed, or how much skin you're showing, or how sexy you are when you get dolled up for him.
It’s you. All of you.
The way you’re standing there, a little tense, a little eager, hands fidgeting with the strap of your bra like you’re trying to hold yourself together. The way your eyes don’t quite stay on his and the tips of your ears get warm under his gaze.
You look so nervous. You look so real. You look so fucking pretty.
His gaze lingers longer than it should, considering your relationship is unclear and you don't belong to him in any sense. But you're here right now, allowing him to see you like this, and his eyes begin softening without him realizing it. He’s taking you in, piece by piece, not to judge, not to compare…just to see you.
And all he can think is how unfair it is that you don’t seem to understand what he’s seeing.
How can you stand there, right in front of him, and not realize that there’s nothing for him to pick apart? There's nothing to fix. Nothing to hesitate over. Nothing to hate. Nothing to laugh at.
All he can do is gawk and stare at you. Just you. Perfect, beautiful you.
You want to shrink under his gaze and run away, because it feels like it’s been minutes of you just standing here, practically naked, while he sits there unblinking, jaw open, eyelids fluttering, and wrists limp.
But you're not going to run away this time. If you back out now, you really will lose him forever. You have to see this through to the end, all the way…even if it's scary.
You step closer before you can overthink it, closing the space and settling into his lap. Maybe if you recreate the moment when everything felt right, it’ll fix everything that went wrong.
“I won’t pull away this time,” you whisper softly. “I won’t stop you. Do whatever you want to me. Just please don't leave.”
Your lips meet his, and for a second he just lets it happen.
Whatever restraint he’d been holding onto slips loose, and he seems to melt underneath you. His shoulders drop while his body becomes completely unguarded, following your every lead without hesitation. His eyes roll back in his head, and his hands firmly latch onto your ass, kneading and pulling you further onto his lap.
But just as your hips roll against him, his breath hitches and his body flinches, like he's been startled out of a daydream.
“Wait, wait,” he suddenly mutters into the kiss, pulling back just enough to break the momentum, hands easing you back with a careful touch. “What’s happening right now?”
Your confidence – which wasn't much to begin with – immediately falters. “I told you, I'm ready to let you go all the way.”
“Why are you suddenly offering to do that?”
“I don't want to upset you anymore,” you reply slowly, eyes falling, words much quieter than you mean them to be.
“So, let me get this straight. I got upset, and your first reaction is to let me fuck you?”
“Well…yeah?”
You're not sure exactly what reaction you were anticipating, but a fond chuckle was definitely not it. And in some weird way, it makes you think he understands you more than you understand yourself right now.
Changbin laces his fingers behind your ass so you can sit against them comfortably, adjusting you in his lap and looking up at you with gentle – dare you say – loving eyes.
When you’re settled, he tips his head back slightly, his usual, gentle smile that you've missed so terribly finally appearing in all its boyish glory.
“Do you think I was upset because you always stopped us before we had sex?”
You shrug. “What else would it be?”
“Actually, I was upset because you think we have a friends with benefits relationship,” he explains kindly.
“Isn't that what this is?”
“I guess for some people, it could be. But that's never how I saw us. And I never wanted that.”
“You never wanted me?”
“No, that's not what I meant! I want you, believe me. Like, holy fuck, I want you. But I thought we were dating,” he admits bashfully. “So, when you said we were just friends with benefits, it kind of broke my heart a little bit.”
“Oh…oh!”
It lands all at once, and you freeze, suddenly hyper-aware of everything at once: the way you’re sitting in his lap, his hands on your ass, what you’re wearing, what you were just trying to do.
Any left over confidence drains from your face so fast, immediately turning into visible embarrassment. You let out a nervous laugh, gesturing vaguely down at yourself and how absurd this all looks.
“So this was probably not the right idea, huh?” you say, half joking, half cringing.
“I mean, I'm not mad about it,” Changbin smirks playfully, exaggerating a lip bite just to make you giggle for real. “But I also don't want you to do it because you think sex will fix me being upset about something.”
“Sorry.”
“And to be clear – look at me,” he gently cups your cheeks, holding your eyes intentionally focused on his, “I'm not upset at you. I'm just…disappointed that we misunderstood each other this whole time.”
“Yeah, well that one was on me,” you say with a sigh, relaxing into his arms and dropping a little closer to his chest.
“No, I should have done a better job at treating you like my girlfriend instead of my friend I make out with.”
“You do treat me like a girlfriend,” you insist, mindlessly fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, just above the waistband of his sweats. “I'm just not used to being one.”
That makes him pause. Not in a bad way, just in a thoughtful way. Leave it to Changbin to actually take you seriously instead of letting your casual comment pass.
His expression softens, and he tilts his head cutely as if something has just clicked into place.
“Okay,” he says slowly, wrapping his arms around you again, tighter this time. “Then what are some things I can do to make sure you feel like my girlfriend?”
It’s an honest question. Just one you weren't necessarily prepared for. He already knows you way better than you know him, so to see him trying to understand you better than he already does makes your heart swell.
Without even thinking about it, your body leans into him, less guarded, more natural. Your hands find his skin absentmindedly, fingers brushing the back of his neck, then playing with his hair as if the very action soothes your nerves. Everything slows, your heartbeat, your thoughts, his eyelids when he blinks up at you.
“Could I come over to your place more often?”
“Of course, baby,” he says easily. “You can come over whenever you want even if I’m not there. Do you want a key?”
“Oh, well, maybe I don’t need quite that much right now,” you answer shyly, the offer sending goosebumps across your skin.
“Got it. I’ll get you a toothbrush and some hair ties for the bathroom. How does that sound?”
You beam. “That’s perfect.”
You're not sure who leans in first this time. Perhaps it doesn't really matter when his lips land on yours, somehow sweeter and softer than they've ever felt.
It starts small, just a quick peck. Then another. And another. Neither of you ready to stop, but smiling too much to take it seriously.
His lips brush yours again, lingering this time, and the moment naturally deepens into something slower and warmer. His smiles are still there, pressed between each kiss, undeniable.
You feel it then.
The way he pulls you closer, arms wrapping around your back, not letting any space exist between you if he can help it. His hold tightens until all of you is pressed against him.
And for once, your thoughts don’t spiral.
You don’t think about how your body must feel squished in his arms. Or how long you’ve been sitting in his lap. Or whether you should get up and give his legs a break.
None of it.
All you can focus on is the way he laughs softly against your mouth, a quiet, breathy giggle slipping into the kiss when you nuzzle his nose. The way his arms hold you close as if they'll never let you go.
And for the first time, a part of you feels beautiful and wanted simply because you are.
::
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just binge-read these bc omg? this is so real. God seo changbin the man you are
Something More | pt 2
-> You're everything Changbin has ever wanted. He's just got to make you see that.
changbin x fem!curvy!reader
best friends to lovers, suggestive, hurt/comfort, MINORS DNI
5.5K
warnings: making out, cursing, implications to masterbation and sexual content, thigh riding, thigh kissing, hair pulling, touching, Changbin (the man deserves his own warning), low self esteem and poor body image, weight and body insecurities
I know I am a sfw writer BUT THIS is an exception bc I was feeling feisty lol
Part 1, Part 3
-------------------------------------------------
"No way," you insist, shaking your head. "You’re strong, but not that strong."
The two of you have been going back and forth for so long that Changbin’s honestly lost track of how it all even started. All he knows is that you’re standing in the middle of his bedroom with your arms crossed, wearing a teasing little smirk that's obviously meant to rile him up.
It's working.
"Please," he scoffs, flexing his bicep just to show off. “I could pick you up with one arm.”
You laugh at him – actually laugh – as if you haven't seen him bench two times your weight before.
"You’d drop me."
His gaze drifts over you then, slowly, completely unapologetic. Starting at your face, sliding down the line of your shoulders, lingering along the curves of your body.
He takes his time checking you out, letting the silence between you gradually turn into tension.
By the time his eyes meet yours again, you're done laughing, and there’s a small, confident smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.
"Wanna bet?"
Before you can say another word, his arm (singular) sweeps under your legs in one quick motion. A surprised, high-pitched gasp leaves your lips as the world tilts, and you instinctively throw your arms around his neck to hang on tight. Suddenly you’re in the air, balanced bridal-style in the crook of his right arm. He’s holding you easily, as if you weigh nothing, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
"You were saying?"
Your breath quickens as you stare up at him.
God, he’s handsome. And smart. And tall. And perfectly proportionate.
Strong, warm, the perfect amount of cocky but never in a way that makes you feel small. If anything, the way he looks at you makes you feel like the most important person in his life. Like he’s proud to be holding you.
Your fingers brush lightly against the back of his neck, absentminded and affectionate.
“Wow,” you breathe, the word slipping out in a shaky exhale. “I guess I was wrong this whole time.”
“About what?”
“About you,” you say, voice gentler now, “and about me.” Your arms tighten a little around his neck as you bring yourself closer to him, a content and happy sigh when his nose nuzzles yours. When you smile, it feels like fireworks going off inside his stomach.
“I’m perfect just the way I am. No matter my weight.”
“Exactly,” Changbin murmurs, leaning a little closer.
“I finally see myself the way you see me.”
“Exactly.” His nose crosses yours, eyes closing and lips tingling with anticipation.
“And now that I do, we should have sex.”
“Exact—” His eyes pop open, pulling back slightly. “Wait, what?”
“We should have sex.” You smile at him like this is the most obvious conclusion in the world. “Because you've been secretly in love with me since the day we met, haven't you?”
“I have, but…hold on, how do you know that?”
You just hum softly in response, a fond little sound that makes it very clear you’re not going to explain. Instead, you press your palm to his shoulder and give him a gentle shove.
Suddenly, he’s falling back onto your living room couch, a surprised grunt leaving him as the cushions—
Hold on, since when was he in your apartment?
Before he can finish his thought, you’re climbing over him, settling across his lap just like you did before. Same black lingerie, same stockings, same mini skirt riding up your thighs.
“What are you…?”
“Shh,” you whisper into his ear, “just let it happen.”
He doesn't have time to question when your mouth finds his neck, and whatever protest he might have had dies instantly.
His hands react before his mind can catch up, sliding to your waist and tightening there as your lips brush along his skin, impossibly warm and soft. The touch sends tremors down his spine.
Your fingers drift lower, gliding slowly down the center of his chest, each inch of movement leaving his nerves buzzing. By the time they reach the button of his jeans, his sanity is all but gone, his whole body tense with anticipation.
Your hand slips beneath his waistband, the heat of your palm making his breath hitch. Changbin’s head falls back against the couch, a low groan spilling from his throat as your fingers curl around him.
His eyes squeeze shut, every goosebump on his body coming to life as your grip tightens just enough to make his hips twitch beneath you and—
Your name tears from his throat in a startled gasp as he bolts awake.
A dark ceiling. A fan circling above his head. A gentle hum coming from his mini fridge in the corner.
He's in bed – alone. As to be expected at 4am on a week night.
Changbin just stares at nothing for a long second while reality settles back into place.
“Damn it…”
He drags a hand down his face, but then freezes. Because his other hand is currently inside his sweatpants.
He sighs heavily and pulls it out, flopping it against his mattress in defeat.
This isn’t even surprising anymore, honestly. He's been waking up in similar situations for the last three nights now. Every time he closes his eyes, there you are again. In his dreams. On his lap. In his head. And apparently his subconscious has decided to stop being subtle about it.
Actually, this last dream felt so real, Changbin legitimately believed it for a second.
It’s been three days. Three whole days since you gave him a lap dance in your living room. Three whole days since he asked if he could kiss you. Three whole days since you scrambled off his lap and ran away like the apartment was on fire.
And he hasn’t stopped thinking about you for a single second.
Which is great. Fantastic, really. Because clearly you’re upset, and he isn't able to do anything about it.
He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck as he sits up in bed.
Of course, you’re upset! He crossed a line that obviously wasn't supposed to be crossed.
You were just trying to prove a point, and he was supposed to be helping boost your confidence, making you feel comfortable in your own skin. That was the whole deal. A friend helping a friend. Nothing complicated, nothing more.
Grinding on his lap? Totally fine.
Pulling his hair? Doesn't bother him one bit.
Kissing you? Apparently way too much.
He groans again, dropping back and accidentally slamming his head against his headboard like the unlucky idiot he is.
Everything is ruined.
His friendship with you is ruined because he can’t possibly pretend he doesn’t want you. And your friendship with him is ruined because he made you so unbelievably uncomfortable that apparently you can't even be bothered to text him anymore.
And if that wasn’t bad enough, he’s been unbearably wound up since that night. Like…painfully so.
Every time he closes his eyes, he sees you. Exactly the way you looked that night.
Black lace hugging your waist. Those ridiculous little buckles circling your thighs. The sway of your mini skirt every time you took a step toward him. The slow, shy way you climbed onto his lap, and then when you finally, finally settled on top of him.
Your fingers twisting in his hair. Your chest against his chest. Your hips dragging over his lap. Your little sounds every time he pulled you down harder.
But the best part by far was the way you seemed to know exactly what you were doing to him. There was this confidence in you that he'd never seen before. Not demeaning or uncertain, but bold and sexy. You moved against him like you were perfectly pleased with the kind of mess you were making of him.
And fuck, he wanted to be a mess for you.
The memory keeps going, each detail sharper than the last, until his body reacts before he can stop it.
Changbin groans and rolls over, shoving his face into his pillow like it might smother the images out of his head.
It doesn’t work. If anything, closing his eyes just makes you clearer.
It's not like he hasn't tried to deal with his problem. He has! Multiple times.
But apparently his brain is determined to sabotage him, because every attempt at taking care of himself just turns into another vivid replay of you grinding against him, but nothing he does accurately mimics what that felt like.
So now he’s stuck in this miserable limbo where he feels like the worst friend alive and also desperately, hopelessly wants to see you again.
He reaches for his phone.
This is a terrible idea. A truly horrible idea. But the thought of allowing this awkward era of silence between the two of you to stretch on and on and on, potentially never talking to you again?
Definitely worse.
He opens your text thread and stares at the message box for a long moment.
[binnie] Hey
He thinks for a second. Then adds…
[binnie] Hey…are we okay?
His thumb hovers over the send button. It's not the best of texts, he knows that. But his 4am horny and alone brain can't think of anything else right now. He exhales slowly and sends it.
The message shows as read, but nothing from you immediately comes up.
No typing bubble. No reply. Just the quiet hum of his apartment and the dull thud of his heart somewhere in his throat.
He tosses his phone onto the mattress beside him and presses the heels of his hands into his tired eyes.
“Good job, dumbass,” he mutters to himself.
Five seconds later, his phone buzzes.
Changbin practically dives for it. Your name lights up the screen, and his stomach drops.
[y/n] we're ok
That’s it? No emoji. No reassurance. No details. Just a vague, anxiety-inducing two word text that does little to convince him you're being truthful.
He watches the words like they might rearrange themselves into something less ominous if he reads them enough times.
They don’t.
[binnie] Can we talk?
[y/n] sure
Good. That’s what he wanted, isn’t it? To talk. To clear the air. That’s what he's supposed to do in this situation, right?
So why does his stomach suddenly feel sick?
Probably because he knows what you're going to say.
You’re going to tell him you felt uncomfortable. That you value your friendship with him and want to keep boundaries normal. You’re going to say it would be better if he didn’t blur lines like that again.
And it's not that he doesn't want to hear how you're feeling. He does. He wants to get everything out in the open. But he can’t force you to feel the way he feels. He can’t insist you should have let him kiss you. He can’t pour his heart out when it’s clear you don't feel the same way. If he wants to keep you in his life at all, he has to tread carefully.
He types a reply…
[binnie] When should I come over?
[y/n] whenever. im not sleeping tonight.
His stomach twists again.
Not sleeping? Are you sick? Did he really cause you so much discomfort that you can't even sleep?
Great. Now he feels like real shit.
[binnie] Okay. Be there in a bit.
But first, a shower.
::
The drive over feels shorter than usual, which is unfortunate because it gives Changbin almost no time to figure out what he’s actually going to say when he sees you.
Part of him wants to address it head-on, rip the bandaid off even if it burns for a moment afterwards, so things can start healing sooner than later.
But if he knows you at all, he knows that’s not how you handle things. You’ll take the long way around, circle the topic a dozen different ways before you ever land on it. Confrontation has never really been your thing, and he respects that because he respects you.
But he also knows himself. And he knows it's gonna be a struggle to hold himself back.
Outside your door, Changbin stops short. Normally, he would’ve just walked right in. He’s done it a hundred times before without thinking twice. But tonight he hesitates, hovering near the handle before slowly pulling back. He lifts his knuckles and knocks.
He braces himself for the inevitable. Awkwardness. Distance. Maybe a little bitterness. Or even worse, that polite smile you give people after you've already internally decided to cut them off.
Instead, you answer the door wearing pajamas. Which, logically, makes sense. It’s almost 5am. Of course you’re in pajamas.
The problem is your pajamas are silk shorts that barely reach the tops of your thighs and a loose T-shirt that looks suspiciously familiar.
Because he’s about ninety-nine percent sure that’s his shirt. The faded black one with the tiny cracked logo on the front that disappeared from his closet like two years ago. The one you swore you didn't take.
“That's my shirt.”
“Huh?” You glance down like you forgot what you were wearing, casually pulling at the material. “No, this is mine.”
No apology. No embarrassment. Just a small shrug before you step aside to let him in.
Changbin walks past you, trying very hard not to notice the way your silk shorts shift when you move. Or the way the hem of your his shirt brushes against the top of them.
Great. You're about to friend zone him while wearing his clothes. That feels unnecessarily cruel.
“Umm,” you say softly behind him as he toes off his shoes, “was the drive okay?”
He turns and gives you a small nod.
For a moment neither of you say anything.
Changbin can't help but study you, searching for any usual cues. Your smile, a teasing glint in your eyes, the little things that always give away what you’ve been feeling.
But for the first time, he can’t read you.
He wants to step closer, to wrap his arms around you or even just brush your hand, but your body language isn’t very inviting. So he holds back, letting the quiet sit between you both, desperate to know how you’ve been, but unsure if he's allowed to ask at this point.
Then you gesture vaguely toward the living room.
“Have a…seat…” Your voice dies the moment you realize exactly where you’re pointing.
The couch.
That goddamn couch.
Your hand freezes midair before closing and dropping awkwardly to your side.
You’re both just standing there. Staring at it. The silence stretches on for several moments, thick and painfully aware of itself.
Changbin can barely stand it. The bandaid is right there, just waiting to be ripped off. But you don't say anything, so he doesn't say anything.
Instead, he slips his hands into his pockets, pressing his lips together to keep from commenting. Whether you mean to or not, your thighs rub together when you catch him glancing at you.
And, yes, Changbin notices.
“Thirsty?”
His eyes dart away from your thighs, just a beat too late to be subtle. “What?”
“I mean, did you want something to drink?” you correct quickly, stumbling over your words as you realize how that first question probably sounded.
“Oh. Uh, sure.”
You turn away immediately, suddenly very focused on your mission to get him a beverage, ears burning as the embarrassment settles in.
Behind you, Changbin hangs his head to hide the small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. It’s endearing, honestly, how flustered you get when your brain moves faster than your mouth.
You swing open the fridge and lean forward to peer inside, low-key hiding your face behind the door. Changbin leans against the counter, hands still in his pockets, watching you search the tiny fridge for an unconvincing amount of time.
Awkward doesn’t even begin to cover it. You are masterfully avoiding the elephant in the room.
Following your lead is fine, he tells himself. But the urge to cut through the friendly avoidance and say what's actually on his mind keeps getting stronger.
“All I have is water. Is that okay?”
“Yeah, thanks.”
You grab a bottle and toss it to him, not even willing to risk the chance of brushing fingers.
For a moment, the two of you just stand there in the quiet of your kitchen, the only sound being the soft crack of the water bottle lid when Changbin opens it.
He tips it back, lifting his chin as he takes a long drink. Across the kitchen, he can feel your eyes on him when you think he’s not paying attention. It’s the most directly you’ve looked at him since he arrived.
So he keeps drinking.
Just to see how long you’ll keep staring. Just to see how many times your eyelids will flutter and your lips will part while watching his throat bob with each drink.
Then his eyes shift – and land on you mid-sip.
Your gaze snaps away instantly, your whole body reacting like you’ve just been caught committing a crime. Suddenly, the countertop is super fascinating. Truly groundbreaking stuff that requires your complete and total attention.
Changbin lowers the bottle slowly, fighting the urge to smile.
Ah, yes. Finally. He can read you again.
The way you shift your weight like you’re trying to decide where to stand. The brief glances that never quite last long enough to count as eye contact. The tight set of your shoulders.
It’s obvious you’re uncomfortable, just as expected. But not for the reason he anticipated.
You’re nervous around him in a way you’ve never been before. There's a faint flush creeping up your neck. Your thighs press together when you think he’s not looking. And that little hitch in your breath when your eyes meet for more than a second? Both adorable and very telling.
You’re trying to hide it. And doing a decent job, honestly.
But Changbin knows you too well. Right now? You’re flustered as hell.
But it's not just that. Maybe he’s getting ahead of himself, but he could almost swear…you’re a little turned on.
He can see it. Not in a mocking way, but rather he can sense the air around your body change. He can feel the effect he has on you, the way your body betrays any and every attempt at appearing normal.
Oh fuck, it's true. You’re all hot and bothered, and there’s no way to fully hide it. Every nervous shift, every stolen glance, every subtle shiver gives your true feelings away and ignites something in him he can’t ignore.
It's in his chest, twisting and pulling, insisting that he can’t just stand here anymore. He can’t keep letting the tension sit like some invisible wall between you two.
He’s done waiting. The bandaid is coming off one way or another. If he doesn’t act now, he might never get the chance to.
“Listen, about the other night—”
“Okay, you got me. I lied. It is your shirt. I know what you’re about to say, but it’s not my fault. Stealing runs in my family. Remember my Uncle Lee? Forty years and that was on good behavior.”
“Stop.”
“Just be grateful it was only your shirt.”
“Stop.”
“Fiiine, your Supreme hoodie is also in my closet. But I'm not giving it back! Anyway, I got soy sauce on it and the stain won't come out, so—”
“___, stop.”
Your shoulders jerk, heart flipping, guilt prickling across your chest and written all over your face. You know he sees right through you and your antics. This time, he won't let your deflecting humor cover this one up or push him away.
“We need to talk about what happened that night.”
You look away. “I don’t want to.”
“Why not?” His voice is soft and patient, but the edge of insistence is definitely there.
You say nothing, just watch the opposite wall with your lip caught between your teeth.
It’s subtle at first. The way he stands a little closer than necessary, like he’s giving you space but also closing in on your defenses, kindly tearing down your walls.
The walls you keep so carefully in place, built with deflection, humor, and avoidance. They start to splinter under the quiet weight of his presence. Not forced. Not rushed. Just persistent. Willing to stand there for as long as it takes, waiting for you to let him in.
It’s unsettling. Because no one does this to you. No one gets this far.
But Changbin does.
And lately, that thought has been sitting heavier on your heart than you know what to do with. Because ever since that night, there’s been this quiet, gnawing fear you can’t shake. This feeling that maybe you’ve been holding back too much. That maybe you haven't been honest enough.
That eventually he’s going to decide you’re not worth the effort after all.
That he’ll get tired.
That he’ll leave.
The thought tightens something deep in your chest, sharper than you expected.
“Because,” you admit, “I’m scared it’ll change things between us.”
Changbin’s fingers hold your chin, guiding your gaze back to his. “Why does that have to be a bad thing?”
You gaze up at him, heart thudding in your ears. “Run as fast as you can,” it tells you, “before he leaves you first.”
But you don’t want to leave. You don’t want to go back to being someone people only ever get halfway to. You don’t want to be alone.
He’s looking at you like you’re something special. Something beautiful. And that’s the problem. You’ve never really seen yourself that way. So accepting the way he looks at you feels almost impossible, like trying to step into a version of yourself you’ve never believed in.
“I'm sorry.” A small, ashamed apology that makes his heart clench.
“For what?” he asks gently.
“I don’t know. I just feel like I should be.”
“If you’re apologizing for being sexy, please don't.” His hand pulls away from your chin to instead rub the back of his neck. “I’m the one who crossed the line when I asked for a…you know.”
“A kiss?” you finish for him, easing out of his space as you fall back against the counter, palms braced behind you, shoulders lifting in a small shrug. “You didn’t cross a line.”
“I didn't?”
“Mm-mm.” You shake your head. “I was the one grinding on you and pulling your hair anyway,” you add quietly, gesturing between the two of you. “When two people are doing stuff like that, it’s natural to want to kiss.”
“Did you want to?”
You swallow, feigning ignorance. “Did I want to what?”
“Kiss me.”
“I don't know.”
“I think you did.” He takes his time closing the distance, giving you the chance to move or stop him. But you don't. So his hands settle on the counter behind you, one on either side of your hips, leaning into you. “Do you want to now?”
Your body reacts first – chest dipping and rising with deeper breaths, knees drawing closer together, lips parting slightly as you stare up at him, fingers twisting nervously into the fabric of your shirt.
It would be so easy to call you out right now, and you know it. The way you’re breathing, the way you keep looking at his mouth, the way your whole body starts instinctively leaning in too, until there's barely an inch of space left between you.
But then you back away again. “Sorry.”
“You know, you keep apologizing, but you're not actually apologizing for what happened,” he says. “I don’t regret it. And if I had to guess…neither do you."
Without answering, your eyes quietly drop to his lips. And this time, they stay there.
Almost immediately, as if on command, Changbin leans in, the movement so subtle you might have missed it if you weren’t watching him so closely. His chin edging forward, his head tilting just enough to line up with yours, his eyes beginning to flutter closed.
But he stops just short, a quiet, eager breath slipping past his lips as he waits, giving you space and time to meet him halfway.
“Can I ask you something?”
“What?”
“Are you going to friend zone me?”
“We’re friends,” you say automatically. “Aren’t I supposed to?”
“No.”
“Then what should I do?”
His hands settle lightly on your waist, barely more than a brush, but enough to draw you a small, pleading inch closer.
“You should kiss me.”
You don’t even know what happened in those next fleeting moments. Only that one second he’s looking at you like his world has stopped, and the next your lips are crashing into his.
Changbin melts. Instantaneously.
The moment you collide, his mouth opens to yours without hesitation, pulling you closer, deeper with every hungry motion. He doesn’t pause to wait for you to catch up or adjust; he just kisses you like he’s always wanted to, letting every craving and desire he’s held back spill into the press of your lips.
Sparks explode behind his closed eyes, fireworks in his chest, traveling through his body and popping in his stomach. Goosebumps bloom across his arms and up the back of his neck, wherever your hands roam. A shiver runs through his body that makes his bones vibrate. His skin feels electric, like glitter dusted over every nerve ending.
But his mind…his mind goes completely blank.
In this moment, nothing else exists but you, him, and the way every fiber of his body is alive with you.
His hands slide around to your waist, catching in the fabric of your shirt as it rides up along your ribs with each pass of his hands. He pulls you flush against him, guiding you without a word until your legs part naturally around his thigh, your hips settling against it like your body already knows where it wants to be.
Your fingers slip into his hair, tightening on instinct every time his thigh flexes beneath you. The movement sends sharp, electric pulses through you, little flashes of heat that leave your hips chasing the feeling, wanting more of him in every way he’ll give it.
He acts on instinct, in response to every inch of you. The sensation of your hips rolling against his thigh, your tongue drawing past his lips, your fingers in his hair. It’s enough to make something restless unfurl inside him, tension winding tighter with every second.
Because as much as he’s unraveling for you, there’s a strong pull to see you unravel too. To be the one who does that to you.
And then your legs clamp shut around his thigh — hard. And the sound that leaves your throat nearly drops Changbin to his knees.
He stills for a moment when you jerk in his arms, body stiffening but also clinging to him. You don’t pull away, but your breath is uneven, lips hovering where they’re already searching to be kissed again.
And then he looks at you.
Holy shit, he’s never seen you like this before.
There’s a softness to you that you've never shown, something fragile in the way you hold onto him. But beneath that, something else flickers. Something stronger. Bolder. You’re stepping into something you’ve never let yourself be before.
It undoes him completely.
Maybe this is what it feels like to watch someone you already thought was everything…become even more.
He grips your waist and lifts you like it’s nothing, setting you on the counter with an ease that makes your breath catch. Before you can even steady yourself, he guides you to the edge, his hands sliding up your thighs, gently parting them so he can step in between.
You immediately grab his collar and pull him back into you. But he doesn't go for another kiss. No. Instead, he drops.
Down to his knees, sparkling eyes fixed on you the whole time, wordless but asking.
Your breath hitches as his hands settle on your knees. Not forceful. Just certain. He presses a soft kiss to the inside of your knee first, and then looks up at you again.
Your fingers move to his hair without thinking, threading through it as you watch him.
Another kiss, higher this time. His lips linger at the center of your thigh. The faint press of his teeth follows, just enough to make you inhale sharply, leaving behind a mark that is quietly, unmistakably his.
He moves again, closer, your legs opening a little more under his touch. His hand spreads along your inner thigh, warm and grounding, holding you there as his mouth follows.
Each kiss is unhurried. Intentional. Dare you believe…even loving.
He’s mapping you out. Learning you. Savoring you.
There’s a low hum against your skin, almost absentminded, like he’s completely lost in it, like every inch of you is something worth pausing for.
And the way he looks at you from there — on his knees, between your legs, careful but sure.
It feels reverent. And absolutely terrifying.
Your hand tightens in his hair, body going tense as he moves in slowly, the warmth of his breath and faint brush of his lips slipping through the thin fabric of your pajama shorts.
A gentle kiss…
“Changbin…” you breathe, fingers tightening just a little more. “Wait.”
He stops instantly.
Looks up at you, and what he sees has him on his feet in the next second.
There are tears in your eyes.
“What’s wrong?” he asks urgently. “Did I hurt you?”
“No. No.” Shyly, you pull your shirt down between your legs, covering the inside of your thighs as your gaze lands anywhere but on him. “I’m just…”
You’re overwhelmed.
How can he look at you like that? How can he worship your body like that? What’s there that's even worth worshipping? No one has ever treated you like this. Not even you.
So to have someone like Changbin kneel for you, the combination of it all sends your heart and body into a frenzy of gnawing self-criticism you don't know how to control.
Years of doubting yourself, of quietly believing you weren’t enough, keep threading through your mind, stopping you from fully sinking into this moment.
You don’t want to hover halfway, caught between fear and desire. You want to let yourself fall completely into his hands, into his lips, into everything he’s giving you.
But you're not quite sure how to do that. And you're not quite sure how to tell him that.
Fortunately, he doesn’t need you to. Understanding softens his expression, and Changbin’s hand moves to stroke your hair. No questions. No blame. He already knows.
“It’s okay,” he says. “We don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”
Your shoulders loosen just a fraction. Your hands drift up his chest, settling around him, and you press your face into him for a moment, breathing in his warmth that seems to steady you.
“I'm sorry.”
“I told you,” he murmurs, “you don’t need to apologize for anything.”
He pulls back just enough to capture your lips again, hand cupping your jaw gently.
But this kiss isn’t like the last one. It’s slow but firm, and laced with a yearning that feels deeper. He presses you into his chest, aligning every inch of you to him, inhaling like he’s trying to draw your very essence into himself.
When he finally releases you, it's almost like his whole body sighs in relief, while you’re genuinely sad that his lips have left yours.
He rests his forehead against you, lingering there just long enough for your pulse to spike and your mind to start turning to mush.
“I…”
Your heart starts hammering. Somewhere deep inside, you realize you’ve started holding your breath, wondering how he’ll finish that sentence. And, more dangerously, wishing he would end it a certain way.
“I…I’m okay with waiting. So don’t worry about me,” he says softly.
“Oh,” you whisper, caught between a rush of relief and the sting of disappointment. “Thank you.”
“Wanna watch a movie but get distracted and start making out halfway through?” Changbin adds with a sly, almost comical wink.
You giggle, a little breathless. “Yeah. Yeah, that sounds fun.”
He lets go to set up the movie, leaving you perched on the kitchen counter, legs swinging in an attempt to appear casual when he glances back at you.
Your gaze follows him, heart twisting as you wonder how you never noticed this side of him before – this mix of tenderness, patience, and heat.
But that tight clench in your chest? It aches from years of carrying so much self-doubt, and also the thought that you could really fall for him…if only your insecurities would let you.
As you jump off the counter and head for the living room, your eyes land on him – sitting on that goddamn couch, remote in one hand, the other invitingly tapping his lap.
And for the first time in a long time, you feel your insecurities start to give way to something more.
::
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Something More
-> To help you build your confidence in your sexiness, your best friend Changbin convinces you to give him a lap dance.
changbin x fem!curvy!reader
best friends to ?, suggestive, hurt/comfort, minors dni
5K
warnings: reader gives binnie a lap dance, grinding + touching + everything else that comes with a lap dance, cursing, reader is insecure about her body, weight insecurities
this completely self indulgant and not proof read much so pls excuse any mistakes <3
Part 2
-------------------------------------------------
It started off as a joke. Your usual self-deprecating humor to mask a deeper, more serious insecurity you've been hiding since you were twelve.
"Wish I could feel sexy without looking stupid. But, oh well! Middle school boys and their irreversible psychological damage, am I right?"
You didn't mean anything by the comment, on the surface. But it sure got his attention. Because in the next moment, Changbin actually turns his head away from his phone screen.
"You don't look stupid."
"Binnie, come on," you roll your eyes, hands gesturing up and down your slouched body against the side of the couch. "Guys aren't exactly lining up at my door to get a piece of this."
He looks you up and down -- from your messy hair to the way you’re trying very hard to look unimpressive -- shrugs and simply repeats, "You don't look stupid."
Changbin, your current (and only) best friend, has never been anything but direct. Never pretentious. Never pretending. What you see is what you get. You never have to second guess if he's saying what he truly thinks because you don't believe he has the ability to be dishonest.
He says what he means and he means what he says.
Always.
And somehow, that makes him the safest person you know.
But even his honesty isn’t always strong enough to fight the narrative in your head.
Insecurity has a way of distorting things and rewriting even the purest of intentions. Just because he says it plainly doesn’t mean you absorb it plainly. Especially when the topic drifts anywhere near how you look.
Boys have always been a sore subject, ever since puberty decided your body would change faster than your confidence could keep up. One year you were normal and forgettable. And the next, your waist softened, your hips widened, and suddenly you were hyperaware of space and how much of it you took up.
People say curves aren’t a bad thing. Social media insists they’re celebrated. Family says whatever to get you to stop talking. So-called friends disregard it with half hearted comments about your pretty hair color or how nice your personality is.
And maybe they're right.
But that doesn’t automatically make you feel wanted.
It doesn’t erase years of standing a little straighter, sucking in a little harder, believing you're too much in the wrong places and not enough in the right ones.
So when Changbin's eyes trace the lines of your body slowly and carefully, followed by the soft tone of his deep voice muttering, "You don't look stupid," part of you wants desperately to believe him.
Because he’s not the type to sugarcoat or lie.
But the twelve-year-old version of you who learned quickly which girls got noticed and which ones got overlooked, crosses her arms and says, "But I'm not sexy either."
"You are," he replies, steady and certain. "You just haven't realized it yet."
"Easy for you to say," you shoot back. "You're literally every girl's dream."
And he is. It’s annoyingly unfair.
The man is built like he's been sculpted by the gods themselves. Biceps that look flexed even when they’re relaxed, somehow simultaneously romantic and dangerous. When he folds his arms across his chest, the sheer size of them makes your stomach flip. You're half intimidated and half infatuated by how easily he could put you in a headlock if he wanted to.
Speaking of his chest. His chest is ridiculous, firm with the perfect balance of squishy. Stretching the fabric of whatever he’s wearing so obviously that it’s hard not to stare. You’ve hugged him before, countless times, and every time you're reminded of nice it is to be enveloped in a wall of warmth and muscle.
But Changbin isn’t just attractive in some vague, objective way. And the contrast is what really gets you.
Because beneath all that intimidating build is the softest heart.
A small, perfectly shaped button nose that scrunches when you make him laugh. Plush lips that curve easily into a smile when you insist on one more selfie. Round cheeks that blush the most adorable shade of pink when you compliment him. His eyes are sharp when he’s focused, but when they look at you, they soften in a way that reveals his boyish, sweet side.
Gym god body. Endearing personality.
It’s criminal.
Sure, he’s told you stories about being scrawny in high school, about feeling small, about throwing himself into training because he hated how weak he felt. You’ve seen old photos. You’ve listened to him talk about past insecurities. But that's all they are -- the past.
Now?
Now he looks like the perfect embodiment of every main male lead in a spicy romance novel.
Solid thighs that strain tight against his jeans when he manspreads on your couch. Thick and powerful, even more so when they're straddling the seat of his Harley-Davidson Sportster. You’ve accidentally brushed against them before and had to pretend that little moment didn't give you dreams for the next week.
It’s embarrassing to admit, but this isn’t new.
You’ve noticed your best friend before. In moments where he stretches his arms over his head and his shirt just barely shows tummy. In moments where he laughs and his pecks bounce under your cheek during a hug. In moments where you catch yourself falling dangerously deep into a maladaptive daydream you probably shouldn't be entertaining.
But you always end up throwing the idea away.
Because someone like him probably wants someone…smaller.
A girl that's naturally slender. Effortlessly toned. A girl who looks like she belongs beside him in a mirror selfie at the gym. A girl who doesn’t second guess if a guy's leg is going numb when she sits on his lap.
Because standing next to Changbin doesn't feel like a match. Softness against solidity. Curves against carved lines. You don't fit what people expect for him.
He deserves perfection. You would be a compromise. But saying it out loud sounds really dark.
So, you just shrug instead.
“It’s different for you,” you mumble. “You walk into a room and every girl immediately wants you."
He frowns. “That’s not what it means to be sexy."
“Okay, but you can say that because you are sexy. I mean, look at you," you gesture vaguely, breath stuttering when he adjusts in seat. "And I know you worked hard for it, but still..."
“You think I don’t still see that scrawny kid when I look in the mirror sometimes?” he asks quietly.
“That’s different.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re not that kid anymore.”
"But you’re still twelve?"
The question hits harder than you expect. Because if you're honest, the answer is a little bit yes.
You look away first. “Guys like you don’t go for girls like me."
"How do you know what kind of girls guys like me go for?"
"Because I just know."
“Do you?”
“It's kind of obvious."
He leans back against the couch like he’s settling in for a show, arms stretching wide along the backrest while you're pulling your knees closer to your chest. There’s something smug in the way his tongue presses briefly against the inside of his cheek, like he’s trying not to grin too hard.
"Alright then," he says, nodding to ensure you he's listening carefully, "enlighten me."
You cross your arms, partly defensive, partly to anchor yourself. Because the current predicament is not the question. It's him.
Your brain feels like it’s buffering. It’s hard to form a coherent argument about “what kind of girl he goes for” when he’s sitting there, looking at you like he low-key wants you.
"Guys like you want a girl who won't crush them while giving them a lap dance," you finally speak, forcing a light shrug as if the answer doesn't casually sting when you say it.
Your words hang there for a second.
Changbin doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t roll his eyes. If anything, his expression goes flat, unimpressed.
“You really believe that?” he asks quietly.
“I mean…yeah.”
His gaze drops, then comes back up to meet yours, slower this time.
“You couldn’t crush me,” he says evenly. Not cocky. Not teasing. Just certain.
You scoff, "I'd break you."
He shakes his head. "Nah, you wouldn't."
"Uh, yeah, I would."
"Alright, bet."
"What?"
"Give me a lap dance, and we'll see who's right. If I'm right, you have to admit you're sexy."
And somehow that conversation landed you here, just a few days later.
You remember the way your heart skipped when he said it. The way you tried to laugh it off, insist he was being crazy, but in the end, neither of you backed down.
Why didn't you back down!? Why did you even agree to this? Giving your best friend a lap dance is a horrible idea! Not only have you been secretly attracted to him for god knows how long, but your low self esteem is teetering on the edge of a complete break down at the thought of actually dancing for him.
Staring at the inside of your bedroom door, your reflection in the mirror catches your eye. A small voice in your head warns you that what you’re about to do can’t possibly end well.
You could still walk out there in sweats. Call it off. Act nonchalant. Changbin wouldn't think any less of you if you backed out, right?
And yet here you are. Adorned in black lace you bought on impulse, every piece daring and terrifying in equal measure.
A black thong slips under a matching mini skirt, the hem riding just high enough to reveal the tiniest hint of your ass cheeks, teasing without fully giving in. Your bra wraps around your waist with straps that frame your curves so clearly there’s no hiding anything, accentuating your shape in a way that leaves little to nothing to the imagination. Tall stockings cling to your legs, secured by two buckles around each upper thigh. And strappy heels complete the look, not necessary for the living room, of course, but they make you feel more like you belong in the outfit, even if your nerves scream otherwise.
Your best friend is sitting patiently on your couch, just waiting for you to walk out there and...dance for him.
The apartment feels quieter than usual, like even the walls know something reckless is about to happen.
You press your palms against the door for a second, reminding yourself that this was partially your idea too. And as much as your insecurities want you to hide, you straighten your shoulders, take a deep breath, and reach for the handle.
The door swings open.
Changbin’s head snaps up with a double take, quick and involuntary, his eyes widening just slightly. Then he blinks, sheepishly, glancing away for a beat, like he’s not sure he’s allowed to be looking at you like this.
You step fully into the room, letting the door click shut behind you. Unsure of where to go exactly, you stop in the middle of the floor, kind of in front of him but also not. There's still enough space between you and him to excuse anything.
Oh god, and you thought you felt exposed just standing in your bedroom. This is almost torture, you might as well be naked in front of him. The mini skirt, the lace, the straps -- all of it screaming for his attention, and you feel his eyes like electricity crawling over your skin.
It’s awkward admittedly, but you don't feel unsafe.
You rub a hand up your arm, fumbling with your bra strap, trying to adjust it without seeming too nervous. Or maybe just trying to give your shaking hands something to do.
Should you say something to start? Break the ice? Or do you just...begin?
You've never done something like this before, so god only knows what you're instincts will come up with.
You swallow hard, chest tightening, and take a small step forward.
"Do you mind if I put on some music?" you ask.
He suddenly shakes his head, partly to answer, partly to snap himself out of a trance.
Fuck, you're incredible. He’s always known you had a great body, but seeing you like this? Standing in front of him in black lace, allowing him the honor of viewing you in this way, it feels unreal.
He can’t stop admiring every detail. The way your mini skirt rides up just enough to tease him, the straps of your lingerie hugging your waist so perfectly, the stockings accentuating the length of your legs.
You're beautiful.
He’s seen you in pj's, jeans, sweats, pretty much everything, but this…this is different. You're unattainable. And he's about to have you on his lap.
His stomach twists into knots. He’s imagined it before, the weight of you pressed against him, your curves under his hands, your arms around his shoulders. The embarrassing number of many fantasies he's had about you make him feel like he should know how to react. But now that it’s actually happening, reality hits him like a shockwave, and he doesn't even know what to say.
You move to the stereo, hips swinging with each step in your heels, skirt bouncing teasingly over your thighs. Changbin swears he can feel his pulse in his ears.
Maybe this wasn’t the best idea. Not when you haven’t even started yet and he’s already twisting in his seat. He bites the inside of his cheek, reminding himself to stay still, to stay calm, but the truth is he’s already struggling.
Low, bass heavy music hums through the surround sound speakers, and you feel it under your skin. Slowly, you turn around, hips swaying (or at least trying to). Your heels make tiny clicks on the hardwood floor, slightly uneven and distractingly loud.
But Changbin’s focus isn't broken for even a moment. His gaze follows you, unblinking and mesmerized. Your hand drifts up to smooth your hair, then down to adjust the waistband of your skirt, even as you attempt to appear confident.
Taking another tentative step closer, you try to swing your hips in rhythm with the beat, but they're a bit jerky and uneven. You catch his smirk and your face heats up, forcing you to laugh awkwardly as if you're totally chill about everything that's happening right now.
You reach his side and place an unsure hand on his shoulder, leaning over him with what's supposed to be a confident and seductive lip bite -- but your fingers fumble the moment you feel him and your nail snags on his shirt. He lets out a quiet chuckle, soft but encouraging.
"Relax," he murmers. "You're doing great,"
Unconvinced, but you appreciate the praise. You step back and roll your shoulders like you’ve seen in videos, attempting what you think is a sultry walk? It feels exaggerated. A bit forced. But hey, you warned him you look stupid when you try to be sexy.
A slow turn, but your ankle rolls and you almost faceplant. A dramatic hair flip, but it catches on one of your straps and you have to awkwardly untangle it. A slow body roll, but it comes out choppy and your timing just a fraction off the beat. You even pause mid-move and give him a look that says, See? I look stupid.
But when you glance at him to prove your point, the words die in your throat.
He's not laughing. He's not cringing.
He’s staring.
Completely and undeniably entranced.
His elbows rest on his knees, hands loosely clasped as he tracks every movement you make. His lips part slightly, eyelids fluttering when you turn, when your skirt shifts, when your stockings catch the dim light, when your hair falls out of place.
Even your “awkward” moments can't break the spell -- if anything, they've made him speechless, like he’s watching something intimate and rare.
You try one last exaggerated sway of your hips, almost mocking yourself, and his jaw tightens. His gaze darkens.
It doesn’t matter if you think you look silly. It doesn’t matter if the moves aren’t flawless.
To him, you’re mesmerizing.
The second you catch the way he’s looking at you, something hot and shy floods your nervous system.
So you turn around.
Okay, this is fine. Just pretend it’s part of the choreography. Totally intentional. Even though your heart is pounding out of your chest because you've never in all your life seen your best friend look at you like that.
With your back to him, you bend forward slowly, legs straight, spine extended, fingertips brushing over your ankles for dramatic effect.
You drag your hands up your calves, slow and deliberate now, feeling the smooth glide over your stockings. Up over your knees. Over your thighs. Every inch feels magnified because you know he's watching.
You rise gradually, vertebra by vertebra, trying to steady your breathing. You’re almost too nervous to look. Almost.
But curiosity wins.
You drop your shoulder just enough to take a peak, and the sight of him nearly knocks the air out of you.
He’s flushed all the way to the tips of his ears. Jaw tight. One of his legs is bouncing like he’s trying to bleed off nervous energy, and his chest rises with a slow, deliberate breath.
The only way you could describe the look on his face is -- absolutely wrecked.
He leans back, hand patting his thigh. "Come here."
A small hesitation, but then you find your body obeying before your mind agrees, even though your legs feel like jelly.
You lower yourself onto his lap, straddling him carefully, trying not to let your skirt ride up too far, but it doesn’t exactly work. There's no keeping your skirt down with your legs spread like this.
And yes, the whole point of this was to prove that you’d crush him if you sat all the way down. Yet here you are, hovering instead, knees planted on either side of him with your weight only partially on his lap, too nervous to fully commit.
At first, you grip onto his shoulders a little too tight, but quickly let go after realizing it looks more panicked than sexy.
His hands stay still, giving you space to settle, but you can feel the subtle tension in his body beneath you. One of his wrists twitches, but he holds back, keeping his hands to himself for now.
You sway your hips once, making sure to avoid excessive contact, trying to mimic what you’ve seen in videos online. It’s a little too controlled, but your upper body rocks mainly on beat...sorta.
You're too busy overthinking everything else, guess you don't have the mental capacity to overthink the rhythm or tempo of the song.
Changbin blinks, hands gripping the edge of the couch as he fights the intense impulse to put them somewhere else.
“Uh…I think I need to adjust,” you mutter after a few moments, pulling yourself off his lap to stand up again.
Shit, you’re nervous. So hyper-aware of every inch of imperfect skin and stretched lace, that you can't seem to get out of your own head and just do it.
You're too clumsy. Every awkward sway of your hips, every nervous adjustment of your straps, every glance at him just reminds you that whatever you do, it’s probably not going to be good enough. Not hot enough, not sexy enough, not worthy of him.
Regardless of how he looks at you, you can't believe he truly means it.
Even if you do manage to get through a whole dance, it doesn't change the fact that you're much too heavy and curvy for this kind of thing. Where did you even get off thinking Changbin would enjoy a lap dance from you? This is a disaster. A complete disaster.
You take a shaky breath, about to tell him to just go home, to call the whole thing off, when…
"May I?"
His hand extends toward you, palm open, steady and patient.
You glance at him, and for a moment, you swear he can read every chaotic thought bouncing around in your head. The flicker of nerves in your eyes, the flush creeping up your neck, the uncertainty about yourself.
And yet, he slowly cracks a smile at you, sweet and comforting and calming and...like he really wants to do this with you. For more than just a bet.
His gaze holds yours with an intensity that makes your chest tighten, a magnetic pull that makes it nearly impossible to look anywhere else.
Gently, you place your hand in his and let the tension in your body ease into the moment, into him.
"Yes."
He swallows noticeably, eyes never leaving you, fingers closing aroung your hand. You notice his pulse quickening, though he’s doing a very good job pretending it's not.
With a gentle tug, he guides you back into his lap, and you settle on him, this time chest pressing lightly to his chest. Your hands naturally find their place on his broad shoulders, gripping just enough for balance because you're still not placing your entire weight on him.
His gaze flickers downward to his own hand, and almost instinctively, so do you, following its movement. Slowly, his fingers trail up your thigh, brushing over the lace edge of your skirt. They hesitate there for a heartbeat, fidgeting with the delicate fabric, teasing and exploring, careful not to overstep. The deliberate slowness sends a shiver straight through you.
“It’s okay. Sit all the way down. Let me feel all of you."
Finally, you let yourself settle fully onto him, hips meeting hips, surrendering the last of your hesitation. His hands wrap around your thighs, steadying you and gently pulling you a little closer, making sure you’re completely comfortable.
For a moment, he simply lets you rest there, giving you space to adjust to the strange, intoxicating feeling of straddling someone. Letting the moment slowly chip away at the lie you’ve carried about yourself for so long. His fingers move lightly along the side of your thigh, gliding up and down in a way that seems casual, almost absentminded, as if this is normal.
He tilts his chin just enough to give you a slow, teasing smile. "See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?"
"Maybe..."
"And did you crush me?"
"I guess not."
"See? You are sexy."
Your breath catches at his words, and for the first time in what feels like forever, a small, shaky part of you genuinely believes him.
Heat pools low in your stomach, spreading through your chest, your thighs, even your fingertips. For the first time in forever, the knot of doubt in your heart unties, and a sudden rush of freedom floods your veins.
You feel seen. Desired. Sexy. Not perfect, not flawless, but undeniably confident in yourself. And that's more than enough.
Summoning a bit of bravery, you lift your head, voice breathless but steady. “Changbin?"
"Hm?"
"Since I’m here...and you're here...is it okay if I keep going?"
Changbin’s grin spreads, warm and encouraging, eyes sparkling with anticipation and something softer. “Of course,” he says. “Go ahead, baby. Show me what you got."
A small, unfamiliar spark pings in your chest at the nickname. Now, there’s a rush of excitement in the thought of putting on a show just for him, and knowing he’s enjoying every second of it.
But deeper than that, it’s the idea that he’s proud of you that sends warmth spiraling through your chest. That little glow of pride makes you want to push yourself further, to try new things, to see what else might earn that look on his face. To see what else might make him proud.
For a moment, the world shrinks to just the two of you, the faint thrum of the music, the warmth of his legs beneath yours, and the ridiculous, magnetic reality that he’s actually letting you do this.
“Okay,” you murmur to yourself, rocking your hips, even though the rhythm is messy. “I can do this.”
You start slow, letting your hands drift up over your body, teasing your own curves while making sure his eyes follow every line, every subtle dip and swell. Then your fingers slip into your hair, lifting it from your neck and exposing the column of your throat. Then you arch your back, allowing yourself to fall backward.
With the world upside down, you let yourself fall into the stretch. One hand drifts slowly up your torso, over the curve of your waist and the swell of your chest, before reaching past your head in a tempting line. His hands are at your lower back, steadying you while your chest rises and your legs clench tight around his waist to keep your balance.
Then, when you sit up, you lean over him, gently forcing him to sink into the couch with a quiet confidence that surprises even you. He yields easily, shoulders sinking into the cushions as you hover above him, the subtle angle of your body on top of him not missed by either of you.
You lift yourself just slightly off his lap, enough to let your hips circle slowly above him. His fingers hover along the buckled straps at your thighs, the almost-touch more intoxicating than a full grip.
You catch his gaze and your stomach flips. You haven't really even hit the beat properly yet. You're just enjoying not overthinking any of it, and he’s already struggling to keep composure, lips parted and breath staggering.
If you didn’t know any better, you’d swear he was a little drunk -- cheeks flushed, eyes glazed over and completely captivated. His gaze follows your every movement, drinking you up bit by bit. And you catch yourself watching as his pupils dilate in real time when your fingers slide through his hair. The effect is almost hypnotic, like he’s falling under your spell with every touch.
You let yourself fully drop onto him this time. No hesitation, every ounce of your weight pressing onto him, but is it even enough? You actually wish there was more of you so you could feel more of him.
With your hands tangled in his hair, you pull him closer so every solid inch of him can be against you.
His hands slide up your thighs and under your skirt, thumbs brushing over the sensitive skin at the inner crease of your hips before following the curve of your legs, gripping your ass firmly and directing you to grind against him for the first real time.
"Oh, fuck..." His voice cracks, low and raw, and it hits you in a way you didn’t know you needed.
It’s desperate, vulnerable, entirely unguarded. You can hear it in every syllable, every gasp. The way he’s utterly consumed by you, genuinely infatuated with every inch of your body.
His head tilts obediently wherever your fingers pull at his hair, while his hands command your hips, coaxing you to grind against him again and again. Beneath you, he’s unraveling, every shudder and groan betraying just how undone he is, a complete and reckless mess.
A rush of clarity hits you all at once: you are so into him it makes you dizzy. Not just the way he looks, or the way his hands feel on you, but the way he watches you like you could ask him to do anything for you. The way he reacts to your body. The way his control frays every time you move.
Sitting on top of him feels powerful in a way you weren't expecting. Your thighs bracket his hips, and you can feel how solid he is beneath you, strength coiled in his legs as they flex instinctively under your weight. It makes you feel smaller and stronger at the same time, delicate and yet completely in control of the moment.
When he bucks up into you without meaning to, the motion pulls a small sound from your throat. It’s subtle, involuntary, but you're sure he heard it because he does it again, trying to earn that sound from you over and over. Heat spirals low in your stomach, your hips reacting before your brain can catch up.
Shit. You like this. A lot.
You like the way he responds to you. You like the way his fingers dig into your ass when your back arches. You like the way his jaw falls open, the way his eyes darken, the way his breath goes uneven.
And maybe most of all, you like how unbelievably sexy you feel knowing you’re the one doing that to him.
"Fuck...can I kiss you?"
Your body freezes mid-motion, a sharp, unexpected pause. The heat between your legs is still thrumming, but suddenly your chest feels tight.
You hadn’t expected him to ask. Hadn’t expected him to even want to.
He notices immediately, of course. The subtle shift in your weight, the way your hands hesitate in his hair. His own movements slow to a stop as well, pausing mid-gesture as he watches for your reaction carefully.
For a heartbeat, everything is suspended in the tension of possibility. Between what this was supposed to be and what it's become.
"I..." You're not sure what to say. "That's not..."
"Sorry," Changbin suddenly apologizes. "I didn't mean it. Caught up in the moment."
You blink at him, heart still hammering somewhere between relief and disappointment.
His gaze flickers to yours, earnest and full of...you're not sure what that is other than maybe concern.
“Are you okay?” he manages to ask, voice quieter than intended, but still wanting to check.
"Yeah," you nod, fingers falling from his hair and down his shoulders, "I think so. Are you?"
"Sure." That didn't sound convincing and he knows it.
So, now would probably be the perfect moment to get off his lap, give yourself some space to breathe and collect your thoughts.
But a small, selfish part of you doesn’t want to. Not yet.
And anyway, his hands are still firm on your ass, just holding you up. You can still feel him beneath you, solid and patient, and it makes it impossibly hard to pull away. Your thighs tremble, chest rising and falling, and the feeling of his jeans through your lace sends sparks crawling along your skin.
But the vibe is different now. The moment is over. The bet is finished. It's time to get up and move on.
Slowly, you start to lift yourself off him, only for him to grab a pillow in one smooth motion and plop it right over his lap as soon you're standing.
“I’ll just go get changed then,” you mutter, cheeks burning as you scramble back toward the bedroom.
The door clicks shut behind you, and you hear his quiet sigh of defeat from the living room.
Changbin leans back against the couch, letting out a long, frustrated sigh with his hands over his face. His chest still burns from the way your body pressed against it, from the heat of your thighs, the weight of you in his lap. What the hell did he just do?
Kiss you.
He asked to kiss you!?
Of all the things he could have said!
He broke the moment. That perfect, impossible moment. You had him, completely, grinding against him, tugging at his hair, leaning into him like you belonged there. And he, in some stupid, clumsy attempt to finally taste you after years of imagining, ruined it.
He runs a hand through his hair, gripping the pillow with the other, staring at the empty space where you disappeared. The thought that he may have just killed any chance with you is like gunfire to his chest. You're going to think he's just like every other sleezy douche bag out there who tries to take advantage of a girl's insecurities.
Changbin knows he's messed up, but god, he also knows he’s never going to stop thinking about the way you moved against him like that. The way you looked at him, the way he could feel you slowly gaining confidence in yourself and your body.
If only for those inspiring, fleeting minutes, Changbin was yours. He meant something more to you than just a friend.
And he'll do whatever it takes to be yours again.
::
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KISS & TELL
★⠀svt ot13 & “we really shouldn’t be doing this”⠀|⠀smut, mdni. various scenarios for each member. 2.6k wc
SEUNGCHEOL⠀★⠀he’s your boss.
the lock on the door clicks behind you, a spotlight on the bulge prodding your thigh as seungcheol drags you back against him — impatient, now that the turmoil in him has finally given way.
“sir—”
“don’t call me that.” he rasps, hands fisting in your blouse. “not right now, please.”
you melt into him as his lips find your neck, pressing your body flush against his. he squeezes desperately at your sides as he throbs in his pants — nothing like the composed, strict boss you know.
“if i’m about to make this mistake,” he mutters at your jaw, fingers twitching just beneath the swell of your breasts. “i need to know you want it too.”
“we shouldn’t..” you whisper against his mouth.
“i know.” he swallows. “tell me to stop, and i will.”
your answer is to pull him in by his tie, and press your lips to his — months of tension breaking loose into a messy, desperate kiss. seungcheol groans as you lick into his mouth, grabbing your ass through the skirt and rolling you against his hard-on.
“take this off for me?” he sighs, leaking into his suit pants from the friction. “been wanting to taste you..”
JEONGHAN⠀★⠀you’re his friend’s crush.
“keep an eye on her,” he’d said. “make sure she gets home safe.” the words of his best friend had gone through one ear, and jeonghan can feel them leave out the other as your tongue explores his mouth.
jeonghan had kept an eye on you under flashing red lights — heat bubbling in his gut with each sway of your hips — and when you approached him, drawling that you wanted to leave, who is he to break a promise?
it’s not jeonghan’s fault that you’d climbed over the car’s centre console and plopped yourself in his lap. he’s not to blame, really, when his honest first response was to resist.
“sweetheart, we shouldn’t.” he’d sighed, dazed eyes watching you rock gently on his lap. his cock fills out his pants eagerly, and he clenches his fists to hold back. “my best friend likes you.”
you hummed, fingers threading through his hair. “but i don’t want him.”
jeonghan lets go — of his grip, and his control — as he swallows your breath in a kiss. allows himself to grab your waist, guiding you to grind against his bucking hips.
his groan melts onto your lips, length pulsing where it rubs into your ass. “i don’t want that either.”
JOSHUA⠀★⠀he's waiting for marriage.
the barrier of fabric between you both is soaked through at this point — joshua in his boxers, rutting into your panties as you kiss and grope each other desperately for god knows how long at this point. it’s not nearly close enough, but your fiancee’s been steadfast in his beliefs and in his patience.
you get tangled up like this every night, and each time joshua insists that you sleep before things go too far, smiling despite the obvious tent in his pants.
you think tonight will be not different — until joshua pulls back with a low whimper, eyes raking over your body with a ruined look.
“shit,” he curses, swallowing your gasp as he kisses you rougher than before. “we should just do it.”
“but.. we can’t..” you trail off into a light moan as joshua sucks at your neck, a large hand coming to squeeze your breast.
“i want you.” you feel the way his cock throbs at your heat. he chuckles. “really bad. i might die before the wedding. it hurts me to turn you down..”
his hand skims down your tummy, stopping at your panties to ghost over your clit. he smiles at how your hips buck.
“let me?”
JUN⠀★⠀he’s your leading man.
jun licks a whine from your mouth as it rolls off your tongue, his clothed length rutting just right against the thin cotton of your underwear. he presses you further into the wall, the heat between you growing damper.
you almost forgot that this is the same junhui: a quiet character, playful on a good day — but particularly cold to you and you alone. his leading lady. even with the cameras, he struggles in pretending to even tolerate your presence, and it’s making your job harder.
how ironic, that when you finally asked him outright what his problem was, you shortly found yourself smothered by him in a desperate kiss.
“shit—this is a bad idea,” jun groans out onto your lips, precum staining his pants as he mindlessly humps up into you. “why am i even doing this?”
yet, he makes no move to pull away, and you smirk.
“don’t go falling for me,” you quip, cut off with a gasp as his tip prods your clit in a particularly rough thrust. he steals another kiss from you, and you whimper. “…we should stop.”
“i know.” jun mutters, adam’s apple bobbing in a gulp as he watches where your hips roll together. “but i can’t.”
SOONYOUNG⠀★⠀he’s your brother’s best friend.
you muffle soonyoung’s moan with a kiss, your hand down the front of his pants and wrapping around his cock. the first stroke brings a loud squelch from the amount of precum coating his length, and soonyoung’s head lolls back in pleasure — knocking against the bathroom mirror.
you shush him, teeth nipping at his tongue as a warning, earning a whine in response. you stop the movements of your hand, but his pelvis just jolts upward, fucking himself into your fist.
“you need to be quiet,” you whisper-yell. your brother would break this door down, and break his best friend’s legs if he knew you were in here together.
“i shouldn’t be doing this,” soonyoung says weakly, but puts no effort to stop. his cock pulses in your hand as you twist at the tip. “i know better.”
you roll your eyes — he wants to self reflect now? when he’s already this hard?
your breath hitches as he reaches for you, firmly cupping his hand over your crotch. he groans, conflicted. “i want you..”
“better make it quick.”
“won’t last anyways.” he tugs your pants down, sighing in relief at the sight of your bare pussy. “your brother’s gonna kill me…”
WONWOO⠀★⠀his friends can hear.
wonwoo tilts his head at you like a curious cat as you climb into his lap. he cranes his neck around you to not lose sight of the computer screen — there’s a whole woman on top of him, and his attention still is on the game. you feel even less remorse for what you’re about to do.
you grab his chin, forcing him to look down at you.
“what are you—” wonwoo chokes as you lift your skirt up, presenting your bare pussy pressed to his crotch. muffled voices come from his headphones, and he clarifies that he’s talking to you. great, there’s company.
you’re too pent-up to care, grinding against his now half-hard length, and wonwoo lets out a pained noise.
he reaches for his headphones, intending to mute himself, but you grab his hand and guide it to your pussy instead. wonwoo’s breath hitches as you coat his fingers in your arousal. he raises his hips from the chair, rubbing his boner into your ass. you let out a light whine as his fingers tap your clit.
“we shouldn’t...” he murmurs, yet gently lifts you for room to tug his pants down, cock springing free. “just stay quiet.”
JIHOON⠀★⠀you both work early.
jihoon hums appreciatively as you massage the aches from his back. it was almost midnight by the time he got home from work and quietly crawled into bed. after slouching at a desk all day, the feel of your soft hands on him — groping, caressing — felt like fucking heaven.
you missed him like hell, and the little noises of relief he was letting out from the massaging were driving you up the wall. before you know it — you’re palming jihoon through his boxers, desperately grinding yourself onto the hand he’s got down the front of your pyjama pants.
you’re both exhausted from the day, kept awake only by the pure need caused by this proximity. jihoon’s barely keeping his eyes open, but he’s so hard and you’re so wet under his fingers.
“baby, we should go to bed..” he grumbles, letting out a breathy moan when you squeeze his base. “we both have early starts in the morning.”
you whine in protest, jihoon drawing the sound out as his thumb nudges your clit.
“you sleep, then.” you pull his cock out and roll on top of him. he doesn’t even lift a finger to stop you.
he groans in defeat, lining himself up. “after.”
SEOKMIN⠀★⠀you just got dumped.
“w-wait a second—” seokmin sputters, not sure what to do with his hands as your own start to feel him up.
you don’t respond as you squeeze his thighs, fingers creeping further to the growing bulge in his shorts.
“this isn’t right, i can’t,” he lets out a startled moan as your face nuzzles into his neck, breath tickling him.
“can’t what?” you ask, licking a stripe up his skin.
seokmin sighs. “i can’t do this to you..”
he can’t find the strength to push you away though, so he just sits there, body silently begging you to touch him.
he still sees a taken girl when he looks at you — a girl who belongs to someone else. as a matter of two hours ago though, that’s not true anymore.
you’re supposed to be heartbroken, and he was supposed to be comforting you. but he can’t help the way his heart swells over you being so quick to make a move.
“we’re not doing anything?” you giggle, fingers ghosting over his lap, catching the way his dick throbs.
seokmin takes one look at your lips, then throws all caution to the wind — leaning in to kiss you desperately.
no harm if you’re not doing anything, right?
MINGYU⠀★⠀you babysit his kid.
you brace yourself with a hand on the wall, whining out among the lewd squelching filling the room, too embarrassed to look down at the source: mingyu’s mouth going to town between your thighs.
you’ve orgasmed twice at this point, but he showed no intentions of stopping after the first came quick. you can feel his smirk pressed into your skin as he laps at you like a dog, fucking only a single finger into your hole and it still being enough to fill you up.
there hadn’t been any words, not since he’d asked if you’d seen his son to bed. you nodded, intending for him to pay you and send you on your way — not corner you and drop to his knees.
you squeak as mingyu hollows his cheeks to suck your clit, the sparks of a third orgasm rushing quickly into your gut.
“m-mr. kim,” you whimper, earning a smug chuckle to rumble on your clit.
“what is it, pretty?”
“we should stop..”
you’re taken aback when he listens, licking his lips as he pulls away.
“if that’s what you want.”
you swallow, noticing his other hand gripping himself through the pants. then, you softly shake your head — and he smirks.
“turn around for me.”
MINGHAO⠀★⠀he’s looking after you.
“hm?” minghao lets you pull him down to the bed, and you wrap your arms around his waist. “did you need anything else?”
he gently strokes your hair, smiling fondly at how you’re clinging to him. it’s been dark days as of late — and minghao’s been here to support you through it. carrying you to the shower when you can’t leave bed, spoonfeeding you since you’d rather starve.
he doesn't need any thanks. not every best friend might go to those lengths, but minghao does because he loves you.
minghao’s body freezes when he feels your mouth pressing kisses to his open palm. you try to pry his thighs open, and he stops you with a gentle hand on your face.
“we shouldn’t do this..” he sighs. “not because i don’t want you, but… it isn’t right. not now.”
you pout at him, resting your head in his lap as your fingers slide to his crotch. despite his reluctance, he’s already half-hard.
“i want to feel good,” you palm at him, and he just barely whimpers. “please?”
minghao’s weak to the way your eyes plead at him. he relents, pulling you up for a kiss and savouring your lips on his for the first time.
“if it makes you feel better.”
SEUNGKWAN⠀★⠀you’re at a party.
“tell me you’re mine.” seungkwan rasps, crooking two of his fingers up into your pussy. you squeak out the words, your entire body buzzing with heat over this unfamiliar side of your loving boyfriend.
seungkwan’s angry, has been since he pulled you into this bathroom by the arm, shutting out the rest of the party as he pushed you against the locked door.
you’re trying your best to stay quiet — but it seems like he wants to provoke you into making noise as his thumb swipes at your clit and his fingers fuck into your g-spot, uncaring for whoever hears.
“boo,” you whimper, insanely attracted to him. “we shouldn’t.. not here..”
seungkwan clicks his teeth, ripping his hand away. he steals your lips in a harsh kiss, licking into your mouth like he’s trying to prove a point — which he gets when your hips buck, chasing his touch.
you moan in surprise as he rubs his tip through your folds. you’re so worked up that you hadn’t even realised he pulled his cock out.
“i’m not going to hold back, so don’t you either.” he bites at your lower lip, and you just melt. “i want that fucker to hear.”
VERNON⠀★⠀you’re not using protection.
you tremble under vernon, nails digging into his tensed forearms as he grinds against you — skin to skin, your combined arousal squelching with each rut of his cock through your folds.
his tip bumps your clit so perfectly, and he’s watching each little reaction on your face so intently that you could cry. not just because of how loved you feel, but how bad you need him too.
vernon’s even worse off than you are — but he can’t cross this line. unless..
“i know we shouldn’t,” he mumbles, gritting his teeth when his tip catches on your hole with a particularly rough thrust. “but, fuck, i’m really struggling here..”
“me too,” you admit, wrapping your arms around his toned back. “i want it.”
his eyes widen, slowing the rocks of his body, and you nearly choke from the loss of friction. “don’t just say that..”
“i’m not,” you give him a reassuring smile, pecking his nose sweetly. “i want to feel you.”
“fuck.” he groans when he dives in for a kiss, reaching down to line himself up. his head of his cock just nudges your heat, and it twitches. “okay.. but if you say—”
“not gonna wanna stop.”
CHAN⠀★⠀you’re both too drunk.
you giggle as chan’s heavy breath tickles your neck. his lips latch onto the skin to suck a bruise and you shiver, body writhing under his pinning you to the couch.
“baby, shi—stop squirming, please,” he moans out at your frantic hips rutting against the tent in his pants — the throb of his cock matching the one in his temples.
your head is swimming, chan’s touch leaving a trail of fire across your sweating body. you can’t even remember leaving the bar, let alone making it home; all your hazy brain knows for sure is that you need chan.
“want it,” you bumble, not a thought passing in your head as you reach down to grip him. chan keels over, his drunken lust taking over as he humps into your hand.
“we shouldn’t do this,” he huffs to himself, a brief moment of clarity. it wouldn’t be right.
you’re so sensitive to everything right now, you swear your eyes well up in desperation. or maybe your vision’s just that blurry. determined, you drag your crotch against him, moaning out at the burning friction.
his mouth drops open in a whimper, just letting you. “but, i guess we could..”
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I'm so down bad for them it's not funny
SAVE THE DATE.
pairing: kim mingyu x f!reader
genre: smut, fluff, angst, frenemies to lovers
summary: 5 weddings in one year. 5 dates you saved for you and your boyfriend to attend — before he cheated. and now, you had to force your best friend, vernon, to go with you. but after losing a bet, mingyu agrees to take vernon’s place and be your date. this wasn’t how any of this was supposed to go, but you guess you could settle going with your only one-night-stand from college.
warnings: oral (f!recieving), fingering, 69ing, unprotected sex, reader on top, praise, mingyu has boyfriend dick<3, sub-ish!mingyu, also power bottom!mingyu 👍, multiple sex scenes, marijuana smoking/shotgunning, marijuana-induced horniness lol, one bed trope, forced proximity, miscommunication, HEAVY mutual pining. nsfw (minors / ageless blogs dni).
word count: 19.9k
note: first things first, APOLOGIESSSSS for this taking so long. I've had a lot going on (which I know just about everyone says) and I was lowkey struggling to write this, even tho I was so amped for it. nevertheless, I'm so glad I was able to focus and finish it, because I care so much for these two and I desperately wanted to share their story with you 💓 per usual, please expect angst with your smut, and if you cry, I will not judge you and honestly would love to hear it lol. enjoy friends! (taglist posted at the bottom.)
in rotation: bmf, sza / mona lisa, mxmtoon / gorgeous, taylor swift / moonstruck, enhypen / finally // beautiful stranger, halsey
Your mom had told you that the friends you make in your first year of college stay with you for life, but you didn’t expect that when you met Vernon. He had been shy, refusing to speak to anyone in your orientation group, but knowing glances turned into sitting next to each other, which then had you both whispering jokes back and forth, until finally, he told you his name. Hansol Chwe to be exact, but he insisted on “just Vernon.” By the second semester of freshman year, you both had become inseparable. He was your best friend, been with you through some of the toughest moments of your adult life, and you wouldn’t trade him for the world.
Vernon’s friendship survived through many of your boyfriends, and you knew he’d outlast many more. He experienced some of the worst ones – a.k.a. the men who refused to believe you two were just friends – and also the boring ones – the one guy who used you to get to him. But none of them had pissed him off more than your most current breakup: the man who was three years your senior and cheated on you with a 22-year-old. You assumed by age 27, you’d know how to pick ‘em, but that was clearly wrong.
Now you were left to your own devices with five weddings to attend this year. In retrospect, maybe there was a few you could’ve skipped, but you hated saying no in situations like this. You had agreed to go to all of them with your now ex-boyfriend in mind, placing a 2 on the invite’s attending line. Per usual, Vernon had stepped up and begrudgingly offered himself to be your date.
So why were you now meeting up with Kim Mingyu to discuss the dates of said five weddings?
You first met Mingyu when Vernon joined a fraternity in sophomore year to make more friends. “I can’t just have you. I need to have at least some friends that are dudes,” he said, which made you reply, “That’s the toxic masculinity talking.” And boy, had Mingyu been the epitome of that statement. Him and Vernon had connected instantly, sharing the same major and an affinity for art girls. You had never really gotten along with him like Vernon had hoped, but he was … attractive, to say the least.
Okay, maybe you had a crush on him. You had eyes.
But it was college and you both were on the cusp of 20. It was so hard to confess feelings back then, especially to someone like Kim Mingyu. Who you didn’t particularly enjoy talking to in the first place. However … he was probably one of the hottest men you’d ever seen; made in a lab for every young girl’s fantasy. Sometimes you couldn’t help but just stare at him, admiring his perfect teeth or the way his honey-gold skin shined in the afternoon sunlight. (You thanked your lucky stars that Vernon joined the college football team alongside Mingyu, just so you could secretly ogle him during practice.)
Suffice to say, you did eventually hook up. In the most cliche way possible, you had both gotten a little too tipsy at the first frat party of senior year and wound up in Mingyu’s dorm, locking out his roommate for the entire night. It almost felt weird, realizing your attraction had been reciprocated, but he hardly said a word to you come morning. In fact, he never mentioned it again, period, choosing to avoid you except in group settings with Vernon. You weren’t a fool; you were quick to realize it meant nothing to him, just another notch on his bedpost.
Mingyu was every girl’s dream, but Mingyu was also uncommitted.
And he was walking towards you right now.
You looked up from your phone after stalking – looking through Mingyu’s Instagram. You never followed him, never checked in on him after graduation, but you knew how close he still was with Vernon. He even posted a picture with him recently. You rolled your eyes. Despite his long hair, you recognized Mingyu instantly as he went up to the barista and ordered a coffee. You studied him for a moment, noticing that there was a curl to his hair and the way those dark stands hung around his eyes. His skin was as perfect as ever and – goddamn, did he get bigger? He was wearing a jacket over his t-shirt and you could still tell how big his muscles were.
When he finally looked over his shoulder and your eyes connected, his face remained unchanged, if not a little awkward. He walked up to you, rubbing at the back of his neck, and said your name as if it were a question. “Yeah. Hi, Mingyu,” you replied with a wave. “It’s been a while.”
“Five years since graduation,” he added, pulling out the chair across from you and plopping down. “So you stopped putting those blonde highlights in your hair?”
Your eye twitched. Before you could spit out a response, a cute, dark-haired barista came over and set a fresh mug of coffee in front of him, completely ignoring that your own was practically empty. Mingyu flashed her a smile, showing off his pretty canines as she walked away. You frowned.
Vernon had told you last night that Mingyu wasn’t the same guy you knew in college, but you begged to differ.
Turning back to you, he took a sip from his mug and asked, “Why did you want to meet up again?”
“Because my best friend is an asshole and you lost a bet.”
“Oh, yeah. That.” He nodded.
You almost didn’t believe Vernon when he told you. You knew he didn’t exactly want to be your date to all these weddings and probably felt like he had to, but he did offer so you didn’t think much of it. Until he told you last week that he put all his guest invites on the line while playing a drinking game with Mingyu, which the latter lost. So now Kim Mingyu, your college one-night-stand that was scared of commitment, was committing to being your date to several weddings this year.
Kill me now, you thought.
“I thought drinking games and making silly bets like this didn’t happen once your frontal lobe formed,” you said, and his dark eyes flickered up to yours.
“That’s where you’re wrong,” he cleared his throat and set the mug down again. “Men never really grow up.”
You crossed your arms over your chest and sat back in your chair. “Apparently,” you muttered under your breath. “How do you have the time to actually commit to this? Don’t you have a girlfriend or something?”
“One,” he held up a single finger, “I take bets very seriously and I’m not a sore loser. It’s only removing five weekends out of the year for me. No biggie. And two,” he lifted another finger, “No.”
You raised a brow. “Well, I guess that answers all my questions.”
Mingyu stared at you for a moment, running those two fingers over his bottom lip. You suddenly had a flashback to that night, remembering his hands all over you, remembering his fingers plunging inside and curling –
Not the time.
“Don’t you have a boyfriend? Why put down two people on these RSVPs you sent back and then force just anybody to be your date?” He fought the urge to smile, trying to dig a little deeper into you. You weren’t falling for it this time. “I love the guy, but I know Vernon wasn’t your first choice to accompany you.”
“My ex and I broke up,” you replied. “Not much to it.”
Intrigued, he sipped his coffee again. “Why?”
“It’s none of your business, Mingyu.”
“Well, as your new date –”
“Drop it,” you said, voice taking on a new tone. “I’m serious.”
Mingyu raised his hand in surrender, and you shook off your anger. This was supposed to be a friendly, quick conversation, but it was seemingly moving off the rails. A sigh escaped your mouth before you asked, “So you said this is only taking five weekends out of the year. What do you do with your time? Are you working?”
“I thought I answered all your questions.”
You narrowed your eyes.
He chuckled softly, exposing those canines once again. His smile was so … ugh, you needed to stop getting distracted. “I work at a restaurant four days a week as a cook, and then teach flag football at a rec facility the rest of the time. I’ve been trying to save up to open my own restaurant for years, but I got the time to be a makeshift wedding date.”
You knew Mingyu had always loved to cook – you remembered when he’d been the resident chef at the fraternity – but to hear he was still passionate almost … melted you a little. Almost. You were dedicated to not being too swayed by Mingyu’s pretty words. This was a deal and that was the end of it.
“I see,” you nodded, uncrossing your arms to play with the handle of your still empty mug. “I’ve been working at the same marketing agency since college. Pays the bills, you know?”
Mingyu gave you a knowing look before running a hand through the long strands. “Always so committed.”
Your lips pursed. “One of us has to be.”
“Speaking of commitment,” he said without missing a beat, pulling his phone from the pocket of his jeans. “What are the dates for those weddings again?”
Save the Date for the wedding of Choi Seungcheol and Holland Levine: February 28th
It was a rainy Sunday in February. Your coworker, Choi Seungcheol, was getting married today at a local venue on the outskirts. His girlfriend, Holland – otherwise known as, Hinge Holland, when he met her on the dating app 3 years ago – was a little kooky and asked for them to be eloped that morning. Seungcheol was too in love to say no; he’d do anything she asked. They were married early morning, and lucky for you and Mingyu, all you had to attend was a reception. It was a nice way to test the waters of this deal before anything got too crazy.
Mingyu had picked you up in his truck, and together struggled to help lift you inside with your dress and heels on. As he drove away from the city and into a more rural area, he commented, “Your coworker must be real whipped to agree to a reception here.”
“What are you talking about?” You looked through your phone for the address Seungcheol had sent you months ago. “I thought the reception was at some small venue.”
Mingyu said your name, and you glanced over, seeing the smile on his face. “It’s a VFW owned by someone in his girlfriend’s family.”
You realized just how right he was when he pulled up to a spot in a VFW parking lot, seeing a crowd of Holland’s family pour into the post. You knew what the inside of a VFW looked like; you had your sweet 16 at one. But going to a wedding reception at one was a whole different story. Were the walls so old that they’d crumble once the DJ dared to play Dancing Queen?
Rain pounded from the sky, making the cold February wind even more chilly. Mingyu rounded the truck and opened your door, making sure to hold an umbrella above your head as you slid out of the seat. He looked … okay, he looked extremely handsome in his suit, tailored exactly to his body. You were in an old, off-the-shoulder black dress with mesh sleeves that were doing nothing in this wet cold. This wedding had crept up on you, and before you knew it, you remembered you didn’t have any new dresses to wear. And while it looked nice, the dress just barely zipped and you had to keep pulling up the neckline. Clearly, you had grown a bit since the last time you worn this. Probably in college.
Mingyu was staring at you now, letting his eyes wander down, and you were yanking at the neckline again. He didn’t deserve to see more of your cleavage. He whispered, “You look …”
“Just come on,” you cut him off, tugging him in the direction of the VFW. He struggled to keep up for a moment, rushing to hold the umbrella above both of you.
As soon as you both walked inside, you realized just how dressed up you were compared to the place. The building looked like it hadn’t been updated since the 1990s. There was, at least, a huge buffet-style food setup in the corner and a man so old that he probably had one foot in the grave behind the bar. A sign in front of him said, OPEN BAR, written in thick sharpie. Various family members were congregating at tables, while the DJ – who looked like a Pitbull impersonator – was setting up at the head of the room.
Seungcheol ran over the second he saw you meandering through tables. He had the biggest smile on his face, tugging his new wife over to introduce her to you before wiggling his eyebrows at you when he noticed Mingyu on your arm. Even Holland couldn’t help but ogle him. Seungcheol was one of your closest coworkers, so it wasn’t weird when he asked, “Who’s the beefcake?”
Mingyu was too busy dealing with Holland’s questions to hear you reply, “Don’t ask. I’ve cycled through many options before I was forced to bring him.”
“I’m sure it was quite difficult for you,” he snorted, before carefully pulling his wife’s hand off of Mingyu’s and introducing himself. Not long after, he was ushering her away to start making speeches.
You and Mingyu found your seat quickly, and luckily enough, you were sat with most of your coworkers. Every single one was looking at Mingyu like he was a piece of meat, but he didn’t seem to notice as he had a friendly conversation with each of them. You struggled to not roll your eyes. How was he perfect with everyone? Maybe your dislike of him was irrational and unwarranted, maybe he did change. But … ugh, could he fuck up for once?
Your coworker, Minghao, sat to your left, watching Mingyu converse with the young assistant – Amelia, right? – who was very clearly batting her eyes at him. Leaning towards you, Minghao whispered, “I thought you were bringing Vernon?”
Minghao was one of the few people you told about your breakup, as well as Vernon and of course, your girlfriends. It wasn’t like you to go around everywhere and post on social media about your breakup; it wasn’t anyone’s business. But Minghao gave great advice, and he was one of the first people that helped you get over the heartbreak. He wasn’t just a coworker. He became a trusted friend.
Turning your head, you said, “Would you believe me if I told you that he lost a bet?”
“Considering who you ended up with,” he chuckled, “I’d say it’s a win in your favor.”
“He’s not that great.”
“Then you might want to pull Amelia off of him before she starts sucking his face.”
The reception ended at an early hour thankfully. Most of the elderly guests were falling asleep anyway. Mingyu was a class act, per usual, trying to get you up and out of your seat to dance with him, but the last thing you wanted to do was dance to Toxic by Britney Spears in front of your boss at the marketing agency. Instead, he took the lead to asking Seungcheol’s mom to dance, and made Amelia’s day when he asked her to join. Minghao only continued to laugh when you rejected each of Mingyu’s advances.
Once 10 PM rolled around and you both were exiting the doors of the aging VFW, you noticed the rain hadn’t let up. In fact, it seemed to have gotten even worst. You had to run to Mingyu’s truck with him holding the umbrella above both of you and almost trip over your dress as you hopped up inside the cab. Assuming it would be fine to drive, just a few minutes in the rain left you both realizing that it might be extremely unsafe to drive back to the city in this weather. You really couldn’t argue with Mingyu when he suggested you stay the night at a motel right down the road.
The woman behind the front desk at the motel was chewing so loud that you thought the wad of bubblegum between her teeth might be larger than your palm. She informed you both that the only rooms available were ones with a single queen-sized bed. As much as you desperately wanted two, you’d take what you could get. She started grabbing both of your informations to check in when a loud bolt of lightning cracked, followed by a crash of thunder. You instantly gripped Mingyu’s arm, and he paused signing his name to look down at you.
“Are you scared of thunder?” He asked playfully.
Realizing how tight you were holding on, you quickly removed your hand. “No, I’m … it’s fine.”
His bicep felt so much harder than anticipated. All muscle.
Stop that.
The front desk attendant gave you an actual metal key to open your room, the number dangling from a kitschy pendant. This was the kind of motel where you needed to venture outside to get to your room, and with your arms locked together, Mingyu led you both through the pouring rain to the right building. He shoved the key in the lock, immediately opening the door and allowing you to walk inside first.
The room was smaller than expected. The heat was hardly circulating and you were still shivering. A queen-sized bed was situated in front of an old RCA TV, decorated with a comforter that looked strangely similar to the one from the 80s that your mom had given you when you first moved out. The room smelled like bleach and all you could hear was the rain on the roof. Noticing you shiver, Mingyu walked over to the thermostat and adjusted the heat.
“Maybe this was a bad idea,” you said, hugging your arms around yourself.
Mingyu pointed to the large window by the door. “I can’t drive in that. It takes an hour to get back to the city and I can hardly see the road.”
“Okay, well –”
Lightning struck again, painting the window white, and you jumped. Mingyu shook his head and walked over, closing the shades over the glass. He looked down at you, and you were acutely aware that he was the kind of person who could say everything just with his eyes. “Better?” He asked, a smile playing at his pink lips.
He was so close that you could smell his cologne and – god dammit, you were such a sucker for men that smelled good. He smelled like violets mixed with smokey sandalwood, spicy and musky. Whatever you were going to quip back died on your tongue, leaving you to reply, “I can’t sleep in my dress. I have nothing to wear to bed.”
Walking over to the tiny closet, Mingyu spotted a robe hanging up next to the vintage ironing board. He placed it in your arms and remarked, “Take a shower and put this on.”
“Are you saying I smell?”
He laughed. “No, you’re shivering and it’ll help warm you up.”
You nodded, heading off to the bathroom and shutting the door. As you slipped off your dress and let it pool onto the tile, you realized how antagonizing you were being for no reason. Mingyu had been nothing but nice to you, but you were suspecting him to switch-up at any moment. Maybe Vernon was right, or maybe you just needed to take a chill pill.
Mingyu was helping you out, after all.
After taking the warmest shower of your life and probably using all of the hot water in the motel, you walked out into the room with your robe tied firmly around your waist. The cotton smelled like mothballs and you hardly left an inch of skin showing. Granted you weren’t naked underneath, but you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing your underwear. Again. After five years.
He was wearing only a tank top and boxers while setting up a makeshift bed on the floor. You struggled to maintain focus with him looking … well, like that, and eventually spoke up, “What are you doing?”
He hardly jumped at hearing your voice. “I figured it would just be easier if I slept on the floor. Trust me, I’ve slept in far worse places.”
“Mingyu, you don’t have to do that,” you sighed, pulling back the covers and tossing the mismatching throw pillows on the floor.
“It’s not a big deal.”
“I know, but it’s just –”
Thunder clashed outside, sounding like pots and pans clanging together, rattling your bones.
Your eyes connected with Mingyu’s, and you pointed to the empty side of the bed. “Sleep in this bed right now.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
You both agreed – more like, you told Mingyu and he listened – to place a wall of pillows between you two, leaving you on the edges of the bed. You curled up into yourself, your spine facing him, as Mingyu laid on his back and pinched the bridge of his nose. The rain was so loud. The thunder was deafening. You considered plugging your fingers in your ears as you slept.
Mingyu was shifting on the small sliver of mattress he had, wishing internally that he brought a joint or two with him. This bed was so uncomfortable that he probably wouldn’t sleep. But hopefully, you would. Although that was seeming highly unlikely from the way your back tensed with every boom of thunder.
He watched you from the corner of his eye, and eventually, you did stop shaking. Soft snores filled the room, replacing the sound of the rain. And then Mingyu felt himself relax, swiftly falling asleep with his arm thrown above his head.
Despite the pillow wall you built, you woke up with your head on his chest.
Mingyu had wanted to tell you how beautiful you looked that day, but he couldn’t find the courage to finish his sentence.
Save the Date for the wedding of Lee Chan and Adrianna Olson: April 4th
Tapping your freshly manicured nails on your bare arm, you leaned against the passenger side door of your car and huffed. You uncrossed your arms, beginning to pace outside Mingyu’s apartment building. The ceremony today started in two hours and you were about ninety minutes from the venue. Not to mention, there was only a matter of time before one of his neighbors showed up, forcibly removing you from the parking spot in front of the building you definitely did not live in. What the hell was Mingyu doing anyway? He said he’d be down ten minutes ago.
You tugged off your heels, realizing they’d be a bitch to drive in, and pulled your sneakers from the back seat. Your floral, strapless sundress blew in the Spring breeze. Your curls – that looked like they could’ve been done by a toddler – whisked off your bare shoulders as you stepped into your favorite Nikes.
“Sorry.”
Popping your head up, you halted while shoving the back door closed. You blinked, assuming your eyes were deceiving you, but there he was, sprinting down the front steps of his building with freshly chopped hair.
Mingyu was quickly walking over to shove his duffle in your backseat, pulling at his tie, when you leaned in and placed your hand on his head. Yep, that was his real hair. Those long locks that had reached his chin were gone, replaced by a hairstyle that was similar to how he looked in college.
“I know we’re running late,” he apologized, letting your fingers sink into the strands for a moment, “but do you have to –”
“This is not about that.” You removed your hand, leveling a look at him. “You cut your hair.”
Mingyu raised a brow. “It was getting long.”
You paused, blinking at him. “Why didn’t you warn me of your new look?”
“I didn’t think I had to?” He shrugged, genuinely confused as to why you were questioning him. “My hair had gotten even longer since February, so I just thought I’d freshen up for you –”
You completely missed his words – for you, he’d freshened up for you – because you were already interrupting him. “Well, it’s just – it might look weird in pictures because my hair is up and your hair is so short. And I’m already going to have so many people looking at us wondering why my ex, who’s name I put on the invite, isn’t here. And I just want to eliminate as much attention as possible. And, well – and –”
Mingyu placed both hands on your shoulders. His palms were large, practically burning into your exposed skin. “Are you overthinking?”
“No, I …”
When your voice trailed off, Mingyu hesitated for a moment longer and then slid his hands off. “Vernon told me that you dated the groom. Chan, right?”
Of-fucking-course, Vernon told him. Your lips pursed before you replied, “We were friends before that, and we only dated for like a couple months in college. I introduced him to the woman he’s marrying.”
“Then why are you so nervous?”
“I think I have a lot of reasons to be nervous these days.” You continued to stare at him, waiting for him to come up with another quippy remark, but it seemed he contested and shoved his hands into the pockets of his suit. The same tailored suit he wore to the wedding in February, a few loose threads at the seams. “Let’s get going. We’ll be in the car for a while,” you said, rounding your car and hopping inside the driver’s seat.
As Mingyu dealt with finding room for his duffle in your trunk, you took this small second to text Vernon.
You: your friend is infuriating
You: also I’m never going to forgive you for telling him that I dated chan
Vernon: you’ll get over it lol
Vernon: is that the only reason why he’s infuriating?
You: HAIRCUT
Vernon: oh I probably should’ve told you about that when I saw him last week
Vernon: sorry :/
You closed your texts when Mingyu hopped in the passenger seat, turning on your music to drown out your thoughts. The drive was long and you were lucky that you got to the venue with ten minutes to spare. You parked the car in a haste, running to your back seat and quickly tugging your heels back on. You chucked your sneakers onto the car floor, almost hitting Mingyu in the face when he went to grab his phone from the same area. Locking your car, you grabbed his arm and yanked, both of you running towards the venue attached to a pretty hotel. Mingyu, even with his long legs, was struggling to keep up. He was also slightly impressed that you could run so fast in heels, and that was definitely the only reason why he was staring at your legs. He wasn’t admiring how long they looked when the wind lifted your skirt and he got a flash of your calf.
Even from your seat in the back of the ceremony, you could see Chan’s face light up as Adrianna was escorted down the aisle. She was wearing a vintage wedding dress, the veil sheer enough to see how beautiful she was underneath, and Chan was eager enough to lift it as soon as they said, “I do.” Adrianna looked like she hadn’t aged a day since school, and you could probably say the same for Chan. But he did manage to finally remove the earrings he got six years ago, which made you giggle to yourself.
Mingyu pretended not to notice.
Most of the people at the wedding were old friends from undergrad, even a few Mingyu knew in passing. Every time you were approached, you prepared yourself for the same question: “Where is He Who Will Not Be Named?” Or, for those that actually knew Mingyu: “Since when did you know Gyu?” You weren’t sure how much longer you could fake a smile and laugh, pretend that your heart still wasn’t sore from the breakup, rehash the same words over and over again. It was tiring; you were tired.
Same explanation. Same heartbreak. You wouldn’t be surprised if the whole planet knew of your breakup by now. You didn’t announce it anywhere, besides telling your family and close friends. It was natural for people to be curious; you had been with your ex for a couple years, enough for your family to assume that he’d propose. But then he cheated, and you found out, and you were left in pieces, tied to Kim Mingyu as your date for a full year of weddings.
You just didn’t want to keep on doing this, explaining yourself ten times over, realizing that everyone was looking at you with interest. Maybe a second glass of champagne would be a good distraction …
“Wanna dance?”
You looked up from the rim of your empty glass. Mingyu had knocked you out of your daze, laying out a hand for you to take. The reception was lively with family and friends mingling on the dance floor, but Mingyu had still noticed you alone at the table, lost in your thoughts. Had he always been this attentive, or was he just prone to watching you?
Ignoring your internal monologue, you took his hand, allowing him to lead you to the dance floor. Just as Mingyu was about to place his hand on your waist, the song changed, switching to a more upbeat track you used to blast in college. You immediately started laughing at all the older folks trying to follow the beat, and then found Chan with his wife, shimmying on the dance floor. Mingyu pinched the bridge of his nose, but found himself beaming when he finally saw the smile grace your features. He didn’t let go of your hand, let you twirl him to the song that took you back to the musty basement of a frat party.
Chan, at some point, had managed to dance over in your direction, bumping into you with a big grin. “I knew all the alumni here would love this,” he shouted over the music. “Do you remember when you puked outside a window once at some party and you said that it was this song that induced it?”
You were surprised when Mingyu said, “Yes,” at the same time as you. Both you and Chan glanced at him, eyebrows raised, until he added, “That was at one of my parties. I cleaned your vomit off the windowsill!”
The four of you erupted in laughter. Even Adrianna remembered that party, considering that was the night you drunkenly introduced her to Chan. She eventually pulled you away from Mingyu, leading you towards her group of bridesmaids so you all could dance together. But your eyes couldn’t help but find Mingyu’s across the floor, and then he was looking at you, and – god dammit, staring at him felt like a crime you’d consider going to jail for.
Everyone was looking at him, but he was looking at you.
Actually, Mingyu couldn’t seem to take his eyes off you. Not once.
He stared at you as if it was just you two, as if you were stripped bare before him, just for his eyes to see. You could tell from the way he bit his lip while smiling. He looked at you as if you were naked.
Soon enough, you were slipping through the crowd and by his side once again. He was now leaning against the wall by the open bar, nursing a scotch. The party was winding down; all the older family members had left, leaving Chan and Adrianna – plus a few other young couples – swaying to a classic Ed Sheeran song. It wouldn’t be long until they ended the night with Can’t Help Falling In Love by Elvis Presley. The time war nearing 11 PM.
Slinking beside him, he offered the glass to you and you took a sip, wincing at the burn. You stuck out your tongue. “How can you drink that so smoothly?”
“Years of practice,” he replied, and then flicked your nose in a way that shouldn’t make you blush. But you definitely did.
You blinked up at him, admiring how pretty he was in the faint, yellow light. Actually, he was pretty in every light, but you liked to find any excuse to admire him. Even if you denied it.
“Wanna get out of here?” You asked then, digging your nails into your palms. So afraid of rejection after all these years, even though he agreed to be here. “I think the reception is going to end soon anyway.”
“Yeah, sounds good.” He set his half empty glass on a random table and straightened his back before adding, “Whatever you’re comfortable with.”
God, you needed to get it together. Those words were the bare minimum, but when he said them in that slightly muffled voice, it made your nails pinch the inside of your hands harder.
You both stood on opposite sides of the elevator, dragging up, up, up to your room on the seventeenth floor. Your eyes connected. A smile played at his lips. An unspoken tension brewing between the two of you. A feeling you didn’t want to be there in the first place, but something you couldn’t simply ignore.
This couldn’t be happening. Not today. Not tonight. Not ever again.
He opened the door for you, allowing you to slip inside and grab your bag. While he rifled through his duffle, you brought your bag into the bathroom and leaned against the sink. You allowed yourself a moment to just breathe. Maybe if you kept exhaling like this, you would release all the tension from your body. You knew how silly it sounded, but desperate times called for desperate measures. You stared at your reflection in the mirror, turning your face from side to side. Was it the makeup that made him look at you that way sometimes? Perhaps he still had a fondness for lipgloss, like he did back in the day.
When you finally stopped studying your appearance, you wiped off your makeup and tugged on a pair of loose pajamas. Wearing these would be so much more comfortable – and less awkward – than the robe you wore after the last wedding. You still had nightmares about that. Carefully tiptoeing out of the bathroom, you expected to find Mingyu already in one of the two full size beds, scrolling through his phone and ignoring the noise you naturally made. But he was on the deck just outside your room, smoke billowing from his mouth.
You stood near the unoccupied bed, balancing on the balls of your feet, as you debated your options. A smart person would go right to sleep, leave him to his business. You chewed on your bottom lip nervously.
Despite the slight warmth to the air, you threw on a hoodie, scared of the possibility of your nipples showing through the thin fabric of your t-shirt. You slid open the door and immediately closed it, preventing any smoke from getting into the room. He didn’t turn; he knew exactly who was behind him. His back muscles flexed underneath his suit jacket, the joint dangling between his lips as he prayed for his lighter to work again.
“You probably shouldn’t be smoking in this suit,” you said, saddling up beside him.
He chuckled, finally taking a long drag. “I promise to get it dry cleaned before our next adventure.”
Before our next adventure. You bit the inside of your cheek.
Your eyes didn’t leave the joint now sitting between two of his fingers. (Jeez, were they always that big?) He let more smoke filter from his lips and into the open air, clouding up the starry night sky. Without even looking at you, he asked, “Why are you staring?” His words hung in the silence for a moment. “Have you ever smoked before?”
You shrugged. “Only once or twice with Vernon. Probably as freshmen.”
“You want me to show you how?”
Blinking at him, all you could do was dumbly nod. Mingyu laughed under his breath, fighting with his lighter again, before eventually holding the flame to the end. He then cautiously passed the joint over to you, allowing the filter to brush your lips. “Take it in your mouth,” he instructed, “now inhale.”
When you did as he asked, you must’ve inhaled far too deeply, or just didn’t exhale at the right time. Because then you were coughing, doubling over as you tried to catch your breath. “Hey, hey, hey,” he said, concern etched in his tone, and patted your back as you hacked up what felt like your left lung. His voice was soft, soothing, but you could hardly hear it through the ringing in your ears.
“Yeah,” you sighed, voice hoarse, “I’m definitely out of practice.”
As you stood up, his hand stayed on your shoulder, his thumb rubbing patterns. Your breath stilled as you looked up at him. Playing with the joint between his lips, he said, “Let me show you an easier way.”
“Okay,” you agreed, before your conscious could stop you.
You watched as he took a long pull from the joint, sucking it all in until you could see his eyes get a little pinker, and then moved closer to you. Instinctively, your eyes closed and your lips parted, welcoming the scent of him. His lips only lightly grazed yours as he exhaled the smoke into your mouth, letting it engulf your very being, and you felt yourself start to relax. He craned back, grinning down at you, and it took everything within you to not ask for another hit right then.
In the moonlight, you could see why you fell hard for Mingyu. He had only gotten more handsome since college. Light, in any form, was so kind to him, but with the stars hanging above his head … it allowed his dark hair to shine, casting a slightly blueish tone to his warm features. You could see the twinkling stars reflecting in his eyes, especially when he leaned back in, expelling more smoke into your mouth.
This felt too intimate. This felt like fucking.
Once you both were so high you could do nothing but laugh, Mingyu stubbed out the joint and you stumbled back into the room. You both were finally going to have a good sleep at one of these, especially since there were two beds. Rolling into your bed, you immediately burrowed under the covers as Mingyu took off his suit in the bathroom.
The last thing you expected was to feel him plop down in your bed. He was wearing so little that it made your thighs press together, or maybe that was just the weed talking. He was disoriented, laying halfway off the edge of your bed, staring at you as if you were the Mona Lisa. You huffed, “Mingyuuu. You need to get in your own bed.”
“Do you really want that though?”
His words made your eyes immediately snap open. A grin was tugging at his mouth again, his teeth sinking into that plush bottom lip. Oh, so also wanted … Oh.
You tried to sound cool and nonchalant, “Considering this is a full size bed, yeah.”
Even in the darkness, even with his back to the moonlight streaming through the glass door – his presence was making you nervous. His eyes weren’t leaving yours. You felt your hand inch over, your pinky curling around his.
“If I can be so honest with you,” he whispered, licking at the corners of his lips, “you are so beautiful that I want to kill any guy that has done you wrong.”
You exhaled, “Mingyu …”
He leaned in, smiling like he knew he caught you in his trap. “Yes?”
You were pretty sure that you knew Kim Mingyu by now. You knew that this would be just another night that meant nothing to him. No matter how much he “changed” in Vernon’s eyes, it was very clear to you that he remained uncommitted. But fuck it, your heart was still burning from the breakup, stinging from the memory of people uttering your ex’s name tonight. It was only going to be a kiss. Just something to soothe the pain.
He was so much closer now, invading your space, his hand completely eclipsing yours. He smelled like marijuana and lingering cologne. “Tell me to stop,” he murmured, but you didn’t. You let him kiss you, and god, it would be so much easier to dislike Mingyu if he didn’t kiss so well.
It wasn’t long before his tongue was pushing into your mouth, his large body looming over yours as he pressed you into the mattress a little more. And you’re desperate for it; you couldn’t stop. This was supposed to be simple – just a kiss – but you could feel yourself falling under his spell, feel how his palms burned against your skin as they dragged down your torso. He explored your mouth like it was the first time, parting your legs to make room for himself on top of you. When his lips left yours, you almost let out a whine, but he helped take off your hoodie before reattaching his mouth to your neck. Those large hands snake under your shirt – up, up, and up – until he was cupping your breasts and you can feel how hard he is against your thigh.
Mingyu looked up at you as he kissed down your torso, his spit soaking through the thin fabric of the t-shirt you were still wearing. He lifted one of your legs, adjusting it so your thigh could rest comfortably on his shoulder and – shit, you knew where this was going. Reaching the waistband of your panties, he begged, “Let me go down on you.”
You mulled over his words. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“No,” he grinned against your skin, meeting your eyes from between your legs. “But that’s a tomorrow problem. Please?” His head tilted. “Do I have to beg? I’m willing.”
You bit your tongue, egging him on a little as he nipped at the inside of your thigh. He bucked his hips once, them twice, trying to get the smallest bit of friction on his cock that was currently throbbing in his boxers. He grunted softly against your skin.
“And if I say, ‘No?’” You asked with a raised brow.
He lifted his head and pouted his lips. After all these years, he still managed the perfect puppy dog eyes that could make just about anyone weak. “Don’t be mean,” he pleaded, and you couldn’t help but giggle.
“You like when I’m mean,” you quipped, giving him permission by helping him shimmy your panties off. He adjusted your legs again, presenting you like a meal.
“I do,” he chuckled, his breath ghosting over your pretty, pink folds. “Especially, when you act like you didn’t want me here in the first place.”
Before you can rebuttal, he’s pressing his face between your thighs, dragging his tongue up your slit to collect the wetness that gathered there. Just the small amount of attention had you keening, your hips jumping for more of him, and Mingyu was happy enough to oblige. His tongue flicked at your clit as he slid one single finger inside of you, testing your limits. Those puppy dog eyes lifted from between your thighs, wanting to see you crumble, knowing that it was him who made you like this. You sighed out his name, your hand coming down to tangle in his hair. And god, if Mingyu didn’t love that … he’d be a dead man. He groaned when he felt you tug at the strands, beginning to swirl his tongue in a circle around your puffy clit.
You couldn’t even prepare yourself when he shoved another finger inside, pumping them in and out at an unreasonably fast pace. But you were bucking into him, tears pricking at your eyes as you whimpered for him. It was too much but almost too little at the same time. You could practically feel him smile as he devoured you. The bed rattled against the wall when he ground his erection against the frame, so needy and aching. His plump lips suckled on your clit, your slick smearing over his face, but he didn’t want to miss a drop of you. He needed more of you, so he started curling three fingers inside of you, teasing that sweet spot.
This wasn’t your first rodeo with Mingyu. He knew what you could take.
“Mingyu,” you whined, and he glanced up at you again with the most fucked-out eyes imaginable. And still, he didn’t stop. “You’re gonna … I’m gonna cum so fast.”
He moaned into you, then begged, “Please. Need to taste you.”
He was so determined, so desperate to feel you shake and moan and cry until he was completely spent on the taste of you. And it wasn’t long before he got his wish: as he shoved those three fingers into you, grazing your g-spot while lapping at you like you were his last meal on death row. You unraveled on his tongue, muffling your cries for the rest of the people sleeping on your floor. Biting into your hand, you had physically restrain your body from shaking as your orgasm rocked through you, but Mingyu held you down with a gentle hand on your stomach. He was staring at you again and you were staring at him and fuck, his half-closed eyes made him look like he was drunk on you. You could feel him smirking into your pussy as he collected every last drop of you, knowing that he did a good job. He sighed with relief when he could finally taste you again and again and again.
Once your body settled, you felt him start to tug at your shirt and kiss up your stomach. The thought of now having him inside you made your hands clench with excitement, but dear god, he just knocked the wind out of you and you weren’t sure how you could last. You were spent, tired, probably could just fall asleep right now.
You weren’t feeling his lips on your skin anymore, so you opened your eyes. The moonlight gave you just enough to see that, despite the raging boner he probably had, Mingyu was now snoring softly with his head resting on your hips. Brows raised, you almost couldn’t believe that this was the moment he decided to fall asleep, but you couldn’t deny that you had been on the verge of doing the same.
Untangling yourself from him, you quickly cleaned yourself up and wiped his face clean with a washcloth. You sighed, using all the brute strength you had to haul him up on what was supposed to be your bed, and wrapped the covers around him. You admired him for a moment, your hand coming up to smooth back his dark hair. Somehow, this felt even more intimate than you cumming in his mouth. So you quickly moved away and slipped under the sheets of the other bed, using his snores as white noise.
The next morning, neither of you spoke of what happened.
Mingyu had wanted to tell you that he had a crush on you the moment Vernon introduced you two all those years ago, even when you disliked him. And slowly but surely, he was starting to realize it never truly went away.
Save the Date for the wedding of Joshua Hong and Jordan Lo: June 20th
Two months passed and the spring air turned sweltering. It was on days like this when you rolled the windows down and wasted gas just to get an overpriced iced coffee that you reminisced. You were taken back to a time when you waited by the curb as Vernon appeared from football practice, and even though he was sweaty, you still always agreed to drive him back to his dorm on the other side of campus. You would watch him say goodbye to his teammates and – shit, the light would catch, and suddenly you were looking at Mingyu wipe the sweat off his face while laughing with the quarterback and –
Now you were thinking about Mingyu again.
You had been thinking about him since April.
All of this felt so silly, like stupid games young 20-somethings played. You knew it wasn’t good for you in engage in – well, anything with Mingyu. He had always been perfectly uncommitted with women, and he was clearly obsessed with his work, posting his new recipes or pictures of him and his flag football team on his Instagram stories. You could handle this. You could be an adult and have a functional acquaintanceship with someone you found attractive.
So you kept your distance. On the off chance that Mingyu was free and asked if you wanted to get together (which was a shock in itself), you declined. Even if you wanted to. Even if you desperately wondered what would come of it. The next wedding wasn’t until the end of June and you were already biting you lip at the thought of seeing him in a suit again.
The only person you could finally blabber to about this was Minghao, and in typical fashion, he laughed. Not that you expected anything less.
“You’re overthinking the entire situation,” he said over drinks. “It’s completely normal for you to have a little fun, especially while healing from a breakup. That’s what being single is all about, my friend.”
He was right. Of course, he was right. But what if Mingyu rejected you yet again, like he did in college? You wanted to talk to Vernon about this. He always gave you the best advice with this stuff, but this was his friend. The last thing you wanted was to make his friendship with Mingyu weird.
You attempted to ignore him. You redownloaded some dating apps as a distraction. You deleted them just as fast.
On the morning of June 20th, your cousin, Jordan, was marrying her longtime boyfriend, Joshua Hong. You had only met Josh on a number of occasions, but considering that they had been together for almost twelve years, you trusted him enough to take care of her. You felt lucky to be chosen as a bridesmaid and you’d never make a fuss, but dear god, the dark blue of this dress clashed with just about everything. The color was so dark and the dress was clinging to just about all of you and Mingyu’s tie was the wrong shade of blue –
Damn, did he look handsome though.
Jordan had made you both get to the venue early for a rehearsal dinner, and then once the morning came, you were whisked off to hair and makeup. You had barely said a word to Mingyu, too scared to give him anything besides small talk, but you couldn’t help but compliment the new suit he bought for the last few weddings. “Figured I’d cave and invest in one that wasn’t from Goodwill,” he explained, “for you.”
For you. For you. For you.
Your heels were hurting your feet halfway through the wedding, and despite how hard you were trying to focus on Josh’s vows, you couldn’t help but find Mingyu’s eyes in the crowd. He wasn’t paying attention to anyone else, his stare burning into yours to let you know his intent. You swallowed hard. Would anyone notice if you hid your blush behind the bouquet in your hands? It felt like torture having him look at you like this, as if there wasn’t an extravagant wedding happening around them, as if he wasn’t Kim Mingyu.
It wasn’t until the reception that you could finally get a word in with your cousin, some much needed alone time after what was surely going to be the craziest wedding you went to this year. You both parked yourself near the open bar, ignoring the guests on the dance floor that were screaming for another round of the Cha Cha Slide. Tucking a strand behind your ear, Jordan said, “I can’t thank you enough for doing this for me. Jeez, I really didn’t think when I was three and met you a couple weeks after you were born that we’d be here. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
You grinned, “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” The bartender handed you a new glass of wine and you took a sip. “Besides, these days all I do is work or go to weddings. The life of being a permanent wedding guest, I supposed.”
“Speaking of guests …” Jordan turned her head slightly, ogling Mingyu from where he was standing up and trying to decline your great aunt’s advances to dance. Your cousin giggled. “He isn’t the older guy I thought you’d bring.”
“Circumstances change.” You shrugged, and she gave you a look. “I’d rather not get into it.”
Jordan’s brow raised. “You guys are having sex though, right?”
You almost choked while taking another sip of your wine. “Absolutely not.”
“You sure?”
“Well, I –” You sighed, and then decided to suck down the rest of the glass in one go. Jordan whistled. “We did at one point. Very long time ago. But he’s Vernon’s friend and … it’s a long story.”
“Sounds like it,” she snorted, eyes flickering around the reception until they landed somewhere behind you. “Well, if you’re not having sex with him, my friend just might tonight.”
Your expression muddled, until she pointed over your shoulder. Turning around, you found Jordan’s Maid of Honor chatting up Mingyu near the stairs that lead to the restrooms. Her hand was inching up his sleeve and he was blushing at what you could only assume was a compliment coming from her lips. He was clearly enjoying the conversation, despite the intimate looks he was giving you earlier.
Classic fucking Kim Mingyu, you thought.
A pang of jealousy surfaced that you couldn’t control. It was probably best for everyone if you walked away and took a breather. After Joshua pulled his wife onto the dance floor, you adjusted the tight silk of your dress and headed for the bathrooms. You walked past them, your perfume wafting past Mingyu’s nostrils, a scent he would know anywhere.
Instead of going inside the bathroom, you decide to stand in the empty hall connected to the venue and brace your back against the cool wall. You sighed, gathering yourself, completely unaware it wasn’t just you here until you heard the squeak of someone else’s shoes.
“I noticed you were empty,” Mingyu muttered as a way of greeting. He was holding two glasses of rosé between his fingers, stepping down the small staircase to get to you.
It was just you two now, and he was handing you the glass while standing so close that you could smell his cologne. Had this dress always felt that tight, or could you just not breathe right now? You watched the way his eyes flickered to your mouth, and it took everything in you not to yank him closer by the tie. Instead, you took a big gulp of rosé.
“You didn’t have to come after me,” you remarked, and then nodded your head in the direction of the Maid of Honor now on the dance floor. “You looked like you were having fun.”
Mingyu simply tilted his head to the side, studying you carefully.
“She’s pretty. Don’t stop on my account, but please be aware that we are sharing a room so you can’t bring anyone back there.”
Mingyu’s lips slowly curved into a grin. “Are you jealous?”
You scoffed, “No. I’m just … being realistic.”
Taking your half empty glass from your hand, he set them both down on a side table right near the women’s restroom. Your mouth opened, but the words died as soon as he placed a hand beside your head on the wall. He was so tall that he towered over you, even in heels, leaning into your space with pretty, half-opened eyes as he stared at your glossy lips.
“Can I be realistic with you?” He didn’t give you a moment to answer. “I cannot stop thinking about our last night together. I know you probably thought it happened because of the weed, but I … these past two months, it’s all I’ve been thinking about. And it’s killing me that I’ve been trying to be normal this whole night when all I’ve wanted to do is drag you away and make you cum again.”
Your breath hitched slightly at his words. He leaned in then, grazing his nose over the side of your face, desperate to be in your orbit. You took your bottom lip between your teeth and tried to control your heart rate, but how was that even possible when Mingyu’s other hand was brushing up and down your side, tangled in the silk.
“Well, that …” You swallowed hard. “That wouldn’t be a good idea considering all my family is here.”
He tsked under his breath. “Obviously, it wouldn’t be, but …” You felt his nose at your jaw, inhaling the scent of your perfume again, the one that made him crazy. And he damn near groaned in your ear.
“Mingyu, you … you –”
“Fuck, how could you think I’m looking at anyone else here when you look this good in your dress?” His voice had taken on that needy tone he always got when he was horny. It almost felt like a reward to be able to hear it again. “I’ve been half-hard this entire reception just from looking at you, remembering the way you tasted …” He muttered another curse.
This was how he always acted. Mingyu could be so desperate and pleading when he wanted to get someone in bed, needy to the point he would do anything just to please you, but god – you couldn’t deny how much you liked it. He was reeling you in. You were like fish to bait.
Slowly, he laced your dominant hand with his and moved it from his belt buckle to his groin. You could barely breathe when you felt him harden under your touch, and then you remembered you were still in a public hallway, where just about anyone could walk by.
Your eyes met his half-lidded ones as he murmured, “Look what you’re doing to me.”
And god help you, because you whimpered at the sound of his voice, slick starting to gather between your thighs.
“Okay, Mingyu, just …” You sighed, composing yourself because you knew he wasn’t going to any time soon. Your hand slipped away from his and he huffed, his forehead falling to rest on your shoulder. “Go to our room and let me make my rounds. I’ll meet you up there.”
He stood up. For a moment, he was almost tempted to drag you into the bathroom and bury his face between your legs, too hungry to let you get away now. But one of your uncles was walking down the hall, and you separated quickly. With a nod, you walked back to the reception and said goodbye to your family that you didn’t get to talk to for too long prior. Jordan gave you a look when you mentioned about going to bed early, and even Josh told you how weird you were being, but your cousin shut him up and sent you a wink.
You exhaled heavily and headed back to hotel on the other side of the venue. Slipping your heels off once you were inside the elevator, you debated if giving into Mingyu this easily was the smart thing to do. Smart? Definitely not. But would it be enjoyable? You didn’t need to answer that question. Mingyu knew what he was doing.
As you unlocked the door to your hotel room, you began to wonder if you were just setting yourself up to be hurt again. He didn’t come back to you like this in college, but what’s stopping him from telling you that he’s “just not that into you” at the next wedding? Or what if he just thought of you as an easy hookup that would get his dick wet every 2 months? Well, you hadn’t done that yet –
Yet. Yet. Yet.
The word repeated in your head like a melody, because when you threw your purse down and saw Mingyu walking out of the bathroom, fresh from a shower and dressed in only a towel around his waist, you realized that you were most definitely getting his dick wet tonight. Whether it was in your mouth or somewhere deeper, you were salivating for it.
He was smiling at you and you were smiling at him and Jesus, he was so goddamn handsome that you couldn’t believe that he was the one desperate for you. Droplets of water trickled down his tan skin and that towel around his waist was just barely holding on. His torso was chiseled and his arms – fuck, his biceps were bigger than you remembered. He was something out of a dream – some horny, fucked-up dream that you only had after masturbating before bed.
He was on you instantly, pushing you against the wall and kissing you hard. Sighing into the kiss, your hands fist into the towel to yank him closer, but it only makes the flimsy fabric fall. You break away for a moment to mutter, “Oh, shit,” but his lips can’t stay away from yours for long. And he’s laughing, like you did exactly what he wanted. You were too hypnotized by the scent of his body wash to care.
Dragging his lips down your neck, he sucked at the spot that he knew made your thighs press together, grinning proudly against your skin when you moaned. His fingers gripped the soft silk of your dress, slowly pulling the fabric up to feel you that much closer. But it wasn’t enough. No matter how much he liked you in this dress – and god, did he like you in this dress – he needed you out of it. Now.
Mingyu unzipped your dress with precision, setting it down on one of the two beds in the room, and both of you were suddenly wishingthere was only one. His hands smoothed down your sides, his breath hot against your mouth. He just wanted to feel you everywhere. He almost didn’t want to step away, afraid you’ll slip through his fingers like sand. When you two had hooked up in college, it was quick and explosive, letting out the tension that had been building for years. There was so much territory for him to cover now, so many ways for him to find out what made you whine and sigh with pleasure. But, if he were being honest, all he wanted right now was for you to –
“Sit on my face,” he begged, caging you into the wall, pressing his hard cock against your stomach. So desperate for just an ounce of friction, so hungry for another taste of you. He could literally start drooling at the thought of it. He was mesmerized by you; he’d do anything you asked just to have your pussy on his tongue again.
But you seemed to be debating your options, biting you lip again, and he wished that didn’t turn him on even more. You were just so pretty, and the way your face scrunched as you decided on something was a sight he couldn’t help but think about when he touched himself, even all those years ago. It was just you. You.
Eventually, your face relaxed, and you replied, “Well, you don’t have to beg me.”
Mingyu’s lips pulled into a smile, and he laughed while pulling you down onto the nearest bed. Despite his request, you continued to straddle his torso and kiss him for just a little while longer. He was needy, moaning into your mouth whenever his cock bumped against your ass, but all you wanted to feel his lips on yours, tangle your tongue with his, even if it was just for another minute.
You forgot Mingyu was stronger than you, though. It wasn’t much longer before he was yanking your body up and turning you around so you knelt just above his face. He inhaled the scent of your pussy and almost breathed a sigh of relief, but instead muttered, “Such a tease sometimes.”
Now that you were hovering above him, you were suddenly self conscious about how excited you were and if your arousal was seeping onto his face. You couldn’t even see if he was thrilled or not, since he had turned you to face away from him, but the way his cock jumped in front of your eyes told you enough. His hands gripped your thighs tight. “I don’t want to crush you,” you said nervously.
“You could suffocate me and I wouldn’t have a problem with it."
You chewed on your bottom lip. His tone was firm, probably the most serious you’d ever heard from him. But you were embarrassed and this was crazy and you still so wet. With flushed cheeks, you asked, “Mingyu, are you –”
“Yes,” he answered before pulling you down onto his face.
He wasn’t teasing you tonight. He was devouring you without even letting you catch your breath. His tongue swiping at your clit before he sucked on it – hard. So hard that you let you a sound that was a mixture of a yelp and a moan. Gripping you roughly, he spread you wider, drinking more of you in. Your hips moved on their own, grinding against his face, which made him groan into your pussy. The vibration in his voice spread throughout your entire body, goosebumps lining your flesh. “Mingyuuu,” you whined, begging for more, and you could practically feel him smirk as he flicked at your swollen clit.
Leaning forward, you turned your head up and noticed again just how hard he was. His cock had always been perfect: the perfect size, dark pink at the tip, veins etched into the shaft. Precum beaded at the head, sliding down every so slowly, as he throbbed and ached and – god, his hips were almost thrusting into the air now. You didn’t doubt he could get off for hours on this, but that didn’t mean he needed to be unsatisfied.
Besides, you wanted something to do with your mouth anyway.
Mingyu whimpered as you shifted slightly to reach his cock. Your body stretched, your mouth at the perfect angle as you flicked the head with your tongue. He pulled you back towards his mouth, shoving his tongue inside your tight hole and making you gasp at the same time you licked a stripe up his shaft. His tongue worked you open while you swirled your own along the tip, and then finally took him into your mouth.
The grunt he released should’ve caused an earthquake.
You bobbed your head up and down his shaft, choking when he bucked into your mouth. You could hardly breathe, taking every opportunity to inhale through your nose, but you couldn’t stop. You didn’t want to stop. God forbid, you have a hobby like wanting Kim Mingyu’s cock in your mouth. He took the liberty of grinding you against his face with his own hands, wrapping his lips around your clit again, eager to taste your climax. And to be honest, he wasn’t sure how much longer he was going to last if you kept sucking on his tip like that. He groaned each time, feeling your tongue circle his head before going back down, taking as much as you could, as if you were rewarding him. And he just couldn’t help but whine along with you.
Your lips pulled off him to kitten lick the veins along the sides of his shaft, and you breathily asked, “Are you close?”
His only response was a moan straight into your pussy.
You nodded, even if he couldn’t see it, before your mouth opened like second nature. You spit on his cock and stuffed him down your throat once again. Head moving faster, you were slobbering on him like a dog in heat, trying not to gag and failing. Your free hand snaked up to cup one of his balls, and the sound he released was deafening. His tongue flicked and sucked at your clit like he had nothing left to live for, hungry for every last drop of your essence.
But then you were cumming, and he was too not long after.
You cried, choking on his cock as you came all over his face. White blurred in your vision, and you were a mess of sweat and spit and so much cum. He exploded in your mouth a moment later, hot seed running down your throat, and you consumed all of it. Neither of you wanted to miss out on the taste of each other. It was filthy, intoxicating, how much you liked this. How much you could suck him off over and over again, and not get tired of him.
You didn’t know it at the time, but Mingyu would say the same about you. If not worse.
He could spend all day between your thighs and never want to leave.
When you both finally angled off each other, spent and exhausted, your breathing was heavy and off by two seconds. Mingyu was glancing over at you before you could even process, a smile playing at his swollen lips. He brushed away a strand of hair that was stuck to your sweaty forehead.
“Mingyu,” you finally said, “has anyone ever told you that you have boyfriend dick?”
Mingyu had wanted to tell you how much he’d been dreaming of that moment, how much you had haunted his dreams and left him waking up so hard that he felt he was going through puberty again. Sometimes he dreamed of how good it would feel when he finally slipped into you, inch by inch. You’d feel like home.
Save the Date for the wedding of Lee Seokmin and Quinn Song: July 31st
You couldn’t go a day without talking to Mingyu. Whether it be through text or over the phone, you were joking with him, telling him about your day, and vice versa. Just a month prior, you had tried keeping your distance, but now … you simply couldn’t help yourself. It was like there was a voice inside your head telling you to contact him, to send him a funny video you saw that day, to tell him about the show you were currently watching. And on nights when you had too much to drink, that voice made you text him that you missed him. He always said he missed you too.
Mingyu: I’m watching that show you recommended
Mingyu: kinda wish you were watching it with me
Mingyu: but I’m still content here and I can see why you like it so much
You: right?? I knew you’d like it!
You couldn’t help but giggle at your phone when his texts came through. And you answered them immediately, like you always did.
Mingyu: what are you doing right now?
You: wouldn’t you like to know
Neither of you made the effort to go on an actual date. It was all just flirty texts with a TikTok mixed in every once in a while. Promises about going back to that coffee shop someday, but never planning the day. To be honest, this was one of those moments where you were glad Mingyu was so uncommitted. If you started going on dates that didn’t include a vow exchange in between, it would be so easy to fall for him again, and then be let down when he eventually didn’t want to see you after wedding season.
Mingyu: I mean that’s why I asked
You: I’m hanging out with
A pillow was suddenly thrown at your head. “Ow!” You shouted, head shooting up from your phone to glare at Vernon sitting on the other side of the couch. “What the hell was that for?”
“Anakin is literally burning alive and all you can do is look at your phone!” Vernon scoffed, turning Revenge of the Sith back on. You set your phone down on your lap as he muttered, “Kinda wish I never won that bet.”
Vernon, obviously, was becoming increasingly annoyed that you and Mingyu had rekindled … whatever this was. Sometimes you wondered if you were talking to Mingyu more than your best friend, but given the way Vernon was acting, that was probably the case. You probably shouldn’t even be texting Mingyu while hanging out with Vernon. Bad friend move; happens to the best of us.
You apologized to Vernon in the best way possible: you bought him fried chicken from his favorite spot.
As summer came along, so did Seokmin and Quinn’s wedding at the end of the month, an invitation that was barely hanging on by an old Britney Spears magnet on your fridge. Quinn Song had been your first ever roommate out of college. You both had met on a Facebook group to find roommates in the area and quickly hit it off. She had been your roommate up until last year actually, when her now-fiancé Lee Seokmin asked her to move in with him. It was at that point that you finally decided to live alone, besides the few days out of the week that Vernon crashed at your apartment.
The wedding was being held on a pretty island in the northeast, nestled on the expansive grounds of a bed and breakfast in the area. The spot felt warm and lived in, the exact kind of place you imagined Quinn would get married at.
Meeting Mingyu at the airport had been awkward, but at the very least, you two were sitting in different rows of the plane. Maybe it shouldn’t have been as cringe-worthy as it was, given the fact that you two had been talking nonstop, but it was the memory that the last time you did see each other in person, you were sitting on his face and his cock was so far down your throat –
Mingyu had found your eyes a couple rows behind him on the plane. Even he was blushing now, as if he could read your thoughts.
You had rented a car once you reached your destination and threw him the keys, letting him drive the convertible down the coast while the summer breeze whipped through your hair. You tried not to notice the way his hand twitched on the gear shift, like he was itching to place his palm on your thigh, to ground himself to your presence. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. Especially when all you could do was stare out the window with a big smile on your face.
Unfortunately, you had to book a room at a small hotel near the bed and breakfast since all the rooms were used for the wedding party. The hotel was quaint, but definitely old and smelled like the Febreze scent your mom used to love when you were a kid. Your room was tinier than the pictures implied, but it was on the first floor and had a screen door that opened to a pretty view of the ocean. You didn’t have much time to enjoy it though, considering that the ceremony was in a few hours and the reception would probably carry on until way past midnight.
You decided to rewear the floral sundress that made a previous appearance at Chan and Adrianna’s wedding. It wasn’t like anyone here was at that event, and honestly, you didn’t care. Throwing your hair up into a perfectly messy updo, you curled a few pieces and took your time with your diligent makeup routine. Mingyu was in his suit before you could even blink, biding his time while you got ready by watching past game recordings of the flag football team he taught and trying to identify key moves they missed out on. As you finished up and clumsily slipped on your shoes, the perfume you sprayed seemed to beckon him like a siren song, and suddenly, he was leaning against the doorframe of the bathroom, meeting your eyes in the mirror.
Your brows shot up. “Done with your flag football research?”
“You’re beautiful,” he replied.
You turned, unable to stop your lips from pulling into a soft smile. His expression was so warm, cheeks tinged slightly pink either from embarrassment or a nasty sunburn. He was beautiful. In ways you couldn’t even comprehend.
Holding out your necklace to him, you asked, “Can you help me put this on?”
He nodded, plucking the dainty chain from your palm. You moved back to the mirror as he struggled to open the clasp with his thick fingers, but he got it eventually. Placing the thin, gold chain around your neck, you watched the small, star-shaped pendant sit so delicately under your collarbones. He fixed the clasp on your neck, his fingers brushing the top of your spine, and you watched him lean forward in the mirror.
His lips ghosted over the shell of your ear, breath hot and making the hairs on your neck stand up. “I meant it, by the way,” he whispered, and then placed the softest of kisses behind your ear.
Your breath hitched, and you were unable to form a single coherent thought. For the first time in a while, he was catching you by surprise. He was moving back, and you noticed him smirk in the mirror, knowing exactly how he was affecting you. That annoying asshole –
“Ready to head out?” He asked, grabbing his wallet from the desk.
You huffed and tugged the strap of your purse onto your shoulder. “Of course.”
The grounds of the bed and breakfast were bigger than you assumed, enough to fit an extremely large tent and hardwood floor for all the guests to congregate. The ceremony was held near the shoreline of the ocean, and it was so, unapologetically Quinn to have a few seashell pins in her veil as she walked towards her husband. You had known Seokmin as long as Quinn had been your roommate, but you had never seen this kind of smile on his face until now. He completely lit up at the sight of her, and he didn’t waste a second to say, “I do,” once his time came.
As the guests crowded into the tent for the reception, Mingyu seemed to hold onto you like a toddler with it’s parent. His arm was locked around yours, letting you lead him through the crowd, even though he was tall enough to see over the tops of everyone’s heads. His palm was so warm on your wrist, and then his fingers were so easily lacing through yours, and you squeezed because you simply couldn’t help yourself.
You were able to find your table easily, but you didn’t recognize the other people already there. They introduced themselves as Seokmin’s friends, and you remembered seeing one or two of them at a bar. You still couldn’t get a read on these people, and found yourself swiftly growing silent around their shared camaraderie. But Mingyu was suddenly so talkative, catching along with their jokes just as quickly, so you stood and whispered in his ear, “Do you want a drink?”
He leaned back to meet your eyes, and you swore time stopped for a moment. His hand reached down, squeezing your wrist, as he said, “You know what I like.”
Jesus. Fuck. Since whendid he have you this wrapped around his finger?
(Probably since sophomore year of college.)
You nodded, swinging your head in the direction of the bar, and your feet had started to head there when you halted in place. It almost felt like your heels were glued to the floor as you found the face of the last person you expected to be here. The only face that could make all the noise drown out around you.
Your ex.
He still had that same curl that always got in his eyes. He was wearing the same suit he wore to your mother’s engagement party last year. The same watch on his wrist; the same cufflinks. Same. Same. Same. And now, he was meeting your eyes across the room. Bodies formed in clusters under the tent – some hugging, some stumbling into each other – but he was unable to look away.
Until a head popped up in front of him, standing from her chair at the table. Her wedge sandals almost made her taller than him, and her dress looked expensive enough that he probably bought it. You didn’t know her, but you knew of her. Well, at least, you knew what the back of her head looked like, and that was her right there.
You couldn’t forget the night even if you tried. Exhaustion had your shoulders sagging as you unlocked the door to your boyfriend’s apartment. He didn’t typically keep it locked, but you had a key anyway. You remembered how quiet the place was, except for the soft sounds echoing from his bedroom. At first, you thought he was just masturbating, and to be honest, you were too tired to engage in anything tonight. But a voice in your head had urged you to move, to go, go, go towards his room. And you were slowly pushing open the door, only to find your boyfriend fucking your 22-year-old neighbor from behind, yanking on her short hair like a leash. You had been too scared to move, too scared to breathe, but eventually, you had started wailing. His eyes had found yours – exactly like in this moment – and he screamed, slipping away completely as your back slid to the floor. He had tried explaining, tried to yell at the young girl, but everything had drowned away in that moment, and all you could hear was the ringing in your ears –
Your breathing was growing rapid, just like that day at his apartment. Sprinting to the inside of the bed and breakfast, you tried to act normal and say hello to whoever you knew mingling by the bathroom. But something was clearly very wrong. It was evident in your eyes, the way tears were pricking at the sides. You almost thought the universe was pulling a cruel prank on you, but then you remembered that it was Quinn who had introduced you two in the first place, that he had been a friend of a friend.
Climbing up the staircase in the lobby, you plopped yourself down on the middle step and let your face fall into your hands. You began to count your breaths – one, two, three, one, two, three – anything to make you get a semblance of control. But you could feel your brain spinning, and your heart was beating too fast. Was this what it felt like to die? Was your cheating ex going to be the last face you saw before you completely slumped against this staircase? Vernon always said you had a flair for the dramatic. What a fitting way to end.
You felt a weight sink into the plush carpet next to you, and you lifted your head, tears brimming your eyes.
“You do realize that this isn’t your party. You can’t cry if you want to,” Mingyu joked, reaching out and swiping the tear at your lash line. His eyes softened then, looking at you like you were something fragile, like a baby bird. “What’s wrong?” His voice was hardly about a whisper.
You sniffled, dabbing at the corners of your eyes with your knuckles. The last thing you needed was your makeup messed up. “This is so embarrassing. I’m crying over something so …” Your words trailed off, noticing that he was leveling a look at you. You sighed before admitting, “I forgot that the bride, Quinn, might invite my ex because they were friends. Somewhat.”
“Your ex? As in that ex?” His brow shot up, and you nodded. “Did he come alone?”
You looked down at your hands in your lap, and after a moment, you watched his large palm slowly envelope one of yours. The rough pads of his fingers – the hands of a cook – brushed over your knuckles, and his touch was so warm that it could burn.
His voice was soft in your ear as he said, “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”
You chuckled a little, turning to look at him again. “Then we’d be sitting on this staircase forever.”
He smiled at you and stretched out his long legs. “That’s fine with me.”
Your lips pursed, and you found him staring at them for a moment. A sigh escaped, and you glanced down at your laced hands. How perfectly they fit together, how he held you with such a fierce softness. His thumb grazed the scar on your knuckle that you got the first time you fell off your bike. Finally, you answered, “He came here with the girl he cheated on me with.”
Mingyu didn’t speak, but you did hear him do a sharp intake.
“She’s twenty-two. She didn’t – she doesn’t know any better. He’s in his early thirties and he’ll do it again,” you continued, chewing on your bottom lip for a moment. “I found them in his apartment after I came home from a late meeting at work. It was … messy. Walking in on them, the fallout, now this … everything about that breakup has felt like one big mess. And now, I have to see him here and be reminded of it all–fucking–over again.”
You didn’t even dare to meet his eyes as the next words tumbled out of your mouth, already feeling your voice start to break again. “It didn’t just hurt because I found them. It hurt because … I never wanted to become my mother. I love her. I really do. But the last thing I ever wanted was to become her. Be in the same situation as her. And yet, there I was, witnessing yet another infidelity that would affect my life for what seems like forever.” You rubbed at your running nose. “I found my father cheating too. It wasn’t exactly the same. I found him kissing my best friend’s mom in my parent’s bedroom one night when my mother stayed at work too late. The sentiment still stands, and history was always bound to repeat itself. Daughters always become their mothers and I always have to bear witness to another man not choosing to stick around –”
Mingyu stopped you by turning your face towards his, one hand cupping your cheek. His thumb skimmed the tears running through your blush. He didn’t say anything; his eyes let you know that he was here. That he was sticking around. Despite everything you thought of him, despite your past – Mingyu was here.
He held you for as long as you needed, gathering you in his arms and cradling your head against his shoulder. He let your tears soak into the fabric of his expensive suit, promising he’d get it dry-cleaned, which made you laugh. Your fingers clutched his lapels and you almost considered not letting go. You would give anything to stay in this bubble, to sit on this staircase in his embrace forever.
“I meant what I said all those months ago,” he said, his voice muffled from his lips at the crown of your head. “I would kill any guy that has done you wrong. Do you want me to kill him?”
You chuckled and raised your head from his shoulder. “What are you gonna kill him with? A butter knife?” You shook your head. “No chef is gonna let you in that kitchen tonight to grab a weapon. You of all people should know that.”
Mingyu grimaced. “This conversation is getting morbid.”
Another laugh bubbled at your lips. “You brought it up!”
“And you’re smiling again,” he said, making your hands hold onto him tighter. “That’s all I could ask for.”
Such simple words could take your breath away, especially when they came from his mouth. You searched his eyes for a moment, your fingers now smoothing out the creases in his lapel. Eventually, you whispered, “I don’t know if I can survive this whole reception. I hate the awkward tension, but I should stay for Quinn.”
“Trust me, I know,” he snickered, and his hand covered over yours as an anchor. “I say we stay at the reception for as long as your comfortable. Then we go to bed early. Whatever works for you.”
Your smile was so kind as you nodded along with his plan. After touching up your makeup, you took his hand and let him lead you back to the reception. Once you saw Quinn in her short, after party dress and looking at Seokmin with stars in her eyes, you instantly felt more at ease. This was her day; you wouldn’t let one person sour it. And Mingyu, clearly, wasn’t going to let your own nerves sour it either. Anytime you locked eyes with your ex, there Mingyu was, distracting you by whispering in your ear how pretty you looked or asking you about your best memories while living with Quinn. There was one moment where you saw your ex heading in your direction, assuming he was finally going to talk to you, and Mingyu stood up to whisk you onto the dance floor. His large arms enveloped you, holding you close, as you swayed to one of your favorite songs. Everything about him felt safe, secure, and he even let you stand on his feet when you told him you had never been that good at dancing. And when you looked at him, you noticed that he was staring at you like how Quinn looked at Seokmin during her speech. Even when you had cried, had let him in, see parts of you that not even Vernon touched … he looked at you like you were the only person in the room.
You stayed at the reception far longer than anticipated. When you told Mingyu that you were too tired to stay any longer, he didn’t question it. He simply grabbed your purse and jacket before taking your arm in his, walking the short distance back to your Febreze-ridden hotel. The first thing you did once you were back in your room was take off your heels. They were only a kitten heel, but your feet were already blistering, and you winced as you went to the bathroom to wash off your makeup. Mingyu had set your stuff down on the small desk before walking out onto the deck connected to your room. You craned your neck out, assuming he was going to smoke a joint, but he was just staring at the ocean, noticing how loud the waves crashed against the shore.
You padded out of the bathroom and leaned against the door frame for a moment, admiring him in the dim light. It almost left in you in disbelief how you had roped Kim Mingyu, one of the most attractive men you’d ever met and probably one of the longest crushes you’d ever had in your life, into being your wedding date for an entire year. He had a lost a bet, but he really didn’t have to be here. He didn’t have to invest in a new suit. He didn’t have take the time off from his two jobs. He didn’t have to listen to your trauma, or look at you like you were this painting to be worshipped, this Mona Lisa of sorts. Mingyu could’ve said no.
But he didn’t.
“I’m going to take a shower,” you finally informed him, and he turned to meet you eyes. “Can you help me out of my dress?”
He nodded diligently, following you to the bathroom. You pulled your hair up with one hand, and with deft fingers, he slid the zipper down your back. Typically, you would hold the dress to your chest until he left the bathroom, out of respect, but you were letting it pool at your feet tonight. You stepped out of it, your gaze locking with his as you turned on the shower. You were giving him this look and he was still standing there in his half-buttoned dress shirt, hands forming into fists as he fought the urge touch you. Waiting for a sign. Waiting for your permission.
But you didn’t even have to say anything. Your eyes said the words for you. As you climbed into the standing shower, he took his time removing his suit, pretending as if he wasn’t fucking dying to have his hands on you, and then he was behind you, the hard panes of his chest flush against your back. He closed the shower door as the glass began to fog up.
The water was scalding as it rained down on your head, steam forming around the small bathroom. You could still feel the dried tears on your face, imprinted underneath your makeup all night, and you did your best to wash them away. Mingyu noticed the way your shoulders sagged, the way you sighed while you were lost in thought, and as much as wanted touch you in places that made those sweet sounds fall from your lips, he held himself back. Instead, he let his hands comb through your wet hair before scrubbing shampoo into the strands. You relaxed against him, closing your eyes as he washed your hair.
It was so domestic that you could cry.
(Again.)
The last person you ever thought could be capable of this kind of care was Mingyu. You both had known each other for eight years, and not once had he displayed this kind of person around you. Or maybe you just weren’t paying attention, too lost in your own perception of him. Even now, you couldn’t help but remind yourself of when he avoided you after the hookup in senior year. He really isn’t the same guy, Vernon’s voice echoed in your head. Give him a chance. You had never trusted those words, but in this moment … you realized where you had went wrong.
The water began to get cold when it came time to wash his own hair and you could tell he was struggling to rush. His mannerisms made you giggle, and even though the steam began to dissipate from the room, you still turned to his front and rested your forehead on his chest, letting the lukewarm water beat down your neck.
When you walked out of the shower, you had never felt more fresh and at ease. Your body was all warm and you had brought the comfiest pajamas for summer weather. The breeze wafting off the ocean blew through your room from the open screen door, and the sound of the waves crashing against the shore could lull you to sleep.
But right now, it seemed like neither of you were keen on the subject. As you slipped under the covers next to each other, you were grateful that there was only one bed: one large, king-sized bed that both of you could be using to spread out. Instead, you were huddled close, hair still wet from the shower, and his arms locked around you like he couldn’t bear the thought of letting you go. Your hands cupped his face, studying parts of him that you didn’t think of in your previous lust-induced hazes. Fingers traced his lips, brushed over the tip of his nose – where his tiny mole was stamped – before you skimmed the shell of his ear.
You almost didn’t recognize your own voice as you whispered, “Thank you for tonight.”
“Anytime,” he smiled.
A beat of silence. Hands stilled. Lips pursed.
“Mingyu?”
“Yeah?”
“Please, kiss me.”
His mouth was on yours before you could even finish the sentence, but he still took his time exploring new ways to make you moan into the kiss. He kept one hand splayed on your back, pressing you further into him, while the other played with the hem of your loose t-shirt. Your hands knotted into his hair as he kissed you slow, savoring you like a fine meal. And you simply let him. You were like molten lava, melting in the palm of his calloused hands.
You felt his fingers prod at the waistband of your shorts, and it was game over. Slipping them under, he practically whined into your mouth when he realized you hadn’t put any panties on after the shower. His mouth disconnected from yours, fingers sliding between your slick folds. “Are you trying to kill me?” He breathed against your lips.
“In my defense,” you chuckled softly, “I forgot to bring them to the bathroom.”
He laughed with you, and you were debating on crying again because he was so kind and good and definitely just as obsessed with you as you were with him. No matter how many times you didn’t want to admit it, you had somehow fallen into Kim Mingyu’s trap once again.
He kissed you again, hungrier this time, as he spread you open with his fingers. You whimpered, but he swallowed it with his tongue and began to rub tight circles on your clit. Your leg lifted, hooking onto his waist, and you bucked against his hand. Your body felt like it was on fire, but Mingyu was careful, plucking your strings like a guitar, and you needed moremoremore. Pushing two fingers inside of you, his kiss was like a sound barrier as he consumed all your sweet sounds, as if that would allow him to hear them forever.
It was only when you came apart that he dragged his lips to your neck, wanting to focus on your moans as he fucked you with his fingers. He felt you shake, your pussy squeezing his thick fingers, and he kept rubbing your clit through it, wanting to prolong your orgasm as much as possible. If not for you, then for him, just so he could hear you. He would make you cum as many times as you wanted if it meant he could hear his name falling from your lips.
Neither of you wanted to stop; all fumbling hands and shaky limbs as he finally tugged your shorts off. It was a lot more difficult to take off his boxers without separating from you, but you laughed and you were so pretty that he almost forgot what he was doing in the first place. Once he was situated, you rolled on top of him, straddling his lap. You held his face in your hands, and for a moment, you could almost see reflections of the dark ocean outside in his starry gaze. Your palms drifted down, fingertips tracing the hard panes of his chest. He was all muscle, sculpted like your very own David statue; his complexion so similar to golden hour personified.
You lifted your t-shirt off and tossed it onto the floor. Mingyu was already so hard that it hurt, but he took a few more seconds to stare at you. He wanted to remember this moment forever: the sight of you on top of him, naked and vulnerable, hair wet and a faint blush on your cheeks.
Sitting up on your knees, you positioned yourself right over his cock and gripped the shaft to get the perfect angle inside of you. You were looking at him and he was looking at you as you lowered yourself slightly, grazing his tip against your wet slit, still dripping from your previous orgasm. Mingyu groaned at the sensitivity, throwing his head back against the pillow and muttering, “This is so mean.”
“You like when I’m mean,” you giggled, repeating the same words you uttered that fateful night after Chan’s wedding, when Mingyu’s face was buried between your thighs.
And Mingyu recognized it too, a grin making it’s way to his lips. But that was soon replaced by look of complete bliss as you finally sunk down onto his cock. He was the perfect size, filling you just right but never uncomfortable. He gave you a moment to adjust, but you could tell from his white-knuckled grip on your hips that he was damn near fighting the urge to thrust up into you. He didn’t though. He was patient and perfect and all yours.
You anchored yourself to him with one hand on his shoulder, beginning to rock into him at a snail’s pace. Your eyes connected, and even as he moaned underneath you, he was unable to stop smiling. Mingyu let you set the pace, and you took your time, getting to know what speed had him pulling your hips harder. The angle had him buried so deep inside that you could practically feel him in your stomach, and you sighed each time as you moved against him.
“Fuck,” he whined, shifting to sit up against the headboard. “I’ve needed you so bad.”
“I know, I know,” you confessed in a breathy whimper. “Me too.”
He was digging his fingers into your hips so hard that you were sure there’d be marks, but you didn’t care right now. You just wanted him, wanted this. Wanted to be this connected to him and feel him this deep and cum together as the waves crashed against the shore outside. He began to move you on his own accord, bouncing you on his cock as he leaned forward to nip and suck at your neck. “So pretty,” he mused against your skin, breath stuttering as your walls tightened. “So pretty sitting on my cock.”
You were the one whining now, raking your fingers into his dark strands as your thigh muscles burned. Your breasts jumped with each slam of his hips against yours, and he planted hot, open-mouthed kisses down your throat, dipping his tongue into your collarbone, before latching his mouth around one of your nipples.
Your hands pulled at his hair. “Mingyu, please,” you cooed, not exactly sure what you were begging for. Just moremoremore.
His eyes lifted to yours and you watched him fucking smile while tugging at your nipple. You were melting like putty, and he was able to still move you with one hand, using his free one to cup your other breast and run his thumb over that nipple. Tears pricked at your eyes, feeling him pulse inside you with each pass. And when he started to thrust up into you, you were pretty sure that you were close to seeing stars.
“Wanna cum with you,” he rasped while switching breasts and flicking his tongue over your other nipple. “Please, wanna cum inside you.”
You nodded, too cock drunk to say anything besides, “Yesyesyes.”
He was rolling your hips now, practically rutting into you as he lifted his head from your chest, leaving a trail of spit. You leaned down and let his lips ghost over yours. Moans slipped from your mouth into his, and he was bouncing you on his cock so fast you almost couldn’t register to breathe. His breath was hot against your lips, so close he could feel his body shaking, but he needed you to be closer, needed to feel you tightened around him and milk him for everything he was worth.
Snaking a hand between your bodies, he found your clit easily, knowing your body better than anyone ever had. All you could hear in that moment was the sound of the ocean through your screen door and skin slapping against skin. You were so wet and warm and – shit, you were starting to clench around him. He rolled your clit between two fingers, and a whimper slipped out of his mouth when he felt your pussy clamp around his throbbing cock.
He needed to cum and so did you and – fuck, he could feel it, feel you, feel how deep he was inside.
He would do this forever if you asked.
“Fuck, Mingyu, oh my god, right there, right there –” You pleaded in his ear, feeling yourself tip right over that edge –
Then you were cumming.
And so was he.
You moaned his name like it was a prayer, shattering as you came undone. Your walls were squeezing him like a vice, and he was unable to hold himself back anymore, burying himself to the hilt before painting your insides white with his orgasm. Hips jerked, bodies went taunt. You felt your whole being dissolve into nothing but pleasure, molding yourself to him in his arms. When the rush of warmth started to fade and he felt your combined releases seep from between your thighs, he breathed out a sigh of relief, brushing kisses over your jaw.
You weren’t sure you were in your right mind. Everything was so hazy. But you didn’t want to move away just yet. Even when his cock started to go soft inside of you, you stayed connected to him, pushing his hair back from his forehead and whispering praises in his ear like, “You were so good … So good to me … My Mingyu … I’ve always been yours …” You could feel him smiling against your skin, his hands tracing circles on your lower back.
But as time seemed to stop and you felt peace for the first time in a while, you realized just how deep you had fallen. You were drowning in him.
Mingyu had wanted to tell you that it felt exactly like his dreams. If you were drowning in him, he had already sunk to the bottom a long time ago.
Save the Date for the wedding of Nathan Chaney and Your Mother: September 5th
Your mother was remarrying. Her and Nathan had been together since you went off to college, and then got engaged just a year after you graduated. They decided on a long engagement, choosing to plan out a destination wedding in the Caribbean. You thought it was crazy at first, but then your mother said, “If this is going to be my last wedding – and it is – I want to go out with a bang.” You couldn’t exactly blame her. After your dad had cheated and the divorce was finalized, you knew your mother deserved something like this. She deserved the world.
When she had called you just a week before the wedding, babbling on about who you were possibly bringing now that your ex was completely out of the picture, you paused. Holding the phone to your ear and watering one of your half-dead plants with the other, you said, “I’m … I’m going with Mingyu.”
“Vernon?” She asked, not believing what you said.
“Mingyu.”
“Like … the Mingyu from university? The football player?”
You sighed, playing with the dead leaves on the plant. “He was also – and still is – one of Vernon’s good friends.”
“Oh,” your mother said, more surprised than anything. “Well, you better watch for Nathan’s sister. If Mingyu looks anything like how I remember from Family Day, she will go buck wild over him.”
“I’ll make sure of it,” you chuckled.
The truth was … you weren’t exactly sure how this wedding was going to go. Ever since the last one, you had been progressively putting more distance between you and Mingyu. Once again. Your last night together had been so real … too real, and you wanted to save yourself from the heartbreak after this wedding when you never saw him again. As much as you hated to admit it, feelings were now involved, seeping into your bloodstream, until your heart thrummed like the sound of his name on your tongue.
Slowly pushing him away … it hurt, but it was better this way. Pain was temporary and so was your arrangement. You knew that going into it, so how did you end up in this mess? You remembered what had happened after Chan’s wedding, the way Mingyu looked at you as he was shotgunning smoke into your mouth and – yeah, you knew exactly how you ended up here.
If you kept telling yourself this was for the better, maybe you’d start believing it. Maybe your feelings would drift like smoke and your mother’s wedding would be a final farewell before you two went your separate ways.
But you had been doing that for a month now.
And those feelings refused to fade.
You had an early morning flight the day of your mother’s wedding. Typically, you wouldn’t be getting to a destination wedding on such short notice, but the ceremony was small. So small your mother refused to have a rehearsal dinner and no bridal party. It was about her and Nathan, and you had to respect that she was doing things her way this time around.
You had waited at your gate right before doors closed for Mingyu, since you were on the same flight. But he was clearly running late and you were much too awkward around him now to text him. So you finally got on the plane and found your seat, noticing the one seat in the back still left unoccupied. Once you had landed five hours later, you quickly headed to the hotel that Nathan had booked for the ceremony and reception. Your phone lit up as you hailed a ride.
Mingyu: I’m sorry, I got a new flight
Mingyu: I’ll be there just 2 hours after you land
Mingyu: I’ll make it for the ceremony. I promise
Feeling his anxiety radiate through your phone, you believed him, and then wondered if maybe this was a blessing in disguise. You were rewarded a few more hours of alone time before you had your last hurrah with Mingyu. Maybe if you buried your feelings deep enough, you wouldn’t tense up the second you saw his face. Maybe if you didn’t look into his eyes, you wouldn’t have the urge to kiss him. Or let him hold your hand. Or spread your legs to welcome him inside –
You dropped your lipgloss onto the bathroom counter, sick of your own thoughts. Your square-neck, baby blue dress was clinging to every curve, but you felt like you were being suffocated by the fabric. You had just finished doing your hair and makeup, but you couldn’t quite keep your thoughts at bay. Nerves batted against your skull, making your hands shake slightly. What would you do once Mingyu walked in? Would you avoid his stare? Would you tell him immediately how much you liked him and how this wouldn’t work out and you knew you set yourself up for heartbreak –
Maybe you needed a walk.
Grabbing a spare pair of sandals, you headed outside to walk the beach just along the grounds of the hotel. There was still an hour before the ceremony, and you could just see the planners putting finishing touches on the decorations laid out on the shore, where your mother wanted it to take place. Couples were still walking through the water. Kids were making sand castles. The sun was slowly beginning to set and the breeze was whipping your hair off your shoulders.
And you smiled, despite everything you were feeling. Because where there was an end, there would always be a new beginning.
“HEY!”
You spun around, your sandals sinking into the sand. Although you recognized his voice, the last thing you expected to see was Kim Mingyu running towards you in his pristine black tux, his tie loose around his neck and blowing in the breeze. It was like something out of a movie, the kind of movie where there was supposed to be a happy ending, but you knew you weren’t afforded luck like that in real life.
He stopped in front of you, running a hand through his hair. Sand sprinkled down the tops of his shoes.
“When did you get here?” You raised a brow.
“About twenty minutes ago. I flew in my tux because I figured I wouldn’t have enough time to change. But now it just kind of smells like …” He lifted the sleeve to his nose and inhaled. “Like peanuts and old plastic.”
You giggled, holding a hand to your mouth and just … staring at him. He was smiling at you, fangs poking out from under his top lip. His skin was even prettier in the sunset. His hair, despite the messy texture, was effortless and perfect. He embodied sunshine in its purest form.
“Well, you …” You looked to the water, your hands flexing at your sides. “You didn’t need to come find me out here.”
His voice was sweet, soft, like fresh sheets, when he replied, “Yes, I did.” His hand reached out a little, attempting to lace your fingers together, but he stuffed them in his pockets instead. “When I was wondering where you’d be, I remembered something you said to me in college … Do you remember Move-In Day of junior year when we had that bonfire with Vernon and a few other people? You really didn’t enjoy my company back then, but I sat next to you because you agreed to sharing that god awful cheap vodka we used to like.” He laughed when you grimaced. “We got to talking and I asked you, ‘If you could be anywhere right now, where would you be?’ And you said something like, ‘I want to be walking on a beach. I’ve always felt the most calm with my toes in wet sand.’”
You blinked, wondering if you had heard him right. He … how did he … “You remember that?”
“I remember a lot of things.”
And there he was, reaching out again and brave enough to brush his fingers over your knuckles. You looked down, watching his hand interlock with yours, and his palms were balmy and calloused. They felt familiar, like home. And you simply couldn’t believe that you had deprived yourself of this.
“Did you mean it when you said, ‘I’ve always been yours?’”
Your head snapped up, tsking under your breath. Hand still intertwined with his, you pushed a lock of hair behind your ear. “You came all the way out here to ask me that?” You asked, flustered and agitated.
His brow shot up. “So that’s a yes then?”
Your mouth opened, but then closed when you realized that he caught you.
He added, his voice like velvet again, “Then why are you avoiding me? I can sense it.”
“Well, if you’re that sensitive to other people’s feelings than I guess that –” You paused, taking a deep breath as you gathered yourself. Your ears reddened. “Look, I think it’s pretty obvious that I’ve … I like you. A lot. But having feelings for you would be so messy. The last time I went through this, we hooked up and you hardly spoke to me after.”
Mingyu’s brow furrowed. “That was years ago.”
“You know how uncommitted you’ve always been,” you quickly remarked, even though you didn’t fully believe those words anymore. “Weren’t you the one that told me at the start of this that men never really grow up?”
His eyes narrowed a little. “Are you playing psychological warfare with me right now?”
Slipping your fingers away from his, you shrugged. “Maybe.”
“I’ve been your date to five weddings this year. It wasn’t just about losing some bet. I did it for you.” He stared at you incredulously. “Are you really going to hold me to a mistake I made six years ago? When I was a shitty 22-year-old that was terrified to tell the girl I liked for years that I was interested in her?”
“I never … I never thought you liked me back then.”
Mingyu’s gaze softened, and he tucked another curl behind your ear that blew in the wind. “I made you believe that I didn’t because it was easier than admitting my feelings. I was terrified of rejection. And an idiot.”
You couldn’t help but snort at his comment, but you knew this conversation was far from over. “Well, I …” You rubbed at your nose and turned away from him, facing the water that looked almost sapphire in color. The waves sparkled under the setting sun. “Wedding season is over after this and we can both go back to our normal lives. Vernon won’t flip a lid when he sees me texting you all the time and everything will be back to the way it was. I always prepared for you to just forget about me after this anyway.”
“I love Vernon, but this isn’t about him.” Mingyu stepped forward into your line of vision. “What if I don’t want to go back to the way things were?”
Your eyes flickered to his, and it was his turn to step closer again. His large palm cupped your cheek, his skin always so cozy and inviting that you just had to lean into him. Fingertips traced your brow bone as his gaze lingered on your lips.
“I don’t want to forget about you or never see you again. I want to be around you,” he confessed. “I … want to go on more dates with you. I want to be your date to more than just weddings.”
You hesitated, unraveling and dissecting each word in your head, before you came to the conclusion that … oh, my god, he had feelings for you too. Had you always been this much of an absolute moron?
Getting on your tiptoes, you closed the distance between you two, your lips crashing onto his like the water against the shoreline. Your body almost suctioned to his, bringing him even closer when your arms wound around his neck. He kept that one hand on your cheek, the other splaying on your lower back, like how he always did when he was nervous. But he had nothing to be nervous about, because you liked him and he liked you. The world felt like it was spinning, but also just right, and his tongue was licking into your mouth enough to make you feel breathless. You could do this forever, be this relaxed in his arms, kiss him as if it was only you two in your own world. And as he tugged on your bottom lip to make your breathing heavy, you decided that your dream had become a reality.
When you broke the kiss, your cheeks were definitely flushed, even under the layer of blush you put on. Mingyu grinned, tilting his head as he whispered, “So you have always been mine then?”
“Such a tease sometimes,” you repeated his fateful words from June.
You turned, tugging on his hand playfully as the waves begin to lick at the sand near your feet. “C’mon,” you chuckled. “If we’re late to this wedding, my mom will kill me before I can even think about calling you my boyfriend.”
Mingyu had wanted to ask you to marry him only two years later, and thank god, he finally found the words.
tag list: @syluslittlecrows @yeosayang @eisaspresso @healingmv @nightshadeblooming @dmstoyangyang @amaraeofsunshine @thepoopdokyeomtouched @reiofsuns2001 @tigerhoshii @yoongznme @nerdycheol @gyuguys @ninixgyu4eva @tokitosun @wooyugta @dawn-iscozy @thecowboy7 @wonu-won @whoisbaek15 @alexie-blog
actually SCREAMING bc why is he so fucking perfect I need himmmmmmmmm
I didn't think I needed to say this but anyone who has an issue with POC representation in fanfics or POC networks, please unfollow or block me lol
its almost like POC people exist and deserve a safe space.
Strategize my heart
Pairing: son of Athena!Junhui x daughter of Ares!reader
Percy Jackson AU, slow burn rivals, enemies to lovers, fluff, smut
Wc:~9.8k
Part of the Cabin Hearts series ! Masterlist
Summary: She’s a warrior, he’s a strategist. She calls him a nerd, he calls her reckless. But battles have a way of proving that brains and brawn are stronger side by side.
Warnings: blood, injury, fights, mention of death (no major character death), smut, unprotected sex, semi-public sex (they could get caught), fingering
The horn blared across the strawberry fields, sharp and insistent, signaling the start of Capture the Flag. Camp Half-Blood erupted into motion. Demigods in Greek armor sprinted toward their zones, weapons flashing under the late-afternoon sun. Shouts, laughter, and the metallic clang of practice swords filled the air like a war drum.
You rolled your shoulders, feeling the familiar weight of your bronze breastplate settle into place. The Ares cabin banner: a snarling boar on blood-red fabric, fluttered from the spear slung across your back. Your team was already massing near the jagged boulders that marked the edge of your territory. Soonyoung stood at the front, electric spear in hand, barking orders with the kind of enthusiasm that made lesser campers flinch.
"Front line, on me!" you shouted, voice cutting through the noise. "We hit hard, we hit fast. No overthinking, just steel and guts!"
Roars answered you. Your siblings grinned, feral and ready. This was home. No strategy meetings, no endless debates. Just the clean burn of adrenaline, the promise of contact, the satisfaction of bodies hitting the ground.
Across the creek, deep in the woods Athena had claimed, Junhui stood apart from the bustle. His dark hair was pulled back neatly, exposing the clean line of his jaw. He wore the standard orange camp T-shirt beneath light leather armor, simple, functional, no unnecessary flair. In his right hand rested a plain xiphos; his left was empty. He didn’t need props. His real weapon had always been the quiet machinery behind his eyes.
He scanned the field in one long, deliberate sweep: the depth of the creek at three different crossing points, the density of underbrush along the left flank, the precise angle of sunlight slicing through the canopy. Every variable filed away. His siblings waited in neat ranks, already divided into squads per the plan he’d drawn on birch bark the night before.
One of his sibilings leaned in from his left. "Ares is going straight for the shallows again. Same as last time."
Junhui’s mouth curved, just the ghost of a smile. "Perfect."
He lifted two fingers. Archers slipped into the trees without a sound. Illusionists moved to their marks. The trap squad vanished like shadows. Everything locked into place.
The game began. You led the charge. Feet pounding dirt, heart slamming, you vaulted the first fallen log and plunged into the creek. Cold water exploded around your greaves, soaking your legs to the thighs. Behind you, twenty Ares campers surged forward in a roaring tide, spears leveled, shields locked, a moving wall of bronze and fury. The plan (if anyone could call it that) was brutally simple: overwhelm. Smash whatever defenses Athena thought they’d built and seize their flag before they could blink.
A flight of arrows hissed overhead. Blunted tips, red paint for scoring hits, but they still stung like wasps if they landed. You raised your shield on instinct; crimson splattered across the bronze in ugly streaks.
"Keep pushing!" you bellowed. "They’re already running!"
Another volley came, tighter, more precise. One grazed your shoulder guard, the impact jarring bone. You snarled and drove forward.
The far bank loomed ahead: steep, muddy, a natural choke point. You grinned wide. They’d funneled you exactly where brute force thrived, close quarters, no room to maneuver, perfect for breaking lines.
Then the world tilted. The bank simply collapsed beneath the front rank. You felt the ground give, heard the startled yells as your siblings dropped into a wide, concealed pit lined with soft earth and illusion-draped branches. You twisted mid-stride, boots skidding on slick roots, trying to leap clear, but momentum betrayed you. Something caught your spear (thin wire?) and yanked. A net snapped shut around your legs like a steel trap.
You hit the dirt hard, rolling once before the webbing pinned you facedown. Paint arrows rained from the canopy above, marking "kills" on anyone still twitching. Your team was unraveling fast, some snared in secondary traps, others pinned by Athena’s flanking squads who appeared from nowhere, moving like they’d rehearsed every step.
A hush fell over the creek, broken only by distant cheers from safe zones and the occasional groan of defeat.
You thrashed, testing the net. It held, tight, professional, no give. Your spear lay tangled just out of reach.
Boots crunched softly on the bank above. You twisted your neck enough to glare up. Junhui stood there, arms loosely crossed, expression calm. Almost detached. His dark eyes swept over you once, assessing damage, position, remaining threat, then locked on yours.
"Reckless" he said, voice low and even, carrying that faint, clipped precision he never quite shook. "Predictable. That’s why you’ll never win."
Fury flooded your face, hot, immediate, humiliating. The sting of truth made it worse.
You bared your teeth. "Keep hiding behind your little diagrams, brainiac. Real warriors don’t need to cheat."
He tilted his head, studying you the way someone might study a battle map that refused to behave.
"I don’t cheat" he replied. "I calculate. There’s a difference."
One of his siblings tossed him their flag, blue silk embroidered with a silver owl. He caught it one-handed without breaking eye contact.
The conch sounded three long blasts. Game over. Athena victorious.
Junhui gave the net a small, almost casual tug; it loosened just enough for you to sit up. He didn’t offer a hand. Didn’t need to. The victory was already written in every clean line of his posture.
You shoved upright anyway, ripping the last strands free, ignoring the dull ache blooming across your ribs from the fall. Paint streaked your arms, your chest, bright red proof of failure.
Your siblings were dragging themselves out of pits and snares, cursing viciously. One caught your eye across the water; she looked ready to set the entire forest on fire. Probably starting with you for not spotting the trap.
Junhui turned to leave.
"Hey" you called.
He paused, half-turning.
"This isn’t over" you said, voice rough.
His mouth quirked, not quite a smile, more acknowledgment than anything else.
"I know."
Then he walked away, blue banner over his shoulder, leaving you standing in the mud with your pride shredded and something unfamiliar twisting under your ribs. Not respect. Definitely not.
Just… irritation. Definitely irritation.
The rest of the afternoon blurred into cleanup and post-game noise. Athena cabin stayed quiet, smug in that infuriating, understated way only planners who’d accounted for every variable could manage. Ares cabin was loud, furious, already plotting next month’s revenge with increasingly creative threats.
You skipped the dining pavilion. Instead you ended up at the edge of the beach, sitting on a salt-bleached log, running a whetstone along your spear blade with more force than necessary. The sun dipped low, painting the water in molten copper.
Footsteps behind you, light, deliberate. You didn’t turn.
"Still brooding?" Junhui’s voice, closer now.
You snorted. "Hardly. Just making sure this spear’s sharp enough to carve through your next master plan."
He stopped a few feet away. Didn’t sit. Just stood, hands in his pockets, watching the water ripple.
"You charged exactly where I expected" he said after a moment. "Same crossing point as last summer. Same speed. Same tight formation."
You stiffened. "So?"
"So maybe change it next time."
You whipped around, eyes blazing. "Don’t lecture me, son of Athena. I don’t need your pointers."
He met your glare without flinching. "It wasn’t a lecture. It was an observation."
Silence stretched, taut, crackling. Then he added, quieter "You almost broke the line anyway. If Soonyoung had shifted left instead of right at the second volley…"
You blinked. Was that… praise? He seemed to catch himself. His expression shuttered instantly. "Forget it" he muttered.
He started to walk away.
"Wait."
He stopped again. You stood, spear still gripped tight. "Why’d you come down here?"
A long beat.
"I don’t know" he admitted. For the first time all day, he sounded almost… human. Uncertain.
You stared, really looked. The dying light caught the sharp edges of his face, the faint scar above his left brow from some old monster scrape, the way his shoulders stayed squared even when exhaustion tugged at the corners of his eyes.
Something shifted in your chest. Annoyance, sure. But underneath it, curiosity. Dangerous, unwelcome curiosity.
"Then figure it out" you said, turning back to the water. "And stay out of my way next time."
He didn’t answer immediately. When he finally spoke, his voice was so low the waves almost swallowed it.
"I will."
But the way he said it didn’t sound like retreat. It sounded like the opening move of something much longer.
A week after the Capture the Flag disaster, the camp still hummed with the aftermath. Ares cabin ate louder, trained harder and glared across the pavilion at Athena’s table like they could set it on fire with looks alone. You threw yourself into sparring sessions until your muscles screamed, trying to burn away the memory of that net snapping shut and Junhui’s calm voice calling you predictable.
It almost worked.
Then Chiron summoned you both to the Big House porch at dawn.
The centaur stood tall, tail swishing slowly, his expression grave in the pale morning light. Mr. D lounged in a deck chair nearby, nursing a Diet Coke and looking bored enough to die.
"You two" Chiron began without preamble, "have been selected for a retrieval quest."
You blinked. Junhui, standing a careful three steps to your right, went very still.
"An ancient bronze diadem, once worn by a minor sea nymph, was stolen from the camp borders three nights ago. Satyrs tracked the thief to an old cyclops forge hidden in the pine woods north of here. One cyclops, possibly with a few guards. The artifact is minor, but its theft is a deliberate provocation. We need it back before word spreads."
You felt a grin tug at your mouth. Finally, real action. No games, no paint arrows. Just monsters and steel.
Junhui spoke first, voice measured. "Why us specifically?"
Chiron’s eyes flicked between you. "Strength and strategy. The forge is trapped, mechanical, precise. Raw power alone will trigger every trap. Calculation alone will be too slow when the cyclops wakes. Together…" He let the word hang.
You crossed your arms. "I don’t do together. Especially not with him."
"Exactly why you’re perfect" Chiron said dryly. "You’ll balance each other. Or kill each other trying. Either way, the diadem returns by sunset tomorrow."
Mr. D snorted. "Try not to die. Paperwork’s a nightmare."
Dismissed.
Outside, you rounded on Junhui before he could open his mouth.
"I lead. You follow. No arguments."
He raised one dark brow. "You’ll walk straight into every pressure plate and tripwire."
"And you’ll sit there analyzing shadows until the cyclops uses your skull as a hammer."
He exhaled through his nose, almost a laugh, but too controlled. "We leave at dusk. Meet me at the armory in two hours. I need to see your gear."
"My gear’s fine."
"It’s not about fine. It’s about compatibility."
You stared. "You’re unbelievable."
"So I’ve been told."
He walked away first this time, leaving you fuming on the steps. Two hours later, the armory smelled of oil, leather and heated bronze. You arrived early, already strapped into your favorite kit: greaves, vambraces, breastplate and the heavy spear that had tasted more monster than you could count. A short sword hung at your hip for close work.
Junhui entered quietly, carrying a small pack and wearing light reinforced leather: dark, flexible, designed for movement over brute protection. No helmet. His hair was combed back again, exposing the sharp lines of his face.
He looked you over once, clinical.
"Too heavy" he said immediately. "You’ll sink in the soft ground near the forge. Ditch the breastplate."
You laughed, short, sharp. "And get skewered by a cyclops spike? No thanks."
"The cyclops won’t get close enough to skewer you if we do this right." He pulled a folded parchment from his pack, hand-drawn map, annotations in neat Greek script. "Entry from the east ridge. Narrow path, single-file. I go first to mark traps. You cover rear. Once inside, I disable mechanisms; you handle the guardian."
You snatched the map. It was annoyingly detailed: elevation marks, probable trap locations marked with tiny Xs, wind direction arrows. "You spent all day on this?"
"Three hours. Sleep is overrated."
You rolled your eyes but kept the map. "Fine. But if your fancy plan fails, I’m charging anyway."
"Noted."
Dusk came fast. You slipped past the border, pine needles muffling your steps. The forest thickened quickly, old growth, twisted roots, the faint metallic tang of forge smoke on the wind. Junhui moved ahead like a shadow, pausing every few meters to study the ground, then marking safe paths with small white stones from his pocket.
You followed, spear low but ready, irritation simmering. Every time he stopped, you had to stop. Every time he murmured "wait" your fingers tightened on the haft.
After twenty minutes of silent trekking, he crouched beside a fallen log and beckoned you down.
"Tripwire" he whispered, pointing to a thin bronze filament stretched ankle-high across the path. Moonlight caught it in a faint gleam. "Pressure plate three meters ahead. Probably drops boulders."
You squinted. Barely visible. "How’d you even see that?"
"Practice."
You wanted to snap something sarcastic, but the truth was, you hadn’t seen it. At all.
He stepped over the wire with careful grace, then waited for you. You followed, feeling oversized and clumsy next to his precision.
Another hundred meters. The smoke thickened, carrying the clang of distant hammers: cyclops working late. Junhui froze mid-step.
"Movement" he breathed.
You heard it a second later, heavy footfalls, then a low growl that vibrated through your boots. Hellhound. Two, maybe three.
Junhui’s hand shot out, pressing flat against your chest to stop you. The touch was brief, firm (pure reflex) but it sent a jolt through you anyway. You shoved his hand away.
"I can handle dogs" you hissed.
"Not quietly."
He pulled a small bronze disk from his pack: Athena’s gift, illusion rune. He crushed it between his fingers; faint mist rolled out, cloaking you both in a shimmer that bent light. Not invisibility, more like a suggestion to look elsewhere.
The hellhounds passed within ten meters, noses twitching, but they kept moving toward some distant scent. You exhaled slowly.
Junhui met your eyes. "See? Brains."
"Shut up" you muttered, but there was no heat in it.
The forge appeared through the trees: a cavern mouth braced with iron beams, glowing orange from within. Anvils rang sporadically. One cyclops: massive, one-eyed, skin like cracked granite, hammered at something on a workbench. The diadem sat on a stone pedestal nearby, bronze gleaming.
Junhui crouched behind a boulder, sketching quick lines in the dirt: entry vector, cyclops position, trap indicators.
You leaned in despite yourself. "How do we get past the big guy?"
"Distraction on the left flank, loose rockfall. He turns. You slip in from right, grab it. I cover exit with smoke bombs."
You studied the sketch. It was solid. Annoyingly solid.
"Fine" you said. "But if he charges you-"
"I won’t let him."
You snorted. "Big talk."
He looked at you then, really looked. Something flickered in his dark eyes. Not fear. Not arrogance. Just… focus. "Let’s move."
You took the right approach while he circled left. Heart pounding, not from nerves, but anticipation. This was what you lived for.
Junhui triggered the rockfall with a precise throw of a weighted sling stone. Boulders rumbled down the slope. The cyclops roared, lumbering toward the noise, hammer raised.
You sprinted. The cavern mouth swallowed you. Heat blasted your face. The diadem was heavier than it looked: solid bronze, etched with wave patterns. You snatched it, tucked it into your belt pouch. Behind you, the cyclops turned back too fast. It saw you. Roared. Charged.
You drew your spear, grinning wide. "Come on, ugly!"
It swung the hammer in a wide arc. You ducked, rolled, came up slashing at its thigh. Bronze bit deep; ichor sprayed. The cyclops bellowed, staggering.
Then the ground shook, not from the fight. A massive boulder (part of the ceiling?) detached and plummeted straight toward Junhui’s position outside. He was still marking the exit path, back turned. You didn’t think. You sprinted.
The cyclop lunged after you; you ignored it. You reached Junhui just as the boulder dropped, slamming your shoulder into his side. You both hit the dirt hard, rolling down the slope as stone crashed where he’d stood seconds earlier.
Dust choked the air. Pain bloomed across your ribs: bruised, maybe cracked, but you were alive.
Junhui coughed, pushed up on one elbow. His eyes were wide, genuine shock. "You-"
"Shut up" you growled, shoving to your feet. The cyclops was recovering, roaring fury.
Junhui scrambled up, grabbed your arm. "Run."
You ran. Through trees, leaping roots, the diadem banging against your hip. Hellhounds howled behind, drawn by the noise. Junhui tossed another illusion disk; mist bloomed, confusing their pursuit.
You burst past the camp border as the moon hit zenith. Safe.
You both collapsed against a pine trunk, chests heaving. Silence, except for ragged breathing. You pulled the diadem free, tossed it into his lap without looking. "There. Your stupid plan worked."
He caught it, fingers brushing yours for half a second. "You improvised."
"Had to. Boulder wasn’t in your diagram."
He huffed, almost a laugh. "No. It wasn’t."
You glanced sideways. Sweat streaked his face, hair coming loose from its tie. A thin cut above his eyebrow leaked blood, probably from the fall.
He noticed you staring. "What?"
"You almost died."
"So did you."
"Yeah, well." You shrugged, wincing at the pull in your ribs. "Brains need brawn sometimes."
He looked at you, long, searching. Then, quietly: "And sometimes brawn needs brains."
You held his gaze. Something shifted again, heavier this time. Not quite respect. Not yet. But close.
He stood first, offering the diadem back. "Chiron will want this."
You took it, fingers lingering on his. "Don’t get used to me saving your ass, nerd."
"Don’t get used to me needing it, warrior."
But as you walked back toward the Big House, side by side, not quite touching, the space between you felt smaller than it had an hour ago. And neither of you moved to widen it.
Weeks blurred into the familiar rhythm of camp life after the cyclops quest. Mornings meant archery drills or horse grooming. Afternoons brought sword practice, wall climbs and the endless cycle of bragging, bruises, and ambrosia squares. You threw yourself into it all harder than usual, as if extra sweat could erase the memory of tackling Junhui out of a falling boulder’s path or the way his fingers had brushed yours when you handed back the diadem.
It didn’t.
The whispers started small. A Hermes kid snickering during dinner about how "the Ares psycho and the Athena robot almost looked like they cared about each other out there." One of your sisters overheard, slammed her fist on the table hard enough to crack the wood and declared loudly that anyone spreading that garbage would eat their own spear. The rumors didn’t die, they just went quieter, more amused.
Then Chiron changed the training rotation. Joint cabin drills. Every third day, Ares paired with Athena for partnered sparring, strategy simulations and combined obstacle courses. No opting out. No substitutions. Chiron’s exact words: "Rivalry sharpens both blade and mind. Learn to use each other’s strengths instead of pretending they don’t exist."
You wanted to argue. You didn’t.
First session was brutal. The arena floor had been raked smooth, weapons racks gleaming under floodlights as the sun dipped. Ares campers lined up on one side in full gear: spears, shields, war whoops already building. Athena’s side stood opposite: lighter armor, precise stances, eyes scanning opponents like equations to solve.
Chiron paired names. Of course your name landed right next to Junhui’s.
You stepped into the marked circle together. He wore his usual dark leather reinforced with bronze scales at vital points: minimal, efficient. His xiphos hung at his hip; no shield. You carried spear and hoplon shield, the weight grounding you.
"Rules" Chiron called. "No maiming. No killing intent. First to three solid touches or disarm wins the round. Begin on my mark."
You twirled your spear once, loosening your wrists. "Don’t hold back, brainiac. I won’t."
Junhui’s mouth curved, just the tiniest fraction. "I never do."
Chiron’s whistle shrilled. You lunged first, standard Ares opener: fast thrust aimed at center mass to force a dodge and create opening. Junhui sidestepped smoothly, not retreating, just shifting angle. His blade flashed up in a parry that rang against your spear shaft, the vibration traveling up your arms.
You pressed, sweeping low. He jumped the arc, countered with a quick downward slash toward your shoulder guard. You blocked with the shield rim, shoved forward hard enough to make him stagger a step.
He recovered instantly, too instantly. Pivoted, used your momentum against you, hooked your spear with his xiphos and twisted.
You let go before he could fully disarm you, rolling sideways and coming up with shield raised. He didn’t pursue aggressively; he circled instead, studying.
"Stop dancing" you growled. "Fight."
"I am fighting" he replied, calm. "You’re just louder about it."
You charged again, feint high, drop low, spear thrusting for his thigh. He anticipated, stepped inside your reach, forearm blocking the haft while his free hand snapped out in a palm strike to your chest plate. Not hard enough to hurt, just enough to jolt you back.
Score one for him.
You snarled, reset stance. "Cheap."
"Effective."
Next exchange was faster. You hammered shield against shield (he’d grabbed one from the rack mid-fight, smart bastard), then spun out and cracked the butt of your spear against his ribs. Solid contact. Point for you.
He exhaled sharply but didn’t complain. Just nodded once, acknowledgment.
By the third touch: his blade tapping your throat guard after a slick disarm, you were both breathing hard, sweat darkening hair and leather. The round ended in a tie. Chiron called time.
You lowered weapons. He did the same.
"Not bad" you said grudgingly.
"You almost had me on the second disarm" he replied. "If you’d committed to the feint instead of hesitating."
You snorted. "Don’t critique my form while I’m still holding a spear."
He almost smiled. Almost.
The sessions repeated every few days. Sometimes you won. Sometimes he did. Most times it ended in draws that left you both bruised, frustrated and strangely energized.
One evening after a particularly grueling drill, the arena emptied slowly. Most campers headed to the campfire or showers. You stayed behind, methodically wiping down your spear with an oiled rag. The floodlights buzzed overhead; crickets sang in the darkening woods.
Footsteps approached, light, familiar. Junhui stopped at the edge of the circle, arms crossed loosely. He hadn’t changed out of his training gear yet; a faint sheen of sweat still clung to his collarbones.
"You’re doing that wrong" he said.
You glanced up. "Excuse me?"
"Your grip on the haft. Too tight at the base. Limits wrist rotation." He stepped closer, voice dropping to demonstration level. "Here."
Before you could protest, he reached out, slow enough to give you time to pull away if you wanted. You didn’t. His fingers closed over yours on the spear shaft, adjusting position with careful pressure. Thumb here. Fingers looser there. The correction was precise, clinical. But his skin was warm against yours, calluses matching in places where sword and spear had worn matching grooves.
You felt your pulse kick up, annoyingly loud in your ears.
"Try it" he said, stepping back.
You did. A practice thrust. The motion felt… smoother. More control without losing power.
You hated that he was right.
"Better" he said quietly.
You lowered the spear. "Why are you still here?"
He shrugged one shoulder. "Same reason you are. Cooling down."
You studied him in the artificial light. Sweat-damp hair falling across his forehead. The faint scar above his brow more visible now. The way his chest rose and fell in measured rhythm, never quite frantic even after an hour of combat.
Something tightened in your stomach, hot, unfamiliar, unwelcome.
"You stare a lot for someone who claims not to care" you said, aiming for mockery.
His eyes met yours. Steady. Unreadable for a second. "I’m observing" he corrected. "There’s a difference."
"Right. Athena thing." You turned away, setting the spear in the rack with more force than necessary. "Always analyzing."
He didn’t answer immediately. When he spoke again, his voice was lower. "You changed your footwork last week. Wider stance on defense. It’s working."
You froze mid-motion. "You noticed that?"
"I notice everything."
The words hung between you, simple, factual, but weighted somehow.
You turned back slowly. He hadn’t moved closer, but the space felt smaller.
"Then notice this" you said, stepping into his space until only a hand’s width separated you. "I don’t need your pointers. I don’t need your observations. And I definitely don’t need you looking at me like I’m some puzzle you’re trying to solve."
His gaze dropped to your mouth for half a heartbeat, barely long enough to register, then flicked back up.
"Maybe you are" he said quietly.
Your breath caught. For one stupid, suspended second, neither of you moved. Then you laughed, short, rough, breaking the tension like glass. "Keep dreaming, nerd."
You shouldered past him, deliberately brushing his arm. The contact sparked, electric, irritating. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t follow. But as you walked toward the cabins, you felt his eyes on your back the entire way.
The whispers grew bolder after that.
"They’re always the last ones out of the arena."
"Did you see how close they got during that last spar? Looked like they were about to-"
"Shut up before they hear you."
You pretended not to hear. Junhui probably did the same.
Another week passed. Another joint session. This time the exercise was different: blindfolded paired combat. Trust exercise, Chiron called it. One partner blindfolded, the other giving verbal directions to navigate an obstacle course filled with moving dummies and low swinging pendulums.
You drew the short straw. Blindfold first. Black cloth tied snug over your eyes. World reduced to sound, vibration, smell. Junhui’s voice came from your left, low, steady.
"Step forward. Three paces. Stop."
You obeyed, grudgingly. Boots scuffed dirt.
"Right. Pivot forty-five degrees. Forward five steps, slow. Pendulum at head height in three… two… duck now."
You dropped instinctively. Air whooshed overhead.
"Good" he said. Something almost warm in the word.
You hated how much you liked hearing it.
Next obstacle: narrow beam over a shallow pit of mud. "Left foot first. Balance. I’ll count cadence."
You moved, slow, deliberate. His instructions were precise: "Shift weight center… good… right foot now… hold…"
Halfway across, a dummy lunged from the side: mechanical, spring-loaded.
Junhui’s voice sharpened. "Left, block high, now!"
You swung your practice sword on reflex. Wood cracked against wood. Dummy staggered.
"Finish it. Right cross."
You did. The dummy toppled.
"Clear" he said.
You reached the end of the beam, heart pounding from more than exertion.
He untied the blindfold himself, fingers brushing your temples as he pulled the cloth free. You blinked against sudden light.
His face was close, closer than necessary.
"You trusted me" he said. Not a question.
You swallowed. "Had to."
A beat. Then, quieter he says "I won’t let you fall."
The words landed heavier than they should have.
You stepped back, too fast. "Don’t get sentimental on me."
His mouth quirked. "Wouldn’t dream of it."
But as he turned to take his turn on the course, you caught the way his shoulders relaxed, just a fraction, like something had settled inside him.
That night you lay awake in the Ares cabin, listening to snores and the distant hoot of owls. The memory of his fingers near your face replayed on loop. The calm certainty in his voice when he said he wouldn’t let you fall.
You rolled over, punched your pillow. Stupid. He was still a nerd. Still insufferable. Still the guy who’d called you predictable. But the irritation didn’t burn quite as hot anymore. It felt… different. Warmer. Dangerous.
Across camp, in the Athena cabin, Junhui sat at his desk with a half-finished strategy scroll in front of him. He hadn’t written a single new line in twenty minutes. Instead he stared at the empty space where your silhouette had been during the blindfolded drill: shoulders squared, blind but fearless, trusting his voice to guide you through chaos. He exhaled slowly. Recalculating.
The border alarm shattered the quiet just past midnight. Three long, bone-deep blasts from the conch horn: emergency, not drill. Camp Half-Blood jolted awake. Cabins emptied in seconds: demigods spilling onto the green in hastily buckled armor, weapons already drawn, eyes wide and bright with the kind of adrenaline that only came from real monsters at the edge of the magical barrier.
You were out of the Ares cabin before the third blast faded, spear in hand, breastplate half-strapped. Your sibilings were right behind you, electric spear crackling blue-white in the dark. "Dracaenae" one snarled, already tasting the fight. "Satyrs spotted a raiding party crossing the western tree line. They’re testing the border, hard."
You didn’t waste breath on questions. You ran. The woods west of the cabins were thickest: old pines, tangled underbrush, perfect cover for serpentine bodies slithering through shadows. The barrier shimmered faintly ahead, a golden veil stretched between ancient trunks. Beyond it, movement: hisses, scales scraping bark, the wet slap of tails.
Chiron galloped up as you reached the front line, bow already nocked. "Hold the perimeter" he ordered. "They can’t cross unless the barrier fails. Push them back before they find a weak point."
Athena cabin arrived seconds later, Junhui at the front, moving with that same quiet purpose he always had. No panic. No shouting. Just eyes scanning the treeline, calculating angles, numbers, vectors of attack. He carried his xiphos and a small round shield; behind him, younger siblings fanned out with bows and javelins, already taking elevated positions in the branches.
Your eyes met his across the chaos for half a second. No words. Just a nod, sharp, mutual. We’ve got this.
Then the dracaenae hit. They burst from the undergrowth in a wave, dozens, maybe more. Upper bodies humanoid, women with copper skin and venom-green eyes; lower halves massive serpent coils that propelled them forward faster than any horse. Spears tipped with jagged coral, whips crackling with Stygian ice. They hissed war cries in ancient Greek, voices overlapping like a nest of vipers.
The barrier flared as the first wave slammed into it, golden light rippling, holding, but straining. Arrows from the trees answered immediately: Athena’s archers, precise, dropping three dracaenae before they could regroup.
You charged the breach point where the barrier flickered weakest.
"Front line, with me!" you called.
Ares campers surged forward in a wedge. You led, spear leveled, shield up. The first dracaena met you head-on, whip cracking toward your face. You ducked, thrust low, bronze punching through scaled midsection. She shrieked, dissolving into golden dust. Another lunged from the side; you spun, cracked your shield rim into her jaw, then finished with an upward stab.
Around you the fight exploded: younger Ares kids holding formation with grim determination, Athena strategists calling targets "Left flank, three incoming, archers now!" and the border itself groaning under repeated impacts.
Junhui stayed back at first, directing, repositioning. "Archers, concentrate fire on the whip-wielders! Swords, plug the gaps on the right!" His voice cut clean through the noise, calm anchor in the storm.
You caught glimpses between kills: him sliding between two dracaenae, xiphos flashing in tight, economical arcs; him shoving a younger camper out of a whip’s path; him scanning the entire line like it was a living chessboard.
Then everything went wrong. A larger dracaena (leader, maybe) broke through a thin spot in the barrier. Eight feet of coiled muscle, coral spear longer than you were tall. She hissed triumph, eyes locking on the cluster of unarmored Athena kids still scrambling into position. Junhui was closest, back turned for a split second, shouting orders over his shoulder.
She lunged.
Time slowed.
You saw the spear rise, saw the killing arc descending toward his unprotected back.
You didn’t think. You ran. Feet pounding dirt, spear forgotten in favor of raw speed. You slammed into Junhui from the side, full tackle, shoulder driving into his ribs. You both went down hard, rolling across pine needles and roots. The coral spear whistled through the space where his heart had been, embedding in the earth with a thud that vibrated up your spine.
Pain exploded across your side: hot, wet. The dracaena hadn’t missed entirely. Her spear had raked a deep gash along your ribs as you shoved him clear. Blood soaked your shirt instantly, warm and sticky.
Junhui hit the ground beneath you, breath punched out of him. His eyes: wide, stunned, locked on yours.
For half a heartbeat, neither moved. Then reality crashed back. The dracaena reared, hissing fury. You rolled off him, staggering upright despite the fire in your side. Spear still in hand (somehow) you thrust blindly. Bronze met scale; she recoiled with a scream.
Junhui was up in the next second, faster than you’d ever seen him move. He grabbed your arm, dragged you behind the thick trunk of an oak. "Cover" he barked, voice cracking on the word.
You leaned against bark, breathing shallow. Blood dripped steadily onto the forest floor. "I’m fine" you lied through gritted teeth.
"You’re bleeding out" he snapped, actual anger in his tone, rare and sharp.
He tore a strip from the bottom of his camp shirt, pressed it hard against the wound. His hands were steady, clinical, but his face was pale, jaw locked so tight you thought it might crack.
"Hold this" he ordered.
You did. He stepped out from cover, shield raised, xiphos ready. "Stay down."
"Like Hades" you growled, shoving upright despite the dizziness.
He shot you a look, pure exasperation mixed with something rawer. "Don’t you dare die on me, reckless idiot."
The words landed like a punch. You stared.
He didn’t wait for a reply. He charged back into the fray, covering the retreat of the younger campers, drawing the leader dracaena’s attention. His movements were tighter now, angrier. Every strike precise and vicious. He disarmed her spear, slashed across her coils, forced her back step by step until an arrow from above finished her, golden dust exploding in a glittering cloud.
The rest of the raiding party faltered. Without their leader, coordination broke. Athena archers picked them off; Ares front-liners mopped up the stragglers. Within minutes the woods fell quiet again, save for the crackle of dissipating monster essence and the groans of the wounded.
Chiron’s voice boomed across the line. "Secure the perimeter! Healers to the front!"
Junhui appeared at your side again, breathing hard, ichor streaking his arms, a shallow cut above his eyebrow leaking blood into his lashes. He didn’t speak. Just hooked your arm over his shoulders and half-carried you toward the clearing where the Apollo kids were already setting up triage.
You tried to pull away. "I can walk."
"You can’t" he said flatly. "Shut up and let me."
You were too dizzy to argue. By the time you reached the infirmary tent, the adrenaline crash had hit full force. The world tilted; pain throbbed in time with your heartbeat. Apollo campers swarmed: nectar, gauze, hymns that glowed faintly gold.
Junhui stayed. He didn’t hover, didn’t pace. Just sat on a stool beside your cot, elbows on knees, hands clasped so tight his knuckles whitened. He watched every stitch, every application of salve, like he was memorizing the procedure in case he had to do it himself later.
When the head healer finally stepped back "She’ll be fine. Deep cut, but no organ damage. Rest, ambrosia, no training for a week" Junhui exhaled like he’d been holding the breath since the border.
The tent emptied slowly. Moonlight filtered through canvas, turning everything silver-blue. You shifted on the cot, wincing. "You gonna sit there brooding all night?"
He looked up. Eyes shadowed. "I’m not brooding."
"You’re doing a pretty good impression."
Silence stretched. Then, quietly "You didn’t have to do that."
You snorted, regretted it instantly as pain flared. "Yeah, well. Couldn’t let the camp’s favorite strategist get skewered. Who’d make all the annoying plans then?"
He didn’t smile. "You could have died."
"So could you."
"That’s different."
"How?"
He leaned forward, forearms on thighs. "Because I-" He stopped. Swallowed. Tried again. "I had the position. I should have seen the angle. The spear trajectory was obvious if I’d just-"
"Stop." You reached out, slow, careful and grabbed the front of his ruined shirt. "You were busy saving everyone else. That’s your thing. Mine’s the charging-in-like-an-idiot part."
His gaze dropped to where your fingers curled fabric. Then back to your face. Something flickered there, something unguarded, unguarded in a way you’d never seen from him.
"I hated it" he said, voice rough. "Watching that spear come down. Knowing I wouldn’t make it in time."
Your throat tightened. "Yeah. Well. I hated watching it too."
Another beat. He reached up, hesitant and covered your hand with his. Warm. Steady. Thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles.
"You scared me" he admitted, so soft you almost missed it.
You stared. Heart slamming against bruised ribs. Then, because words failed, you tugged him closer. He came without resistance. Foreheads touched, careful, mindful of wounds. Breathing mingled. His hand slid to the nape of your neck, fingers threading gently into sweat-damp hair.
"I’m sorry" he whispered.
"For what?"
"For not seeing it sooner."
You huffed a small laugh. "Took you long enough, brainiac."
He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes. "I see it now."
The tent flap rustled, someone checking on patients. Junhui straightened, but he didn’t let go of your hand. Not yet.
"Rest" he said. "I’ll be here when you wake up."
You wanted to argue, habit, but exhaustion pulled too hard.
"Fine" you muttered. "But if you start debriefing me in my sleep, I’ll haunt you."
A ghost of a smile touched his mouth. "Deal."
You drifted off with his hand still wrapped around yours, warm anchor in the dark.
Hours later, deep night, camp finally quiet, Junhui still sat there. He didn’t sleep. He watched the slow rise and fall of your chest, counted every breath like it was proof of something fragile and vital.
And for the first time in years, the relentless machinery of his mind went quiet. No calculations. No contingencies. Just you, alive, stubborn, impossible and the bone-deep certainty that he would burn every strategy he’d ever written if it meant keeping you that way.
The infirmary cot felt too small after that night at the border. The gash along your ribs healed faster than it had any right to, thank Apollo kids and a steady drip of nectar, but the scar it left was angry, pink and raised. Every time you twisted wrong in training or reached too far, it pulled, a sharp reminder of coral spear and the split-second decision that had put you between Junhui and death.
You avoided the arena for the mandated week. Chiron’s orders. Instead you haunted the edges of camp: the beach at dawn, the strawberry fields at dusk, the climbing wall when no one was looking. Anywhere that didn’t smell like pine needles and blood and the faint, clean scent of whatever soap Junhui used.
He didn’t crowd you. Didn’t hover. But he was there. A water bottle left on the porch railing of Cabin 5 when you came back sweaty from a solo run. A fresh roll of bandages slipped onto your bunk without comment. Once, you found a small jar of salve: Athena’s own recipe, handwritten label in his precise script, tucked under your pillow. "For scar tissue" the note read. Nothing else. No signature. Didn’t need one.
You hated how much it steadied you. The mandatory week ended on a Thursday. You were back in the arena by sunrise Friday, spear in hand, testing the limits of the new scar. It hurt, good hurt, the kind that reminded you you were still here, still fighting. You ran through forms alone until the sun climbed high and sweat soaked through your shirt.
Footsteps on the sand. You didn’t turn. "Thought you’d be here" Junhui said from the entrance arch.
You kept moving: thrust, parry, pivot. "Stalking me now?"
"Observing." Same old line. But his voice was quieter today. Less guarded.
You finally stopped, spear tip resting in the dirt. Turned.
He stood just inside the shadow of the colonnade, arms loose at his sides. No armor. Just camp shirt, dark shorts, hair slightly messy from whatever he’d been doing before this. The cut above his eyebrow had healed to a thin silver line. It suited him, made him look less like a statue and more like someone who bled the same as everyone else.
"You’re supposed to be resting" he said.
"I rested. Now I’m training."
He stepped forward, slow, deliberate. "You’re favoring your left side. The scar’s pulling."
You rolled your eyes. "I’m fine."
"You’re not."
The words weren’t accusatory. Just fact. Something in his tone made your stomach flip. You planted the spear butt harder. "What do you want, Junhui?"
He stopped a few feet away. Close enough that you could see the way his throat moved when he swallowed. "I want to spar."
You laughed, short, disbelieving. "You want to fight me? Now?"
"Not fight." He met your eyes. Steady. "Train. Properly. No holding back. No blindfolds. Just us."
Your pulse kicked up. "Why?"
"Because we’ve been dancing around this for months." His voice dropped. "And I’m tired of it."
The arena suddenly felt too quiet. No wind. No distant shouts from the beach. Just the two of you and the weight of everything unsaid.
You studied him, really studied. The faint tension in his shoulders. The way his fingers flexed once, then stilled. The look in his eyes that wasn’t calculation anymore. It was hunger.
"Fine" you said. Voice rougher than you meant. "But if I pin you, you admit I’m better."
His mouth curved, just a flicker. "And if I pin you?"
You stepped closer. "You won’t."
He exhaled through his nose, almost a laugh. You both moved to the center circle. No shields this time. Just spear against xiphos. Bare feet on warm sand. The sun beat down, turning everything gold and sharp-edged.
You circled first, slow, testing. He mirrored you. No rush. No feints yet. Just eyes locked, breathing synced without meaning to. You struck first. Spear thrust, fast, aimed at his shoulder to force a dodge. He twisted inside your reach, xiphos flashing up to parry. Metal sang. You spun out, reversed the haft, cracked it toward his ribs. He blocked, barely, staggered half a step. Recovered instantly. Countered with a low slash that forced you to leap back.
"Sloppy" he said. Breath even.
"Shut up."
You went harder. Thrust-parry-thrust-feint-high-low. He read every move half a second before you finished it, dodging, deflecting, never quite retreating. You pushed him toward the edge of the circle. He let you. Then, sudden pivot, he hooked your spear haft with his blade, yanked, used your forward momentum to spin you. Your back hit his chest. His arm banded across your waist, tight, unyielding. The spear clattered to the sand. Pinned. Breath exploded out of you.
His mouth was at your ear. "Yield?"
You twisted, hard, elbow driving back toward his ribs. He anticipated, shifted, took the blow on his forearm instead. Didn’t let go. You stomped his instep. He grunted, pain, not surprise, but his grip only tightened.
"Yield" he repeated. Voice low. Rough.
You stopped struggling. Not surrender. Just… stillness. Your back pressed to his front. His heartbeat hammered against your spine, fast, unsteady. His breath stirred the hair at your nape.
"No" you whispered.
He turned you, slow, careful. Hands sliding to your hips. You let him. Faces inches apart. Sweat beaded on his temple. A drop slid down the side of his jaw. You reached up, slow, thumb brushing it away. His eyes darkened.
Then he kissed you. Not gentle. Not tentative. Desperate. Like he’d been holding the strategy back for too long and the entire plan had just collapsed. You kissed him harder, teeth, tongue, all the frustration and want and fear that had been building since the cyclops forge, since the border, since every single time he’d looked at you like you were the one variable he couldn’t solve.
Hands everywhere. Yours fisted in his shirt, yanking him closer. His slid under yours, palms hot against the small of your back, careful of the scar but not shying away. You bit his lower lip, sharp enough to make him groan into your mouth.
Clothes came off in pieces. Shirt, yanked over his head, tossed. Yours followed, careful around the ribs, but fast. Sand stuck to sweat-slick skin. You shoved him backward until his shoulders hit one of the wooden support posts.
He reversed, pinned you instead. Back to the post. Hands braced on either side of your head.
He pulled back just enough to look. Eyes searching yours, asking without words. You answered by dragging him back in. The kiss turned slower, deeper. His mouth moved to your jaw, your throat. You tipped your head back, fingers threading into his hair, tugging when he found the spot below your ear that made your knees weak.
He dropped to one knee, slow, eyes never leaving yours. Mouth trailing down sternum, ribs, pausing at the new scar. He pressed a kiss there, soft, reverent. Then another. And another.
You swallowed hard. "Junhui-"
He looked up. "I hated how close I came to losing this."
The words cracked something open inside you. You pulled him up, urgent, kissed him again. Hands roaming. His skin was fever-hot. You traced every line of muscle, every old scar, memorizing the way he shivered when your nails dragged lightly down his back.
He lifted you, effortless, your legs wrapping around his waist. Post at your back, his body pinning you there. The friction made you both gasp.
"Tell me to stop" he murmured against your lips.
"Don’t you dare."
He didn’t. He reached between you, slow, careful, checking. You nodded. He pushed in, slow at first, giving you time to adjust. The stretch burned sweet. You bit his shoulder to muffle the sound.
He groaned, low, wrecked. Then he moved. Steady rhythm at first, controlled, like everything he did. But you met him thrust for thrust, harder, hungrier. Nails digging into his shoulders. Legs tightening. His control frayed fast.
"Fuck" he breathed, rare curse, raw. "You’re-"
You cut him off with a kiss. Rolled your hips. Took him deeper. He lost the rhythm, became desperate. Faster. Harder. The post creaked behind you. Sand shifted under his feet.
You felt it building, tight coil low in your belly. His hand slid between you, fingers finding exactly where you needed. Precise. Perfect.
You shattered first, back arching, name tearing from your throat in a broken gasp.
He followed seconds later, burying his face in your neck, shuddering, hips stuttering as he spilled inside you.
For a long moment neither moved. Just breathing. Hearts slamming against each other. Sweat cooling on skin.
He eased you down slowly, careful, until your feet touched sand again. Didn’t let go. Forehead to yours.
You laughed, shaky. "We just..."
"Yeah."
You both exhaled at the same time. He kissed you again, soft this time. Slow. Like he was memorizing the taste.
When you finally pulled apart, you rested your head against his shoulder.
"I still think you’re a nerd" you muttered.
He huffed a quiet laugh. "And you’re still reckless."
You tilted your head back. "But you like it."
His thumb brushed your cheek. "More than like."
The admission hung there, simple. Heavy.
You swallowed. "Me too."
He smiled, small, real, unguarded.
You stayed like that until the sun dipped lower, tangled, sandy, bruised in the best ways.
Eventually you separated enough to gather scattered clothes. Dressed slowly. Shared glances. Small touches, a hand on his wrist, his fingers brushing your scar.
As you walked out of the arena together, shoulders brushing, the camp lights were just flickering on. Distant laughter from the pavilion. Normal sounds.
But nothing felt normal anymore.
At the fork in the path: one way to Ares cabin, one to Athena, he stopped. You turned. He looked at you, long, searching.
"Tomorrow?" he asked. Quiet.
You stepped closer. Kissed him once, brief, promising.
"Tomorrow" you said.
He nodded. You walked separate ways. But the space between didn’t feel empty. It felt like anticipation. Like the moment before a perfect strategy clicked into place.
The final Capture the Flag of the summer arrived on the last Saturday before most campers shipped back to mortal schools or whatever fragile normalcy waited beyond the border. The air smelled of pine, sea salt and anticipation thick enough to choke on. Chiron had announced the teams at breakfast that morning with his usual calm gravitas: "For this game, the blue team will be led jointly by Athena and Ares cabins. One strategy, one assault force. Work as one, or lose as two."
Groans had rippled through the pavilion. Traditionalists from both sides muttered about "mixing oil and water" but no one argued with Chiron. Not out loud.
You stood at the edge of the forest as the sun climbed, armor gleaming, spear balanced across your shoulders. The red boar banner still flew over Ares territory, but today it shared space with Athena’s silver owl stitched onto blue silk. A compromise. Junhui had suggested it the night before, quietly, over stolen kisses behind the armory.
"Symbols matter" he’d said against your mouth. "Let them see we’re not pretending anymore."
You’d rolled your eyes. "You and your metaphors."
He’d smiled, small, private. "You love them."
You hadn’t denied it. Now he stood beside you in full gear: dark leather reinforced with bronze at the shoulders and chest, xiphos at his hip, no shield. His hair was tied back, exposing the sharp line of his jaw and the faint scar above his brow. He looked calm. Focused. Like always. Except when his eyes met yours.
Then something warmer flickered there, something that made your pulse kick despite the weight of bronze on your shoulders.
"Ready?" he asked.
You twirled the spear once. "Born ready. You?"
He nodded once. "Plan’s locked. You remember your part?"
"Charge where you point. Improvise when I feel like it."
His mouth quirked. "Try to stick to the plan."
"No promises, brainiac."
He didn’t argue. Just brushed his knuckles against yours, brief, hidden by the angle of your bodies, before stepping forward to address the combined force.
Blue team gathered in a loose semicircle: Athena kids with bows, maps, and illusion runes; Ares siblings with spears, shields, and barely restrained grins. They watched Junhui with wary respect and you with familiar hunger for violence. The mix still felt strange, like handing a wolf a chess set, but no one questioned it. Not after the border fight. Not after the whispers had turned into open bets on whether you two would kill each other or end up sharing a bunk.
Junhui spoke first, voice carrying without shouting.
"Red team: Hephaestus, Hermes, Apollo, has the creek as their primary crossing. They’ll feint north with Hermes speed, then push hard south with Hephaestus traps. We let them think we’re defending the shallows like last time."
Murmurs. He raised a hand. "We’re not."
He knelt, traced lines in the dirt with his dagger, quick, precise.
"Archers and illusionists take the high ridge here. Create false movement, make them believe the north flank is weak. When they commit, we collapse the trap: Ares hits the south crossing in full force, funneled exactly where we want them. I’ll coordinate from the center ridge with signal flares. No deviations unless I call it."
Eyes turned to you. You stepped forward. "My job’s simple. We hit hard, we hit fast. Shields lock, spears low. No one breaks formation until we have their flag or they’re dust. If they scatter, we chase. If they trap us, we break through. Clear?"
Nods. Feral grins from your siblings.
Junhui met your gaze. "We move on the horn. Stay sharp."
The conch sounded. Game on. You led the Ares contingent south through the underbrush, silent at first, then building to the low thunder of boots and clanking bronze. Junhui’s signal flare arced overhead, green smoke, the go code. You broke cover at a dead run.
The south crossing was chaos exactly as planned. Hermes kids sprinted ahead, thinking they’d caught the flank open. Hephaestus traps: spiked pits, tripwires, waited in neat rows. But Athena archers had already marked them; blue flares burst above each one, warning your line.
You yelled "Shields!"
The front rank locked, bronze wall moving as one. You were at the center, spear thrusting through gaps, driving forward. A Hermes kid appeared on your left, dagger flashing. You bashed him with your shield rim, sent him sprawling. Behind the line, Junhui’s voice carried over the din, calm, precise. "Left shift, two degrees! Archers, suppress the ridge!"
Arrows hissed overhead. Red team faltered.
You pushed harder. The creek appeared, shallow here, rocks slick. Red team’s flag waved from a fallen log on the far bank, guarded by a knot of Hephaestus heavies in makeshift armor.
You grinned. "There it is."
Junhui appeared at your side, sudden, silent. He’d left the ridge, moving with the front line now. No hesitation.
"Flank left" he said low. "I’ll draw the center."
You nodded. No argument.
He broke right, fast, drawing attention. Red team pivoted toward him. You swung left with half your squad, splashing through the creek, using the distraction to close the distance.
Junhui fought clean: parry, dodge, strike, never wasting motion. A Hephaestus kid swung a hammer; Junhui ducked, hit tendons behind the knee, dropped him without killing intent. Another charged; Junhui sidestepped, used momentum to throw him into the creek.
You reached the log first. The flag guard, a burly Hephaestus girl with a massive shield, met you head-on. You slammed shield against shield, sparks flying. She pushed; you held. Then shoved hard. She staggered. You spun the spear haft, cracked it across her wrist. The shield dropped. You lunged, spear tip tapping her chest plate. "Out."
She cursed, stepped aside. Your hand closed on blue silk. Victory horn blasted, three long notes.
Blue team erupted. You raised the flag high, cheering with your siblings. Across the field, Athena kids whooped, quietly, but real. Junhui jogged up, breathing hard, ichor and sweat streaking his face.
You tossed him the flag. He caught it one-handed. Didn’t smile, just looked at you like you’d solved the last equation he’d never quite cracked.
Then he stepped forward, hooked a finger in your breastplate strap, and pulled you in.
Right there, in the middle of the creek, surrounded by cheering demigods and settling dust, he kissed you. Slow. Deep. Unhurried.
One hand cupped the back of your neck; the other stayed fisted in your armor. You kissed back, fierce, possessive, fingers threading into his damp hair.
The noise around you swelled: cheers, wolf-whistles, a few theatrical groans from the traditionalists. Someone's laugh boomed over everything: "About damn time!"
You broke apart only when air became necessary. Junhui rested his forehead against yours. "Told you brains and brawn work better together."
You huffed a laugh. "Took you long enough to admit it, nerd."
He smiled, small, real, unguarded. "Worth the wait."
Later, after the gear was stripped, wounds patched, and the pavilion rang with post-game stories, you found him by the lake.
Moonlight silvered the water. He sat on the same salt-bleached log where you’d once sharpened your spear and tried to hate him. Now he looked up as you approached and the look in his eyes was softer than you’d ever seen.
You sat beside him. Shoulders brushing.
"Some game" you said.
"Some team."
Silence stretched, comfortable. You nudged him. "You know they’re already making bets on how long before we kill each other."
"Let them bet." His fingers found yours, lacing together. "We’ve got better odds."
You snorted. "Optimist."
"Realist."
You leaned your head on his shoulder. He rested his cheek against your hair. The lake lapped quietly. Somewhere distant, the campfire crackled and campers sang off-key. Normal camp sounds.
But nothing felt normal anymore. It felt better.
"Next summer" he murmured, "we run the whole thing together again."
You tilted your head. "You asking me to co-captain?"
"I’m telling you we’re co-captains." A pause. "Unless you’d rather keep calling me predictable."
You laughed, quiet, warm. "Nah. I like keeping you on your toes."
He turned, kissed your temple. "Good. Because I like watching you charge in and ruin every perfect plan I make."
"Admit it, you love the chaos."
"I love you" he said simply.
The words landed soft. Certain.
You swallowed. Turned to face him fully.
"Love you too, brainiac."
He smiled, slow, devastating. Then he pulled you in again, kissing you under the stars, lake at your feet, camp at your back.
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