did u see giselle and ningning got matching belly button piercings 👀 would love to see idol reader x mingyu where reader pierced her bellybutton wothout him knowing and he randomly sees it one day. Love ur work ❤️
Pierced || Kim Mingyu x idol!reader
GIF creds to owner!
A/n: omg yes I did see!!! Thank u for the request <3
Wc: 1,001
Warnings: none??
MASTERLIST (idol!reader au masterlist)
-
You’re halfway through changing before bed when it happens.
The hotel room is dim except for the warm lamp near the couch, city lights glowing faintly through the massive windows behind you. You’d just gotten back from separate schedules.
Mingyu from a photoshoot, you from rehearsals, and the both of you were exhausted in that clingy, affectionate way where neither of you could go more than thirty seconds without touching each other.
Mingyu’s sitting at the edge of the bed scrolling through his phone while you stand in front of your suitcase, pulling one of his oversized shirts over your head to sleep in.
You don’t even think about it.
Which is stupid, considering you spent the last four days hiding it from him.
The piercing still feels a little tender when the fabric brushes over your stomach, the silver jewellery catching the light for half a second. “Wait.”
His voice cuts through the room instantly.
You freeze. Slowly, you turn around. Mingyu’s no longer looking at his phone.
He’s staring directly at your stomach.
Specifically, at the small silver jewel sitting in your belly button.
His eyebrows lift in disbelief. “What is that?”
You bite back a grin immediately, pretending to act casual as you tug the shirt down further. “Nothing.”
“Nothing?” He tosses his phone onto the bed so fast it bounces. “Baby.”
You laugh nervously. “Don’t sound so offended.”
“Offended?” He stands up immediately, tall frame crossing the room in seconds until he’s right in front of you. “You pierced your belly button and didn’t tell me?”
His hands settle automatically on your waist, warm palms sliding under the oversized shirt. The second his fingers brush your skin, you suck in a tiny breath because the piercing is still sensitive.
Mingyu notices instantly. His eyes darken.
“It’s new.” You try not to smile too hard. “Maybe.”
“When?”
“A few days ago.”
“A few days ago?!” He looks genuinely betrayed now, staring down at you with wide eyes. “You hid this from me for days?”
“I wanted to surprise you.”
“You definitely surprised me.”
His gaze drops again. And stays there.
You suddenly feel very aware of the fact you’re standing in front of your boyfriend in tiny sleep shorts and one of his shirts while he stares at your stomach like he’s forgotten how to think properly.
The silver jewellery glints under the warm lighting every time you breathe.
Mingyu swallows hard. “…Jesus.”
You burst into laughter. “Why are you acting like that?”
“Because you look insane right now.”
“Insane?”
“So hot it’s actually making me angry.”
That makes you laugh even harder, but Mingyu doesn’t. He’s still staring.
His thumb brushes lightly along your waist, dangerously close to the piercing itself but not quite touching it.
“You knew I’d like this,” he says accusingly.
You shrug innocently. “Maybe.”
“You’re evil.”
“You love me.”
“I do,” he says immediately, still looking down. “But this? This is unfair.”
Your cheeks warm at how serious he sounds.
Mingyu has always been tactile with you, constantly touching your waist, your hips, pulling you onto his lap whenever he can, but now it’s like he physically cannot stop looking at the piercing.
“You really didn’t think to warn me?” he murmurs.
“I wanted your reaction.”
“Well congratulations,” he says dryly. “I’m reacting.”
You giggle as he finally looks back up at your face, except his expression makes your stomach flip. Because he looks wrecked.
His hair’s messy from the shower he took earlier, hoodie sleeves pushed up his forearms, lips slightly parted while his hands tighten unconsciously on your waist.
“You have no idea what you do to me,” he says quietly. The teasing tone is mostly gone now. And suddenly you feel shy.
Which is ridiculous considering this is Mingyu, your boyfriend, the man who’s seen you at your absolute worst, but something about the intensity in his gaze makes your heart pound.
“You like it that much?” you ask softly.
Mingyu laughs once under his breath like the question itself is stupid.
“Baby,” he says, voice low. “I’m trying so hard to behave right now.” Your stomach flips violently.
He looks back down again before carefully hooking one finger through the little silver jewel. The touch is featherlight.
You inhale sharply. His eyes snap to yours instantly. “Does it hurt?”
“A little.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you were doing this?”
“I don’t know,” you admit. “I thought it’d be fun.”
“It is fun,” he mutters. “For you. Meanwhile I’m over here losing my mind.”
You laugh again, but it cuts off when he suddenly pulls you closer by your hips until your body presses against his.
The oversized shirt rides up slightly again. Mingyu’s hand slides across your stomach slowly, fingertips grazing just beneath your navel.
His head drops toward your shoulder with a groan.
“You’re actually gonna kill me.”
“That dramatic?”
“You don’t understand,” he says into your neck. “I already struggle when you wear crop tops. Now you have this?”
His fingers trace around the piercing again, eyes fixed on it with dangerous concentration.
“You’re gonna dance in front of other people looking like this?”
You laugh. “Mingyu—”
“No, seriously.” He looks genuinely tortured now. “That’s crazy.”
You smile softly, fingers curling into the front of his hoodie. “You’re still the only one allowed to touch it.”
Mingyu goes completely silent. Then his eyes close briefly like he’s trying to regain composure.
“Pease don’t say things like that,” he says weakly.
You grin immediately. “Why?”
“Because I already think you’re hot enough.”
His hands slide around to your lower back, pulling you flush against him.
“You always do this,” he murmurs.
“Do what?”
“Act innocent after making comments like that and doing things like this.”
You laugh into his chest as he buries his face into your neck again, placing lazy kisses against your skin while still absentmindedly playing with the piercing.
The tenderness in the gesture makes your chest ache.
Because beneath all the teasing and dramatics, Mingyu’s genuinely fascinated by it.
Like he can’t believe you did something new without him knowing.
“You were scared to tell me?” he asks quietly after a moment.
“A little.”
His head lifts immediately. “Why?”
“I thought you might hate it.”
Mingyu stares at you like you’ve lost your mind.
“Hate it?” he repeats. “Baby, I think this might be the hottest thing you’ve ever done.”
Your face burns instantly.
He smiles at your reaction, finally leaning down to kiss you properly. Slow. The kind of kiss that melts straight through you.
And even then, one of his hands still rests against your waist, thumb brushing softly over the little silver jewel like he’s completely obsessed with it already.
backburner - choi seungcheol imagine part two final
andddd it's here🥺
i think this one is the most angsty fic i have ever written, i need to give myself a pat on the back. If you're new here or have been here for a while, i am not the best at writing angst but when i started writing this fic it clicked to me immediately. i'm so happy a lot of you like it🥺
hope you enjoy the rest of it🤍
alsoooooo quick note, the added donation link here if u want to give ur girl some coffee that would be greaaatlllyyyy appreciated. no pressure tho, your love for my fics is enough. okii byeee
The silence started bothering him at 7:12 a.m. Because by then, usually, there was already something. A complaint or a craving or a random observation. A message about your daughter moving too much at dawn like she personally hated sleep.
But that morning nothing.
Seungcheol checked again while pouring coffee. Still nothing.
By 8:03 he sent first.
Seungcheol: Morning. Want breakfast?
The reply took thirteen minutes. Long enough that he noticed.
You: No thanks
He stared at the screen. Then sent again later, trying casual.
Seungcheol: Lunch later? I can bring something.
This time the answer came faster.
You: No, Thanks. I’m good.
That period should not have mattered. It did. Because now every instinct he had built around you over months started lighting up at once.
You never answered like someone who was actually fine.
By noon he had read those two replies enough times that even Wonwoo noticed he had not touched half the paperwork in front of him.
“You’re reading punctuation like it insulted you”
“She’s quiet”
Wonwoo barely glanced up “So go check”
“I’m at work”
“You haven’t done work in twenty minutes”
That was enough. By early afternoon he was already driving. The entire way there his mind kept building possibilities he hated.
By the time he reached your apartment, his pulse had already climbed too high for how still the hallway looked.
You opened the door after the second knock and immediately something felt wrong. Your face looked composed in the deliberate way people wore when they had been trying very hard for too long.
“What happened”
“Nothing” That word again.
He looked around instinctively. No sign of vomiting. No visible mess. No emergency. But you were standing too straight, like even your shoulders were trying not to reveal anything.
“You didn’t text”
“I answered”
“You sent two words”
“I’m tired”
“You look like you cried”
That made your jaw tighten immediately “I’m fine”
There it was. The phrase he trusted least.
He softened his tone instinctively “Did something happen today?”
“No.”
“Did something hurt?”
“No.”
“Did she move?”
“Yes.”
“Did you eat?”
A pause “Yes.”
Lie. He knew because your eyes moved left when you lied badly so he stepped closer.
“I’ll make something”
“I said I’m fine”
“You haven’t eaten”
“I did”
Something in you snapped a little at how easily he kept seeing through everything. Because that gentleness, the same gentleness that had comforted you for months felt unbearable today.
So when he reached for the kitchen as if this apartment belonged naturally to his care too you stopped him.
“Cheol”
He turned and your voice came sharper than intended.
“I said I’m fine”
“You’re not”
That should have comforted you. Instead, it hurt worse because the truth sitting ugly in your chest had become too tangled to separate now.
You heard him last night. You thought he was sacrificing too much. You thought someday you would become the reason he missed his own life.
And worse than all of that you now knew the ache inside you when imagining him with someone else was not friendship.
It had crossed quietly while you were too distracted surviving to notice.
And loving him now felt unforgivably selfish.
Because what right did you have? Pregnant. Broken. Carrying another man’s child. Already leaning too much. Already taking too much.
So when he took another step toward you, concern plain on his face you panicked.
And panic made cruel things come faster than thought.
“Just go, okay?”
He stopped completely but not because of the words, because of how they sounded. Still you kept going, even when the words hurts you twice back.
“I don’t need pity”
“This isn’t pity”
“I don’t need care either” Your voice cracked slightly now but still you forced it.
“I don’t need you.”
Silence. Absolute silence. The second the words left you, you knew they were false. So false they almost knocked the air from you yourself.
Because if there was one truth clearer than anything right now, it was the opposite.
You did need him.
Too much.
And that was exactly why saying it felt safer than admitting anything real.
His eyes stayed on you. No anger. Only that quiet wounded stillness from someone hit somewhere unguarded.
And seeing that expression hurt you far deeper than it should have if this were only friendship.
That was the moment it arrived fully, undeniable:
You loved him.
Not slowly enough to soften. Not lightly enough to excuse.
Loved him selfishly enough that hurting him made your chest feel like it split open.
Loved him enough that seeing him with someone else in your mind had wrecked you before anything even happened.
And because of that realization, fear sharpened further.
So instead of taking the words back you pushed harder.
A lie over a wound “I’ve asked enough already.”
Still silence. Then finally he spoke, voice lower than usual.
“You think that’s what this is?”
You looked away because if you met his eyes, you would break.
“I think you should stop rearranging your life because of me”
Something flickered across his face, understanding almost, but incomplete.
He exhaled once through his nose and for one second it looked like he might say everything. Whatever he had buried. Whatever sat right behind his restraint. But your face stopped him.
So instead he only nodded once, like agreeing with you right now physically hurt.
“If you want space, I’ll go”
That gentleness broke something in you harder than anger would have.
He just moved toward the door and when it clicked shut behind him the apartment felt immediately unbearable.
You stood there exactly three seconds before your legs gave enough that you had to sit.
Then the first sob came, nothing graceful about it. And suddenly it hurt more than that night months ago when your world first split open because back then grief had a clear target.
Now the pain came from your own mouth, from words you did not mean.
From watching the one person who never failed to show up finally leave because you pushed him there yourself.
And for the first time in months, you cried with both hands over your face while your daughter moved quietly beneath your ribs like she felt everything too
=
For almost two weeks, Seungcheol learned something ugly about silence:
It could become louder than any argument.
Every day without you became its own kind of noise. No morning texts. No random complaints. No messages about swollen feet. No annoyed updates about your daughter kicking at impossible hours.
Nothing.
And he hated how quickly his life still bent around checking anyway.
He told himself he was respecting what you asked for. Space. Distance. Whatever that conversation had become.
But respecting it did not stop the constant thought:
Did you eat? Did you nap? Did you try reaching something too high alone? Did you walk too long because no one was there to stop you?
The worst part was that last look on your face kept replaying.
Because your mouth had said I don’t need you but your eyes had looked devastated even before he left.
And Seungcheol knew you. Knew the way you lied when scared. Knew the way your voice sharpened when what you really wanted was the opposite.
He had wanted to believe anger would fade and you would call.
You didn’t. So by the time the second week ended, he had become restless in ways even work could not cover.
Wonwoo noticed it immediately. How could he not when Seungcheol was practically moping.
“What’s wrong with you?”
Wonwoo asks when he sees his friend glaring, again, at his laptop. A common expression Cheol wears nowadays.
“Nothing”
“Mhm, and I have 20/20 vision. Surely this is about Y/N”
Cheol visible tenses at the mention of your name, a reaction Wonwoo didn’t miss.
“Did you two fight?” he asks
“No”
Wonwoo rolls his eyes, taking a seat infront of Seungcheol’s desk. Determined to get some answers.
“Okay, let me rephrase that. Is she avoiding you? Because you’ve been staying after hours here which you havent done in like 8 months. So either she’s not answering you or you finally decided this one sided relationship isn’t workling”
Seungcheol looks up from his laptop to glare at his friend, making Wonwoo chuckle.
“There it is, I’m guessing the first option then?”
“Don’t you have work?”
“Yes, but I’ve heard 3 people say they’re scared to approach you because you have this permanent scowl on. I had to see it for myself”
Cheol only rolls his eyes, “People need to get a life”
“And you need to grow a spine, what are you doing?”
“What do you mean?”
Wonwoo gestures all over, “You, this, her. Don’t tell me you’re actually staying away when she needs you the most”
Silence.
“So secrets and silent treatment. You’re really something you know that”
“You didn’t see the way she looked at me, she told me to go”
“And you did?”
For a second the two men just stared at each other, because Wonwoo could not believe that this is the same man who considered committing a crime the moment he heard about the cheating issue.
The same man who hunts down sweet potatoes at midnight, buys candied grapes and goes to every doctor’s appointment.
The same man who thought loving someone could be a burden to them so he’d rather suffer in silence.
“You could have done that months ago, Cheol. But you didn’t. And whether or not you plan to admit it, you love her. Leaving was never an option for you, not back then so why now?”
Seungcheol can only stay silent because he didn’t have the answer to that. Or maybe he did, he just can’t admit it yet.
“You’re taking away her freedom to decide her own feelings the same way you’re stopping yourself from feeling your own. Don’t destroy a good thing just because you’re scared”
That evening he was driving home after work, Wonwoo’s words from earlier still playing in his head.
One hand loose on the wheel, exhaustion sitting heavy behind his eyes, and then your name lit up his dashboard.
Everything in him reacted instantly. He answered before the second ring.
“Hello?” Already expecting your voice.
Instead “Is this… Choi Seungcheol?” A stranger.
Immediate cold through his chest.
“Yes. Who is this?”
“I’m calling from the emergency contact listed on Ms. Y/L/N’s phone”
His grip tightened so hard his knuckles blanched. The car nearly drifted before he corrected sharply
“What happened?”
“She was brought in a little while ago. She collapsed.”
Everything after that came in fragments. Hospital name. Neighbor. Pale. Unresponsive briefly.
He did not even remember the drive fully afterward, red lights felt like an insult, hands shaking on the steering wheel.
The violent rhythm of one thought:
No. No. No.
By the time he reached the hospital, he was already halfway running.
Reception barely finished your name before he was asking where. A nurse met him outside the maternity ward.
“She’s stable right now”
And still that wasn not enough to calm him.
“What happened?”
“She apparently went to a neighbor saying she felt dizzy. Then she collapsed before sitting down. They rushed her to the ER about an hour ago”
His jaw tightened “And the baby?”
The nurse glanced at the chart
“There was fetal distress for a while. Her blood pressure dropped badly when she came in. We were concerned about early labor because contractions started briefly.”
His chest went cold “But they stopped?”
“For now.”
For now. Words he hated immediately.
“She’s severely exhausted. Dehydrated too.”
That one hit hardest because guilt arrived instantly, sharp and deserved.
The nurse continued gently “She needs proper monitoring tonight. Stress likely contributed”
Stress. He almost laughed bitterly because the source of that word felt too obvious.
Him leaving. You alone. Two weeks of pretending fine.
He looked through the glass before entering and the anger turned fully inward.
You looked small. Too small. Far too pale against white sheets. One hand resting weakly over the blanket near your stomach like even asleep your body stayed searching for reassurance.
The monitor beside you beeped steadily.
Your daughter’s heartbeat audible now. Soft, fast, alive. The sound nearly took his knees because for days he had imagined worse without permission.
Now hearing it made everything inside him loosen and tighten at once.
He stepped inside quietly. The chair beside your bed scraped softly when he pulled it close.
Your face looked thinner somehow in only two weeks or maybe guilt made everything harsher.
He sat then leaned forward, elbows on knees, hands clasped tight enough to hurt.
He’s mad, mostly at himself because the memory came immediately. The lie in your eyes and he had still left because you asked.
He should have known better, should have ignored pride, should have checked anyway sooner. Should have come back the next morning, and the next, and the next.
Instead he gave distance to someone who never knew when to stop carrying too much alone.
A slight movement then your eyes opened slowly. It took two seconds before focus reached him.
Immediately the tears gathered before you even spoke.
“Don’t.” His voice came lower than intended as if stopping apology before it started
“Cheol…” the name came weak
And he hated how much relief that tiny sound gave him.
He stood immediately, leaning close
“Why didn’t you call?”
“I was fine” The lie was so automatic he nearly exhaled in disbelief.
He stared then softer, more broken than angry
“No, you weren’t.”
Your eyes filled fully now because of course that sentence hurt when spoken like that.
The monitor kept its steady rhythm. He looked once toward your stomach then back at you.
“The nurse said she was in distress”
That made your hand move instinctively to your belly, small panic in your face.
“She’s okay?”
“She’s okay.”He said it immediately.
You shut your eyes briefly in relief. One tear slipped anyway.
He saw it and something inside him gave way. All remaining anger dissolved into something rawer.
He reached without thinking. His hand covering yours where it rested over the blanket.
And your fingers trembled beneath his.
His voice lowered “You scared me.”
“I didn’t mean—” “I know.”
“But you don’t get to disappear and collapse alone because you’re trying to prove something.”
Your throat tightened “I wasn’t trying to prove anything.”
He looked at you for a long moment then finally said what had sat bitter for days
“Then why did you look at me like I was someone you had to lose before I even left?”
That silenced you completely.
Inside that small room, the distance of two weeks suddenly sat between both of you like something breathing.
And yet his hand never left yours.
Not even once.
And when your daughter kicked suddenly beneath his palm through the blanket, sharp enough both of you felt it, his jaw tightened unexpectedly, eyes lowering there.
A tiny reminder.
Alive.
Still fighting too.
He closed his fingers slightly over your hand.
And for the first time since arriving, his voice broke just enough to show how close panic had truly come.
“Don’t do that to me again.”
Because he already knew he would not survive another phone call like that.
By then you were sitting up slightly, pillows stacked behind your back, hospital blanket gathered around your lap, one hand still trembling where his had not left it.
Seungcheol stayed close, chair pulled near enough that his knees almost touched the bed. Still watching you like if he blinked too long you might disappear again.
You looked at him. Tears were already falling before words even came snd when you spoke, your voice sounded fragile enough that he straightened instantly
“You deserve more than this…”
His brows pulled together “What?”
More tears. You shook your head once, as if even saying it aloud hurt.
“More than me.”
Immediate confusion crossed his face, but before he could interrupt you kept going, words tumbling now because if you stopped you knew you would lose courage.
“You’re sacrificing too much of your life for me.”
He opened his mouth.
You kept speaking “For this baby…”
Your voice cracked harder there
“For someone else’s—” “Don’t.” Sharp enough to stop you instantly.
Not angry. Just immediate. Firm.
“Don’t say that.”
His face had changed completely now. No hesitation, no caution, no polite restraint left. Only certainty.
“She’s yours,” he said, voice low but unwavering. “And that’s all that matters.”
His eyes held yours now in a way that gave you nowhere to hide.
“I don’t care about anything else.”
Then the words finally came, stripped clean and terrifyingly simple:
“I love you.”
And because truth once started rarely stopped neatly, he added softly
“I love her too.” That did it.
Whatever fragile control you still had shattered completely.
You broke.
A sob escaped so suddenly it shook through your whole chest. Then another.
Then your shoulders were trembling hard enough he moved immediately, standing, leaning in, pulling you carefully into him without disturbing the monitors.
One arm around your back. One hand at the back of your head. Careful of every wire, every ache, every fragile part of you.
And you cried into him like something finally allowed to collapse after months of holding itself upright.
His voice dropped softer instantly “Hey… hey…”
The tone he always used when calming you. Only now it carried relief too and something almost trembling underneath.
Because he had said it. Finally. And you had not pushed him away.
He eased back just enough to see your face.
One hand lifting carefully, thumb brushing tears from your cheeks.
And somehow even like this you looked at him with something so raw it made his own expression soften further.
His smile came small. The kind smile he wore only when emotion hit him deeper than words.
“There’s this selfish part of my brain…”
He waited.
You looked down because admitting it felt shameful and impossible all at once.
“…that hates that”
His brows shifted “Hates what?”
“That she’s not yours”
The confession came broken ad once spoken, you forced yourself through the rest.
“That you’re so ready to love her… and some awful selfish part of me hates that she isn’t yours”
For a second he only stared. Then something almost warm—almost amused through emotion—touched his mouth.
Because of course even now you thought love obeyed blood first.
And he asked quietly “Who says she’s not mine?”
he leaned slightly closer still smiling, faint but certain now.
“Who says she isn’t mine?”
Your breath caught “Cheol…”
“I’m serious. I don’t care whose name is buried in biology.”
Your tears started again immediately because no one had ever said something that frighteningly gentle to you before.
No one had ever chosen this clearly.
He looked down briefly, hand moving to your stomach where your daughter rested beneath the blanket.
“She moves when I talk.” A tiny smile.
“She kicks hardest when you’re stubborn.” Another glance at you.
“I already worry when you skip one meal like the world is ending.”
Then back to your eyes.
“So tell me honestly—what part of this doesn’t already feel mine too?”
That was when your sob returned harder.
Because the answer was nothing.
Nothing about him had ever felt halfway.
He loved like it had already decided for him months ago.
“I’ve been trying so hard not to say this because I thought loving you while you were carrying someone else’s child was selfish.”
You stared. He gave one breath of humorless disbelief.
“But apparently I’m past pretending that matters.”
A tear slipped down his own face this time “I was ready long before today.”
You reached for him before thinking. Hands catching his shirt again, pulling him close because distance suddenly felt unbearable.
He came easily. Forehead against yours. Arms around you carefully.
And when your daughter kicked again between you, he laughed softly against your temple.
“There,” he murmured.
“She agrees.”
You cried and laughed at once, which only made him smile wider. Then he kissed your forehead. Kissed your cheeks, once, twice, making you smile.
This time it didn’t looked forced or fake, just… you.
You closed the distance between the two of you, kissing him softly. Like even now you’re unsure if you deserve this but of course he could read you.
So he reached up, gently cupping for your face before kissing you deeply, fully. Like he meant everything, keeping them all as vows to you.
And in that small hospital room, with monitors still humming and your body still weak and exhausted something quietly became whole.
Not perfect. Not easy.
But chosen.
Entirely chosen.
His hand never left your stomach after that.
As if he had already decided exactly where he belonged
=
By 37 weeks, everything had started looking like a countdown.
In the nursery door that stayed half open because both of you kept wandering in just to look.
The folded blankets stacked too neatly, tiny bottles lined like careful soldiers.
The crib Seungcheol had assembled himself after refusing help, despite cursing quietly at the instruction manual for nearly an hour because apparently one screw had offended him personally.
and the fact that his car now carried a professionally installed infant seat he had checked so many times the straps practically knew his hands.
Seungcheol no longer moved through days casually. Everything now had purpose.
Routes to the hospital memorized. Fastest route at noon. Fastest route at night. Backup route if traffic stalled.
Hospital parking entrance. Emergency entrance. Even which convenience store nearby stayed open twenty-four hours.
He had catalogued it all silently like preparing for something sacred.
And because neither of you bothered pretending anymore, he was simply staying with you now.
His things had just begun appearing naturally. A charger by your bed, shirts folded in your laundry basket, toothbrush beside yours, his watch on your kitchen counter.
And you did not mind.
Tonight the two of you sat cross-legged on the nursery floor, hospital bag open between you.
Tiny baby clothes spread like impossibly small evidence that very soon there would be an actual person here.
Your daughter.
A whole human.
And somehow that reality hit harder now than ever before.
You picked up one of the newborn shirts and just stared. It was absurdly tiny. The sleeves looked unreal. The neck opening looked like it belonged to a doll.
Your eyes immediately softened in that dangerous emotional way he had learned meant tears were near.
“Oh my God…”
Seungcheol looked up from where he was folding receiving blankets badly
“What”
You held up the shirt like proof of some impossible fact
“She’s supposed to fit in this?”
He glanced at it then at your face and smiled.
There it was again, that expression lately where wonder and fear collided in you at the same time. You looked half amazed, half on the edge of crying.
“It’s so tiny.” Your voice had already gone softer
He reached beside him and picked up a white onesie. Held it by the shoulders.
The entire thing was barely longer than his forearm. He turned it slightly, disbelief finally showing in his face too.
“…That can’t be real.”
You laughed “It is real.”
He frowned lightly at the fabric like it personally challenged logic
“Our daughter fits inside this?”
“She’s supposed to”
He looked unconvinced then found one mitten from the pile. Held it in his palm completely flat. Tiny enough that it barely covered the center of his hand.
He stared for a full second. Then exhaled something halfway between disbelief and wonder.
“This is criminally small.”
That one tiny thing. Too small. Too delicate.
His eyes shifted back to you “Hey”
You wiped under one eye quickly
“I’m fine.”
“Liar.”
You smiled weakly “I spent months imagining this and now suddenly… t feels terrifying”
He shifted closer automatically “Terrifying because?”
“What if I don’t know what I’m doing?” The honesty came quietly now
“What if she cries and I don’t know why? What if I do something wrong? What if—”
“You will”
That made you look up immediately. He smiled.
“You’ll do something wrong eventually”
“Cheol”
“So will I”
He set the mitten aside, reached for another tiny sock. Held it between his fingers.
“This small person is going to humble both of us”
That made your mouth twitch despite yourself.
He continued softer “We’ll still figure it out.”
You looked at him for a long second because he said things like that now so naturally, as if there had never been any doubt he belonged in every version of what came next.
He picked up the sock again
“She has feet small enough for this?”
You laughed through the last tear
“She currently kicks like she has full adult legs.”
“That part I know.”
As if summoned by the conversation, your stomach shifted visibly. A kick. Then another.
He smiled down “See? Already violent.”
“She gets that from you.”
“Impossible.”
“You assembled a crib like it insulted your family.”
“The crib started it.”
You laughed properly this time.
=
It happened on the one night he finally slept.
Of course it did.
After days of living like a man waiting beside a fire alarm, exhaustion had finally caught him hard enough that sometime after midnight he dropped into real sleep.
The kind he had been denying himself for nearly two weeks.
You noticed because for once his breathing stayed deep. A faint snore every now and then, soft enough it almost made you smile despite the hour.
One arm still draped over you automatically, heavy across your side even in sleep, palm resting near your stomach as if his body refused to fully let go even unconscious.
The room was dark except for the city light slipping through curtains.
Then you felt it. At first just tightening. A familiar hard pull across your abdomen.
Enough that your eyes opened.
Weeks of false alarms so you breathed through it, one hand automatically pressing low over your stomach.
Still half convinced this was nothing. Still telling yourself not to overreact.
You almost closed your eyes again.
Then another came and this time the pressure stayed longer.
A deeper ache blooming down your back.
You shifted carefully.
A clean pain that made your whole body jolt before you could stop it. Your hand grabbed the blanket instinctively.
You turned immediately. Seungcheol still asleep beside you. You almost hesitated because after days of no sleep he looked painfully tired.
Then another tightening built again. Stronger.
You nudged his shoulder
“Cheol” Nothing.
Another wave. Stronger now.
You nudged harder.
“Cheol”
Still half asleep, he made a low sound but did not wake fully then the pain sharpened enough that your voice changed.
“Cheol.” That did it. His eyes opened instantly.
“What?” Then he saw your face and every trace of sleep vanished.
“What happened?”
Your hand was gripping the blanket now
“I—” Another tightening interrupted you
His whole body straightened immediately
“Is it pain?” You nodded once
“How bad?”
“I don’t know—”
“When did it start?”
“A little while ago.”
His expression changed so fast it almost looked unreal. He pushed upright instantly, hand already on your arm.
“How long is a little while?”
“I thought it was normal”
He glanced immediately at the bedside clock. He was out of bed before you finished breathing.
Phone in hand. Lights on. The room suddenly bright.
“What are you doing?” you asked, still trying to sit up
“Timing.”
“Cheol—” “No, absolutely not, timing first.”
His phone is already open. Already kneeling beside the bed. Watching your face with terrifying focus.
“When it stops, tell me”
You almost laughed if it did not hurt because he looked exactly like someone waiting for an exam result.
Another wave passed. You exhaled.
“It stopped”
He checked the timer.
“How far apart was the first one?”
“I didn’t check” Of course you didn’t.
He inhaled through his nose once, fighting panic.
“Okay. Fine. Fine.”
Then another contraction started and your face changed enough that he saw it before you spoke. Immediately he reached for your hand.
“There?”
You squeezed hard “Yes”
He looked at the timer again like the seconds personally offended him. Then after it eased, he stared.
Thirty seconds. Too real now.
He looked at you. You looked back.
And for one suspended second both of you understood together:
This might actually be it.
Your voice came smaller now.
“Cheol…” And he hated how fear sat under your tone immediately.
So whatever panic existed inside him got shoved down fast. His voice softened. Very steady now, even if his pulse was chaos.
“Okay. Okay. We’re okay.”
Another breath.
“We’re just checking. No panic yet.”
You blinked because he said no panic while very clearly already panicking.
He stood, then immediately leaned back down and kissed your forehead. Quick. Grounding himself too.
“Can you stand?” You nodded.
He still helped carefully anyway, one arm around you like glass. The second your feet touched the floor another pressure came and he froze
“You sure you can walk?”
“Yes.”
“You look pale.”
“I’m pregnant.”
Twenty minutes later, the room no longer felt like the quiet apartment you had left.
Now everything smelled faintly clinical. White light overhead. Monitors humming. Footsteps beyond the hallway.
A nurse moving in and out with practiced calm that somehow made everything feel even more real.
And the contractions, those had fully announced themselves. Low, deep, wrapping around your entire middle and down your back until breathing became something you had to consciously fight for.
You were in the hospital bed but not really resting on it, half upright because staying still somehow felt worse, one hand gripping the railing hard enough your knuckles had gone pale.
Your other hand had not left Seungcheol’s once.
Another contraction built. Your grip crushed his hand.
“Breathe.”
You exhaled sharply through your teeth.
“You’re annoying.”
“That means you’re still functioning.”
Another wave climbed. You bent slightly forward, gripping the rail harder. Eyes squeezed shut.
The contraction sharpened hard enough that a frustrated sound left your throat.
And because pain stripped filters faster than anything you muttered through clenched teeth:
“I hate that I can’t even blame you right now.”
“You can blame me if it makes you feel better.”
You opened one eye enough to glare weakly
“Really?”
“Absolutely.”
Another pulse hit and your fingers nearly bent his hand backward. He did not react except to move closer so you had more of him to hold onto.
“This is entirely your fault,” you said through another breath
“I accept that”
“You’re way too calm”
“I am not calm”
And that was true. Only his face had learned how to lie better than his pulse. Because inside, he was nowhere near calm. Every time your expression tightened, something inside him tightened too.
Every time you inhaled sharply, his own breathing changed.
He hated that he could do so little beyond stay.
The nurse came, checked monitors, murmured something about progress, and left again. Then another contraction arrived before you had fully recovered from the last one.
This one stronger. Longer.
And when it eased enough for speech, you muttered with deadly seriousness:
“Next time…”
He already knew pain meant dangerous statements were coming. Still he smiled.
“What next time?”
You pointed weakly at him while still breathing hard.
“Pinch me if I say I want another kid.”
That made him laugh again, fuller now. A real laugh that softened immediately when another pain flickered through your face.
“You’re deciding this now?”
“Yes.”
“During active labor?”
“This is the clearest I’ve ever thought in my life.”
He leaned closer, brushing damp hair gently from your forehead.
“I’ll remember the exact quote.”
“Don’t let me romanticize anything later.”
“Noted.”
“Don’t try and change my mind with your stupid handsome face”
He only chuckles, rubbing your back soothingly.
Then quieter, more tired now
“This hurts so much.”
There it was. The honest sentence underneath all the humor. Immediately his expression softened completely. The smile faded into something gentler.
He leaned close enough his forehead brushed yours.
“I know.”
Not ‘I know’ because he understood pain because he didn’t. But ‘I know’ because he saw it.
Every second.
And hated every part he could not remove.
Another kiss to your forehead.
“You’re doing so well.”
You gave him a look that clearly said you did not feel well. Still, his hand stayed steady around yours.
Then his eyes flicked once toward the monitor, the rhythm of your daughter’s heartbeat.
And for a moment emotion hit him quietly enough that his next words came softer than before.
“She’s almost here.”
And then just like that after hours that felt endless and somehow too fast at once, after pain and breath and trembling hands and nurses moving around you and Seungcheol never once letting go—
the room changed.
A cry. Sharp. Small.
The kind of sound that split everything before it into before and after.
For one suspended second nobody moved inside Seungcheol’s chest because his whole body forgot how.
Then the cry came again.
Louder. Alive.
And suddenly the world narrowed to one impossible truth: your daughter was here.
He had imagined this moment for months and still nothing had prepared him for the first time he saw her.
So small she almost looked unreal. Wrapped carefully in a soft pink blanket. A tiny newborn beanie tied with a ribbon so oversized it looked absurdly precious, almost larger than the top of her head.
Her face—God.
That face.
Tiny nose. Eyes still squeezed shut. Cheeks soft and unmistakably yours. So unmistakably yours it made something in him ache instantly.
And when the nurse placed her briefly where he could see her properly, he felt it land all at once with absolute certainty.
Only one clean overwhelming fact… that he would love this little girl for the rest of his life with the same terrifying certainty he had for you.
Maybe because she came from you. Maybe because he had already been loving her before seeing her.
Maybe because the second she existed in front of him, something in him recognized her immediately.
The nurses moved gently around you while checking everything, murmuring soft instructions.
And because you needed those few moments to breathe they placed her in his arms.
Seungcheol took her like something sacred. Both hands instinctively careful. Broad arms suddenly impossibly gentle.
The weight startled him. Warm. Tiny. Fragile enough that he instinctively held his breath.
Her whole body fit against him like she had always belonged there.
Her little face tucked under the pink blanket, mouth opening slightly as if still deciding whether to protest existence again.
His voice, when it came, was softer than anyone in the room had probably ever heard it.
“Hi.”
The word barely above a whisper. Her tiny face twitched, one fist moved under the blanket.
He laughed softly through his nose, eyes already warmer than usual
“So…” a tiny pause “Nice to finally meet you.”
His thumb brushed lightly over the edge of the blanket near her cheek, careful not to disturb her.
She made another tiny sound.
“I’ve heard a lot about you, by the way.”
He shifted slightly in the chair beside your bed, angling her instinctively so she stayed supported perfectly.
“Mostly that you kick like you own every room you’re in.”
Another tiny movement. He looked almost fascinated.
“As of last month, you also apparently hated your mother sleeping.”
From the bed, you watched through tired eyes, too exhausted to fully smile but unable not to.
Because seeing him like this, seeing the way his entire face had softened around her felt almost unreal. He continued quietly, like introducing himself mattered even if she understood none of it yet.
“I’m Seungcheol” His mouth twitched slightly at how formal that sounded.
Then softer, “I know you’ll probably figure that out later.”
One finger barely touched her hand through the blanket. Her tiny fingers shifted reflexively.
And when one curled around the edge of his finger… he went silent.
Completely.
Because that one tiny reflex nearly ruined him.
His throat moved once before he found words again.
“So that’s how it is.” He looked down like she had already personally negotiated terms.
“You hold on the first day and expect me to survive this?”
His voice had gone even quieter now. As if the room disappeared and it was only him and this tiny new person who had somehow arrived already rearranging him.
He glanced toward you then. Saw your eyes on him and whatever he felt deepened further because now both of you were here safe.
He looked back at her then continued like he was telling her secrets already.
“Your mother is stubborn” You made a weak, offended sound from the bed. He smiled without looking up
“She doesn’t eat on time unless someone watches her.”
Another tiny pause.
“She also pretends she doesn’t need help when she absolutely does.”
Your tired voice came soft “She can hear you.”
“I know.”
Then to your daughter again
“You’ll learn that quickly.”
His thumb brushed her cheek this time, impossibly gently.
“And you should know she’s the bravest person I know.”
He looked at your daughter as though already making promises she would not understand for years.
“I’m going to love you very well, okay?” His voice almost broke there, just enough that he cleared it quietly after.
“Both of you.”
The baby shifted again, mouth puckering. He leaned closer immediately like every tiny movement now mattered.
“No pressure. You just got here.”
And for the first time since the cry that changed everything. Seungcheol looked completely at peace.
Like all the routes memorized, sleepless nights, fear, waiting, hospital bags, tiny onesies. all of it had led precisely here.
Your daughter had settled against him in that tiny pink blanket, ribbon tilted slightly now, one cheek pressed into the fold near his chest.
She looked impossibly small there. Like she belonged in a photograph more than real life.
And he kept looking at her like he still hadn’t fully accepted she existed outside imagination.
His thumb moved once along the blanket edge. Then stopped.
His eyes stayed on her tiny face when he said quietly
“One day…”
Another small pause.
“One day, when you think I deserve it…”
His voice lowered further.
“So I’ll earn it first” He swallowed once, barely noticeable
Then with that same quiet honesty that made every word land heavier:
“I can be your appa.”
The sentence sat in the room gently. Just simple truth offered like a promise he did not want to force into existence before she chose him herself.
He looked down at her tiny hand tucked near the blanket.
“For now…”
A faint smile touched his mouth, sad only because it carried too much tenderness.
“I’ll be whatever you want me to be.”
His finger adjusted the edge of the blanket under her chin.
“Whatever you need me to be, okay?”
The baby made a tiny sleepy sound, mouth twitching like she objected to being spoken to during important newborn business.
That made him smile properly again. A small breath of laughter left him.
“Very demanding already.”
He leaned closer, voice nearly a whisper now.
“So grow up well.”
Another pause.
“That’s all you have to do.”
He looked at her like he meant every word as contract, prayer, and vow all at once.
“Grow healthy.”
“Sleep properly.”
“Don’t scare your mother too much.”
From the bed your tired voice came hoarse but amused:
“Why is that the third thing?”
Without missing a beat he answered softly “Because I already know you’ll both team up against me.”
You almost smiled despite how exhausted every muscle felt then his eyes returned to the baby again.
And whatever humor had touched his mouth softened into something deeper.
“I’ll handle the rest.”
The kind of promise made without needing witness. He shifted slightly, careful to support her head better though she had barely moved.
Then continued, almost as if explaining the world to someone who had arrived late to it.
“You don’t have to hurry for anything. Take your time. No one’s waiting for you to become anything except yourself.”
A tiny breath from her. He watched even that like it mattered.
“And if you cry, cry.”
“If you’re stubborn…” his mouth twitched, “well, clearly that’s inherited.”
You made a weak sound of protest again.
“But if something hurts… tell me first.”
That one hit differently because it came from somewhere old. Something private. Something protective enough to sound almost fragile.
He lifted his gaze then—finally toward you. You had been watching him the entire time.
There was something almost shy in his face now, like he hadn’t expected you to hear all of it. But he did not look away.
Instead he glanced back down at her and added, quieter:
“Your mother worked hardest bringing you here.”
His thumb brushed the baby’s tiny shoulder through the blanket.
“So if you love anyone first, make it her.”
Of course that was what he chose to teach first.
Not himself.
You.
Then he leaned his head slightly toward the baby, voice almost conspiratorial now:
“But later, if you decide I’m acceptable…”
A faint smile.
“I’m very available.”
That tiny sleepy fist shifted again near his chest.
He stared like she had answered.
And for a long moment neither of you spoke.
Just watched him there, broad shoulders bent protectively around someone so tiny, face softer than you had ever seen it, every part of him already rearranged around fatherhood even before he dared fully claim the word.
=
Two years later, mornings had become their own kind of beautiful chaos.
The apartment no longer stayed neat for more than ten minutes. Soft blocks under the sofa. Picture books stacked crookedly near the living room rug. A stuffed rabbit face-down beside the hallway. Tiny socks appearing in places neither of you remembered putting them.
The dining table had permanently changed too.
One side still yours and his.
The other now occupied by a small boosted high chair strapped carefully into place, a pastel plate already waiting there, divided into tiny sections because apparently food touching each other had become a serious offense this month.
A matching pastel cup sat beside it with a bent straw. Half a banana already sliced. A tiny spoon with cartoon clouds.
The morning light poured through the kitchen window while you stood beside Seungcheol at the counter, hair clipped up lazily, still mid-sentence about groceries.
“I’m telling you, if we buy fruit from that other place it’s cheaper but somehow worse by the next day.” You were slicing strawberries while talking
He stood beside you cracking eggs into a bowl with the kind of efficiency that had only come from two years of learning how to cook one-handed while carrying a child.
“Because you keep buying too much at once.”
“We have a child who eats strawberries like she’s funding the industry.”
“She eats three and then demands yogurt.”
“Yesterday she ate seven.”
“Yesterday she was negotiating.”
You laughed softly.
Because yes your daughter negotiated meals now. Negotiated bedtime. Negotiated socks. Negotiated whether the moon looked tired.
And somehow Seungcheol took every negotiation like he was speaking to a board member rather than a toddler.
Toys littered the floor behind him. Domestic evidence everywhere.
Proof of two years. Proof of staying. Proof that somewhere between labor and sleepless nights and first fevers and first birthdays and first steps… this had quietly become home in every possible sense.
You were about to continue your story about nearly forgetting milk when it came. That small voice from down the hall.
Still sleepy, still carrying that little morning rasp toddlers had when they had only just woken up.
“Appaaaaaaa…” It floated down the hallway like a ritual now. Daily.
And still every single time it landed exactly the same.
Both of you paused because no matter how many mornings passed, that voice calling for him first always did something immediate.
You looked up first. He already had that expression. That automatic softness. That helpless almost-smile he had never learned to hide.
Again came the call, louder now, impatient because apparently one response delay of three seconds was unacceptable.
“Appaaaaaa—!” and then tiny footsteps. Unsteady only in the way toddlers still ran like their bodies slightly outran their balance.
Then she appeared.
Little Aera.
Little Choi Aera.
Hair wild from sleep, one side flattened, the other sticking out because she had clearly turned half the night. Pink pajamas wrinkled. Bare feet pattering against the floor. One hand rubbing her eye. The other clutching the ear of her stuffed rabbit by force rather than affection.
And the second she saw him arms lifted immediately. Without hesitation, without acknowledging you first because priorities remained offensively clear.
“Appa.” this one softer now
Seungcheol did not even pretend resistance. He put the whisk down immediately and bent to lift her, one smooth practiced motion like he had done this thousands of times which he had.
She landed against him automatically, head finding his shoulder like instinct.
Still half asleep. Still warm from bed and the second she settled there, one tiny hand patted his cheek as if confirming possession.
You leaned against the counter watching “Good morning to me too, apparently.”
Aera lifted her face just enough to look at you then smiled, tiny and mischievous already.
“Eomma.”
You narrowed your eyes “Oh, now I exist.”
“She’s strategic,” Seungcheol said, already rubbing her back lightly
Aera’s attention returned fully to him. Hair in his face now because she tucked closer.
And then with complete seriousness “Appa carry.”
He looked down at her, amused “I’m already carrying you.”
She considered that. Accepted it then pointed toward the stove.
“Egg.”
“You want egg?” A nod
“No green.”
You laughed immediately because yesterday’s spinach incident had apparently left scars.
“She remembers everything inconvenient.”
Aera ignored you both and simply stayed attached to him, one arm looped around his neck now while she blinked herself more awake.
And watching her there, small face still soft with babyhood despite how much toddler had arrived, it hit again, the quiet impossibility of time.
Because this was the same baby wrapped once in pink with a ribbon bigger than her head. The same tiny fist that curled around his finger before she understood anything.
The same little girl he had once whispered to:
Grow well.
And she had. God, she had.
She grew loud. Bright. Curious. Possessive over crayons. Demanding bedtime stories twice. Laughing with your eyes. Sulking with his mouth.
And somehow despite that night he once whispered love your mother first—this little girl had chosen her own order very early.
Because her first word had not been eomma. Not milk. Not ball.
It had been Appa.
Clear. Certain. Repeated endlessly ever since.
As if she had decided on her own that the man who once asked permission to deserve the title would simply have to accept he already belonged there.
Aera suddenly lifted her head again. One small palm on his cheek.
“Appa.”
“What?”
She whispered with deep toddler importance “Dream monster.”
You blinked “Oh no.”
Seungcheol instantly serious, because dream monsters were legal matters in this household.
“Still there?”
Aera nodded solemnly.
He looked toward the hallway like he might personally investigate.
“I’ll talk to it later.”
Satisfied, she leaned back down immediately. Problem solved.
You watched him kiss her hair absentmindedly while reaching one-handed to lower the stove heat.
So natural now. So far from the careful uncertainty of that hospital night.
And for a second you remembered his voice then. ‘One day, when you think I deserve it, I can be your appa.’
Meanwhile now your daughter refused breakfast unless he sat beside her. Demanded his shirt when upset. Called his name before fully opening her eyes.
And wore his acceptance of fatherhood like it had never once been in question.
Aera suddenly spotted the strawberries.
“Mine.”
You pointed at the chair “Sit first.”
“No.”
“Sit first.”
She turned to Seungcheol instantly, because appeals court existed.
“Appa.”
He tried not to laugh “Sit first.”
Her tiny face shifted into offended disbelief at united parenting then reluctantly he lowered her into the boosted chair.
She crossed her arms dramatically.
Miniature outrage. Exactly like him, unfortunately.
You slid her plate over.
She stared at it then announced “No green.”
“No green,” you repeated patiently, because yes, this would be today’s law again.
Seungcheol sat beside her, handing the tiny spoon over.
And Aera—still suspicious—finally accepted breakfast because her hand stayed touching his sleeve while eating. The way children touched people they trusted most without realizing they were doing it.
And across the table, you looked at them both. Your husband who once asked for permission to be called father, and little Choi Aera who had answered long ago by never calling him anything else.
And there you thought quietly, she had grown exactly as asked. Well loved, well held, and entirely certain where home was.
=
It happened on a day so ordinary it almost felt insulting afterward.
Late afternoon sunlight.
Aera in one of her little cotton dresses, shoes already dirty because she had decided the sandbox and grass and pavement all deserved equal attention.
The park crowded enough to feel lively. Parents talking, strollers passing, children shrieking somewhere near the swings.
One of those normal days you had come to love because normal had once felt impossible.
Aera was a few steps away near the little climbing structure, fully focused on carrying three leaves and one pebble like they were priceless treasure.
Seungcheol had gone to the kiosk by the path because Aera had demanded juice and then changed her mind twice before he left.
You stayed near the bench, eyes always on her even while half distracted by your phone.
Then someone stopped in front of you.
At first, it was only a shadow then a voice you had not heard in years.
Your name.
Everything in your body tightened before your mind fully caught up.
You looked up.
And there he was.
Older. Slightly rougher around the face. Still carrying that same expression that once made excuses sound convincing until it no longer did.
Your ex.
The man who had disappeared when consequences became real.
The man who had known about the pregnancy, the man who had known exactly what he was walking away from.
And still walked.
For one second your throat closed.
Not fear. Not anymore.
Just disgust sharp enough to feel physical.
His eyes shifted immediately past you… to Aera.
And that alone made something cold move through your spine, the way he looked at her was not earned. Not after years. Not after absence.
“She’s…” He almost smiled like he had some right to recognition
“She’s mine, isn’t she?”
The sentence barely finished because another body stepped between you before you even stood, fast enough that you almost startled.
Seungcheol.
He must have seen him from the path. Juice still in one hand, the other already free. His whole body placed squarely in front of you before any thought even finished forming.
Protective in the most immediate, instinctive way.
When he spoke, his voice came low and flat enough that even you felt the warning in it.
“Leave.” Sharp enough that it landed harder than shouting.
Your ex looked irritated immediately like he believs old entitlement would work
“I’m talking to—” “Leave.”
Still frighteningly calm. And that calm was exactly what meant danger because Seungcheol angry rarely looked explosive at first.
It looked quiet.
Your ex looked past him toward Aera again and that was the mistake.
“That’s my d—”
“My daughter.” Seungcheol cut him off so cleanly the words barely survived
Not louder just absolute. He stepped half a fraction closer, enough that the distance vanished.
“Mine.”
Your ex opened his mouth again, offended now.
Biology ready on his tongue like a weapon he thought still mattered.
But Seungcheol did not let him reach it
“She was never yours.”
Each word landed colder now.
“The moment you cheated on her mother. The moment you walked away.”
Still not raising his voice and somehow harsher because of it.
“You do not get to disappear for years and suddenly show up because you saw a child in a park.”
The juice box in his hand crinkled slightly under pressure
“You don’t deserve shit”
Your ex gave a humorless laugh, defensive now “You can’t erase what she is”
“No,” Seungcheol said “But I can make sure she never knows disappointment wearing your face”
That sentence made even your breathing pause. The exact line between anger and promise.
And your ex heard it too and the arrogance thinned.
Still, tension climbed another step, and that was when you moved.
Not because Seungcheol was wrong or not because you disagreed but because Aera was ten feet away laughing to herself over a leaf crown and did not deserve this atmosphere attaching itself to her afternoon.
You touched Seungcheol’s arm.
“Cheol”
He did not move immediately.
You squeezed once more this time softer.
“Aera.” That worked.
Always her.
His eyes shifted instantly toward your daughter. Still oblivious. Still innocent in the way only children could be while adults dragged old damage into open air.
His shoulders stayed tight another second then loosened just enough.
Your ex noticed so he tried again “You never even told me—”
“I didn’t owe you anything.” this time you answered. Your own voice surprised even you.
No apology.
“You made your choice before she was even born”
He looked at you as if expecting softness that no longer existed.
“She should know who—”
“She knows exactly who her father is.”
You did not need to look at Seungcheol when you said it.
Because the truth stood beside you already.
Visible. Proven.
At scraped knees. At midnight fevers.At first words. At hospital beds.
No hesitation. No uncertainty. No confusion about where safety lived.
He bent automatically before she even reached him. Lifted her one-handed when she collided into his legs. She wrapped both arms around his neck instantly.
Still smiling “Juice?”
He took one breath.
By the time he answered her, his voice had completely changed. Warm again.
“Here, princess”
She noticed another person then, looked over his shoulder curiously at the stranger.
No recognition. Of course none.
Then she buried her face against Seungcheol’s shoulder instead. Choosing disinterest. Choosing home.
Your ex watched that and maybe for the first time understood there was nothing here available to reclaim.
No gap.
No vacancy.
No place where his absence had left room waiting.
Because another man had filled every inch of fatherhood so completely that even blood had become irrelevant.
Seungcheol adjusted Aera higher against him.
Then looked at him once more.
Final now.
“You heard her.”
A pause.
“Leave before she remembers your face.”
And that was what ended it because there was nothing left to argue against after that. Not when the child in question already had her arms around the man who had stayed.
Your ex lingered one second too long.
Then stepped back.
Turned.
Walked away.
No apology.
No redemption.
Just departure which suited him, really.
Aera lifted her head the second he disappeared.
Completely unconcerned.
“Juice now.”
You almost laughed from the absurd whiplash of it. Seungcheol finally exhaled properly.
You touched his wrist lightly.
“I’m okay”
Aera meanwhile had already taken the straw out herself badly and announced
“Appa mad?”
He blinked once then kissed her forehead.
“No.”
Tiny suspicious eyes “Little mad”
That made you laugh despite everything. And finally even he gave in, a short breath of laughter against her hair
“Little”
Then she nodded like that was acceptable, took her juice, and leaned against his shoulder again, entirely certain the world remained exactly as it should.
And whatever tension adults carried fading outside the borders of her small safe afternoon.
The tension didn’t disappear immediately.
It lingered the way difficult things always did. You could still feel it in the way Seungcheol sat a little too still when you returned to the bench.
But Aera, entirely untouched by adult history, climbed into his lap like the world had never shifted at all.
Juice box first. Then herself. One tiny knee planted on the bench.
Then a determined little wiggle until she settled sideways against his chest, perfectly comfortable. She tucked herself there automatically, like she had done it a thousand times.
Because she had.
Her straw between her lips. Juice held with both hands for exactly three seconds before one hand abandoned it to find him.
Always him.
Tiny fingers reaching without looking until they caught one of his. Then that familiar habit, her whole fist wrapping around a single finger of his like she genuinely believed that was enough to anchor him permanently in place.
Her tiny hand absurdly small against his.
She had done that since she was small enough to fit against one forearm.
Even now, older, heavier, taller still the same instinct. When she sat on his lap. When she got sleepy. When they sat in the car.
One hand always finding his finger.
Holding him there.
Seungcheol looked down at her hand too.
And you saw it happen that exact second his anger finally broke.
Melted cleanly.
Because she looked up right then, cheeks round from the straw still in her mouth, and pointed dramatically toward the path.
“Appa, see dog” A tiny white dog trotted past
He followed her gaze obediently
“I see.”
Another sip then instantly
“Appa look flower.” A crooked yellow flower near the bench
“I see that too”
Then she leaned back against him harder, still holding his finger hostage
“Appa hug”
She said it casually this time, not even asking just declaring what should happen. And immediately his free arm tightened around her middle, pulling her closer until her back rested fully against his chest.
You watched the transformation happen in real time.
The same man who minutes ago had looked capable of frightening grown men into silence now sat entirely dismantled by a child clutching one finger and narrating flowers and dogs.
“Appa.”
“What?”
She held up her juice proudly “Mine.”
“Clearly.”
You sat beside them watching quietly, and something inside your chest settled too.
In Aera’s world there had never been confusion, no complicated definitions, no bloodline questions. no late arrivals from old mistakes.
In her language, father had always sounded like one name.
One face. One lap. One hand big enough for her entire fist.
As though no other possibility had ever existed. And truly for her, it hadn’t.
The man from earlier had been a stranger in the park and nothing more.
Because love repeated daily becomes identity stronger than biology ever can.
And Seungcheol had repeated it every day until it became the most natural fact in her life.
=
Ever since that day—and truthfully, long before it—Seungcheol had become something you sometimes still struggled to explain properly because the word partner often felt too small for what he actually was.
He had become the person your life leaned toward naturally. In ways that only became obvious when you looked back and realized how much of daily life now rested on the quiet certainty of him being there.
Yes, he was a remarkable father to Aera. That much everyone saw easily.
The patience. The consistency.
The way he remembered tiny preferences no one else noticed.
How she only liked strawberries sliced a certain way, how she wanted the blue cup in the morning but forgot by lunch, how bedtime stories had to include unnecessary voices or she would protest.
The way he never treated care as help, but simply responsibility that belonged to him too.
Forms signed before you remembered they existed, medicine stocked before bottles emptied, tiny socks folded because apparently he believed there was a correct way to fold socks small enough to fit in one hand.
And more than that, the way he never once behaved as though fatherhood had been borrowed.
There was nothing performative in it.
Nothing temporary.
Just complete belonging.
But somehow, even while being all that for Aera, he had also become the place your own tiredness went first.
Your constant support in ways you had not realized you once lacked until you had it every day.
The person who noticed before you admitted exhaustion.
Someone who knew when your silence meant overstimulation and when it meant sadness, someone who handed you water before headaches started, and someone who learned exactly how your face changed when your patience ran thin and quietly took over before you had to ask.
Years together had not dulled that attentiveness.
If anything, it had sharpened.
Like tonight.
Aera finally asleep after an unnecessarily dramatic bedtime involving two stories, one rejected blanket, one accepted blanket, and a final debate over whether stuffed rabbits required water.
The apartment quiet now.
The day long enough that both of you carried that particular adult fatigue where conversation slowed. You stood in the kitchen rinsing the last cup.
Hair tied carelessly.
One of his shirts on because at some point your own clothes had become mixed so deeply with his that ownership stopped mattering.
And without warning warm hands settled at your waist from behind.
Close enough that his chest touched your back. His chin briefly resting near your shoulder.
“You missed one” His voice low, amused
You glanced downm, one spoon still in the sink
“I was getting there”
“Clearly”
He reached around you, turned off the tap, then stayed there anyway.
His hands stayed where they were. Warm. The kind of touch years never made ordinary.
You leaned back into him automatically.
Then, as naturally as breathing, he pressed a kiss just behind your ear. One that lingered just enough to make heat climb your neck anyway.
Even now. After years.
After hospital nights and grocery lists and shared bills and school schedules and arguments over whose turn it was to buy detergent.
Somehow simple affection still caught you off guard.
You exhaled quietly
“That still works?” His mouth curved against your skin.
“You tell me”
Another kiss this one lower. Near your neck. And ridiculous as it felt, you could already feel yourself blushing which he noticed immediately because of course he did.
A soft laugh “Years later and still.”
“Stop sounding proud”
“I am proud”
He turned you gently then until your back rested against the counter and he stood between your knees.
The same ease of someone who had always believed this space beside you belonged naturally to him.
Like a habit formed by love and time. And the truth was that space had become his.
Not because he claimed it.
His thumb brushed your cheek once.
“You’re tired.”
“So are you.”
“Mm.”
Then another kiss. This one properly yours. The kind reserved only for late nights after ordinary days.
When he pulled back, only slightly, you stayed close enough to feel his breath.
“You know,” you murmured, “you’ve ruined men for me permanently”
That earned a quiet grin “A little late to compare now”
“I’m serious”
“I know” Because he did know.
You had told him before in different words.
That he had raised your standards so high they now existed somewhere unreasonable.
That after him, love no longer looked like grand effort but steady presence.
That after him, affection meant someone who noticed.
Someone who stayed. Someone who kissed your forehead while reheating leftovers. Someone who knew exactly when to say nothing and simply stand near.
His hand slipped lower again, settling at your waist
“And yet,” he said softly, “you still blush like I’m doing something impressive”
“You say that like you’re not fully aware what you’re doing”
“I am”
That honesty made you laugh.
Of course he was aware.
He had learned exactly how to undo you in the smallest ways.
A kiss to the temple while passing by. A hand at your lower back in crowded rooms.
The way he always sat close enough that knees touched if space allowed.
How every shared couch somehow ended with your legs across him.
And always those kisses reserved differently when Aera was asleep, gentler, quieter, deliberate in a way that reminded you beneath parenthood and routines, he still saw you first too.
From the hallway came a tiny sleepy voice
“Appaaaa…”
Both of you froze then immediately laughed.
He kissed you once more quickly before stepping back.
Duty calling.
But not before murmuring against your mouth
“Save my spot”
Like there had ever been doubt. Like the place beside you had not already belonged there for years.
summary: thinking about clingy, possessive and cuteness aggression enthusiast reader who can’t keep her hands—or rather teeth— to herself when Seungcheol is preparing for his cxm activities.
wc: ~4.5k
pairing: idol!seungcheol x nonidol!reader (afab) [ w/ special appearance, bff mingyu ]
tw/tags: mostly pwp, established relationship, biting, marking, manhandling (he loves it), aggressive loving, oral (m.rec), jealousy, piv, choking, breath play (if u squint really hard), pet names, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, veryyy brief dry humping
< A/N: hello! this is a quick drabble i wrote out in between some WIPs i have yet to finish up. I couldn’t get this picture out of my head of domestic cheol and his clingy reader gf whose love language is presented through biting and marking him up… sighs dreamily… anyways, I hope you enjoy it and please be sure to leave a comment, reblog and/or ask! I’m eager to hear any and all feedback as it encourages me to continue my writing journey :]
At any given chance, you’re instantly sinking your teeth into his biceps, playfully tightening your grip around his throat, or simply pressing a rough kiss to his lips in passing.
There isn't a single time he doesn't accept it willingly. He knows you love him to a level he himself struggles to understand at times. The biting throws him for a loop every once in a while, sending his mind scrambling for a reason besides cannibalism.
But he finds it endearing all the same, enjoying it, even.
He loves it even more when you start doing it more often in public. He’s able to see the hunger in your eyes from a mile away and it sends a chill down his spine each and every time he catches you.
He’s posing with nonchalance for their concept photos when you first arrive, eyes darting over his form and caging your bottom lip between your teeth. He had acknowledged you with a curt smile and a nod of his head before continuing with the shoot, his own body wanting nothing more than to greet you fully in a warm embrace and kiss to your already swollen lips.
Though, as soon as the opportunity reveals itself, you’re beating him to it. You cross the set with a few quick strides in his direction before melting against him, ducking your head beneath his chin to press an innocent peck to his jaw.
He welcomes you with a tight squeeze around the hips and continues to rock you back and forth while you breathe in his scent.
“Missed you so much,” you admit with a pathetic whine. You weren't normally this needy, much less in public, but today felt different. It felt.. wrong, for once, waking up to an empty bed and a phone full of updates from his weverse, yet not a single message from him directly to you.
You knew he was busy. Hell, your relationship had been built off of his grueling schedule, back when he was promoting his second album with his group and you becoming a staff member of a sister company. He was beyond unavailable and yet you found it difficult to keep your eyes off of him. Unbeknownst to you, he was equally as desperate when it came to your attention. The few instances your schedules would align left the both of you scrambling against the clock to further familiarize yourselves with one another, and eventually build a connection from a few fleeting glances and brief conversations.
Fast forward to now, things had only progressed in both of your careers, your lives busier than ever. You’ve been officially dating for three years and whilst primarily kept under wraps, your heart longed more and more for the opportunity to remind him of your devotion to him.
Much to your embarrassment, your loyalty presented itself with an unexplainable urge to swallow him whole and take every inch of his skin between your teeth without an ounce of shame.
Hence your current predicament; Seuncheol had his arms thrown lazily around your frame as you swayed, ever so blind to the scheming smile gracing your features. You leaned back, arching yourself against him as he questioned you with pinched brows.
To his surprise, you’d managed all the strength you had and utilized his obliviousness to your advantage, yanking him by the back of his neck and crashing your lips together with haste.
His hitched breath encourages you to move impossibly closer, your chests beating against one another with every jolt of your racing hearts.
The sheer intensity of the kiss is short lived when you detach from him with one last smack of your lips. Drunk on the high you’ve fed him, Seungcheol attempts to chase your lips, urging you to continue.
His silent pleas amuse you, enticing you to lean in towards his ear and whisper,
“Be good for me, Cheol. Go do your job and make me proud.”
You send him off with a playful nip to his cheek, your canines grazing the skin gently, cautious of the hours worth of effort his makeup artists have put in. His eyes follow your retreating form as you find your place behind the cameras.
He’s an hour and a half into taking naturally candid photos around the rented estate, and it’s driving you nuts.
The setting does little to ease your eagerness to claim him right then and there, offering a much more domestic and personal light to his preexisting bachelor aura.
He’s a fucking housewife, your mind offers you to no particular request. Your grip on your jacket’s strings falters when a deep, raspy voice presents itself near the cusp of your ear.
“Did he mention the next shoot to you?”
“Hm?” You respond, sparing Mingyu a passive glance before settling back on your deity of a man leaning over the terrace.
“We’re going swimming, if you wanted to join afterwards.”
“Why would I join?” You reply coolly.
“Well considering how much you’re drooling right now from him just standing there, I figured you’d want to indulge in having him in less layers for a few hours once we wrap up.” He grins.
Your skin burns from where he perches his chin on your shoulder, striking your body in flames as you try your best to shove your thoughts away. You can’t just indulge in your boyfriend’s near nudity just for a few hours. You know you don’t have that kind of self restraint when it comes to seeing him topless and unblemished.
“Mingyu, respectfully,” you turn to him slowly. “Get lost.”
His laugh reverberates against your arm as he tosses his top half against you, bracing himself as he catches his breath. Your sneer recoils into a smile as you catch Seungcheol’s curious glance from across the room.
His posture tenses while raking his eyes over you and mingyu, taking a moment to readjust before continuing his scene. The photographer calls for a break just a few moments later, satisfied with the outcome.
Your body is moving before you register it, slipping out of Mingyu’s reach with one last glare before you’re crashing into Seungcheol’s rigid chest.
“Baby,” he says softly, taking your arms and wrapping them around his waist before placing a gentle kiss to the crown of your head. “Are you staying for the whole shoot?”
“Do you want me to?” You ask coyly, having preemptively cleared your own schedule in favor of following his.
“I always love having you here, you know that.” He smiles.
“Then I’ll stay.” You say and rise on your tip toes to plant a kiss to the corner of his mouth.
“Aren’t you two tired of being this clingy?” Mingyu invades your bubble in just a few seconds, separating your bodies with a sudden jut of his hip to yours.
You scowl at him as you’re rudely tossed to the side. His shit eating grin grazes his stupidly handsome features while returning your attention to him.
You two had always been at each other’s throats, both playfully and unwittingly at times. He was your best friend, nonetheless, but it sent Seungcheol’s mind reeling with how kittenish you became when he was around.
Something in his chest twinged with envy and had jealousy rearing its ugly head every once in a while when you two stood too close together, shared a meal during his turns to film or pose for photos, or even as you bantered and bickered in front of him.
He knew it was nothing. Knew you loved him too much to replace him so easily, nevertheless with his own friend and group mate.
“You’re just jealous, Gyu.” You huffed while snaking your arms around Seungcheol’s middle again.
“Me? Jealous?” He gasped, feigning an appalled expression while placing a hand to his chest.
“Yah,” Seungcheol growled. “Get lost before I call Heejoo and tell her you’re moping around on set.”
Mingyu’s eyes wander to the ground at that, rubbing anxiously at the back of his neck as he begins backing away solemnly. The mention of his current situation-ship seems to strike him a lot harder than you’d both expected, and you smirk at his crumbling confidence.
“You’re a dick for that.” He grumbles toward your boyfriend, unable to hide the sudden flush peeking out from under the collar of his shirt.
Seungcheol grunts at him once more, sending the younger man away with another dismissive threat before finally turning his attention to you.
“Will you help me put some sunscreen on before the next set?”
The following hour of camerawork concludes with a brief discussion about tomorrow’s expected schedule, all the more exhausting and seemingly endless as the last. You can see the fatigue draped over Seungcheol's features from where you stand, plummeting your heart into your stomach as you continue to watch him, mingyu and the team wearily deliberate future activities and propositions for upcoming promotions.
With a supportive clap to their backs, the team dissipates around them to end their workdays.
You take the remaining opportunity after the last staff member's departure to approach your boyfriend, your hands instinctually attached to his neck and puling him toward you. He moves pliantly, allowing his head to fall into the crook of your shoulder and neck as he exhales tiredly.
"Long day, bunny?" you remark quietly, raking your nails across the nape of his neck.
"Too long," he grumbles, ignoring the nickname you know normally grinds his gears any other day. You feel his muscles returning to their tense state as he removes himself from you begrudgingly.
"Can you stay the night?" The light in his eyes flicker with something akin to hope before clouding with uncertainty at the sound of your defeated sigh.
"I have a meeting early in the morning. Have to meet with the company to discuss some upcoming solo works." Your words fall on deaf ears as he's already groaning and pouting, choosing to disregard your excuse in favor of throwing a short-lived fit.
"I can have someone drive you early in the morning?" His offer hangs heavily in the space between you, an offer you really want to take him up on.
To your misfortune, calling out for today was enough of a reason for your company to dismiss you of your duties permanently should you choose to do it again.
The short notice had thrown your team for a whirlwind, a mini crisis plaguing the workplace and blowing up your phone for the entirety of your time spent watching Seungcheol. You were ashamed to admit it out loud, but you'd give anything to quit and replace your priorities with becoming a stay at home simp for your boyfriend. You'd give anything to watch him all day long, cling to him at every beck and call, and devote yourself to being the best version of yourself you could be for him.
Were you insane for thinking that far? yes.
Were you that serious about him? also yes.
You couldn't help the pained complaint that escaped your throat upon seeing his face fall. It shredded every single piece of you to know you couldn't stay, and even more so when he began to beg for you to.
"Please? at least for a few hours? 'Till I fall asleep?" His eyes drift between yours, searching for any bit of redemption, consideration, confirmation.
Removing your hands, you smooth over your features to look at your watch, noting the late hour and the dread pestering your mind. Your notifications peer back at your for a second, reminding you of the dedication you had to your work for the following morning.
It would only be a few hours, you consider.
A beat of silence passes by before you inevitably agree with a nod of your head. "Okay."
To say he's elated would be an understatement. He's over the moon at your response, immediately linking your fingers and dragging you inside the airbnb, shifting his direction towards the bedroom as you enter.
"I'll take a shower and then we can watch a movie!" He suggests after leading you to the bed where you sit patiently, smiling as he trips over his own two feet while dashing toward the bathroom.
God, you can't believe he's yours.
"Did you know you had a mole here?"
Seungcheol meets your eyes through the reflection of the mirror, watching you trail your nails down his spine as he finishes his skin routine at the bathroom sink. You've since changed into a spare set of his clothes, a simple t-shirt that drapes over your dips and curves and ends just past the apex of your thighs.
His gaze lingers for a moment longer than it normally does, mouth subconsciously watering at the sight of you.
"I don't think so." He chuckles softly while returning to his process of unfolding a face mask and spreading it across his features carefully.
"Your back is so..." your voice drawls with a pensive hum, considering your words intently before continuing. "boring."
"Huh?" He turns in your grasp, catching the faint smirk pulling at the corner of your lips.
"It's just missing something." You utter.
"Like what?" he murmurs, his lips pursed in effort to keep his mask from slipping.
Your grin spreads along your face, head cocking to the side as you maneuver your hands over the expanse of his bare chest, raising goosebumps along his skin in their wake.
"Could use a little more me on it."
You spot the shift in his demeanor, shoulders tensing slowly, eyes sharpening, and the veins in his neck straining as he swallows dryly. You don't give him a chance to act on his desire, gracefully pinning his wrists against the counter and slipping your tongue out to lap at the flushed skin of his neck.
His groan rumbles from between your pressed chests, audibly forfeiting all control as you continue to press open mouthed kisses to his throat. His hips buck desperately when he feels your teeth graze just past his jugular, sinking deeper into his flesh with every breath he gasps.
"Baby," he whimpers against your persistence. You pull back, relishing in the subtle chase of his lips toward yours, halting just out of his reach with an arched brow.
"Bunny?" you counter, urging him to proceed with what he needs to say.
"Can't." He whines, overwhelming mortified with displeasure for having to restrain himself.
"Can't what?" You probe innocently, inching closer once more, guiding him back to you by the draw strings of his shorts. He lulls forward without resistance, drawn to your lips with nothing except a mere inch between them.
"Can't be marked. Not now." He says petulantly, eyes downcast as he drops his head, dejected.
Your heart thuds against your rib cage at that, growing restless as fondness ebbs away at your brain, turning it into mush. He knows you so well, knows that you need to mark him up, leave your presence on his skin for everyone to see how taken he is.
Love smothers your senses, your head cloudy and full of him. Your everything. Your person.
You reach to curl your fingers through his blonde, wet strands, tugging with enough force to lift his head once more. He moans quietly at that, his own hands finding purchase on your hips as he stares at you through his dark lashes.
You smile and tap his bicep with your free hand. You notice his eyes trailing your features hungrily before placing a gentle kiss to his muscle, right below his shoulder.
"'S okay, Bunny." You coo.
His arm flexes under the warmth of your fanning breath, twitching with every peck of your lips you lead up his arm and toward his chest.
You freeze once you've reached his collar bone, slowing your breathing and blowing a long, heavy exhale that mists over his already clammy skin. You smirk triumphantly at his muted mewl, watching his chest rise and fall erratically.
"I won't mark your pretty skin just yet," you reassure calmly, your hand still twisted in his hair as you pull it experimentally once more, lavishing his skin in praises when he moans.
"Stay still for me, m'kay?"
You don't wait for his response before sinking your teeth near his clavicle with pressure, not enough to break skin but plenty to stimulate both him and you when he ruts against you.
"Gentle," He reminds you through brief, measured breaths.
"I know, I know." you chide and release your grip on his hair briefly to instead hold his throat between your hands.
His eyes peer down at you for a short moment before flashing you a playful grin. You mirror it with your own before squeezing lightly at his neck, reveling in the meek sound he coughs out.
"So pretty," you murmur lovingly. "All mine to play with however I want. Whenever I want."
To his dismay, his nod is restrained and dismissed by you when you apply just a bit more pressure, your gaze darkening as he wraps a hand around one of your wrists, wordlessly pleading for more. You oblige and wedge your knee between his thighs, now aware of how engrossed he truly was upon feeling his pulsing erection against your bare skin.
"Is this why you wanted me to stay so bad? So you could be manhandled by your pretty girlfriend? Hm?"
Your hands release him, dropping to your sides as he heaves a few labored breaths, his eyes never once leaving your retreating form as you saunter toward the bed, patting the space beside you once you're perched at the edge.
He carries himself on wobbly legs to where you sit, landing ungracefully onto the bed with a soft "oof" before reaching a hand out toward you. You link your hands together momentarily, allowing yourself to soak in the appearance of his current state; dazed, spent, and utterly beautiful with every inch of his skin painted a bright red by an angry flush.
"Roll onto your belly for me, Cheolie." you direct.
He does so without complaint, damningly compliant to your every command. You absentmindedly trace shapes into his spine, your lips curling into a smile each time he flinches against the brush of your nails.
He rests his head against his folded arms, unintentionally flexing his muscles at the broadness of his shoulder blades. You chuckle, quietly shifting your attention to the taut skin, lowering yourself to place lingering kisses.
A sigh creeps out of his deflating body, audibly enjoying your attention. You proceed to kiss your way up, pausing to nip at the fat of his arms playfully and releasing a giggle of your own when he claims he's ticklish with a laugh.
You bite back the quip on your tongue, choosing to focus more on his twitching hips by running your hand over the smooth skin of his arched lower back. He hums, satisfied, and groans when your begin to pull his shorts down his thighs, allowing them to fall aimlessly to the ground.
He jolts upright when your hand collides with a loud smack against his ass, immediately coiling into himself with a yelp.
"What, you can do it by I can't?" You joke when he replies with a harmless glare.
"I'm not letting you peg me, if that's what you're leading up to." He chastises with narrowed eyes.
You feign a look of betrayal, simultaneously guiding him onto his back once more as you move to straddle his hips.
"Tough, I really wanted to see your cute little ass all perked up for me." You can't hold back the devious giggle that threatens to escape you, fully leaning against his chest to stabilize yourself.
"You're insane." He huffs with an eye roll.
"Yeah, but it's kind of cute." Your smile lingers a moment longer as he presses his lips to your forehead, soft and everlasting.
It's then that you lift your head and laugh once more, your fingers reaching to remove his face mask he'd long forgotten.
"I was really trying to keep a straight face!" You giggled. He levels you with a bashful scowl, turning away from your gaze as you settle down with a quiet sigh.
In the blink of an eye, your playful character is gone, replaced by your previous deviant nature.
"You're gonna be the death of me." He murmurs against your skin when you begin grinding your clothed pussy onto his exposed cock.
"I better act quick then," You retort while reaching down and clutching onto your panties to pull them side, angling your sopping folds to trail over the head of his cock.
"Fuck, Bunny. You're so fucking perfect." You groan into the dip of his shoulder, pressing yourself harder against him. His grip on your waist returns, clambering against your ministrations.
"Just— just take me already." He grits out through a particularly sharp inhale. "And don't call me bunny— shit —while we're fucking, jesus."
"You got it, Bunny." Your voice cracks ever so slightly as you begin your descent down his length, abdomen flexing with every ragged breath you take as he breaches your entrance. The stretch is painful, tearing you apart no matter how many times you've taken it. Tears spring to your eyes, threatening to spill before you finally settle, flush to his groin with a shaky breath.
"Oh fucking hell," He moans deeply. He recovers with a sudden shift of his hips, stripping you of all power you previously obtained.
You lurch forward with a startled mewl, your face falling between the crevice of his jaw and throat. Your mouth latches on helplessly, teeth grazing the stubble of his chin and biting down impishly.
He returns the favor, pausing to rip your (his) shirt off and tossing it aside hurriedly, attaching his mouth to the mound of your breast, nibbling at the supple flesh and grinding up into you when you elicit a borderline pornographic moan.
"Please, Cheol, please." You moan against his ear, grinding against him feverishly. Your begging fuels him further, ripping every ounce of self restraint out of him, replaced with an insatiable appetite only you can satisfy.
"You're so beautiful, baby. I'm gonna let you mark me as soon as all of this is over. Soon, my love. So soon." His attempts to soothe your desires warm your insides, your knees near gelatinous as he rams into your pulsating heat without a second regard or worry.
You feel his pace quickening with every plunge, your own movements futile in contrast with his. Your back hits the mattress in a flash, your legs forcefully pinned to your sides as he impales you over and over.
Your moans melt into short, wispish screams when you feel his mouth latch onto your breasts again, leaving deep, bruising indents from his teeth.
The mere idea of him biting you, the same way you've done with every given opportunity in the past, has your legs clenching against his waist, your teeth clamping around your lips as you feel yourself release into the euphoria of your climax.
"More, Cheol, please more—I want—I need more." Your cries fill his chest with pleasure and vanity, thrusting him head-first into the deep end of your satisfaction. He comes with a choked out cry, muffling the sound into your chest as he curls inwards, pumping himself dry into your tightening core.
"Baby," his hand leaves your waist to settle on your sweaty cheek, caressing the crimson skin as he adores your spent features. "You did so good, my love. so good for me."
You groan softly in reply, motioning for him to lay beside you with a limp wrist. He chuckles softly and gently pries himself free of your tight cunt with a groan.
“One more round?” You mumbles into the pillows, peeking an eye in his direction to catch the faint grin on his dewy face.
“Give me ten minutes.”
“Shit,” he hisses. “Slow down.”
Your tongue slips between the slit of his cock, catching every last drop of his seed from his second release.
If there’s anything you’ve learned about your boyfriend in the past three years of dating him, it’s that he’s prone to over sensitivity after his second high. While you can recover relatively quickly after an orgasm, his stamina is overmatched by the mere pain of reaching another climax so short apart.
It’s something you both teetered the line with, not knowing whether it was right or even possible to milk him for as many rounds as he could. But, much like the rest of your ideas and suggestions, he couldn’t say no to you.
So you pumped his cock even faster, watching his jaw slack and chin quiver with a cry as he came down from his third match.
“You’re doing great, bunny.” You encourage, slowing your pace down to run a stripe along the side of his length with your tongue.
His brows dip and another moan escapes him. “You’re— you’re killing me.”
“Mh,” you hum. With a final tug to his half hard cock, you trail your lips over the smooth surface of his inner thigh, relishing in his breathy exhales.
“You’re always so good for me.” You say.
The tip of your tongue traces the faint stretch marks of his upper thigh, nearing the edge of his hip where you still.
The pads of your fingers skim over the flesh before you’re leaning forward and clamping your mouth down full force, undoubtedly leaving a mark this time.
You hear his choked shriek of pleasure and pain, the sudden grip on your hair paired with it.
“Fuck! ‘M gonna come again.” His voice lilts, pitched higher than usual.
You continue to pepper kisses along his waistline before meeting his opposite thigh with another skin-breaking bite. Your moan pulsates against the irritated skin, soothing the burn and easing the mark against the fat of his thigh to an eventual bruise with the flat of your tongue.
“Can’t take anymore.” He cries desperately, loosening his fingers wrapped around your disheveled locks as he comes down from his final release.
You give in to his whining after another brief moment of caressing the enflamed skin. You carefully ascend up his hiccuping body, tiny pecks littering his bareness before you connect your mouth with his with the upmost tenderness you could possibly muster.
“I love you so much.” You speak quietly against his lips.
His eyes remain shut, fluttering in and out of consciousness as he nods his head in response.
“Love you too.” He murmurs.
Laying your head on his chest, your entire being laxes against him, fully satiated and enraptured in his presence. A hand creeps up your waist, squeezing your side carefully as his body deflates beneath you with a deep exhale.
You could never truly thank him enough for indulging in your antics. You’re aware your love languages are drastically different; yours being entirely unhinged and bordering aggressive, where as his is prevalent in his gentle mannerisms, gift giving and pure compliance when it comes to you.
Nevertheless, the love you both have for one another surpasses all expectations and continues to surprise you day after day, year after year.
Even if you have to hide your love bites from the public eye.
< A/N: fin! this took a lot less time to write than i anticipated, despite the fact that smut tends to discourage my creativity. but! after getting all of my thoughts out and returning to the storyline with fresh ideas and inspiration, i was able to pump out a pretty decent chunk of raunch to satisfy my expectations for my first time writing smut.
that being said, i hope this flows well and encourages you to leave a comment or repost! feedback and suggestions are always appreciated. :) thanks!!!
🏴☠️Who: Kwon Soonyoung (Seventeen) x female reader
🏴☠️What: Humour. Best friends to Lovers. I guess some fluff? Suggestive (18+).
🏴☠️Word count: 5.9k
🏴☠️Warnings: Profanity. Party typical alcohol mentions but neither of them are drinking. Kind of jealous/ possessive Soonyoung. Making out in public places. Multiple mentions of Soonyoung’s dick (flaccid, unfortunately). The whole point of this story is Soonyoung in a costume marketed for women; so if that's not your vibe, then this story is not for you, friend.
🏴☠️Summary:
For some insane reason, you thought that you could trust your best friend with the task of buying the pair of you costumes for Seungkwan’s upcoming party.
Now, you’re paying for your mistake and have to spend the entire night watching Soonyoung dancing in those tiny little shorts initially intended for you.
You’re not sure you’ll survive this night with your dignity intact.
Minors do NOT interact. I WILL block any account that interacts without an age indicator in their bio. I also block blank blogs.
Masterlist
A/N- This was originally on my old account @/whipped-for-kpop-fics, but I’ve decided to private a lot of stuff on that account and just move it over to here after some editing, where I can actually track it all properly.
Completely out of the blue last week, Seungkwan decided to send a message in the group chat to say that he's throwing a costume party. No reason for it, nothing had happened to warrant a party; he had simply decided he wanted to do it and demanded the entire group be there and in costume.
Soonyoung had, unsurprisingly, already been by your side on your couch— watching the latest episode of the drama you two are obsessed with—, when the message came through. After the episode, you both looked at your phones, and Soonyoung immediately started to look for costume ideas excitedly. He soon found and fell in love with a pirate outfit; after showing you it, he said it's part of a couple costume and as besties, you have to match because “that's what besties do”.
In the year you have known Soonyoung, you have never truly said no to him and this was no different. Though, perhaps, you should've at least looked at the female half of the matching costume before agreeing instead of blindly trusting your best friend.
Which leads us to here.
It's an hour before the party is due to start, and Soonyoung has just turned up at your apartment to get ready together, just like always. He has the parcel of costumes in his arms, and a bright, excited grin on his face when he hands it over to you to allow him to remove his shoes.
“I haven't opened it yet,” he informs, watching you walk over to the couch to lean the parcel against the arm and open it like you know he wants you to. Soonyoung knows you get an odd sense of joy from opening parcels— whether or not they're for you—, so he often brings his orders over or invites you to his apartment to allow you to open them for him.
“So I see,” you muse with a little giggle.
Soonyoung appears at your back a moment later, leaning his chin on your shoulder to peer into the bag as you open it.
The first costume out is his, packaged in another bag, though this one is clear, revealing the cardboard insert with a picture of a man donning the costume on the front. He takes it happily when you offer it and bounces aside to start to open it excitedly.
There's only one more item in the bag, your costume, so you take it out, as excited about your matching pirate outfits as Soonyoung is. Up until you turn the packet over to look at the picture and realise that this truly is not what you expected. Especially not from your best friend.
“What the actual fuck, Kwon Soonyoung?!” you demand, flabbergasted.
“Uh-oh, the full name.” Soonyoung looks up at you in alarm, all signs of joy gone. “Did they send the wrong thing?”
“I hope so, because if you saw this on the site and still ordered it, you and I are going to have some issues.” You turn the packet to show him the picture on the cardboard insert.
A picture of a woman in a tiny pair of high-waisted shorts— if they can even be considered that— with fishnet tights underneath. There's an attempt at a white top that honestly could be a lot worse; it's off the shoulder and cropped, but it's not as bad as it could be for a female-focused costume, yet still far too revealing for your liking. To finish it off, she's wearing a striped bandana on her head, and grasping a plastic sword in her hands. You're very certain that the sword alone is the only reason the packet is this big, because there's certainly not enough material creating the costume to require such a size bag.
Soonyoung stares at the picture for a second, then looks up at you with a confused little pout. “It's a pirate outfit.”
“Show me yours,” you demand with a sigh. He doesn't hesitate to move over and hand you his costume, still just about in the packet.
There's a very clear difference in costumes. The picture on this packet depicts a man in three-quarter length, vertically striped, trousers; and a simple, white shirt with an open neckline, revealing a thin, triangular strip of skin down to his sternum. It’s finished with the same bandana as your costume, and a plastic sword. Though, the man's sword is a lot bigger than the woman's sword. Of course, the men get the big boy sword and the women get the toothpick.
“You seriously don't see a problem with this?” you ask, holding the two packets side by side so that he can see the photos together.
Poor, naive Soonyoung looks between the pictures rapidly in a desperate attempt to understand. Yet he winds up just shaking his head as he looks at you with such an innocent expression that you know that he seriously doesn't understand the problem here at all.
“Then you can wear this one,” you declare while handing him the woman's outfit, before turning to stalk off to your bedroom.
“What?!” he sputters, scrambling to follow you down the short corridor. “This is for women!”
“You've said before; clothes have no gender!” you remind, turning at the threshold with a hand on your open door ready to close it, and a sweet smile on your face. “If you want to match with me, Soonyoungie, you wear that, and I'll wear this.”
He stares between you and the packet in his hand for a moment before agreeing with a nod and a simple “Okay.”
And that right there, is your second mistake.
When you had told Soonyoung to wear that outfit, you really hadn’tbeen prepared for how fucking good he'd look in the skimpy little outfit. Now, you have to spend the next hours at Seungkwan's bustling apartment pretending that your gaze isn't constantly locating Soonyoung in the dim lighting as he happily dances amongst other costumed bodies.
Sure, you've seen Soonyoung topless before, so you know the man has a frankly incredible body— usually hidden under the baggy clothes that he prefers to wear—, but the sexy little pirate outfit highlights his strong torso and biceps so well.
The cropped top stops at his sternum, giving full view of the top half of his defined abs, the bottom half hidden by the high waist of the shorts. And those shorts? They really do not leave a lot to the imagination at all. Soonyoung has spent the entire night so far carefully doing his best to keep the sword strapped around his hips carefully located to dangle in front of his crotch to keep some of his dignity.
You had obligingly given him the bigger sword when you had realised that the 'woman's' sword wasn't exactly wide enough to cover him. Neither of you had made eye contact when you handed it over without a word, because you both knew what it meant; that you had obviously seen the bulge of his flaccid dick in the tight shorts. Which, honestly, had only made you wonder how big he is when hard, and that is a thought that you usually try to avoid, thinking of your best friend in a sexual situation.
Though his pure existence alone makes it very hard. No pun intended.
Kwon Soonyoung doesn't realise how attractive he is, and you're kind of grateful about it. Because if that unfairly effortlessly attractive man knows how hot he is, then you know he'll be cocky and dress to show off more often than just for nights out or special occasions, and you would not mentally survive that.
As it is, you're not sure you'll survive tonight.
“One day, you two are going to stop being stupid and just fuck it out,” Chan comments from your right where he stands in his doctor's outfit. Seungkwan's wearing a matching one somewhere else in the apartment and you really can't tell if it's intentional or not with those two. They're always bickering and acting like they hate each other, but they're always the first the other goes to for any reason whatsoever.
“Please make it before the end of summer so I don't lose money,” Seungcheol requests from your left, leaning against the wall with you, and dressed in a suit just like his own best friend and roommate, wherever she has disappeared to. She's likely with Junhui, based on the way the pair have been eyeing each other for the past hour— and since they met really, but that's another story entirely.
“You assholes have bets on us fucking?” you gawp in betrayed disbelief at the suited man.
“Yup,” Seungcheol confirms shamelessly, while Chan tries to sputter out a denial that makes you level the youngest with an unimpressed look.
However, it doesn't last because you hear Soonyoung's loud voice, even over the music, and automatically look over to where your best friend is trying to stop Seokmin from grabbing at his sword. No euphemism, even if the plastic is in the right place.
“Looks like Seok's going to get further with your boy than you ever have,” Seungcheol sniggers. You shove his arm, making him laugh harder.
“Swordplay,” Chan giggles to himself, then wanders off without another word to refill his cup after swallowing the last of its contents.
“Seriously though, you should, like, go fuck him,” Seungcheol says a moment later, when Soonyoung has successfully distracted Seokmin by grabbing the younger's hands to make him dance with him. Soonyoung shoots you a world-weary, wide-eyed look that makes you snicker and wave innocently at him.
“You really don't want to lose money, huh?”
“It's not even about that, just… you two. This has been going on for over a year now; this gross pining shit. Just sit on his dick and ask him on a date; it's not that hard.”
“You can't say shit, Cheol,” you remind.
“Hey, I've fucked her, regularly,” he defends with a pout before sipping at his drink.
“Oh yeah, because fucking your best friend who you've been in love with since childhood while encouraging her to go after your friend, who she's been mutually eye-fucking for the past three months, is so much better,” you retort sarcastically and give him a look.
He can't refute it at all, it's entirely true, and he's confided in you enough for you both to know that he's constantly making his own heartbreak worse by continuing to indulge his best friend, both in bed and when she comes home and whines over how good Junhui looks.
“We're as bad as each other,” he decides after a second.
“Don't lump me with you. I've never fucked him.” You scoff and turn back around to naturally locate Soonyoung where he's back to smiling away as he dances with Seokmin and some others.
“You want to.”
“Yeah, I really fucking do,” you exhale, and then swallow down the last of your drink, only to frown down into the empty disposable cup. “I need a real drink.”
“You know you can't drink around him like this or you will ask to suck his dick,” Seungcheol reminds you of the very reason why you're always the designated driver when Soonyoung dresses up.
Because yes, you have come close to getting on your knees in the middle of a club for him. Luckily, Seungcheol had noticed and took you home before you actually acted on the urge to publicly defile your best friend. Unluckily, Seungcheol had noticed and hasn’t failed to mention it at every chance. But at least it's stayed between the two of you.
“At this rate, I'll do it regardless,” you mutter, still frowning into your empty cup. “Back in a bit.” Seungcheol just grunts to show he heard before you slump off to the kitchen to refill your cup with one of the non-alcoholic beverages lining the counter.
You've barely finished filling your cup when a familiar hand reaches around you and picks it up to start gulping down. Even though you know it's Soonyoung, you still look over your right shoulder where he's chugging down the drink, entirely unaware of your thirsty gaze watching the drop of liquid that escapes from the corner of his mouth trail down over his chin and jaw, and down his neck to catch on his collar bone. You refrain from leaning in to slurp it up and lick your way up the trail it left all the way to Soonyoung's mouth. Even if you really want to do just that, and more. Much more.
Instead of staring at the way his throat bobs as he swallows down the last drops, you turn back around and wait for him to place the cup down so that you can refill it. And then he grabs it again before you can, making you groan in complaint. “Seriously?"”
“M'thirsty,” he defends, barely pulling the cup away and accidentally dribbling some of the liquid from his mouth onto your shoulder. You look at him in disgust. He just grins sweetly and kisses your cheek in a sticky, apologetic way before leaning back up to get back to his task of once again, stealing your drink.
At least this time when you've refilled the cup, he doesn't steal it away and lets you actually lift it to your own mouth. You can feel his eyes on you as you drink, so you side-eye him questioningly without moving the cup away.
“Are you taking Seungcheol home again?” he asks, stepping closer to you as someone passes too close behind him; his left hand falls to your hip and his right onto the counter, sort of caging you in, though you know it's unintentional— even if you wish it wasn't.
“He can take himself home, he's not drinking tonight,” you reply, distracted by the feeling of plastic pressing against you. “Your sword is digging into my ass.”
Soonyoung lets go of the counter to tug his sword belt around and lays the toy on the outside of his left thigh, leaving him pressed directly against you. You genuinely can't tell if he's even noticed that as he seems to be focused on the conversation, judging by the concentrated furrow of his eyebrows. “That's not what I mean and you know it.”
“If I know it, wouldn't I respond to what you mean?” You give him a look; puzzled by his words, and hoping he understands that you seem to very much not be having the same conversation here, and you are completely unaware of the conversation he's having with you.
“Not when you're both pretending nothing's happening.”
“What?” You nudge him back enough so that you can turn and face him, which admittedly, is not your smartest move when he moves straight back in. He doesn't press against you again, but his left foot is between both of yours as you lean your ass back against the counter. Any closer and his thigh will be very close to pressing to your crotch.
“Come on, I'm your best friend, I think you should at least be honest with me, even if you play ignorant with the others.” He frowns and leans heavier onto his right hand on the counter beside your hip, bringing him in closer so that he doesn't have to talk so loudly to be heard over the music. “You two often leave together when we go out. And even though his place is closer than mine, you drop me off first so it's just you two left. I'm not stupid.”
“Wait, you think that's so we can go fuck?” you realise with wide eyes.
“It's obvious; you always find each other when we're all together like this and spend the whole fucking night hiding off to the side whispering to each other.”
You can't help but laugh. “Do you all think we're fucking?” He nods in confirmation. You laugh again. “Oh man, I gotta tell Cheolie this.” You start to push off the counter with every intention of going to find the older man, knowing he will find it as hilarious as you do, but Soonyoung puts his left hand on your lower stomach to push you back, and then he pushes himself against you to pin you there. “Soonyoung–”
“No.”
“What? No? No what?"”
“I'm not letting you go back to him. You came with me, you're staying with me, and leaving with me, no one else,” he declares firmly.
You stare up at him trying to decipher what the fuck is actually going on right now; what prompted this sudden conversation and behaviour. Not that Soonyoung has never pinned you before, but it's usually playful as he whines and pouts cutely to get his way, or to just joke around. But he's entirely serious now and looking at you with something kind of dark in his eyes.
Admittedly, it's pretty fucking hot.
“Are you drunk?” you ask, even if you know he's not; you can't smell any alcohol on him, and drunk Soonyoung gets cuddly and clingy, not whatever this is.
“You know I'm not.” He places his left hand on the counter on your other side, well and truly caging you in, and causing him to lean down a little closer to reach comfortably.
“Then why are you suddenly acting like this?”
“It's not sudden.” You give him a look. “Okay, fine, acting on it is; but wanting to, that's not sudden. I've wanted to do this for a long time.”
“Then why haven't you?”
“Because I care about you too much.” He frowns a little as he takes in your features from up close, gaze catching on your lips for a few seconds before lifting back up to meet your eyes. “There's a bet, you know, about us fucking?”
“I just found out.” You pull a displeased expression. “Cheol's in on that, you know? He wouldn't bet on us fucking before the end of summer if he's fucking me.”
“He is?” He raises his eyebrows in surprise. “They made it sound like he's against the bet; said he's been trying to stop them from talking me into it.”
“Yeah, no, he just told me to fuck you. He's always telling me to fuck you.”
“Oh.” He licks his lips as his eyes divert thoughtfully. “Guess I should stop being a dick to him then.”
“You've been a dick to him?” you ask, genuinely surprised. You really haven't noticed Soonyoung acting badly towards Seungcheol at all.
“Mm, I always take his favourite snacks at movie night.”
You can't help but burst into giggling laughter at his confession. Of course, the man doesn't have a single genuinely mean bone in his body and would think purposely taking someone's favourite snacks would be a giant dick move. You bet he's been feeling kind of guilty about it while, no doubt, Seungcheol hasn't even noticed.
“What? why're you laughing?” He pouts at you.
“Oh, Soonie, you're so fucking cute,” you coo and cup his cheeks fondly. He smiles a little dopily at the compliment; the same smile he reserves for you and your doting attention on him, even if neither of you have noticed that. The rest of your friends have though.
“Nice ass,” you hear before Soonyoung's hips jerk into you when he yelps and tries to escape the slap that lands on his ass.
“Hey!” he complains, looking over his shoulder to pout at Jeonghan as the man appears from behind your best friend.
You really can't tell exactly what Jeonghan is supposed to be; you think it's some kind of anime character, or something kinky. Maybe both. Either way, his costume is a strange mix of faux black leather, and shimmery red, lacy wings. And he pulls it off unfairly well, considering that you know he hadn't been prepared for the party this morning at all.
“What? Don't look at me like I'm disturbing something,” Jeonghan scoffs, reaching around you to grab the same big plastic bottle you had been filling your cup from. Though he stops and looks at the way Soonyoung is very much pressed against you. Jeonghan grins after noticing that Soonyoung's crotch is definitely smushed against your upper thigh; something you have been doing your best to ignore yourself because yes you can feel everything through the thin material covering you both. “Or maybe I am.” He smirks at you both.
“What are you supposed to be exactly?” you ask in an attempt to change the topic to one that won't kill your last remaining dregs of sanity. Then again, with the things that come out of Yoon Jeonghan's mouth, you could still be rendered insane, but for a reason other than feeling your best friend's dick pressed against you.
“No idea, just grabbed some shit from Hao's costume closet.” Jeonghan shrugs as he looks down at himself. “Kind of think this might be less about his costume designing and more about sex though.”
“He's definitely worn that harness while fucking someone,” you agree, and reach out to hook your finger over the thick horizontal strap over Jeonghan's chest. You're pretty sure it's directly over his nipples, but the slightly sheer tank top he's wearing underneath the harness kind of obscures your view enough that you don't have confirmation.
“Mm, definitely,” Jeonghan agrees, and smirks at you. “Want to take it home yourself?”
“And take it from you? I wouldn't dare, you look so handsome, Hannie,” you coo, playing along with the flirty banter you two have always partaken in. Not because anything has ever happened between you, nor will it; you've discussed it plenty of times to make sure you're both on the same page. But it's just fun to harmlessly flirt.
“Never said I won't be wearing it.” He licks his lips and gives you a suggestive look.
“You're not going home with her,” Soonyoung argues firmly, crowding up against you further; though his gaze is on Jeonghan in warning, so he misses the way your eyes widen and dart down to where Soonyoung is now pressing his dick against your hip with his own thigh pressing up between your thighs. Jeonghan doesn't miss it though and cackles, leaving without another word with his cup and the entire bottle of drink clasped in his hands.
“S–Soonyoung,” you stammer, hands fluttering at his sides, wanting to push him back for your sanity, but you think putting your hands on his exposed skin will just make you pull him closer.
“Do you have to flirt with him all the time?” He frowns at you, entirely unaware of the screaming in your mind; mostly just sounds with the odd yell of the word penis. He'd probably laugh if he heard it, to be honest, just because of the word penis. He wouldn't even realise it's his penis you're mentally screaming about. “And when I'm right here too. Did you forget I'm here or something?”
“No,” you choke out.
“Then why– are you okay?” He suddenly realises how wide your eyes are.
“I can feel your dick,” you blurt, unable to think of anything else.
He blinks at you for a moment, then looks down at where he's pressed against you as if he hasn't even noticed until now. “Oh.” He pulls his hips back, and his thigh from between yours, making you let out a heavy, shaky exhale as your body relaxes a little. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable.”
“Ha, not the word I'd use.”
“What word would you use?”
If he was any other man, you'd say the little quirk of his head and innocent eyes locked onto you is fake; just some kind of game, a way to flirt. But it's Kwon Soonyoung, and you've seen this man miss the most obvious of flirtations since you've known him. The number of times you or the guys have had to bluntly tell him that someone had been trying to take him home to fuck, is frankly absurd.
“Stop touching my ass!” his sudden exclamation makes you jump a little, while he looks over his shoulder in annoyance, glaring at Seungkwan, who's giving him an innocent look.
“I'm very happy that you two are finally doing something about your consistent sexual tension and mutual pining, but take it out of my kitchen, please. I don't want to have to burn my home down if you defile my counters,” the younger man speaks bluntly with a slightly sweet edge to his words. You can't even see him, but you just know that he's got that too sweet smile on his face that always feels more threatening than anything.
“What?” Soonyoung blinks at him puzzled as the annoyance of his ass being grabbed melts away. “We're not doing anything.”
“Hannie told me you're being possessive, and we all know that she likes that, so–”
“Hey!” you exclaim offendedly, not because you can argue it, but just more that you're being talked about like you're not here. “She has a name!”
“Well, take Soonie home and he can moan it for the neighbours to hear.” Seungkwan gives you that sweet-threatening smile as he leans around Soonyoung to meet your gaze. “My neighbours don't want to hear it.”
“My neighbours won't hear that,” you scoff.
Soonyoung can't help but frown; he feels like he's just been rejected, even though he hadn't even gotten to the point of actually asking to take you home and fuck you like he wants to, like your mutual friends had convinced him you want him to. But your firm dismissal of Seungkwan's words sounds like you putting that boundary securely in place before he can even ask to tumble over it into your arms.
“He's loud–” Seungkwan starts to point out, but you're not done talking, even if you had taken a quick scoff break.
“I don't live in a cheap-ass building with paper for walls like you do, Kwannie,” you finish.
Both men stare at you for a second; Seungkwan at first just blinks in surprise at the fact you're not even disputing the Soonyoung moaning your name part, just whether or not your neighbours will hear. And Soonyoung is full-on gawping at you, mouth open and eyes wide, wondering if this means that boundary even exists between you.
“Does that mean you won't get a noise complaint? He’s pretty loud, you know? There's a reason we don't live together anymore.”
“I don't know,” you reply with a shrug.
“Then go fucking home already and stop humping against my kitchen counter!” Seungkwan grabs Soonyoung by his hips to yank him backwards away from you, while the scantily dressed pirate yelps and flails a little at the unexpected action. Then he's shoved towards the kitchen exit while Seungkwan grabs your wrist to tug you along.
You're both too genuinely dumbstruck by Seungkwan's sudden, forceful actions to do anything but stumble along until you're both outside of the apartment, shoes in hands, and staring in shock at the door that's just been shut in your faces.
“Did we just get kicked out?” you mutter.
Soonyoung nods slowly and then looks at you. “I think we got kicked out for sex.”
“Is it still sexile if you're the ones getting kicked out and told to go elsewhere to fuck?” you muse, attention downwards as you focus on shoving your feet into your shoes with one hand on the wall behind you, and the other out in the air pointlessly.
“Uh, reverse sexile?” he offers, dropping his shoes to shove his feet into.
“Sounds like a sex position.”
He laughs. “What would that even look like?”
“No idea.” You grin at him, then figure that, well, it seems like you've both been outed enough already, seeing as all of your friends have stopped hiding the fact that they expect you to finally have sex, which really implies a mutual attraction. So, you suck your bottom lip into your mouth for a second as he frowns down at his shoe that just will not accept his right foot for some reason. “Shall we go find out?”
Immediately, Soonyoung looks up at you with wide eyes. “What?”
“Shall we go find out what reverse sexile looks like?”
“Like...us?”
“Yeah, Soonyoung, us,” you confirm with an amused twitch of your lips. “You said you're the only one to go home with me, right?” He nods. “Then let's go home and find out, Soonie.”
“Ye–no, wait.” He steps closer and takes your hand gently before you can start walking down the hall to the staircase. His fingers are barely holding onto your own. It's perhaps the most cautious he's ever taken your hand into his. Even the very first time you held hands, he had boldly laced your fingers together, and you had only met ten minutes previously.
“No?” you ask, feeling really kind of stupid all of a sudden. You had been so unusually confident in asking him to go home and fuck you.
“Not because I don't want to because I do seriously, I really want to fuck you,” he breathes out, sounding rather affected by the thought alone as he stares at you longingly and holds your hand a little more securely. “I just...I don't want it to wind up like Seungcheol.”
“Uh, what about Seungcheol?” You shuffle a little closer while giving him a questioning look.
“Regularly fucking his best friend who has a crush on someone else, while he...while he wants her as more than just company in his bed.” The way his expression turns serious and yearning makes your heart start to race a little with hope.
“While he...Are you saying you want more?” you ask quietly.
“Earlier, when I said I care about you too much, I meant I care too much to be able to have sex with you if it means nothing. I really fucking like you, and I don't want to go home with you like this if you don't feel the same. I can't do that.” He shakes his head a little. “As much as I've thought about this, about you and me doing all kinds of kinky shit all over your apartment, and mine when Jihoon isn't there. Or when he is, if you're into exhibitionism; I don't know your kinks, and I'm pretty sure he wouldn't even notice anyway because he never leaves his fucking room, an–” He's rambling at this point, frowning down at your connected hands as he talks.
“Soonyoung.” He makes a soft hum of a noise as he looks back up at you with rounded eyes. “We can talk kinks later, I'd really like to get back to the matter of it sounds like you're confessing to me?”
“Oh, right yeah, I guess I am.” He chuckles a little and nervously scratches the back of his neck with his free hand. “So, uh, yeah, I really like you and uhm, I guess now comes the part where, hopefully, you say you like me back; but I really don't know if you do because the guys just really said you want to fuck me, and–” You cover his mouth with your hand this time to shut up his second bout of nervous rambling.
“I really like you too, Soonie,” you confirm softly, and giggle at the way his features light up adorably behind your palm. “Can we skip the trial dating bullshit and go straight to being together? I'd like to show you off as my boyfriend.” His eyes widen dramatically, and then he's nodding rapidly in agreement without dislodging your hand. “You're so cute,” you coo, and lean in just to press a kiss to the back of your hand over his mouth. He looks utterly betrayed and heartbroken when you lean back. “What?” You play innocent and lower your hand while backing up, lacing your fingers behind your back.
“You can't tease me like that, baby!” he whines, toddling after you, and dragging his feet in a sulk as he moves along the carpeted flooring of the hall.
“Tease? Me? Never.” You grin at him, then stop as your back hits the door to the staircase.
“You are. Teased me for the past year. Teasing me now,” he continues to mumble away as he nears, though cuts off when you reach out to grab the sword and yank on the plastic to pull him in right up against you. His hands automatically fly up to catch himself on the door above your head while his breath catches in his throat.
“If you're so worried I'm going to keep teasing you, Soonie, you better hurry up and take what you want,” you warn in a low voice, chin tilted up so your faces are only inches apart.
Soonyoung groans in the back of his throat before he leans down and seals his lips against yours in a hungry, desperate kiss. He presses his left forearm flat against the door beside your head, so that he can firmly hold your jaw with his right hand and tilt you further into him with his thumb pushing on your chin to urge your mouth open wider and deepen the kiss in a manner much too filthy for a public hallway of your friend's apartment building.
“Oh, for fucks sake!” the loud voice of the friend in question forces you both apart, to peer over Soonyoung's shoulder to where Seungkwan is in the hallway with the cute neighbour he's recently started to date, their hands clasped together, and clearly with one intention in mind while sneaking away from his own party. They're standing outside of the neighbour's slightly open door, but Seungkwan is staring at you and Soonyoung in disbelief. “I told you to go home! Not get your booty here!”
“Ha, booty, pirate joke,” you snigger, and Soonyoung giggles; both at your amusement, and the pun he honestly hadn't even noticed.
“You two are fucking useless,” Seungkwan decides, and lets his neighbour tug him into the apartment. “You better be gone before I'm back!”
“90 seconds, right?!" Soonyoung calls as Seungkwan disappears. The younger's head pops back out to glare at the other and flip him a very heartfelt middle finger before the door actually shuts behind him that time. Soonyoung turns to look at you with a mischievous smirk. “Should we go fuck on his bed just to piss him off?”
“As tempting as that sounds, I'd rather only I hear you like that, Soonie.” You pout at him cutely. “I'm not very good at sharing my toys, you know.”
“Oh, I'm your toy now?” he muses, reaching down to open the door carefully and back you through it with his other arm wrapping around your waist.
“Mm, mine and only mine to play with when I want, right?”
“Yeah, yeah, yours and yours only, baby,” he agrees lowly. “And you're mine.”
“I am,” you confirm, and tilt up to kiss him teasingly. “Let's hurry and get home so I can show you everything that now belongs to you.”
Soonyoung really doesn’t need any further encouragement and enthusiastically rushes out with his hand locked in yours and excitement on his face. He’s more than ready to unveil your body little by little and discover all of the sweet spots that make you loud enough that your neighbours will know his name before the night is over, thick walls be dammed.
Don't forget to reblog if you liked to help spread the story and let others read it too! And don't be shy to leave comments or send an ask so I can see your thoughts 🥺 💖
SYNOPSIS. As a princess constantly confined to your duties, you’ve always longed for something more… real. Little do you know, your loyal knight has been quietly desiring you since the very beginning, and is more than willing to lay down his life in order to love you the way that you deserve.
PAIRING. knight!kim mingyu x princess!fem!reader
GENRE. royalty au, forbidden romance, fluff, slight angst, suggestive, smut (minors dni 🔞)
WARNINGS. pressures of arranged marriage and loss of maidenhood, reader hating every man that isn’t mingyu, an interaction with a creep ass prince, protective and down bad mingyu!!!, cursing, kissing, making out, terms of endearment (take a shot every time mingyu calls reader ‘princess’... according to docs it’s like 40 lmao), oral (f. receiving), fingering, unprotected piv sex, creampie, virginity loss (reader), body worship, praise, slight corruption kink
WORD COUNT. 13k
notes: this was originally gonna be pwp but i got too carried away with my yapping LOL i hope u all enjoy! pls don't forget to reblog with ur thots <3
You aren’t supposed to be here.
You’re supposed to be in your bedchambers and asleep by this point, but the anticipation of the next upcoming weeks has been clawing at your efforts. You can already imagine the tedious fittings, and the polite smile you have to wear while the lords and ladies continuously pressure you to choose a prince to finally claim your hand and become your betrothed.
However, to you, the idea of having to marry a stranger for the sake of alliance and not out of love felt like a death sentence. The idea of surrendering your virtue and your body to some foreign prince who saw you as nothing but a bargaining chip made your stomach churn uncomfortably.
So instead of sleeping, you find yourself at the archery range behind the eastern stables, long after the castle has fallen into slumber.
The moon stands proud and high in the sky, washing over the training grounds and the dew-kissed grass with pale light. You’d dismissed the guards earlier with sharp words about needing fresh air, which was both a lie and a truth. Now, you’re standing in your nightgown, nocking another arrow onto your bowstring with shaking fingers. You’ve been here long enough that you could feel the painful creases in your hands from wielding the bow for so long. Out of frustration, perhaps.
As you prepare your stance and aim, you let the arrow fly, but it runs wide and embeds itself into the outer ring of the target with a dull thud.
You let out an irritated groan, already reaching for another arrow from your quiver. But as you prepare to fit the arrow onto your bowstring, a pair of heavy footsteps from behind makes you freeze for a moment, before your shoulders relax. Only one man moved with that quiet, confident stride.
“Princess.”
The deep voice sends a shivering thrill down your spine that has nothing to do with the chilly air.
When you finally turn around, that’s when you see him𑁋Sir Kim Mingyu emerging from the shadows, wearing a dark tunic and breeches instead of his usual armour, with his sword still strapped to his hip. His broad frame casts long shadows across the grass, dark hair slightly disheveled from the breeze, his eyes flickering between your trembling hands, to the poorly shot arrow, then back to your face. Even in the nightfall, you can see the concern etched in his perfectly sculpted features.
He has always been one of the most successful knights in the kingdom𑁋strong, loyal, and overwhelmingly skilled with both blade and blow. Ever since he had been assigned to protect you personally three years ago, he had always been in your shadow; although at some point in time, he started feeling less like a shadow and more like a presence you silently yearned for.
Mingyu pauses a few paces away from you.
“You should not be here at this hour,” he says, though his tone is more sincere than scolding. “It is not safe. Even with the castle asleep, there are eyes everywhere.”
You lower the bow in guilt, fingers aching from the string. “I am aware.”
“Would you like me to escort you back to your𑁋”
“No!” You cut in sharply, before wincing at your tone and softening it. “I… I cannot go back. Not at this moment.”
Mingyu studies you for a long minute, the moonlight catching the sharp line of his jaw almost makes him appear ethereal. He doesn’t move closer𑁋not yet𑁋but he doesn’t retreat either. He can sense the anger surrounding you, clearly expressed by the way you seem to be striking the target, not aiming.
And from years of watching over you, he knows when not to put more pressure on a wound that’s been hurting from the inside. He knows this perhaps more better than anyone.
But he also knows it’s not his duty to assist you in that way. His duty is to protect you physically and nothing more. Not to soothe whatever ache may be plaguing your heart, or cross that invisible line that’s stood tauntingly right in front of him for years, just like now. Emotion has never been part of the oath he took.
Yet… he still takes a step forward, then another, and another, until he stops directly ahead of you.
“Let me assist you then,” Mingyu assures softly.
You scoff at that, rolling your eyes. “You are not on duty.”
His lips curve up into a faint, almost bittersweet smile. “When have I ever been off-duty where you are concerned, princess?”
That sends a lump to form in your throat and your heart thundering against your ribs. You almost want to push him away and order him to leave you alone, but his presence alone in front of you wraps around you like a comforting hug that you’ve always longed for. It’s almost enough to stop the restlessness coursing through your veins, if only for a single moment.
You hand him the bow and quiver. He takes it without hesitation, his large, calloused hand brushing over yours and sending warmth racing up your arm. Then he places himself directly behind you, close enough you can feel the heating radiating from his broad chest even through his tunic.
“Show me your stance,” he orders.
Biting at your bottom lip, you spin on your heel to face the target, bringing your arms up and positioning them as if you’re wielding an invisible bow.
Mingyu’s eyes slowly trace over you𑁋over the line of your shoulder and the delicate curve of your spine beneath your nightgown. For a split second, his breath catches and his jaw clenches. He forces himself to focus back on your posture instead of allowing it to run lower. Gods, it feels debauched to think of you in that way.
He steps closer until his chest is nearly flushed with your back, the warmth of his body chasing away the chill of the night.
“May I, my lady?” he asks, letting his hands hover over your waist.
My lady. You’ve been referred by that term many times𑁋from the maids, servants, and the townspeople whenever you visited the villages. But it strikes you like an arrow whenever it comes out of his mouth.
You swallow hard. “Yes.”
The second Mingyu’s hands settle on your waist, a spark races through your body. His large palms span over the thin silk of your nightgown. He smells faintly of earthy cedarwood, a scent you’ve come to associate with safety and comfort whenever he draws close to you. The roughness of his calloused skin drags across yours as he gently adjusts your posture, guiding your hips into a more steady alignment.
You sense him step away briefly before caging his arms around you once more, his hands enveloping yours as he brings the bow back into your grasp. It feels more steadier in your hold with his strength supporting you, though you’re certain he can hear the way your pulse is racing against the wall of his chest.
His fingers press lightly over yours as he helps you fit the arrow into place, his thumbs innocently grazing the back of your hand.
“Easy now,” Mingyu murmurs lowly, his voice devastatingly close to your ear. “You are trembling like a leaf in my arms, princess.”
Your breath catches. “I am not.”
“You are.”
“The night is cold, that is why.”
“Then I shall keep Your Highness warm, yes?” Mingyu quips amusedly, chuckling lightly at the small pout that crosses your face when he peers down at you with that familiar soft charm. The sound vibrates against your back. You hate how easily he’s able to unravel you. “Now, breathe in with me, princess.”
You do𑁋you try to, at least𑁋drawing back a singular breath in rhythm with him. Your eyes falter to a fleeting close as you bask in his warmth and presence. Mingyu then guides both of your grasps together in pulling back the string of the bow.
“That’s it, good girl,” he mutters softly, the praise landing in that deep timbre before you have time to brace it; it almost makes you break your stance. “Focus.”
Mingyu notices it as well, a quiet yet sharp inhale leaving him and ghosting over the sensitive caress of your neck. He presses his body more against you, his large arms wrapping more securely, almost possessively, around you. How can you possibly focus when he’s tangled around you like this?
Together, you slowly pull the bowstring taut. The world suddenly narrows to the whisper of his voice and the strength of his arms caging you in.
“Release,” he commands.
The arrow flies.
And hits the centre of the clay target with a satisfying swipe.
What possesses you in the next moment is beyond proper, maybe even beyond reckless. A wide grin splits your face in half, and before you can even process it, you’re turning around and enveloping your arms around Mingyu without a second thought. The bow and quiver clatters forgotten to the ground.
You end up shifting your weight on him a little too eagerly from the buzz of excitement coursing through your limbs. Mingyu tries to steady you, but𑁋even in his tall and strong form𑁋it throws him helplessly off balance at the same time. He twists instinctively around you, hugging an arm around your waist while the other braces against the grass.
The two of you end up falling in a heap on the ground, a startled yelp escaping your lips when the world tilts all too suddenly. But Mingyu absorbs most of the impact himself while shielding you from the worst of it.
The air leaves his lungs in a soft grunt.
It takes you an entire minute to realise what just happened. Now you find your fingers curled into the fabric of his tunic, with your nightgown pooled over his thighs. Mingyu lies directly beneath you, his dark hair fanned across the ground, staring up at you with equally surprised eyes that quickly soften into something… fond. You swear that you feel all the anxious thoughts that had been consuming your mind as of late disappear just from the comfort of his presence alone.
You can’t help but gaze down at him for a long moment, taking in the way the moonlight paints his features in a silver glow, how it highlights his nose to the point you’re able to detect the small mole on the tip of it. When the corners of his mouth begin to lift up, that’s when you push yourself off him.
“I𑁋my apologies,” You sputter out of panic as you roll off of him, your face burning with embarrassment. “I did not mean to𑁋I just got excited because we𑁋Gods above, I cannot believe I practically tackled you.”
A deep chuckle rumbles out of Mingyu’s chest. He turns on his side instead of getting up, propping his head up on one hand. “You have nothing to apologise for, princess.”
You shake your head, brushing away some dirt clinging to the ends of your nightgown. “It was very much undignified.”
Mingyu’s grin only widens. “Undignified?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve survived worse battles, my lady,” he retorts playfully. “Trust me. If I can handle a sword tournament, then I am certain I can handle being attacked by an overzealous princess.”
You blink down at him, processing his ridiculous words, when a laugh tumbles out of you before you could stop it. A real laugh. Not one of those polished ones out of courtesy that you were taught during etiquette lessons𑁋it’s the kind of laugh that causes your nose to wrinkle and your shoulders to uncontrollably shake off whatever decorum you have left.
You don’t even notice the enchanted expression on Mingyu’s face until reality sinks back in again and the silence returns. A distant owl from somewhere calls beyond the stables. You feel your throat tighten.
“I… I must return back to my chambers,” You say as you stand up, smoothing down the creases in your nightgown. “I do not want to be scolded about my rebellious behaviour again, neither do I want the maids to be reprimanded.”
Mingyu watches you with a thoughtful expression, the moonlight threading through his lashes. He’s always secretly adored the rebellious side of you𑁋perhaps it gave him a sliver of hope at times. Then with a reluctant exhale, he rises up from the ground, retrieves your fallen bow and quiver, and falls into step behind you like a shadow.
“As you wish, princess,” he states, returning back to his composed demeanour. “I shall escort you back to your chambers safely.”
You think you’ve tried on over fifty dresses at this point.
Maybe even more, to be honest. You had been standing so long that the sun had almost shifted across the entire sky. Your limbs ache from being continuously prodded at by the seamstresses and your spine feels as if it’s going to crack with every gown that you try on, each one different than the last. There was crimson for passion and power, ivory for purity and virtue.
The small comments the servants had been making throughout the session have left a permanent sour taste on your tongue.
“The lower neckline ought to certainly entice Prince Moon of Wolhae…”
“And the embroidery here on the train matches perfectly with Prince Lee of Seongguk…”
“Her Highness has lovely shoulders. They should be emphasised…”
You stare blankly at yourself in the full-length mirror that stood in front of you mockingly. Gods, you appear almost unrecognisable. Your lips are stained rose, your hair twisted into an elaborate hairstyle it feels as if your scalp is screaming for mercy, and this latest gown cinches your waist so tightly you’re basically buried in silk and feel almost lightheaded.
Then, you find your eyes instinctively drifting to the figure stationed at the corner of the room.
Mingyu is standing motionless like a statue, yet you can sense that familiar commanding presence of his even when he isn’t doing anything. He’s wearing his silver knight armour, the polished plates gleaming underneath the natural rays of sunlight pouring into the room. His gaze seems to have travelled elsewhere in the room out of respect.
But for the briefest second, his eyes meet with yours in the mirror.
Your cheeks burn instantly.
“Your Highness?” a voice suddenly strips you out of your thoughts.
You blink at one of the seamstresses holding out a pair of necklace options to you, looking at you expectantly.
“Would you prefer sapphire or emerald?” she asks. “In my opinion, I believe the emerald would compliment your skin beautifully… although sapphire would draw attention from Prince Kang of Wangbi. His house colours are blue, after all.”
Her words stab you straight through the heart.
Your eyes dauntingly flicker between the two options. They’re both extravagantly beautiful, without a doubt meaning to mark you as available, desirable, ready for whichever prince offered the best fit for the kingdom, not for you. Only the kingdom. Love was perhaps an unattainable concept of fiction in the world you’ve been raised in since birth.
The truth of it makes you bite the inside of your cheek hard.
“Neither of them,” You deadpan quietly at first, before your voice raises more sharply, “I cannot bear anymore of this nonsense.”
The room freezes and collectively falls into a hushed silence. You see all the seamstresses exchange nervous glances with each other, all of them hesitating together.
“But Your Highness, we must perfect any altercations for the𑁋”
“I do not care!” You snap back harshly, heat brimming in your eyelids. “I am exhausted from all the fittings and the expectations of the upcoming ball. So, please… leave me at peace. That is an order.”
For a moment, no one dares to speak, before the head seamstress bows deeply and begins to gather all the fabrics, pins, jewelry, and ribbons scattered around the room, not wanting to worsen the situation more than it already is. The other seamstresses follow in swift panic, and you watch them slip out of the door one at a time.
Until you’re alone in the room.
Well, not entirely alone.
Mingyu still remains.
A trembling breath leaves you all at once. The slightest movement makes your knees wobble as you’re still wearing this awful gown. It feels too tight, too suffocating, and you want nothing more than to rip out every sewn pearl out of its wedge.
You start with that by tearing off the pins in your hair and letting it clatter onto the floor. Strands of your hair finally tumble out of its confinement, making your scalp sigh in relief. Then you try to wipe the stain off your lips with the back of your hand, but it relents and only leaves a faint smear across your skin.
Frustration boils even harder, and before you can stop yourself, you reach behind your back to tug viciously at the laces of the gown.
“Traitorous dress,” You murmur under your breath self-depracatingly. “How dare they taint my body with their expectations…”
When your attempts to loosen the bodice comes to no avail, your shoulders sag to the floor in defeat. But as you lift your eyes back to the mirror, that’s when you spot Mingyu again. He’s shifted in your direction slightly, still rigidly standing in the corner in silence. You clench and unclench your fists at your side.
“Sir Mingyu?” You call out to him.
Mingyu immediately shifts his attention to you. “You called, princess?”
“May…” You bite your lip shyly, glancing at him over your shoulder. “May you grant me some assistance?”
“Of course, my lady,” he responds solemnly, his eyes flitting down to where you’re weakly tugging at the strings of your gown. “Would you like for me to call in the maids?”
“I… no, I do not wish for the maids or anyone, for that matter.” You shake your head. “I… I am seeking your help.”
A stunned pause from him. “My help?”
“Yes,” You say, voice hammering in your chest as you spin on your heel to face him with an exhausted, pleading look. “Please… I feel as if I cannot breathe in this.”
Mingyu sucks in a sharp breath. He hesitates once again, conflict flickering in his dark brown eyes, before he inclines his head in a shallow bow.
“As you command, princess.”
He crosses the room in three measured strides, the soft clink of his armour bouncing off the walls. You turn your back to him once more. In the mirror, you watch him approach you from behind.
Mingyu slides his gauntlets off and sets them down on a nearby table before returning back to you. His nostrils flare visibly at the sight of your back offered to him, the beautiful line of your spine exposed willingly for him where the gown had already begun to slip. He’s standing way too close, close enough he can smell the lingering scent of jasmine on your skin.
“Sir Mingyu?” Your voice snaps him out of your thoughts.
He clears his throat soundly. “Yes?”
“Relieve me,” You croak out brokenly. “Please, I beg.”
The soft plea strikes him in the chest like a blade. He mutters something under his breath that you can’t hear, despite the close proximity. With a shuddering inhale, his bare, trembling hands find their way to the laces, slowly beginning to pull them apart one by one.
With each one loosened, you feel the suffocating weight of the dress slowly but surely dissipating away and giving you more room to breathe.
Mingyu keeps his eyes fixed on the laces𑁋tries to keep them fixed on the laces and nowhere else. His hands that are trained to wield swords and bows are surprisingly gentle with each one he undoes. Unbridled relief fills your ribs by the time he reaches the middle of your back, and you can’t help the little involuntary moan that leaves your mouth.
His hands falter for a second from the sound.
Gods above, help me.
The thoughts that swim around him are completely unbecoming of a knight. He has no right to notice how the silk of the gown parts beautifully like water, no right to think that if he leaned in a little more, he could brush his lips against the nape of your neck and breathe you in like a man begging to worship his lover. How it would be so easy for him to ruin his honour by ruining you instead.
He would be gentle with you𑁋you are far too precious to be handled roughly. He would drop to his knees and worship you right there until the sun set and rose again if you requested, because the thought of some unworthy prince treating you like nothing but a prize at an auction angers him more than anything else.
His armour suddenly feels too tight around his body.
“Almost done, princess,” he mutters hoarsely. “Only a few more remain.”
You nod nimbly at his words. You keep your eyes trained on the mirror as his hands continue the rest of their descent down your back, untying the rest of the lace. At one point, his knuckles accidentally graze the warm skin above your spine, causing you to flinch. Mingyu notices it right away.
“My apologies,” he says and lets his hands hover above your skin, too afraid to continue. “I did not mean𑁋”
“It is alright,” You tell him. “I… I do not mind your touch.”
A muscle ticks in his jaw at that as he resumes the rest of the journey. By the time the last one is undone, he takes an immediate step back to give you more space to breathe, but the absence of his warmth hits you right away when the cool air caresses your skin.
Slowly, you allow the gown to slip to the floor, leaving you in nothing but a thin and translucent chemise you had been wearing underneath. Mingyu redirects his eyes instinctively to give you whatever privacy he could𑁋always the honourable knight he is𑁋but his ears picks up the sounds of you shifting around the room for a few moments.
You reach for a light robe draped on a nearby chair and slip it around your body, tying the sash around your waist. Then you turn back to Mingyu who is still facing away from you. A chuckle leaves you.
“You can look now, Sir Mingyu,” You assure him playfully.
Mingyu does not move right away. For a man who could read a battlefield like the lines on the back of his hand, he seems suddenly unsure how to interpret a simple room. But when he finally turns his head, he’s met with the sight of a faint smile across your face.
You appear so vulnerable now. The gown from earlier had been extravagant, sure, but none could compare to this version of you standing in front of him𑁋the one who had stripped herself from all the frustrations the day placed on her. Gods above, Mingyu can stare at you all night and never tire if it means seeing you happy and comfortable in your own skin.
“You seem relieved,” he says, folding his arms over his chest.
A soft laugh escapes you. “That obvious?”
“Very much so,” Mingyu replies knowingly. “How are you faring?”
A mixture of happiness and relief washes over your features simultaneously. You step up to the grand window and bask in the late afternoon sunlight spilling through the glass, letting out the deepest breath you never realised you’d been holding in this entire time.
“Like I can breathe again,” You say, closing your eyes for a singular precious moment to allow the peace to wash over you. “Both physically and… metaphorically as well.”
Mingyu observes you for a few, long moments. Without hesitation, he steps up to the glass right beside you, his armour gleaming under the sunbeams. The window catches a perfect view of the rolling green hills up ahead and the royal gardens down below.
The two of you stand in front of the window for a long while. Outside, the kingdom stretches out endlessly beneath the afternoon sky. The gardens bloom with a beautiful colour palette of serenity and rose quartz flowers and the rolling hills melt into distant mountain peaks that you’ve always dreamed of exploring if you ever got the chance to.
But you know you would never get that opportunity. You have always been confined to your duties as a princess since the very day you were brought into this world. The only world you’ve always known was within the walls of the castle and the expectations that came with it.
As you were growing up, you’ve only ever yearned for something… more. Something real. Something where you can allow your heart to travel to wherever it desires without fear or consequence. To experience a love that wasn’t manufactured out of duty or arranged into existence. You’ve always wondered what real love feels like.
You glance up at Mingyu ponderingly.
“May I… ask you a question, Sir Mingyu?” You ask unsurely.
Mingyu lifts a brow. “Of course, my lady.”
“Have you ever… courted a woman when you were younger?”
A flicker of surprise graces his features. He appears almost stunned to speak at first, his dark eyes widening slightly, before nostalgia softens his face. There’s a shadow of reluctance tucked behind his gaze as he ducks his head down briefly for a moment. Not to avoid, but to think.
“I… Yes, I have courted women back when I lived in the village, before knighthood,” he answers. “Most were fleeting though, and I have learned a lot from those experiences.”
You nod solemnly, trying to mentally prepare yourself for the next question you’re about to ask.
“Were you in love with any of them?”
Mingyu hums pensively.
“There was one, yes. She was the baker’s daughter, while I was the blacksmith’s son,” Mingyu continues with a faint smile. “She always had the brightest laugh, and flour dusted her cheeks no matter how many times she wiped them.”
A knot in your stomach tightens from his words, the jealousy flashing through so irrationally. You hate how desperately you want to ask the name of who he speaks to fondly about; about whether or not she still occupies his heart to this day.
Mingyu notices the way you shift your feet uncomfortably.
“But her father wanted her to marry another man, one with prospects and a bag full of coin.” He exhales slowly, letting his fingertips trace over the dust on the edge of the windowsill. “I had nothing to offer her, so… we parted ways ultimately. From what I hear, she is happily married with two children now.”
That’s when you finally lift your eyes up at him, catching how the sunlight captures the warm brown of his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” You mutter out quietly.
Mingyu just chuckles. “Do not be sorry, princess. It is all in the past.”
“Still,” You add in, shaking your head. “I have always thought of love as something… eternal. Lovers who stay together through thick and thin until the end of their days.”
Mingyu tilts his head curiously at you. “Has the topic of love been consuming your mind as of late, Your Highness?”
Heat rises through your cheeks at his question. For a heartbeat, you allow yourself to look at him. With Mingyu, you have always felt allowed to express yourself without the pretense of propriety. It’s always been easy with him, it seems.
“Yes,” You confess bashfully. “It has.”
A heavy silence follows after your voice fades. A silence of contemplation and, oddly, comfort. You know if you speak such words to your parents or any other soul in the castle, they would look at you with nothing but disapproval and claim that your rebellious behaviour causes a negative look on the kingdom.
Mingyu watches you carefully.
“Have you ever fallen in love, princess?” he asks simply.
The question steals the breath from your lungs. A simple question that requires a simple answer of yes or no. Yet… it is not so easy.
You’ve read about love in the stories that fill the grand library’s walls. You’ve seen love in the way the palace gardeners tend to their blooms preciously through pricked fingers. You’ve heard about love when you overhear the stories told by the kitchen maids about the stable boys. Love has always surrounded you in every crevice in life, but it’s always felt so distant.
Until now. For the first time in your life, someone has asked you about your heart, not your duty.
“I…” You hesitate, forcing your gaze back out the window. “I believe that I𑁋”
Before you could finish, a loud knock pounds at the door, startling you and Mingyu at the same time. Mingyu’s hand instinctively reaches out to his sword when a second more persistent knock arrives when the first one is left unanswered, already ready to shield you from any kind of danger.
A muffled voice speaks through the wood, “Your Highness? The Queen requests your presence in the solar. She wishes to review the guest list for the upcoming ball.”
Dread slivers down your spine at the request. Your eyes flicker between the door and Mingyu𑁋when did he stand so close to you?𑁋who is already back to wearing that disciplined mask on his face, the warmth of his softened features that were there a minute ago now tucked away carefully. Yet his eyes… they still seem to betray him.
The sight makes your heart stutter painfully in your chest.
“Tell Mother I shall be there shortly,” You call back to the door.
When you hear the servant’s footsteps fade away down the corridor, you release a shaky breath, grabbing the ends of your delicate robe and drawing it over yourself to hide how your chest is rising and falling erratically. You don’t catch the way Mingyu’s fingers tighten at his side, fighting the urge to reach out to you even if you are just an arm’s length away.
“I do not want to go,” You admit unsteadily.
“I know,” Mingyu murmurs back. “But you must.”
You peer up at him with guilty eyes.
“I… I apologise for my question earlier,” You say weakly, bowing your head down apologetically even if you have more authority than him. “I did not mean to intrude on your past.”
Mingyu’s facade cracks at your words. He shakes his head.
“You could never intrude, princess.” He hesitates momentarily, before adding on, “You may ask me anything and I will always answer truthfully. I… I feel honoured that you trust me with such vulnerable questions.”
Your heart squeezes as a grateful smile of your own graces your lips.
You nudge him playfully with your shoulder. “May you escort me to the solar, Sir Mingyu?”
Mingyu lets out a quiet sound that almost sounds like a laugh and offers his armoured arm for you to hold. He doesn’t bring up that you still have yet to answer his question from before. You’re the princess at the end of the day𑁋you don’t owe him an answer as much as he owes you one.
“It would be my honour, my lady.”
Mingyu know it’s his duty to stand here𑁋to watch over the ball and ensure the safety of the guests, and especially you𑁋but he swears that he cannot breathe in his armour with every man that stands way too close to you. With every lowly prince that settles a hand on your hip, whispering sultry words in your ears that will attempt to sway you in their direction.
No matter how far he stands away from you, he can still spot how visibly uncomfortable you are. He catches the stiffness in your shoulders, the polite smile on your face that never quite reached your beautiful eyes, and the brief, desperate glances you stole in his direction when no one else was looking.
Say the word, princess… and I’ll end this for you, he thinks.
A low, bitter sound escapes his throat. He should not have the right to feel this jealousy when you’re only fulfilling your duties. He knows where your heart stands when it comes to the arranged marriages you’ve grown to despise.
The only question is… if your heart did not lie with any of the princes, then where did it lie?
“Your Highness, it is an honour to share this dance with you,” Prince Moon of Wolhae whispers in your ear with a coy smirk. His hand is pressed firmly into the small of your back, pulling you closer than necessary as he leads you in a slow dance while the orchestra plays an intimate melody in the background.
You force a courteous smile, even if every thought in your mind is begging you to pull away. Prince Moon stands too close to you, close enough his breath is too warm on your skin and his compliments come off intentionally calculated. You’ve already shared a dance with two other princes before him, and the activity of the day has begun to take its toll on you.
There was Prince Lee of Seongguk from earlier, who you swear had hands that trembled more than yours, but he was friendlier than the others. While Prince Kang of Wangbi spoke mostly more about his future heirs and himself than asking about you. And then there was Prince Moon, whose comments became more crude and entitled by the minute.
“You dance beautifully as well,” he continues, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Together, we could build something unstoppable, should I say. Your kingdom’s ports… my army… and you in my bed every night, hm?”
You swallow down the bile rising in your throat, a grimace forming at your painted lips. “You are very forward, Prince Moon.”
He merely chuckles, seemingly dismissing your discomfort. “Because I know what I want, princess. And what I want is you.”
Although Mingyu can’t hear your conversations, his blood boils and his fists clench so tightly it makes his gloves creak regardless. Get your filthy hands off her, bastard. You do not own her.
Prince Moon keeps mumbling sweet poisons to you as the dance continues and the music begins to swell. The large chandelier hanging from the high ceilings casts shards of glittering gold on the floor, shimmering off your dainty circlet crown and the elegant jewelry that decorate your body.
“I admire your ambitions, Prince Moon.”
“Ambition is what wins kingdoms, my lady,” the man retorts easily, spinning you around with practiced ease. His eyes rake over your neckline as he dips you briefly, before bringing you back up with him face-to-face. His hand drops lower on your back. “Tell me, princess𑁋how do you prefer your maidenhood to be claimed? Sweet and gentle or… rough and delicious? I bet you have imagined it, yes?”
Your stomach churns with disgust at his inquiry, but a traitorous flush creeps up your neck like a snake. Yes, you can’t deny that you have thought of it before, more often than a princess should, but never with a man with greedy hands, cold ambition, and who speaks to you as if you were some common tavern wench in front of the entire Royal Court.
You’ve imagined it with someone else entirely. A man with hands that are not plagued with conquest and rings of greed. But a man with hands as gentle as a feather on your skin. A man whose touch makes you feel wanted rather than hunted, who makes your heart ache out of longing and not out of fear.
A man that you love.
When Prince Moon spins you around again, your gaze frantically searches through the vast ballroom for Mingyu. You desperately try to decipher through all the smiling faces of the guests and nobles, through the goblets of wine being passed around, through the sea of glittering jewels and shiny silk.
Until they finally find him.
Mingyu is staring at you𑁋has been staring at you this entire time𑁋standing frozen in the corner with his dark eyes icy cold, unreadable, and almost… sad. Because a knight is not allowed to interfere with royal courtship or diplomacy. A knight is certainly forbidden from challenging a crowned prince over a woman who can never belong to him.
But consequences be damned. He made a promise to the oath he took three years ago: to protect you for the rest of his life. If he receives punishment for fulfilling his oath, then he would gladly trade his knighthood to keep you safe from these perverted vultures.
A smirk spreads across Prince Moon’s face when he notices the flush on your cheeks.
“The idea certainly appeals to you, doesn’t it, princess?” he continues to pry.
Gods, you want to slap this man senseless across the face.
“I believe you are forgetting yourself, Prince Moon,” You claim through gritted teeth. “I am not some conquest of yours to be spoken of so vulgarly.”
Prince Moon’s nostrils flare in amusement. “Why are you pretending you do not crave the same things every woman does, princess?”
For a spell, you simply stare at him. Then, you pull your hand away from his shoulder. The movement seems to break the rhythm of the dance instantly.
“I do,” You answer quietly.
The man’s smile widens.
“But not with a man who mistakes vulgarity for charm.”
His smile falters.
Around you, the orchestra continues to play, the sounds of the violins soaring to their crescendo as other couples drift across the polished dance floor, blissfully unaware that one dance has come to a standstill.
You lift your chin to look at him, a cunning look to your face.
“You speak of kingdoms and armies as trophies, and of women as though they are no different.” Your gaze drops to the hand still resting on your lower back, and you reach down to pry it away as if it’s a leech. “I have met merchants at the market with more grace than you, Prince Moon.”
Irritation flashes across his face. “You wound me, princess. You would reject an alliance between our kingdoms over a few words?”
“I would reject any man who believes his merit is the gold upon his brow,” You deadpan sharply. “Or any man who believes a crown excuses the absence of decency.”
Several nobles glance curiously in your direction, but you don’t let their eyes tug at your determination.
“You may find that beggars cannot be choosers, Your Highness,” Prince Moon remarks stiffly, eyes narrowing down at you.
You scoff lightly at that, rolling your eyes to his indifference. When the crescendo of the orchestra fades away, that’s when you take your chances to fully separate from him. With a cold smile and a searing glare, you rip his touch fully away from your skin, and it feels as if you can breathe out a long breath at last.
After that, you offer Prince Moon a shallow curtsey𑁋more out of simple etiquette than respect𑁋as the violins fade into an awkward silence until there’s only the sounds of your thundering heart and the murmurs rippling through the surrounding nobles.
“Thank you for your time, Prince Moon,” You begin evenly, smoothing down the fabric of your dress as if they had been stained. “I appreciate your… candor. It highlights your character vibrantly. I wish you a pleasant evening and safe travels on your return to Wolhae.”
Prince Moon’s jaw tightens. Your eyes sparkle victoriously under the chandelier.
“A pity,” the man chides in disbelief. “I had hoped that the stories of your grace were true. You do recall that your parents invited me here for a reason, is that not right, princess?”
You hold his gaze with a steely look.
“You are correct,” You answer. “But I am disappointed that a prince does not know the difference between an invitation and a promise.”
Your words land hard enough for a hushed silence to fall across the room. Prince Moon has the audacity to open his damned mouth to argue, but it falls back to a quick close when he realises that everyone is watching this happen right before their eyes. Everyone is witnessing royalty reject another in the middle of the grand ballroom. Your hands at your side start to tremble, but you hide them carefully within the folds of your dress.
Gods, you definitely know that your parents are likely going to place your head atop a spike in the morning for this. You can already hear in your head the lecture that awaits you after sunrise. But the strength you’ve been holding on for the past weeks all crumbled the second you shared a dance with the first prince.
The adrenaline and anger that had been keeping your spine straight is now entirely drained from your body. Before your knees could buckle, a warm yet commanding presence appears by your side instantly.
“Prince Moon,” a voice deadpans𑁋Mingyu’s voice. He bows his head low enough to satisfy simple etiquette. “Her Highness has made her wishes clear.”
Prince Moon flits his eyes to him, dragging a condescending look up and down his stance.
“And who are you to involve yourself in royal affairs?”
“Sir Kim Mingyu of the Royal Guard.”
“So you are a servant, then?”
“I am whomever the royals of this kingdom prescribe me to be,” Mingyu states without flinching. “In this case, I serve the princess of this nation, who has clearly expressed her displeasure.”
The tension between the two of men only thickens that even seems the ballroom itself is holding its breath. Prince Moon’s face contorts with humiliated rage. For a second, you think he might consider snapping back again, but Mingyu shifts imperceptibly closer to you, his gauntleted hand hovering near your lower back.
The prince’s eyes flicker calculatingly between the two of you. Whatever he sees in Mingyu’s dead stare makes him think better of it.
He offers a stiff, quite literally mocking bow to you.
“Very well,” Prince Moon spits out. “Until we meet again, princess.”
You watch as the man stalks his way back into the crowd. Murmurs ripple throughout the ballroom𑁋most appear to be siding with the prince, because of course𑁋but you don’t let it get to you, can’t let it show that it’s getting to you.
“Your Highness.”
When you look back up at Mingyu, everything else seems to fade. Worry and the tiniest hint of anger𑁋not at you, but for you𑁋crosses his face when he catches you the hazy exhaustion on your features.
“Shall I escort you somewhere quieter, my lady?” he asks quietly so only you can hear, already offering his arm to you.
You nod, slipping your hand into the crook of his arm. You keep your gaze to the floor as he escorts you through the crowd of guests, who part like water for you and Mingyu, their scandalised eyes following every step.
“Did you see how she dismissed Prince Moon?”
“Bold… or foolish.”
“The King and Queen will not be pleased with this, certainly.”
You clench your jaw, trying to fight off the burn threatening to rise in your cheeks from their remarks. Mingyu doesn’t say anything yet, but the protective way he keeps you close to him is louder than any of their words.
He leads out the grand side doors, down the torchlit corridor where you walk past the watchful eyes of your painted ancestors on the walls. The farther you travel away from the ballroom, the fainter the music becomes, and the more you feel like you can breathe again.
Mingyu shuts the door behind you when you enter the grand library. The entire room had been cleared because of the ball taking place. Towering shelves of books stretch out endlessly before you, the smell of old ink and parchment lingering through the air. You always come here whenever you wanted to escape𑁋you forget at times that it’s still part of the palace. A quieter and vulnerable part of your world.
The books you’ve read here never judged you.
Your shoulders drop to the floor before you realise how long you’ve been holding them up.
“I think I may have ruined everything,” You admit quietly after a long while of silence. “I feel as if I may have jeopardised my title, my status, and yet… I do not feel sad about it, but𑁋”
“𑁋relieved?”
You blink back at Mingyu in surprise.
“Yes,” You finish. “Relieved, strangely.”
Mingyu tilts his head skeptically. He steps up into the space right next to you, where your eyes are roaming over the books on the walls.
“If it makes you feel any better,” he begins, clearing his throat soundly. “I believe that you were the most radiant one up there.”
A choked laugh bubbles out of you despite everything. “Even if I humiliated myself in front of the entire court?”
“Especially then, princess.”
“You are just saying that to make me feel better, you liar,” You accuse teasingly.
“Lying would be against my oath,” he remarks, the corners of his mouth twitching up in amusement. “I have been nothing but truthful during our times together, my lady.”
The banter has always been easy between the two of you, you realise. The burdens and scrutiny waiting on the other side of the door feel less frightening to face when you know Mingyu is right by your side. You know that at any moment, this temporary peace could be ruined and you’d be exiled back to your duties𑁋or worse, exiled from the kingdom because of the scrutiny.
Mingyu’s eyes roam over the quiet reflection on your face, and he feels his heart ache in his chest.
“Come here, princess.”
You lift a puzzled brow. “What𑁋”
Before you can finish, he’s wrapping his armoured arm your waist and drawing you into his hold. The cool metal of his gauntlet presses gently on your lower back, and before you know it, you find yourself swaying together in the middle of the dead-silent library.
“No music,” he points out with a fond smile. “Just us.”
There’s no grand chandelier above your heads, no judging nobles or entitled princes. There’s only the soft glow of lanterns, moonlight filtering in through tall windows, and Mingyu’s presence wrapped around you. It feels more intimate than anything else.
“You are terrible at this,” You say playfully, even while resting your cheek on his breastplate. “The armour makes you clunky.”
A huff of amusement leaves him. “Forgive me. I am a knight, not a dancer.”
“It is alright,” You reassure him calmly. “Follow my lead.”
He does𑁋well, he tries to𑁋and there’s something so endearing seeing a man so formidable fumble a little when attempting to move with you. But after a few more turns, his movements become surprisingly graceful when he allows himself to stop overthinking about it.
You lead him in slow, sweeping circles across the grand library, your shared giggles ringing out into the room when his armour accidentally clips one of the shelves a little too harshly. At one point, he spins you smoothly and dips you down, one arm secured at your waist while the other supports your back. Your circlet glints under the moonlight as your head tilts back.
He holds you there for a heartbeat longer than necessary, gazing down at you with such open adoration that you almost forget that no one else is watching you now. But when he pulls you back upright again, your faces are only a breath away from each other. Your breaths hitch at the same time from the closeness.
The world suddenly narrows. His scent fills all of your senses, and the way his dark eyes drop down to your lips doesn’t go unnoticed by you, as if it was only ever meant for you.
You rise on your toes instinctively, drawn to him like a moth to a flame. If you lean in a fraction closer, your mouths would meet in a soft yet long overdue𑁋
The heavy doors of the library slam open with a force enough to make the surrounding bookshelves tremble. Mingyu reacts faster than thought, spinning you around so that his body is a protective wall between you and the intruders. His hand flies down to the handle of his sword even as recognition hits him.
Three elite guards step into the room with their expressions hardened. The captain strides forward, eyes narrowing between the two of you.
“By royal decree of the King and Queen,” he announces authoritatively. “Her Highness is to return to her chambers at once.”
Mingyu’s face turns molten. “She is under my protec𑁋”
“Stand down, knight. Consider this a warning for your actions tonight,” the captain spits back harshly. “There will be far worse consequences than a reprimand if you overstep your duties.”
Mingyu’s body visibly tenses, but he offers a stiff, obedient bow of his head. “Understood, Captain.”
The captain nods curtly, then gestures to his men. The two other guards step forward and take hold of your arms, already urging you to the door.
“Mingyu𑁋” Your voice cracks as you twist your head back to look at him.
He takes one unconscious step forward, his hand twitching at his sword, but the captain’s warning glares stop him cold.
The heavy doors slam shut behind you, cutting him off from view. The corridor feels colder without him.
Your chambers is quiet, almost too quiet.
The heavy velvet curtains had been drawn tight that not even moonlight can spill inside to grant you peace, and only a few candles flickered on your bedside table, casting long, almost taunting shadows across the cold stone walls of your bedroom. You find yourself sitting on the edge of your bed in your nightgown, with your knees up to your chest and your arms wrapped loosely around them.
No matter what, sleep refuses to come. After the ball had ended, you were banished immediately to your chambers by your mother’s icy command, her parting voice still ringing in your ears about how you had embarrassed the entire kingdom in one single night.
Yet it’s not your mother’s voice that disturbs your sleep, not entirely at least. Rather it’s Prince Moon’s vile words. His words about your title, your autonomy, your maidenhood. You know that you shouldn’t allow his words to affect you as much as it does, but your mind can’t help but wander. All your life, your maidenhood has been treated like nothing but a transaction. A part of you that you always owed for alliances and bloodlines, not out of love. Never has anyone asked what you wanted.
Your thighs press together underneath your nightgown, a restless kind of heat blooming low in your stomach. For years, you resigned yourself to this untimely fate; but tonight, after rejecting all the princes so publicly, you decide that this is the night where you would finally choose yourself.
Anxiety throbs beneath your ribs as you rise from the bed and cross the room with bare feet. You pause right before the heavy oak door, fingers hovering over the latch. This is lunacy that you’re about to commit, but the fire in your veins refuses to be quelled by reason tonight. Opening the latch, you crack the door open enough to catch one of the maids passing by in the corridor.
“Hyejin!” You whisper-yell into the dark hallway.
The girl startles from your voice, her lantern swinging around when she turns to the sound. She glances both ways before rushing to your side with a silent bow. She has always been loyal and discreet, and knew better than to question odd requests at odd hours.
“Yes, Your Highness?” she asks hushedly.
“Find Sir Mingyu at once,” You instruct her urgently. “Tell him that I require his immediate presence. And do not notify a soul, please.”
Hyejin’s eyes widen fractionally, but she merely nods. “Of course, my lady. I shall return with him swiftly.” She spins on her heel and vanishes into the shadows of the hallway like a ghost.
You shut the door and lean back against it, pressing a hand to your racing heart. The minute that drag feels like an eternity. Your legs pace around the room in anticipation, straighten your already-flawless blush-colour coverlet on your bed, adjust the candles, then you sit again only to stand once more.
Doubts swarm your head like storm clouds. What if he refuses? What if we are discovered? What if I am𑁋what if we are both𑁋ruined forever? But beneath all your worries burned a defiant need. You wanted this. You wanted him.
When three measured knocks land at your door minutes later, your breath catches in your throat. Pursing your lips tightly, you approach the door and unlatch it carefully. The door creeps open slowly, before a pair of heavy footsteps slips inside.
The world suddenly fades into complete silence when Mingyu closes to the door behind him with a soft click and slides the bolt into place. He’s still in his ceremonial armour from the ball, the intricately engraved steel shimmering like stars under the candlelight and the red cape behind him flowing down to the floor like a waterfall.
Mingyu’s ready eyes sweeps across your chambers naturally as he strides in your direction𑁋from the high curtains that drape down to the ground, to your heavy wardrobe, to even beneath your four poster bed𑁋to spot any kind of danger that might be lurking. It’s only when he finds nothing does he allow his gaze to settle back on you.
“Princess,” he calls worriedly, catching the distraught expression on your tired features. “What is the matter? Are you hurt?”
You shake your head diffidently.
“No.”
“Did Her Majesty𑁋”
“No.”
Mingyu falls silent.
“Then why have you summoned me at this hour, my lady?” he asks, more softer this time.
You hesitate, fingertips digging carelessly into the thin fabric of your nightgown. The words you rehearsed in your head suddenly feel too bold and dangerous.
This is it. There is no going back now.
“I… I want you to teach me,” You admit shakily.
Mingyu blinks, arching up a thick brow. “Teach you?”
“About… pleasure.”
The colour drains from his face almost instantly, before a deep flush creeps up his neck that you see hidden in the shadows of his gorget. He takes an instinctive step back, the metal of his greaves scraping against the floor.
“I-I beg your pardon, princess?” he coughs out flusteredly, his voice coming out rougher than expected.
The weight of your words hit you, but you refuse to let your courage crack anymore. You step up toward him until the tips of your feet barely graze his boots, closing the distance he tries to create. Even through his breastplate, you feel the heat radiating off him. It helps to ease your nerves only slightly.
“I want you to teach me…” You begin nervously. “...how to have sex.”
Mingyu’s breath hitches audibly, his composed mask shattering entirely. His gaze turns dark as he fights the battle raging in his head right now: honour clashing with desire, duty against the tug of his heart. A shiver runs through his tall frame. He attempts to force his attention elsewhere, pretending this was nothing but his imagination, yet your request has permanently imprinted itself in his mind and… and he cannot deny that this is reality.
Gods, the thought alone has him aching already.
“Princess, I𑁋do you understand what you are asking me right now?” A pensive look washes over his face. “I am your sworn knight. You cannot… say such things to me. If anyone were to find out, we would both be punished before our next breath.”
But even as those words leave his mouth, he betrays himself regardless. His hands flex at his sides, fighting the urge to reach out to you.
You reach up to brush a path over his chest, and he sighs in restraint as if your hand burns him.
“You are my sworn knight, Sir Mingyu,” You repeat, guiding your hand up until it rests on his warm chin. “The only man I trust the most in this world. With my life, with my heart, and now… my body.” A sharp heat prickles beneath your eyelids. “I do not care about the risks because I choose you. I always have. So I… I beg of you to show me what it is like to sully my virtue. Please.”
Nothing but desire flashes through his thoughts. Mingyu rests his armoured hand over yours that’s on his chest and leans down to rest his forehead on yours. You both breathe each other in for a moment, his warmth breath grazing upon your lips.
That is, until he sinks to his knees, peering up at you with nothing but unyielding devotion, with your hand still in his. The position alone makes heat flood into your core𑁋seeing your powerful knight on his knees before you.
“I am yours to command tonight, my princess,” he says, pressing a vowing kiss to each knuckle on your hand which sends sparks up your spine. “And I will show you what it is like to be worshipped so sweetly… that you forget every cage duty has tried to force on you.”
Before you can speak, Mingyu flips your hand over to trace his lips over the pulse point at your wrist, never breaking eye contact with you. Slowly, he trails higher to kiss along the sensitive skin of your forearm, to the crook of your elbow, and one at your shoulder. Then he rises back to his feet, cups your cheek with a gauntleted hand, and begins to lean in.
Your eyes squeeze shut naturally, your body bracing for the first real kiss. But Mingyu teasingly pauses just short of your mouth, a smile forming at his lips as he relishes the sight of your features up close for the first time.
He mutters something along the lines of beautiful before claiming your lips.
Mingyu kisses you slowly at first, learning the shape of your mouth, then it grows needier as you part your lips for him. His tongue brushes against yours tentatively, never demanding more unless he knows you want it. Your fingers curl desperately on the edges of his armour while the world tilts around the two of you.
“I have yearned for the taste of your lips for years, my lady,” he whispers against your mouth, gripping your waist a little tighter. “To have you now is truly… a privilege I will never take for granted.”
He begins to shed his armour with his mouth never leaving yours once, stripping his gauntlets and the heavy pauldrons on his shoulders until they fall uselessly to the floor. Piece by piece, the barriers between your bodies disappear𑁋the breastplate, the vanbraces around his forearms, the gorget on his neck𑁋leaving him in only his linen undershirt and breeches.
Your impatient hands roam underneath his shirt, caressing over the strong planes of his chest. Mingyu chuckles at your eagerness and pulls off his shirt entirely, letting it join the pile of steel on the floor. You pull away from him to just admire in awe.
Moonlight may have been kinder to the sight of him, but the candlelight illuminates him even more. His broad shoulders hold strength and the faint scars across his defined chest and abdomen make him appear more real. More yours.
You trace over the line of an old battle scar beneath his collarbone. His body tenses from your touch.
“You are staring, princess,” Mingyu murmurs amusedly, though his cheeks are flushed. He strokes your lower lip with a fingertip. “Do I please you?”
“More than I can say,” You say with a soft smile. “My knight is… quite ravishing to the eyes.”
A boyish grin tugs at his mouth. He nuzzles his face into your neck.
“Ravishing, am I?” he muses playfully, lips brushing against the skin there. “Then I suppose I must live up to my title, my love.”
Without a second thought, he lifts you up into his arms as if you weigh nothing. A surprised giggle escapes you before it is swallowed down by another deep kiss. He carries you a few steps toward your grand bed. The velvet coverlet feels cool against your back when he lays you down carefully, his large body hovering over yours.
His hands slip under your nightgown and chemise, his calloused hands caressing over your thighs.
“May I take this off, princess?” he asks, dark eyes searching yours for any hesitation.
“Yes,” You breathe out, clutching weakly at his shoulders.
Mingyu slowly draws the fabric upward. The cool air of the room kisses over the sensitive skin of your legs. You lift your hips up to help him, and he peels the gown over your waist, your breasts, and finally over your head. It flutters to the floor like a discarded flower petal, leaving you in only your thin chemise. The candlelight almost makes it appear translucent.
His fingers toy with the straps of your chemise, glancing back up at you for permission again. When you give him a small nod, his face softens with such tenderness it makes you far too shy to maintain eye contact as he peels the delicate lace down your body. Shivers run up and down your skin, not from the cold but from the weight of his stare. Like you’re the only star in the sky.
His throat bobs visibly.
“Fuck, princess…” Mingyu curses, letting his hands glide up your sides before resting on the underside of your breasts. He caresses over one gently with his large palms, taking your nipple between his fingertips, causing you to let out a soft moan. “You are an art piece… crafted with perfection by the heavens themselves. Untouched by the world, but allowing her knight to ruin so sweetly.”
He leans down to capture your nipple in his mouth, sucking lightly while his free hand plays with the other. Your body arches needily against his, and the velvety heat of his tongue has you clenching around nothing. He continues his journey downwards, his mouth tracing a path of fire between the valley of your breasts and lower over your stomach, stopping when he reaches your mound.
Mingyu spreads your legs a little wider, groaning when he notices how wet you already are.
“Gods above, look at you.” He strokes soothingly along the inside of your thigh, settling between your legs more comfortably. “Your sweet little cunt is weeping for attention. May I taste you, my lady? This will be your first lesson in pleasure.”
You nod urgently, already digging your hands into the silk sheets of your bed.
With a grateful smile, Mingyu leans in and presses an open-mouth kiss to your folds. You jolt at the wet contact, but he grips your hips firmly to hold you in place. “Easy, sweet girl. Stay open for me. Let me devour this innocent pussy…”
He drags the flat of his warm tongue from your entrance and up to the little swollen bud at the top.
“This pretty pearl right here is your clit.” He teasingly circles his tongue around the sensitive nub, before sealing it in his mouth with a loud suck that echoes off the walls of your chambers. “So sensitive… You taste like the sweetest, most forbidden nectar.”
You cry out a whimpered gasp when he sucks it more firmly, the pleasure striking you hard like lightning. Your hands find their way into his dark hair, burying him into you even more. Mingyu grunts at the sensation and doubles on his efforts, switching between gentle sucks and rapid flicks of his tongue on your pussy, keeping his eyes solely locked on the way your face twists with pleasure.
When he pulls away for a breath, you look down and the sight nearly destroys you𑁋Mingyu, your loyal knight, between your legs with his lips glistening with your wetness.
“May I… put a finger inside you, my lady?” he asks breathlessly, hot breath fanning against your slick folds. “Just one for now. Only if you want, princess.”
“Yes,” You sigh out, trembling with need. “I want it, please…”
Mingyu kisses your knee appreciatively and returns to your aching core. At the same time, he teases a thick finger at your entrance and coats it with your arousal, before gently pushing inside. Your body welcomes him instantly.
The stretch is foreign to you, but he works it through you thoroughly. He curls his finger in an upward motion that has your walls fluttering around him. The simultaneous sensation of his tongue and fingers makes you grip his hair even tighter and your hips to grind against his face.
“Mingyu, it feels so good…”
“Mmmh, good girl,” he praises sweetly, voice muffled against you. “Let me add a second one, yeah? To stretch you more open for me…”
He works another thick finger alongside the first. The burn between your legs melts away the brief discomfort of the stretch into pure heat. His fingers thrust in and out of you at a steady rhythm as his mouth continues lapping at your pussy. Your loud, broken moans bounce off the walls of the chambers as the pleasure builds rapidly, your hips practically riding his face.
Mingyu growls when he feels your thighs start to tremble harshly around his head.
“That’s it, my love,” he murmurs hotly against your dripping cunt. “Give me your pleasure, your first ever orgasm from a man who yearns for you…”
“Fuck, I𑁋Mingyu𑁋!”
Pleasure explodes through you like wildfire. A blissful cry of his name rips out of your throat, your back arching sharply off the bed as your walls clamp down tightly around his fingers. Your hips jerk against his face, riding the waves while he continues licking and sucking, drinking in every drop of your release.
He slows when your moans turn into soft, overstimulated whimpers and your thighs fall open in exhaustion. With one final kiss to your swollen folds, he withdraws his fingers and hovers back above you. His heart squeezes with pride when looks down at your flushed, trembling body.
“You are enchanting when you let go, my princess,” he says before kissing you deeply, and you taste yourself on his tongue. “I could spend the rest of my days between your legs and never tire.”
A subtle shift of his body has you feeling the heavy outline of his hardening cock through his breeches. Mingyu inhales sharply when you roll your hips against his once, his ears red with a mixture of embarrassment and arousal.
“I… fuck𑁋we do not have to, sweetheart,” he mutters, though the way he’s involuntarily grinding on you says otherwise. “You have given me so much than I deserve tonight, and I would rather die than cause you pain.”
You cup his cheek tenderly, grazing over his cheekbone. A fresh wave of nerves and desire twists in your belly.
“I want to,” You whisper. “I ache for it, Mingyu. Please… make love to me.”
Something in him shatters at that, as if his last thread of restraint snaps into two. His eyes fall shut for a moment, nostrils flaring at your plea. When they open, his eyes have darkened with hunger, and he leans in to capture your lips with a kiss so deep it knocks the air out of your lungs. His large body pins you deeper into the bed, the heat of his bare chest searing against your skin.
Mingyu pulls away just long enough to shove his breeches down his thighs, kicking them away. Your eyes widen when his cock springs free𑁋thick and heavy, curled slightly with a glistening tip already leaking for you. It’s your first time ever seeing a man this undeniably aroused for you. He’s so beautiful and intimidating that you can’t help but just stare.
He notices your wide-eyed expression and lets out a shy, self-conscious chuckle.
“Have I frightened you?” he questions worriedly.
You shake your head. “No… You’re… big. I did not expect…” The words die on your tongue, but hungry curiosity sparkles in your eyes.
Tentatively, you reach down to touch his length, and his cock twitches harshly from your touch. He’s impossibly hard, the skin smooth and hot as you wrap your hand around him to stroke him experimentally from the base to the tip. A low, guttural groan rumbles from his chest.
“Shit…” he moans out, his hips jerking into your touch before realising it. “You do not have to𑁋fuck, your hand feels like magic𑁋”
You watch in awe as another bead of precum leaps from the tip. Emboldened, you swipe your thumb over it, spreading it down his shaft. Mingyu’s head falls forward into your shoulder, his breaths coming out in hot pants.
“Easy, my love,” he warns, catching your wrist and pinning it to the bed beside your head, your fingers lacing together. “If there is a next time, you may touch me as you please. But for now… I need to be inside you.”
Mingyu uses his other hand to guide his cock to your entrance, rubbing the flushed head along your soaked and sensitive folds. He doesn’t push inside just yet.
“Tell me again, princess,” he commands. “Tell me you want your knight to corrupt you.”
“I want you, please,” You plead longingly. “Make love to me. Fuck me. Claim me as yours.”
That’s all it takes.
With a groan, he starts pushing inside. His cock is much thicker and hotter than his fingers were. You gasp from the intense stretch, your nails digging crescents into his biceps as your body struggles to take him. He pauses to give you time to adjust before burying himself even more until he’s fully inside of you, whispering soothing praises and peppering your face with kisses to distract you from the discomfort.
“Gods above, I cannot believe… I am inside of you, my lady,” he mutters hoarsely. “So warm… so tight…”
When the burn eases away, you shift your hips into his and let out a small, needy whimper. That’s all the permission he needs.
Mingyu thrusts into you with a slow pace, dragging his cock along your sensitive walls. This was a dream that plagued him every night𑁋a dream of finally having you to himself and not those wretched princes, loving you the way you deserve, ruining you for any other man, even if it’s only for a single night. A night that he will cherish to his very grave.
His jaw clenches tightly as he tries to keep himself from losing control too fast, but it doesn’t help when your moans grace his ears like a symphony and the way your nails are raking red trails down his back spur him on even more.
“Mingyu𑁋ah𑁋faster, please𑁋”
“Faster?” he repeats breathlessly. “As you command, my princess.”
Bracing his strong arms at your sides, he snaps his hips deeper, harder, into you. The bed creaks under the force of his movements, the wet, filthy sounds of your bodies shamelessly meeting reverberating throughout your chambers that you are sure someone can hear if they passed too close to the door, but the thought only sends a forbidden thrill through you.
He swallows your moans with a devouring kiss as he continues to fuck you. One hand grips your thigh higher to hit that sensitive spot inside of you, and it sends that familiar pleasure to tighten in your stomach once again.
You embrace your arms around his neck. “I’m close, Mingyu𑁋”
“Gods𑁋fuck, me too,” he says into your sweat-slicked skin, but his pace starts faltering. “But I have to… shit, I have to slow down, princess𑁋I cannot cum inside of you. I cannot ruin your future…”
Mingyu starts to pull back, but you feel the strain in him, the way his body is refusing to comply with how he slows his thrusts. But you don’t let him stray away; instead, you tighten your arms around like a vice, keeping every thick inch of you sheathed inside your cunt.
“No, do not pull away,” You pant in his ears, fingers greedily threading into his damp hair. “I need you, Mingyu𑁋I do not care about the consequences. I choose this. I choose you. Fill me up, my loyal knight. I beg you…”
Something raw and possessive bursts out of him at your desperate pleas, his eyes flashing with overwhelming love and hunger. He curses lowly to himself, as if hoping the heavens won’t hear the sin he is about to commit, before driving back into you roughly, giving into everything he’s held back.
“You will damn us both… and yet I cannot deny you ever,” he pants into your neck. “Your knight obeys… always. Take me, my love𑁋cum for me. Now.”
Your second orgasm crashes into you harder than the first. Waves of ecstasy whiten your vision, your body arching off the bed as clench around his cock one final time. The feeling of your release sends Mingyu over the edge completely. He buries himself inside of you, filling you to the brim with thick ropes of his heat. He grinds slow and deep through both of your orgasms, pushing every drop as far in you as possible.
Mingyu doesn’t pull out of you yet for several long moments. He cages your trembling form in his arms as if he’s afraid the world might tear you apart if he lets go. He presses kisses along the column of your throat and up to your jaw, then to your swollen lips, lingering a little longer than usual. Only then does he draw away to peer down at you with glassy, vulnerable eyes.
“I love you, my princess,” he confesses quietly. “I have loved you silently for years, since the first day I swore my oath to protect you. I have always adored your resilience, your beauty… among many other things.”
Your blink sleepily up at him, your heart swelling at his words.
“I love you too, Sir Mingyu,” You whisper back, nestling your nose against his. “I always knew that my heart belonged to you, too.”
A soft, boyish smile crosses his lips, the kind that always made your stomach flutter during daylight hours when no one was watching. After some time, he coaxes himself out of you with a grunt, a generous trickle of his release coating your thighs and the sheets beneath you. His gaze darkens at the sight, but he does not push for more.
He rolls himself onto his back and wraps his arms around your middle, letting your head rest on his broad chest. One of his hands soothingly traces shapes on your spine while the other brushes through your disheveled hair.
“Stay with me tonight,” You mutter into his skin. “Do not leave before dawn. I wish to wake up in your arms just once.”
“I will never abandon you, my love,” Mingyu assures you, tightening his hold on you. “But we must prepare ourselves for what the morning light will bring. If your parents find out𑁋”
“What if we run away together?”
Mingyu freezes at that. A shadow of conflict rises in his features, but there’s something else there too𑁋something dangerously close to hope.
“You cannot mean that, princess,” he tells you. “It is not so easy. You know that.”
“I do mean it,” You say back stubbornly. “I know I will never be forgiven for rejecting every prince at the ball. Gods, they will probably sell me off to the highest bidder by the end of the week. But I do not want a crown if it means being stuck in a loveless marriage. I want a life with you, Mingyu. A life where we can love freely and perhaps… build a family one day.”
He can imagine it so clearly: a life with the two of you in some hidden cottage in the mountains or a village by the sea, where he can wake up to your smile in the mornings and worship you into the depths of the night without fear or duty holding him back. A life with a little one𑁋or more, if you wish𑁋running around. A child who holds your tenacity and wields his softness.
“You tempt me more than any devil, my love,” he proclaims, nuzzling his face into your hair. “But running away now without a plan would put you in greater danger. If we do this… we must be smart. Find allies and gather belongings. Perhaps… in a few months time, when the storm of tonight has settled.”
You pout lightly. “So we wait?”
“For now,” he says, kissing the tip of your nose. “But know this𑁋I am yours. If you wish to run, I will follow you to the ends of the earth and lay down everything for a chance at a life with you. I promise you that.”
The weight of his promise settles warmly in your chest more than the exhaustion crawling through your bones. You rise in his hold to kiss him deeply and unhurriedly, before allowing him to hold you.
“Rest now,” Mingyu orders softly when you part, tucking you into his side once more. “The world is still asleep. Let me hold you while I can. Tomorrow we face the wolves… but tonight, you are simply mine as I am yours, my angel.”
hello~ this was supposed to be only one part but i cannnnooot make it fit into one post without deleting too many scenes so i hope y'all don't mind it's by parts again😭 i tried but i didn't want to sacrifice the plot for the sake of making it shorter.
also a quick explanation why it's called backburner. it came to me while i was editing it, OC isn't the backburner.... cheol is. in a way he's fine being not her first choice, he didn't mind loving her in silence if it meant keeping her🥺 i hope it will make sense when you read this. enjoy🤍
The door clicked shut behind him with the familiar sound of keys against metal, followed by the quiet thud of shoes being pushed aside near the entrance.
“Hey,” Seungcheol called automatically, voice warm, already shrugging off his jacket as he stepped inside your apartment
“I brought—” he stopped. No answer.
Usually, even on your worst days, you answered him somehow, sometimes half asleep from the couch, wrapped in a blanket, or from the kitchen telling him to come in but tonight the apartment was dim, silent except for one thing.
A sharp, painful sound from deeper inside. Then another. He froze for half a second before recognizing it.
Vomiting.
His expression changed immediately “...Shit.”
The grocery bag in his hand hit the counter almost carelessly before he moved fast down the short hallway, guided by the sound until he reached the bathroom door half-open.
You were kneeling on the floor. One hand gripping the toilet seat, the other braced weakly against the tiles, shoulders trembling as another wave hit you hard enough that your whole body folded forward.
Seungcheol was beside you in an instant. One hand gathered your hair away from your face, the other pressed flat between your shoulder blades, rubbing slowly, steadily.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he said quietly, voice lower now, softer, the kind of voice he only used when he knew you were hanging by a thread “I’m here.”
You didn’t answer because you couldn’t.
Another dry heave wracked through you, harsher this time, leaving almost nothing but pain behind. By the time it eased, tears had collected at the corners of your eyes—not from crying, just exhaustion, the strain of it all.
You stayed there breathing hard, forehead nearly touching the toilet seat.
Seungcheol didn’t move his hand.
He just kept rubbing slow circles into your back.
“When was the last time you kept anything down?” he asked after a moment
Your answer came weak “Half a cracker”
He looked at you “Today?”
You gave the tiniest nod. It had been like this for days now. Ever since the nausea had fully hit, mornings were bad, afternoons were worse, and nights somehow became unbearable.
At nine weeks, your body had decided mercy wasn’t part of the plan. And because life apparently wasn’t cruel enough, you were doing it while nursing a heartbreak that still sat fresh under your skin.
The ex-boyfriend who got you pregnant had left more damage behind than just betrayal.
You had found out about the cheating first. The girl from work. Messages. Pictures. Late nights that suddenly made sense. Promises that turned into excuses.
Then the breakup.
Then weeks later, two pink lines you had stared at in silence until your hands shook so badly you nearly dropped the test.
You hadn’t even told many people. Just Seungcheol. And once he knew, he simply… stayed.
Every day after work. Every grocery run.Every doctor appointment. Every time you insisted you were fine and clearly weren’t.
Now he crouched beside you in his office clothes, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up, looking like he belonged nowhere near a bathroom floor and yet acting like there was nowhere else he’d rather be.
He reached for the cup near the sink, filled it with water, and brought it to your lips.
“Rinse first”
You obeyed because arguing took too much strength. Afterward, he helped you sit back against the wall.
Your skin looked pale. His brows drew together as he pressed the back of his hand lightly to your forehead.
“You’re freezing”
“I’m fine”
“You say that every day”
“I mean it differently every day”
That actually pulled the smallest breath of a laugh from him then his face softened again.
“You should’ve called me earlier”
“You were working”
“And?”
You didn’t answer because there was no answer he would accept.
Seungcheol leaned his shoulder against the wall beside you, still close enough that if another wave came, he’d catch you before you fell forward again.
For a moment, neither of you spoke.
Then you whispered, voice rough, “I hate this.”
Not the pregnancy, not exactly. The helplessness. The nausea. The loneliness that sometimes hits harder than the sickness itself.
“I know”
“I throw up and then I cry because I’m hungry, then I try eating and throw up again.”
He nodded like this was a serious medical report “Terrible system”
“Very bad design”
“We should file a complaint” that made you smile faintly despite yourself.
A weak thing, but real. Seungcheol noticed because his own expression softened immediately, relief flickering there like he had been waiting for even that much.
Then your face changed again. Another wave. He reacted before you even bent forward, hair already gathered, hand steady on your back while your body tensed again.
This one lasted longer. When it ended, you were shaking.
“Okay,” he said firmly, decision already made “No more bathroom floor”
“I live here now”
“Not tonight”
Before you could protest, he stood, reached down, and slid one arm behind your back, the other under your knees.
“Seungcheol—” He lifted you easily, you barely had strength to resist anyway
“I can walk”
“You nearly tipped sideways five seconds ago”
“I had balance”
“You were hugging a toilet”
“That counts”
He laid you gently onto the couch, arranged the blanket over you, then disappeared into the kitchen. You heard cabinets opening, the sound of something being unwrapped. He returned with ginger tea, plain crackers, and that same look he’d been wearing more and more lately.
Concern sharpened into quiet determination.
“Tiny sip,” he instructed
You obeyed because again, arguing required energy you did not possess. He waited while you drank then handed you half a cracker.
“Slow”
You took a bite. After a minute, he exhaled quietly. You leaned back, exhausted. He sat beside you but not too close, giving you space while still staying within reach.
Your voice came small after a while “You don’t have to keep doing this every day”
He didn’t even look at you when he answered
“Yes, I do”
“No, you don’t”
That made him finally turn. His eyes held yours steadily.
“Yes,” he repeated, gentler now, “I do.”
Because underneath all his calm, there was something else there. Something he never forced into words.
Not now. Maybe not yet.
But it existed in every grocery bag he brought, every pharmacy receipt tucked into his wallet, every hour spent sitting beside your bathroom floor after work like it was the most natural place in the world for him to be.
“I’m sorry,” you murmured
“For what?”
“For being… like this.”
That answer made his expression harden.
“You’re growing a whole person while surviving heartbreak and barely sleeping. You’re allowed to throw up and be miserable.”
A tear slipped before you could stop it. You wiped it quickly but he had already seen. And because Seungcheol had always known exactly what to do when you were one breath away from breaking, he simply reached over and wiped the next tear before it fell.
“No apologizing tonight” he said quietly
You swallowed hard then another whisper “I didn’t think it would feel this lonely”
That finally cracked something in his face, because that, more than anything, was what he hated. How you kept carrying pain like it belonged only to you.
His voice lowered, “You’re not alone”
Simple. Certain. No hesitation. The kind of promise that sounded dangerous only because he meant it completely.
And sitting there, wrapped in a blanket, stomach unsettled, body exhausted, heart still bruised—you believed him.
Because every day since everything fell apart, he had shown up. Without fail. Without complaint. Without asking for anything back.
=
The office was loud in the usual end-of-day way—keyboards clacking, muted conversations near the glass meeting room, someone laughing too hard at something near the pantry.
Seungcheol barely noticed any of it. His attention stayed fixed on the phone lying beside his keyboard. Screen dark. No new message.
He tapped it awake for what had to be the fifth time in ten minutes.
Still nothing from you.
His brows pulled together. You had texted earlier that morning that you needed to go out for a few hours—something about work paperwork you couldn’t delay anymore and he had replied immediately
Cheol: Text me when you get there. Text me when you leave. Call if you feel sick.
You had sent a thumbs up but that had been hours ago. He checked the time again. Then your chat.
Then the time again.
“Still playing baby daddy?” The voice came from his left. Lazy. Amused. Entirely too entertained. Seungcheol didn’t even need to look up to know who it was.
Wonwoo leaned one shoulder against the divider of his desk, coffee in hand, glasses low on his nose, wearing the exact expression of a man arriving solely to be annoying.
Seungcheol finally lifted his eyes. The glare he gave him was immediate.
Wonwoo looked delighted by it “That look means yes”
“It means leave”
“But if I leave, who’s going to listen to you pretend you’re not one text away from driving across the city because she hasn’t replied in two hours?”
Seungcheol glanced down at his phone again before he could stop himself and Wonwoo caught it instantly smirking wider.
Wonwoo took a slow sip of coffee “You know, from an outside perspective, this is fascinating”
Seungcheol leaned back in his chair, jaw tight “Do you have work?”
“Yes. But this is more interesting”
His thumb hovered near your contact before locking the screen again and Wonwoo watched the whole thing like a nature documentary.
“There it is again,” he murmured “That face”
“What face”
“The one where you look like you’re calculating whether calling her would be supportive or overbearing”
Seungcheol finally looked up “Why are you here?”
Wonwoo ignored that “You’ve been doing this every day for weeks now”
“She’s sick”
“She’s pregnant,” Wonwoo corrected mildly “And you are acting like an expectant husband in a medical drama”
“She lives alone”
“And?”
“And she needs help”
Wonwoo gave him a long look then deliberately sat on the edge of the desk
“You know what I enjoy most?”
“I’m not interested.”
“The fact that after all these years, you still think nobody can tell.”
Wonwoo had watched the entire thing happen in slow motion. Watched Seungcheol fall quietly and permanently long before anyone said it aloud. Watched him keep it to himself because timing never lined up, because friendship mattered more, because you smiled at someone else first.
And then you dated someone else. Seungcheol had stepped back exactly the way he should have.
No crossing lines. Just distance. Respectful.
Even when Wonwoo knew every time your name came up, something changed in Seungcheol’s face. Then the breakup happened. The cheating. The office girl. And Wonwoo also still remembered that night clearly because he had been there when Seungcheol found out.
The way Seungcheol stood so suddenly his chair nearly hit the floor. The look on his face that had made Wonwoo genuinely wonder whether he needed to physically stop him from doing something illegal.
“I’m going to kill him.” Direct. Calm. Which somehow sounded worse.
Wonwoo grabbed his sleeve immediately and said, “Prison is inconvenient”
“He cheated on her.”
“Yes, and murder remains dramatic”
“He cheated on her” Seungcheol repeated, voice lower, angrier.
Wonwoo had almost believed he would actually do it.
“You know,” he said lightly, “if someone didn’t know better, they’d think you’ve been waiting for this your whole life”
Seungcheol’s jaw flexed, “Be careful”
“See? Threatening. Very paternal.”
Another glare. Wonwoo smiled behind his coffee cup. Then his gaze dropped when Seungcheol’s phone lit up.
Seungcheol snatched it up. Wonwoo laughed under his breath because of course he did.
You: Sorry. Threw up in the clinic bathroom. Phone was in my bag. I’m okay now. Going home soon.
The tightness in Seungcheol’s shoulders eased but only slightly.
His fingers were already typing
Cheol: Clinic? Why clinic? Are you alone? Did you eat? Send location. I’m coming.
Wonwoo leaned enough to catch the edge of the screen then sighed dramatically.
Seungcheol stood, already grabbing his jacket.
“You’re leaving?”
“She’s at a clinic.”
“She said she’s okay.”
“She threw up in public.”
Wonwoo spread his hands “Right. Obviously life-threatening”
Seungcheol shoved his phone into his pocket “Do your work”
Wonwoo watched him move around the desk. Then added, because he truly could not resist, “If she ever realizes you’ve loved her since forever, I expect front-row seats.”
Just enough that Wonwoo caught the warning in his face. But also the truth.
“For what it’s worth,” he said, voice less teasing now, “I think she already trusts you more than anyone.”
Then his phone buzzed again. Your location. And another message
You: Don’t panic. I’m just tired.
Too late. He was already walking.
“Tell HR I left.”
Wonwoo called after him, grin returning “Should I also tell them parental leave is approaching?”
This time Seungcheol didn’t even bother answering.
Just lifted one hand without looking back—half warning, half dismissal—while already dialing your number the second he reached the elevator
By the time Seungcheol reached the clinic, the evening traffic of Seoul had already thickened into slow-moving lines of headlights and brake lights stretching along the road.
He barely noticed any of it. The moment he turned into the curbside lane, his eyes found you immediately.
Sitting alone on a bench just outside the clinic entrance. One hand resting near your stomach without thinking, shoulders slightly hunched, looking tired in the way that had become too familiar lately—like your body was spending energy faster than you could recover it.
The second he saw you, he parked badly enough that another driver honked.
He ignored it, already crossing toward you.
Your head lifted at the sound of hurried footsteps, and before you could even greet him, he was standing there, brows drawn tight, scanning your face like he expected to find evidence you hadn’t mentioned.
“Why are you sitting outside?” he asked immediately
You blinked up at him “Because I was waiting.”
“You could’ve waited inside.”
“I wanted air”
“You threw up again?”
“A little”
“A little,” he repeated flatly, like the phrase personally offended him. You almost smiled.
He crouched just enough to meet your eyes properly “Are you dizzy?”
“No.”
“Headache?” “No.”
“Can you stand?”
That one made you laugh softly, tired but real “Yes, Seungcheol.”
Still, he took your bag before you could reach for it, then offered his hand like he didn’t fully trust your answer. And because arguing with him in this mood never worked, you let him help you up.
The walk to the car was slow. Not because you couldn’t manage, but because he kept adjusting his pace to yours so precisely it was impossible not to notice. At the passenger side, he opened the door first. Waited until you sat. Then leaned in, buckled your seatbelt himself, checking that it sat comfortably before closing the door gently.
By the time he got into the driver’s seat, you were already watching him with that quiet look that always made him pretend not to notice.
He started the engine. Only pulled away once he was sure you were settled.
For a few minutes, the car filled with soft heater air and city lights sliding past the windows.
Then he glanced at you.
“So.”
You leaned your head lightly against the seat “So?”
“What did the doctor say?”
You exhaled slowly “That apparently I’m dramatic”
He looked over immediately “She said that?”
“No,” you said, deadpan. “She said what I think is excessive nausea is apparently normal.”
His mouth tightened “Throwing up all day is normal?”
“Unfortunately, yes”
“That seems poorly designed”
“I told you.”
“What else?”
You looked out the window for a second, replaying the appointment
“I told her I can barely keep food down some days. She said small meals, bland food, ginger, rest… and she said if it gets worse, I might need fluids.”
“You didn’t tell me that part in the text.”
“Because I’m not at the fluids part”
“You still should’ve said it”
You looked at him sideways “You were already panicking.”
“I was not panicking”
“You left work in ten minutes”
“That’s efficiency”
That got the faintest smile from you.Traffic slowed at a light. He used the pause to glance over again.
“What else did you do today?”
“Two client meetings”
“You went to both?”
“I’m still employed”
“You looked exhausted yesterday”
“I looked exhausted because your tea tastes like boiled sadness”
He finally made a quiet sound that almost counted as laughter.
“It kept your crackers down.”
“Barely.”
You continued, voice softer now, tired enough that words came slower.
“First meeting was okay. Second one I almost had to excuse myself because someone opened tuna kimbap in the room.”
His face changed immediately. “You almost threw up there?”
“I survived.”
“That is not surviving.”
“I survived enough.”
Another pause. Then you added, almost absentmindedly, gaze still out the window:
“On the way here I passed a street cart.”
“Hm?”
“The egg bread one.”
He glanced at you, you were still looking outside.
“It smelled so good,” you murmured, almost to yourself. “I’ve been craving it for days.”
That finally made him turn his head slightly.
“Egg bread?”
You shrugged like it didn’t matter “The little ones from street vendors.”
“Why didn’t you buy some?”
You gave him a look “Because five minutes later I threw up in a clinic bathroom.”
A fair answer but he had already heard the important part.
Craving.
And unlike most people, Seungcheol treated any food you wanted lately like urgent medical information. Especially because wanting food and keeping food down were two very different things, and when your body asked for something specific, he paid attention.
He said nothing for the next minute. Just drove. Then suddenly signaled right. You noticed immediately.
“Why are we turning?” No answer.
“Seungcheol.” Still nothing.
“You’re not—”
He pulled over near a corner lined with evening vendors, warm lights glowing beneath small carts where steam rose into the cold air.
And there it was. The smell reached even the car. Fresh bread and egg.
He parked. Unbuckled.
“You cannot be serious.”
He already had one hand on the door.
“You wanted it.”
“That was not a request.”
“It sounded medically important.”
“It absolutely did not.”
But he was already out.
You watched through the windshield as he crossed toward the cart without hesitation, speaking briefly with the vendor, hands in his coat pocket while waiting.
Streetlight caught against his profile. Hair slightly messy from rushing out of work. The kind of scene that should not have made your chest tighten the way it did.
But lately everything he did landed somewhere you were trying very hard not to examine too closely.
Because there was something dangerous about kindness when you were already fragile.
And Seungcheol had been too kind for too long.
A few minutes later he came back carrying a warm paper bag.
The smell filled the car instantly the second he opened the door. He handed it over carefully.
“Small bites first"
You looked at the bag, then at him “You really stopped"
“You wanted it"
“I mentioned it”
“You mentioned it twice”
“I did not”
“You did in your head loud enough” Despite yourself, you smiled.
A real one this time. Small, but enough that something in his face softened immediately, almost unconsciously.
You took one careful bite, for the first time all day, your expression changed into something close to relief.
He noticed instantly “Well?”
You chewed slowly “It’s good.”
“Stay there,” he said immediately, eyes still on you like he expected a sudden reaction. “Don’t eat fast.”
You laughed softly through the second bite.
He finally started driving again, slower now, one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the gear shift while occasionally glancing over to make sure you were still okay.
=
By week eleven, the nausea had not disappeared but it had changed shape. Less violent some days, more unpredictable on others.
One morning you could keep toast down. That same afternoon the smell of rice nearly sent you running to the sink.
And the cravings. those had become something else entirely.
At first they came quietly. A specific food sounding nice. Something easy enough to ignore. But lately, they arrived like full emotional emergencies. Ridiculous in how urgent they felt.
And tonight was worse because it had started small—just a passing memory of roasted sweet potatoes from a street cart earlier that week.
The smell of caramelized sweetness in cold air. Soft steam rising when broken apart. Then your brain had decided that was now the only thing in the world that mattered.
By eleven-thirty, you were still trying to reason with yourself.
You drank water, ate half a cracker. You told yourself normal people did not call someone near midnight because of sweet potatoes.
By eleven-fifty, your eyes were burning.
By eleven-fifty-six, you were sitting cross-legged on your bed staring at your phone like it had personally offended you.
This was absurd. He had already come by earlier.
And now here you were.
Hovering over his name. Your rational mind said wait until morning, the craving said absolutely not.
Your thumb pressed call before dignity could intervene.
The ring barely lasted long enough for regret to settle. He answered immediately.
“Hey.” His voice came low, rougher than usual, like he had been lying down but not asleep yet.
And immediately sharper after half a beat
“What happened?”
Because you never called this late not unless something was wrong.
You opened your mouth but nothing came out at first because suddenly saying it aloud felt embarrassingly childish.
He waited exactly one second “Are you sick?”
“No.”
“Did you throw up?”
“No.”
“Are you alone?”
“Yes.”
“Are you crying?”
That made you blink because your voice had betrayed you that fast.
“No.”
A pause.
“That sounded suspicious.”
You covered your face with one hand “This is stupid.”
“Okay,” he said, already sounding like he was sitting up “Tell me the stupid thing.”
You almost hung up, like actually considered it but the craving had already won and apparently pregnancy removed all remaining pride.
“I want roasted sweet potatoes.”
For a moment it was just silent, then he speaks again
“What?”
Your eyes squeezed shut “I want roasted sweet potatoes.”
Another silence but thhis one shorter “Right now?”
Your voice dropped into a miserable mumble.
“Yes.”
“It’s midnight.”
“I know.”
“You called me because of sweet potatoes.”
The shame deepened “Yes.”
Then the worst possible thing happened. He laughed. Not mocking. Just sudden, warm laughter he clearly failed to stop in time.
Your offended voice came immediately “Don’t laugh.”
“I’m trying not to.”
“You are laughing.”
“I’m failing.”
“You’re horrible.”
That only made him laugh quieter, softer, like he was smiling now and somehow that made it worse because now you were genuinely close to tears again.
“Forget it,” you muttered. “Go back to sleep.”
That changed his tone instantly “Hey.”
You stayed quiet. He heard the shift anyway and when he spoke again, his voice softened.
“You’re really upset.”
“It’s hormones,” you said, hating how fragile that sounded. “And I can’t stop thinking about it.”
A pause.
“I tried not to call.”
That did something to him, enough that the smile left his voice completely. Because he could picture it too easily, you alone in your apartment, trying to be reasonable while your body and emotions ignored reason entirely.
He looked at the clock beside his bed.
11:58 PM. Weekend. No meetings tomorrow.
Decision made instantly.
“Stay there.”
You frowned “What?”
“I’m coming.”
“No.”
“I’m already getting up.”
“Seungcheol, no, that’s insane.”
“You called me at midnight sounding like you might cry over a sweet potato.”
You heard movement already.
“Do you know how many street vendors are still open right now?” you asked weakly
“I’m about to find out.”
“You should sleep.”
“You should stop sounding like this over root vegetables.”
You made a noise halfway between protest and embarrassment but he ignored it.
“Unlock your door.”
“Cheol—”
“Unlock it.”
The first thing Seungcheol realized after getting into the car was that midnight in Seoul made cravings significantly harder to solve than cravings at six in the evening.
The second thing he realized was that you had sounded genuinely close to tears over roasted sweet potatoes which meant turning around and going back to bed had never been an option.
The roads were quieter than usual, city lights stretched long against the windshield, convenience stores glowing at corners while most street vendors had already disappeared for the night.
His phone sat mounted near the dashboard, screen still lit from your last message:
You: Drive safe. If you can’t find any, it’s okay.
He had not answered because he already knew that if he texted back, you would tell him to forget it and he was not forgetting it.
Not after the way your voice cracked around I tried not to call.
His fingers tapped once against the steering wheel while he slowed near another corner where a vendor usually parked during colder nights.
Empty so he kept driving. Another block and still nothing. A third turn near the station, still nothing except closed shutters and a delivery scooter disappearing down an alley.
He exhaled through his nose.
This was ridiculous.
Entirely ridiculous.
And yet he was still scanning every side street like finding one specific roasted sweet potato cart determined the outcome of the night because if there was one thing he had learned these past weeks, it was that pregnancy ignored dignity, schedules, and logic equally.
One minute you were insisting you were fine the next minute egg bread became urgent enough to reroute traffic.
Tonight apparently sweet potatoes had won.
He checked the time.
12:11 AM.
Then finally, near the far side of the station entrance, he saw the faint orange glow of a small cart tucked beside a closed newspaper stand.
Steam rose under a yellow light.
A woman in a padded jacket sat behind it, peeling foil from freshly roasted sweet potatoes.
Relief hit harder than expected. He pulled over immediately. The cold hit the second he stepped out, but he barely noticed, already crossing toward the cart.
The woman looked up when he approached. Older, sharp-eyed, the kind who missed nothing.
“You’re lucky,” she said before he even spoke “I’m closing.”
“How many do you have left?”
She lifted the foil lid, revealing a few still warm inside “Enough if you’re quick.”
“I’ll take four.”
That earned him a glance “Four?”
He nodded “Big ones.”
She began wrapping them carefully, hands practiced and quick. At this hour the street was almost silent except for distant traffic and the soft crackle of heat from the cart.
Then she asked casually, like it was obvious conversation
“Your wife sent you out this late?” the question landed without warning.
He should have corrected it immediately. Normally he would have. Instead, because his mind was still partly on you sitting alone at home trying not to cry over food, he answered without thinking.
“Craving.”
The woman looked up again, smile already forming.
“Ah.” One knowing sound “Pregnancy cravings?”
He hesitated only half a second then nodded once.
“...Yes.”
Her smile widened instantly, amused in that particular way older women often were when they believed they understood a story before you explained it.
“Aigo, then the wife won tonight.”
His hand paused halfway to his wallet. The wife.
Simple words. Ordinary. Harmless. And yet something about hearing it in relation to you landed strangely deep—so sudden that for a brief second he forgot to answer at all.
Because the image came too easily. Too naturally.
You at home in oversized sleep clothes, probably sitting on the couch waiting.
Half annoyed at yourself for calling. Half relieved he came. Your tired face lighting slightly the moment he handed you what you wanted.
And against all reason, the woman’s sentence fit that picture too neatly.
As if it had always been waiting somewhere in the background, dangerous only because he had spent years refusing to let his mind stay there too long.
He paid. The woman handed over the paper bag, sttill warm.
“First child?” she asked casually.
The answer should have been complicated. Impossible, even.
But what came out was quieter than expected.
“...yes”
He bowed politely, took the bag, and turned back toward the car.
Cold air again. Warm paper in his hand. Inside the car, the smell of roasted sweet potato filled the space almost immediately.
He sat there for one second longer than necessary before starting the engine.
The woman’s words still annoyingly present.
The wife won tonight.
And worse, the fact that he had not corrected her, but not because explaining felt inconvenient, not because it was late.
But because for one selfish second, hearing it had felt... good.
Too good.
His fingers tightened slightly around the steering wheel. He knew exactly where lines existed.
You were vulnerable. Pregnant. Recently hurt and he had spent years learning how to put what he felt in a locked place where it would never burden you.
That had not changed, would not change.
=
By twelve weeks, Seungcheol had accepted two things as fact.
First: pregnancy cravings did not obey logic.
Second: once you wanted something, pretending you didn’t usually ended badly—for you, for your stomach, and for whatever fragile patience he still had left watching you suffer through it.
Which was exactly why, three days after the midnight sweet potato incident, he had stood in your kitchen with both arms crossed and told you in a tone so unnecessarily strict that you had nearly laughed in his face:
“If you want something, call me.”
You had leaned against the counter, chewing slowly on toast
“It was midnight.”
“I don’t care.”
“It was a sweet potato.”
“I still don’t care.”
“You looked personally offended.”
“I was.” That had earned a full laugh from you. When you laughed harder, he only narrowed his eyes.
“I mean it.”
“You’re making cravings sound like emergencies.”
“They become emergencies when you wait until you’re almost crying.”
That shut you up faster than expected.
Because unfortunately, he was right.
And Seungcheol, noticing your silence, softened only slightly.
“It’s better to see you eat than hear you throwing up all day.”
Simple sentence. Matter-of-fact.
So from then on, you tried. now and then, he’d get random messages that made absolutely no sense without context. Which was exactly why, during lunch with Wonwoo, his phone buzzing on the table immediately pulled his attention.
Wonwoo noticed because Seungcheol always looked first when your name appeared.
Your message was short:
You: Do grapes that taste like cotton candy actually exist or is that internet lying again.
You: Because if they exist I suddenly need them
Seungcheol stared for half a second then typed back without hesitation.
Cheol: They exist. I’ll stop by after lunch and bring some.
Send. Phone down. He reached for his water again like nothing happened.
Across from him, Wonwoo had watched the entire exchange with zero shame.
Then slowly put his chopsticks down “No.”
Seungcheol ignored him.
“No,” Wonwoo repeated, leaning back now, deeply entertained. “Absolutely not.”
“You didn’t even ask if she’s joking.”
“She’s not joking.”
“You answered in under five seconds.”
“She wants grapes.”
“Cotton candy grapes,” he said, “You’re really leaving lunch to hunt specialty fruit because she texted two lines.”
“I said after lunch.”
“That changes nothing.”
“It changes timing.”
Wonwoo gave him a long look Then, with complete seriousness:
“That kid is going to look like you.”
Seungcheol finally looked up. Flat stare.
“No.”
“Genetics be damned,” Wonwoo continued, fully committed now. “At this point the universe owes you resemblance.”
“That is not how biology works.”
“No, but emotional investment should count for something.”
Seungcheol went back to eating Which only encouraged him.
“Imagine the baby comes out with your glare.”
“Eat your lunch.”
“Or your stubbornness.”
“Wonwoo.”
“Tiny angry eyebrows.”
That finally pulled the smallest exhale through Seungcheol’s nose—the closest thing to amusement he would allow.
Later he dropped by the store quickly, getting 2 bags of grapes before going to your place. The moment you opened the door wearing that unmistakable expression. Slight scowl, tired eyes, brows drawn together like the day had personally offended you.
“You took long.” that was your greeting. Just immediate complaint but he only chuckled.
Seungcheol held up the paper bag “You asked for specialty grapes.”
“You said after lunch.”
“It is after lunch.”
“You still took long.” But even while saying it, your eyes were already on the bag. And he knew that look now.
The exact moment irritation started losing against curiosity.
He stepped inside without comment, slipped off his shoes, and handed the bag over.
You took it immediately, opened it standing right there near the entryway. Plucked one grape, bit into it and right before his eyes, the entire mood changed.
A complete, absurd one-eighty.
The scowl vanished. Brows relaxed. Then came that small hum—soft, involuntary, pleased enough that it almost sounded like you forgot he was there.
He stared for half a second then laughed under his breath because honestly, there it was again—that strange little victory he kept collecting lately whenever food stayed down and made you smile instead of grimace.
By the time he finished washing his hands and stepped toward the living room, you were already curled into the couch with the bowl in your lap, eating one grape at a time like you had discovered treasure.
Another quiet hum.
He leaned one shoulder against the kitchen doorway, watching.
“It’s good?”
You looked up, cheeks slightly full, and nodded immediately. Too happy to even answer properly.
He chuckled.
Your expression made it impossible not to.
“Internet didn’t lie,” he added.
Another nod. Then a tiny, almost suspiciously satisfied
“They actually taste like cotton candy.”
“Mm.”
You reached for another grape. Mood entirely restored.
And it struck him again how dramatic the shifts had become lately, how fifteen minutes ago you had looked ready to reject human interaction, and now one bowl of grapes had apparently repaired the universe.
He moved into the kitchen, setting down the extra pack he had bought because Wonwoo had unfortunately been right.
Behind him he could still hear occasional soft sounds of approval every few bites.
He was rinsing a glass when your voice came again.
“Hey, Cheol.”
Something in the tone made him look over immediately. You were no longer smiling quite the same way but still holding the bowl, fingers slower now, thoughtful.
He stayed where he was.
“Yeah?”
You hesitated “I have a scan next week.”
He turned fully “What kind?”
“The one where they might tell me the gender.”
Then your eyes dropped to the grapes again.
“I don’t want to go alone.”
That was all it took.
He was moving before you even looked up again.
Kitchen forgotten. By the time your gaze lifted, he was already crouching in front of the couch, one hand resting lightly against the edge near your knee, face level with yours.
Close enough that his attention felt immediate, complete.
And somewhere in the back of his mind, absurdly, he could already hear Wonwoo’s voice:
Look at you. One sentence and you’re kneeling like a proposal scene.
Which was annoying because from the outside, maybe it did look painfully obvious.
He ignored that thought.
“What day?” he asked first
You blinked, slightly caught off guard by how fast he answered.
“Thursday.”
“What time?”
“Eleven-thirty.”
“Which clinic? Same one?”
You nodded slowly. He repeated it once under his breath, already memorizing.
Then his expression softened. That steady, reassuring smile he used only when he knew you were asking for something that cost you more courage than it should have.
“I’ll come if you want me to.” No hesitation
“You’re not busy?” The pout appeared too—small, tired, almost guilty.
As if asking already felt like asking too much and that expression did something dangerous to his chest every single time.
Because you still asked like he might say no. Still asked like you hadn’t learned yet that if it involved you lately, he rearranged things before considering inconvenience.
His smile deepened just slightly.
“I can move anything.”
“You don’t even know what you have that day.”
“I know what matters first.”
The words came too naturally. Too honest.
He noticed it right after saying them. So did you, judging by the way your eyes stayed on him a second longer than usual.
He added more lightly, “It’s one appointment.”
You looked down again, picking another grape but not eating it yet.
“I just…” A pause “I don’t want to sit there by myself if they tell me.”
He understood immediately. Not the scan itself. The moment. The weight of hearing something important and having nobody beside you to look at first.
Nobody to share the first reaction with.
And suddenly crouching there, looking up at you from the floor, he felt that familiar sharp pull again—that impossible mixture of tenderness and restraint that had defined nearly every day lately.
Because it would have been so easy to reach for your hand right then.
Too easy.
Instead he kept his voice steady.
“You won’t be alone.”
That made you finally eat the grape still in your fingers.
Slowly.
Then after swallowing, quieter:
“Okay.”
He stayed there another second longer than necessary. Just because your face had softened again. Because relief looked gentler on you than exhaustion ever did.
Because this close, with afternoon light catching across the couch and the bowl of ridiculous grapes in your lap, he understood exactly why Wonwoo never stopped teasing him.
It probably was obvious.
Painfully obvious.
Especially now—him crouched in front of you like your next sentence might determine his entire week.
Still, he didn’t move until you looked at him again and asked:
“Did you buy only one pack?”
He blinked. Then almost laughed.
“Check the kitchen.”
That earned the smallest smile.
A real one.
And when you smiled like that, even something as ordinary as buying extra grapes somehow felt absurdly worth it
=
By the time Thursday came, Seungcheol already knew two things before you even said a word.
First—you had barely eaten breakfast.
Second—you were nervous enough that your silence felt louder than usual.
The drive through morning traffic in Seoul had been mostly quiet, not uncomfortable, just filled with that specific kind of tension he had started recognizing in you lately.
You answered when he asked simple things. Short replies. Small nods.
But your fingers kept moving. Twisting the edge of your sleeve. Checking your phone without reading anything.
Looking out the window, then away again.
And by the time the two of you sat in the clinic waiting area, that nervous energy had settled fully into your body.
Your knee bounced fast enough to shake the chair slightly.
One hand kept drifting to your nails. Picking.
Tiny repeated motions.
He noticed immediately. He had seen that habit before, long before pregnancy, long before heartbreak—always the same when your thoughts got too loud.
And always bad enough that if nobody stopped you, you’d keep going until skin broke.
You probably didn’t even realize you were doing it.
He watched for half a minute. Then without ceremony, he reached over and took your hand. Warm fingers wrapping gently but firmly around yours before your nails could catch skin again.
The motion startled you enough that your head turned instantly.
Eyes lifting to him, already ready to protest and he knew that look too.
So before you could say anything, he answered casually, voice low enough not to draw attention.
“You pick at your nails when you’re nervous until it bleeds.”
You blinked. Your mouth opened then closed.
Then came the small, almost defensive mumble “I don’t do it that much.”
He gave you a look. You knew better than to argue with that look ecause both of you knew he was right.
Still, he didn’t let go. And this time—you didn’t pull away. Your hand stayed where it was in his.
At first maybe because you were distracted. Then because, little by little, the warmth helped more than you wanted to admit.
Your knee slowed too.
Around you, the waiting room stayed busy in quiet clinic ways—soft footsteps, low voices, pages turning.
From anyone sitting across the room, the picture likely looked obvious.
A couple waiting for an appointment.
Because there you were: seated close enough that your shoulder occasionally brushed his arm, your bag resting on his lap because he had taken it from you the second you tried carrying it yourself, and your fingers still loosely caught in his hand like neither of you had properly acknowledged it.
At one point you leaned slightly toward him.
Not fully just enough that your shoulder settled against his arm.
Then tugged lightly at the side of his sleeve.
“Did you check if parking expires?”
He looked down “Two hours.”
“You checked?”
“Before we came in.”
You nodded like that answered something important.
And somewhere in another version of this morning, if Wonwoo had witnessed any of it, Seungcheol knew exactly what expression he would wear:
Hopeless. Completely hopeless.
Because yes, from the outside it looked obvious. From the inside too, if he was being honest.
The dangerous part was how natural it felt. Holding your hand. Carrying your bag. Watching every little nervous movement like it mattered as if his body had already learned its role before his mind allowed it.
Then the nurse called your name imediately your fingers tightened around his.
He only stood, still holding your hand until you were fully on your feet. Then picked up your bag too.
Inside the scan room, the light dimmed. You climbed onto the bed slowly, still visibly tense. He stood near your side, bag set aside, hands in his pockets now only because he needed somewhere to put them.
The technician smiled politely, professional and calm, beginning routine questions before applying gel across your stomach. Cold enough that you startled.
Seungcheol immediately looked over “You okay?”
“It’s cold”
The technician laughed softly “Always cold”
Then the screen flickered. Shapes appeared. Movement. That strange grainy image that somehow still made everything feel impossibly real.
For a second, nobody spoke. The technician focused. Measured. Clicked through angles.
And Seungcheol, who had come here prepared to simply sit quietly and support you, felt something shift unexpectedly when he saw movement on the screen.
A tiny shape. Small but real.
His chest tightened before he had words for why. Beside him, your hand found the edge of his sleeve again. Without looking, you tugged lightly. A nervous habit.
Then the technician smiled slightly. “Well…” A pause. Another angle.
“It looks like a girl.” The room went quiet. Just long enough for the sentence to land fully.
A girl.
You blinked first. Eyes fixed on the screen.
“...A girl?”
The technician nodded, still smiling “Yes. Very likely.”
And suddenly your face changed. All the tension from earlier loosened at once into something softer—something caught between disbelief and emotion.
A tiny breath left you that sounded dangerously close to tears. Beside you, Seungcheol forgot entirely that he was supposed to stay detached from moments that did not belong to him.
Because hearing girl hit him harder than expected too.
Not his child. Not his place. And yet standing there, watching your eyes shine while staring at that screen, all he could think was how impossibly small she still was.
How fiercely you had already fought through weeks of nausea and exhaustion for someone not even born yet.
And before he realized it, he smiled.
You turned your head then, finally looking at him instead of the screen. And because emotion made honesty simpler than usual, you whispered
“A girl” Like you needed to hear it again from someone beside you.
His eyes met yours “A girl,” he repeated gently.
Your fingers tightened once more around his sleeve and this time neither of you let go because for one suspended moment it felt less like surviving another appointment and more like something tender neither of you quite knew how to name yet
=
By twenty-one weeks, asking Seungcheol for help no longer felt like crossing some line you had once drawn out of guilt.
At first, every favor came with hesitation. Every request felt heavier than it should have, because somewhere in your mind you still heard yourself saying he has his own life, he shouldn’t have to keep doing this, you cannot keep leaning this much.
But time had a way of softening resistance when someone showed up often enough that their presence stopped feeling borrowed.
He still came after work. Still checked if you had eaten. Still carried things you could absolutely carry yourself and ignored every complaint about it.
And somewhere between week twelve and now, the guilt had thinned into something harder to define. Not gone. Just quieter.
Because lately his presence had become... natural. The kind of natural that only became noticeable when you caught yourself expecting him before he arrived. Or when your first instinct at seeing something funny, annoying, exhausting, or strange became I should tell Cheol.
That should have felt ordinary—he had always been your best friend but lately you noticed things you had spent years deliberately not naming.
Things that became harder to ignore now that he stayed so close to your daily life. Like how absurdly unfair it was that someone built like him moved so carefully around you.
Broad shoulders. Tall enough that in crowded places people stepped aside without thinking. That serious expression strangers always mistook for coldness. The glare that made people straighten immediately when aimed their way.
And yet the moment you spoke, even mid-sentence, something changed.
His brows eased. His mouth softened slightly. His attention sharpened in that complete way that made the rest of the world look temporarily unimportant.
You had told yourself for weeks that it was simply kindness. Because that was safer.
Kindness fit. Kindness explained midnight sweet potatoes, clinic visits, grapes that tasted like cotton candy, carrying your bag, waiting through appointments, remembering what food stayed down and what smell made you nauseous.
Something else… that was harder. So you kept choosing kindness.
Even while lately, more and more often, you caught yourself noticing things that made the explanation thinner.
Seungcheol picked you up earlier than usual under the excuse that he had things to do at home anyway and you might as well stay there instead of being alone all day.
You had argued, naturally
“I’ll be fine at my apartment”
“You said that last week and then forgot lunch because you fell asleep sitting up.”
“That happened once”
“You threw up twice before noon”
“That is unrelated”
“It is exactly related”
And somehow, as always, you ended up in his car anyway.
Now his apartment looked suspiciously prepared for your arrival. Extra pillows stacked on one side of the couch. A folded blanket already placed within reach. Water bottle on the coffee table. Snacks lined neatly beside it.
You also chose not to comment because if you did, he would shrug like it meant nothing so instead you settled into the couch, one leg tucked carefully under the other, phone in hand, while he moved around the apartment doing errands he claimed he had ignored for too long.
Laundry first. Then something in the kitchen. Then you heard drawers opening somewhere deeper inside. And because apparently distance no longer stopped either of you from continuing conversations, he texted you even when he’s just in the other room
Seungcheol: Why is your hand inside the snack bowl but you’re not eating?
You: Are you spying on me?
Seungcheol: Reflection from the TV
You looked up instinctively toward the blank television and narrowed your eyes.
“Creepy”
From the other room, his voice came back calm “Eat.”
You rolled your eyes but smiled anyway. Your shirt had ridden slightly upward from how you were sitting, exposing the soft curve of your stomach. One hand rested there absentmindedly, fingertips moving without thought the way they had lately whenever you sat still too long.
You were halfway through typing another complaint about his hoodie collection when the apartment door opened. You barely registered it.
A click. Then footsteps.
Jeon Wonwoo appears with one iced coffee in hand, clearly meant for Seungcheol, and had already stepped fully inside before his eyes landed on the couch.
Then stopped. Because from his angle, what he saw was: You stretched comfortably across Seungcheol’s couch. Pillows arranged around you like someone had built a nest. Snacks spread on the table. Your hand resting over your stomach. Your shirt slightly lifted enough to make the pregnancy obvious.
And the overall atmosphere of someone entirely at ease in another person’s home.
Wonwoo blinked once. The amusement arrived first. Then confusion. Then dangerous understanding.
Seungcheol, unfortunately, caught that exact expression immediately and the glare he shot him could have stopped traffic.
A very clear: Don’t you dare.
Wonwoo looked delighted “Ah.”
That one syllable alone sounded criminal. You finally looked up.
“Oh. Hi.”
Wonwoo lifted the coffee slightly like proof he came peacefully.
“Hi”
Seungcheol spoke first, voice flat “You’re early”
“I can leave,” Wonwoo said, not sounding like he meant it at all
“You should”
“But then I’d miss whatever this is”
You frowned faintly “What do you mean, whatever this is?”
Wonwoo looked at you. Then very deliberately at Seungcheol. Then back at you.
“This looks… domestic”
Seungcheol immediately moved forward, taking the coffee from his hand harder than necessary.
“It looks like she’s resting”
“It looks,” Wonwoo corrected mildly, “like you kidnapped a pregnant woman and built her a comfort station”
You almost laughed. Seungcheol did not.
“She didn’t want to stay alone.”
“Mm” Wonwoo’s gaze dropped to the table again
“Sit down or leave”
You looked slowly toward Seungcheol. He refused eye contact immediately, suddenly very interested in placing coffee on the counter.
Wonwoo saw your expression shift and nearly smiled to himself. So naturally he stepped deeper into it. He sat in the armchair opposite the couch like he had arrived specifically for entertainment.
“You want coffee too?” Seungcheol asked you immediately, changing subject
“No”
“Tea?” “No”
“Fruit?” “I’m not a zoo animal”
Wonwoo leaned back “He asks like that every ten minutes?”
“Yes” you answered before Seungcheol could stop you
“Because she forgets to eat”
“Because he acts like I’ll vanish if unsupervised”
Wonwoo looked at Seungcheol again, slow and deeply entertained.
“You know, if anyone walked in right now, they’d assume this is his wife.”
Silence. Immediate silence. Your eyes widened just slightly. Seungcheol looked ready to physically remove him.
Wonwoo, sensing impact, added calmly “Especially with the hand on the stomach.”
You looked down instinctively, your palm still rested there. You pulled your shirt down at once.
Seungcheol’s jaw tightened, not because of you, but because Wonwoo had noticed the exact thing he had spent all morning pretending not to stare at.
Then, suddenly a small movement under your palm.
You froze. The shift came again. Tiny but unmistakable.
Your breath caught “Wait”
Everything changed instantly. Both men looked at you. You stared down, hand pressing lightly. There it is again.
You looked up too fast, eyes wide.
“I think—” Seungcheol was beside the couch before you finished. All annoyance gone. Wonwoo forgotten.
“What?”
“She moved”
His expression changed in real time. Softened so quickly it almost hurt to look at.
“Now?” Y
Y&ou nodded. He crouched immediately in front of you, instinctive, like every serious thing involving you now pulled him lower, closer, gentler.
“Again?”
“I don’t know, wait—” You inhaled sharply and without thinking, your hand caught his wrist and placed it there. Right over the curve.
For one suspended second no one moved. Seungcheol went absolutely still his large hand under yours. Then… another tiny movement. Barely there but enough.
His eyes lifted slowly to yours and whatever he felt in that moment showed too clearly.
Wonwoo, for once in his life, did something rare. He stayed quiet. No teasing. No smug I knew it expression spoken aloud, even though it absolutely lived in his eyes. He only leaned back deeper into the chair, coffee untouched in his hand, watching the two of you as if instinct told him this was not a moment to break.
Your entire focus stayed on the small place beneath your palm. And Seungcheol’s hand remained there too, large and impossibly careful under yours, like even breathing too hard might disturb something fragile.
Then another tiny movement. Your whole face changed instantly. Mouth parting into that smile he had come to recognize as the dangerous kind, the kind that hit him directly in the chest because it appeared without effort, pure and unguarded.
“That’s so weird,” you whispered. Then softer “But also… she’s alive.”
Your hand stayed over his and now you were smiling fully, looking down at your stomach like you had just met something miraculous and ordinary at once.
Seungcheol looked at you instead bcause this expression was worth every sleepless midnight run, every worried clinic wait, every swallowed anger from months ago he refused to revisit.
For a dangerous second, he forgot Wonwoo existed entirely yhen Wonwoo finally spoke, voice light enough not to shatter the softness.
“Oh—it’s a girl? Congrats.” The word landed like a pin through a bubble. Instantly both you and Seungcheol looked up.
The moment broke just enough for awareness to return. You realized your hand was still over his. Realized how close he was crouched between your knees.
Realized Wonwoo had watched the entire thing. Heat rushed straight into your face.
Seungcheol cleared his throat first and stood up immediately, too quickly almost, like distance would fix whatever had suddenly become obvious.
“Yeah,” you answered, voice smaller than before “A girl.”
He busied himself with the pillows which did not need fixing, then the blanket folded even though it had already been folded.
Wonwoo watched this performance with enormous internal satisfaction. He said nothing but the smile he bit back was criminal.
“You found out recently?” Wonwoo asked, shifting attention to you because clearly Seungcheol needed several seconds to remember how normal people behaved
“A few days ago”
“How are you feeling?”
You shrugged “Hungry half the time. Sick the other half. Emotional for no reason.”
“Not no reason,” Wonwoo said mildly
“Yesterday I almost cried because my toast was uneven.”
“That sounds valid”
And just like that, conversation settled easier. You asked about work. Wonwoo told you stories—mostly exaggerated, likely to annoy Seungcheol, which worked because every third sentence from the kitchen came with corrections.
You laugh at Wonwoo’s stories, the sound carried through the apartment easily.
And each time it did, Seungcheo who was pretending to do anything except stand there listening, felt that quiet shift inside him he no longer knew how to control.
Because hearing you laugh here, in his place, had started to feel far too right.
Dangerously right.
=
If there was one thing Seungcheol noticed more clearly once you reached twenty-eight weeks, it was exhaustion. Just constant in small ways that added up enough for him to track without meaning to.
You moved slower now, sat down more often mid-conversation. Paused before stairs like your body negotiated whether the effort was worth it. And lately, no matter how much sleep you got, there was always that same heaviness behind your eyes by late afternoon.
Which naturally meant he adjusted around it without announcing he was doing so. If you had somewhere to go, he checked the time you’d finish. If you needed errands, he offered to drive. If you said you could take a cab, he ignored that entirely.
And tonight was no different.
You had gone out with friends for dinner. Something he had actually encouraged because lately your world had become too clinic-home-work-repeat and he knew you needed voices other than his around you.
Still, he parked nearby before your agreed pickup time anyway because he also knew how quickly your energy dropped now once evening came.
When you finally came out, two shopping bags hung from your wrist and your face already carried that unmistakable tired softness.
He was out of the car immediately
“Why are you carrying those”
“I have hands”
“You also have a back that complained yesterday”
He took the bags before you could argue. You got into the passenger seat muttering something about him being dramatic, but your voice lacked force.
By the time your seatbelt clicked in, he already knew you were exhausted.
The drive started with your usual attempt to stay awake. You talked while staring half at the window, half at the bags now in the backseat.
“They bought so much,” you murmured
“What did they get?”
“One bought tiny dresses”
“Mm.”
“And socks. More socks. So many socks”
You continued, words slower now “One bought this rabbit blanket…”
A pause “And this weird plush thing that plays music”
“What kind of music?”
“I think lullabies? Or maybe forest sounds. It sounded expensive.”
Another pause “And someone gave diapers which honestly felt the most practical.”
Your speech had begun to blur slightly between thoughts he noticed immediately. You kept talking anyway, stubbornly.
“They kept saying she’ll be spoiled already and she’s not even here yet…”
A small yawn interrupted you then another. Your hand moved over your stomach automatically.
“She kicked after dinner too much. Maybe she liked noodles.”
Silence lasted a few seconds then nothing after that. He glanced sideways. Your head had tipped slightly toward the window. Eyes closed. Asleep.
The city outside kept moving, headlights streaking softly over the windshield, but inside the car everything quieted instantly.
And for a moment he kept driving the route toward your apartment by habit.
One turn then another. Then at the next intersection, his hands stayed on the wheel while his mind ran through the practical facts he had already lost to.
You were asleep. deep enough that waking you meant making you walk upstairs. Your apartment meant stairs from parking to lobby because the elevator on your floor had been unreliable this week.
His apartment was closer from here. Fewer stairs. Softer couch. Extra pillows already there because somehow they had never really left after last time.
He exhaled once. Then took the turn toward his building.
Just for tonight, he told himself. For you and the baby.
Nothing else. Not because seeing you asleep beside him made something dangerous settle too naturally inside the silence or because your hand remained loosely over your stomach in sleep like even unconscious you protected her.
Not because there was something painfully domestic about driving with you like this.
No. Practical. Only practical.
He repeated that twice before parking. He hated waking you abruptly, so he touched your shoulder lightly first.
“We’re here”
A sleepy sound. Your eyes opened halfway, confused.
“My apartment?”
“No. Mine.”
That woke you slightly more “Why”
“You fell asleep”
“I can still go home.”
“You can also sleep first”
You looked at him for exactly three exhausted seconds before losing the argument simply because staying awake clearly cost too much energy.
He unbuckled your seatbelt when your fingers fumbled once, took the bags, walked slowly beside you to the elevator because now your steps had that familiar late-night heaviness.
Inside his apartment, the lights stayed soft. You barely reached the couch before another yawn overtook you.
“Sit,” he said
He already had water on the table, blanket unfolded, pillows adjusted. You watched him with half-open eyes, too tired now to comment on how practiced he had become at this.
Then your hand pressed lightly to your stomach
“She moved”
“Too much?”
“No… just saying hello, maybe.”
And exactly as expected, before he even returned from setting the bags aside you were already asleep again. One hand tucked near your face. The other still over the curve of your stomach.
Seungcheol stood there longer than necessary. Then quietly adjusted the blanket higher over your shoulder.
Just tonight, he told himself again. He let you sleep on the couch for exactly seven minutes before deciding it was a bad idea because even from where he stood in the kitchen doorway, he could already see the angle.
Your neck bent wrong. One arm trapped awkwardly under you. Lower back unsupported. And he knew what that meant tomorrow. complaints about stiffness, one hand pressing your side, that small wince you tried to hide when standing too quickly.
So eventually he crossed the room quietly, before kneeling slightly beside the couch.
“Hey” Nothing.
A second softer touch “Wake up”
Your brows moved first then your eyes opened halfway, unfocused and heavy with sleep.
“What…”
“You’ll sleep on the bed”
A tiny frown. Too tired even for full resistance.
“I’m okay here”
“No, you’re not” he added, gentler “Come on.”
You only gave a sleepy sound that might have been an agreement and pushed yourself upright. He stayed close automatically while you stood. One hand hovering near your elbow without touching unless needed.
You shuffled toward his room with that slow exhausted pace he had seen more often lately.
By the time you disappeared into the bedroom, he grabbed a spare shirt and comfortable shorts from his drawer, things loose enough not to bother your stomach and took the blanket from the couch too.
He gave you privacy long enough to change, waiting outside a moment before knocking lightly and stepping back in.
And then he stopped. You were already on his bed, settled against the pillows. His oversized shirt hanging loose enough that it slipped over one shoulder. The sight hit him so unexpectedly that for one suspended second he forgot to breathe.
You looked not like a guest. You looked like you belonged there in a way his mind accepted far too easily. Like the room had been waiting for that exact picture, like you had always been meant to soften the sharp edges of that space simply by existing inside it.
And because exhaustion had softened your face, because your eyes were already closing again, because the room was too quiet and too warm… something dangerous slipped through the cracks he usually kept sealed shut.
A thought. Not new. Just louder tonight.
That in another life—
another timeline—
this could have been ordinary.
You in his bed. Late night. Soft breathing. A child growing between shared futures instead of broken ones.
And before he could stop it, another thought followed. The selfish one. The one he hated every time it surfaced. There had been one ugly, human flash of something he never forgave himself for:
He wished, for one impossible second, that the baby had been his.
Not because he wanted to erase what happened. Not because he resented her existence.
Never that.
But because the idea of you carrying a child and it belonging to someone who hurt you had ignited something violent and helpless in him he still refused to examine too closely.
Because some reckless part of him had thought:
If it were mine, I would never make her carry this alone.
That thought had terrified him enough to bury it immediately. Especially because you were grieving enough already. Especially because love—his love—had no right to become another weight on your shoulders.
So he buried it. Deep.
Every day after. Under clinic visits. Under grocery bags. Under late-night cravings. Under pretending that all of this was simple friendship stretched a little farther because circumstances demanded it.
Because saying it aloud can change everything.
He could survive loving you quietly, what he could not survive was losing you.
The truth he had made peace with, quietly, alone, was this. That baby girl did not belong in his mind to the man who made you cry. Never to him.
In Seungcheol’s heart, she existed as yours. Entirely yours. And because she was part of you… because she would carry your smile, your voice, your habits, your softness somewhere he already loved her too.
Enough that raising another man’s child did not even feel like sacrifice if it meant protecting what was yours.
You shifted slightly then, pulling him back from thoughts he never let linger long.
Your eyes half-opened “You’re staring.”
His expression reset immediately “I’m checking if you need another pillow.”
Then another yawn. He moved closer anyway, adjusting one pillow behind your back until the angle improved.
“You’ll feel better like this.”
You made a quiet sound of approval already drifting again. As he pulled the blanket properly over you, your fingers caught his wrist lightly.
“Stay until I sleep,” you murmured.
And because refusing was impossible, he sat carefully on the edge of the bed.
Your hand loosened but did not fully let go. Within minutes your breathing deepened again.
Sleep taking you completely and Seungcheol sat there in the dim room longer than he should have watching the woman he loved sleep in his bed,
Telling himself once more that silence was kinder than confession, even while his heart had already crossed lines his mouth never would
=
When morning light pushed faintly through the curtains, the first thing Seungcheol noticed was warmth at his arm. Your hand still clutching his sleeve.
He looked down for several quiet seconds and that same dangerous thought threatened again. So carefully he loosened your fingers one at a time. He stood slowly, pulled the blanket higher over your shoulder then left the room before he could look too long.
The gym was supposed to fix his head. Routine, he told himself. So he trained harder than usual. Longer too. Enough that muscle fatigue should have replaced whatever sat in his chest.
It did not.
Which was exactly why when Wonwoo spotted him there, one glance was enough for suspicion.
“You look like someone lost an argument with himself”
Seungcheol grabbed water “I’m working out”
“You’re punishing dumb decisions”
And somehow not an hour later, Wonwoo sat in the passenger seat while they drove back toward the apartment because even while pretending calm, Seungcheol kept checking the time.
“She’s probably still asleep” Wonwoo said
“She sleeps lighter lately”
“You know that like a husband” Silence. Wonwoo let that one go. Rare mercy.
Back at the apartment, Seungcheol unlocked the door quietly, expecting silence.
So they stayed in the kitchen, voices lower than usual. Wonwoo leaned against the counter, watching his friend with the kind of patience that only existed because he had watched this same story unfold for years.
“Just tell her”
“No” Seungcheol didn’t even look up.
Wonwoo exhaled through his nose “You’re rearranging your entire life around her”
“She needs help”
“You know what week every appointment is”
“She forgets dates”
Wonwoo waited until Seungcheol looked up then said it plainly
“And you still think pretending this is only practical is believable?”
His jaw tightened “It doesn’t matter what I think”
“It matters if you’re in love with her” That word stayed in the kitchen heavier than either admitted aloud usually.
Seungcheol looked away first “She doesn’t need that right now”
Wonwoo’s voice stayed calm “She deserves truth and you deserve to stop acting like loving her is some crime”
That hit harder than expected.
Seungcheol’s answer came lower now “If I say anything and she pulls away, what then”
Wonwoo said nothing immediately because there it was. The real answer.
Not fear of rejection. Fear of absence. Fear that one confession could cost the place he already had beside you.
Then quieter, Wonwoo said “You think staying silent protects her. Maybe it protects you”
“She’s pregnant. Hurt. Trying to survive all of this. I’m not putting something selfish on top of that.”
Wonwoo frowned “Loving someone isn’t selfish”
“Now it is”
The kitchen fell quiet and neither of them noticed the bedroom door had opened slightly.
That you had woken earlier than expected, you had stepped closer at the sound of voices and caught only fragments.
Tell her. You deserve it. She deserves truth. Rearranging your life around her.
If I say anything and she pulls away…
Fragments without the whole. Fragments sharp enough to cut wrong.
Of course. Of course eventually this became too much. Of course there was a truth he wasn’t saying because how could there not be?
You were in his apartment. Sleeping in his bed. Calling him for cravings. Clinic visits. Rides home. Every week more of his time. More space. More care.
And suddenly all the things you had allowed yourself not to question arrived together, ugly and loud. You were asking too much. Holding him too long in a role that was never his. You and your baby were not his responsibility.
For one ugly second another thought came—one worse because it hurt before you could stop it.
Someday there would be someone else here. A woman who belonged naturally in this apartment. A woman he loved openly. A child that was theirs.
Not borrowed moments. Not careful boundaries. Not obligation dressed as kindness.
That image came so quickly it stole your breath. And before you realized it, tears had already gathered.
So you did what pride always made you do first. You cleaned evidence. Changed clothes. Washed your face.
By the time Seungcheol checked the room again, expecting sleep you were sitting at the edge of the bed, shoes on, bag beside you.
That alone made him stop “You’re awake.”
You nodded without looking long enough at him “I should go home”
His brows pulled together immediately “What?”
“I stayed too long”
“You were sleeping”
“I’m okay now” your voice sounded controlled in that way he recognized instantly as dangerous.
He stepped closer “Did something happen?”
“No.” A lie too quick. You stood before he could block it, adjusting your bag strap though he immediately took the bag from your hand out of habit.
“I’m taking you home”
That should have sounded ordinary. Usually it didbut today it landed differently because all you heard underneath was what your own mind had already decided. He doesn’t have to.
And maybe that was the part that hurt most. That you had started forgetting he never had to do any of this at all.
You looked away quickly before your eyes betrayed anything again.
“I really don’t want to keep bothering you.”
That made him still completely because the sentence came from nowhere.
His voice lowered immediately
“You’re not bothering me”
You gave the smallest smile. One that convinced neither of you.
But you nodded anyway and said nothing more because if you did, you were afraid your voice would break again first.
The moment he dropped you off he knew something was wrong, you didn't even look back when you got out of his car. Arms crossed over yourself as if you're physically holding yourself together.
— synopsis: you and mingyu have been broken up for a year, and yes, it was over something as stupid and trivial as you'd imagine - something where nuance is important. will you thrown caution to the wind when he's calling you drunk from halfway across the world to beg for you back?
– genre: exes to lovers, angst, fluff. slightly suggestive.
— pairing: ex-boyfriend!kim mingyu x fem!reader
– word count: 8k
— rating: 18+. minors do not interact.
– warnings: swearing, alcohol, food mentions/eating. reader is very stupid. they have a semi-nasty breakup. they fight a bit. but they're lovers who gives a shit. i also don't know how airports work so whatever!
— what to listen to: who knew - p!nk ; i don't know - notd, astrid s ; please don't leave me - p!nk ; fast car - luke combs ; so beautiful - dpr ian.
– author's note: mingyu brainrot is so bad that i wrote this overnight and i'm running on no sleep, so i don't care about typos. thank you to @/saradika here on tumblr for these cutie beaded star dividers. as always, dedicated to thee gyuldaengie ever @gyuswhore (i hope you get some rest soon, emberly ♡. read this whenever!)
VOICEMAILS ARE THE BANE OF YOUR EXISTENCE.
He’d been there when you set yours up. New phone after he’d accidentally dropped yours in a lake after your date, and there’s a stupid laugh at the end of your message that makes your teeth clench with embarrassment.
He loves that laugh.
Or he did.
Hey, it’s Y/N. Sorry I missed your call, leave a message and I’ll get right back to ya!
SUNDAY, DECEMBER 7 | 11:09AM, SEOUL.
(1) Missed Call – Kim Mingyu.
(1) Voicemail – Kim Mingyu.
Hey, it’s me.
Well, you know it’s me...right? [LAUGHTER.] God, I miss your voice. Even if it’s just your outgoing message...and your laugh. I miss that laugh. I miss you, baby.
I’m getting drunk in Chicago with Seungcheol, but I’m thinking about you and I know I shouldn’t. I know I should have some shame, but I’ve never done this. The...breaking up over something small. Well, it’s not small, because it means something to you. It meant something to you, the reason you dumped me, and it means something to me because I love you and everything that matters to you matters to me. I just don’t know how to function without being able to talk to you everyday, and that’s selfish of me. It’s selfish of me to even leave this voicemail...but I can’t help it. I know my job kept me so busy, and I know you’re still probably so pissed at me but I still love you – even when I’m in Chicago and you’re all the way back home, getting pretty for work. Even when I’m back home, I love you and I think about you. I’m not drunk, before you say that. I’ve only had one beer and it was straight ass, but I think I’ll have just a few more so I can excuse the fact that your name is all over my call log in the morning.
I love you.
I miss you.
I’ll see you whenever you want me back.
When you think about it: not-drunk, not-sober Mingyu has a point.
You did break up over something very small, but in the moment...it meant something to you. It meant so much to you – and it was only by a few minutes. He was late, again – only by a handful of minutes but you will always stick to your guns and say it’s serious, and he knows it is. You’d told him at the start of your relationship that you hate being late and you hate it when people are late to any event they may have planned with you; and Mingyu had been understanding for the most part. He was rarely late and if he was, he had a good excuse prepared the moment he got in your face for his kiss in greeting.
You tried to settle your own stomach about it – he'd been in Chicago for work the week before your breakup, and you were convincing youreslf that he was just adjusting to the time difference. The whites of his eyes were pink with fatigue, and you felt the urge to run your fingers through his hair as he rested his head in your lap just for five minutes before he fell asleep.
But this had been the third time in one week. He’d been late by twenty minutes to dinner on Monday, arriving with nothing but a breathless sorry falling off his lips as he pressed them to your hairline. He’d been sweaty, like he ran to your apartment – but you let it go, because you also told him that your building elevator was under maintenance.
You still expected him to plan accordingly and arrive punctually – you'd told him that at nine in the morning, and dinner was at six in the evening. He should have planned ahead.
The second time was on Wednesday. Your friends had hosted a quick game night, one you’d invited Mingyu to with their permission and they asked you to stop for a bottle of wine. You’d gotten the wine on your way home from work to save time, and texted Mingyu three times within your arrival at your apartment – reminding him that he was driving, reminding him at the game night started at eight, reminding him that you do not like to be late.
He arrived at your apartment five minutes to eight, and your friend that was hosting the game night lived thirty minutes south. You couldn’t even dream of getting there by the start of it, and you got two text messages letting you know that they were starting a game of Monopoly and they’d start over when you got there. Mingyu’s jaw was as tight as yours was as he drove you both in silence, only for you to shoot a text off in the group (that had Mingyu in it) that you wouldn’t be making it. You made Mingyu pull over five minutes away from your friend’s apartment and handed him the bottle of wine, telling him you’d get a rideshare home.
It was the first real fight the two of you got into, and in the middle of a gas station parking lot. You were embarrassed as people peered through his crystal clear windshield at your frustrated attempt to make him understand, only for him to tell you he tried. That you knew he was busy, that he was doing the best he could to show up for you and you weren’t cutting him any slack. You’d scoffed, asking him if he’d ever cut you slack when you attended his work events with him, when you’d go to dinners with him and his friends.
“You don’t have to, and that’s because I plan accordingly! I tell you everything down to the minute and you can’t even give me a tapback reaction so I at least know you saw the message? Why are you acting like I’m being irrational for asking you to communicate with me?”
Mingyu turned his read receipts on after that fight. The drive to your apartment was silent, and you held in your frustrated tears until he pulled into his visitor parking spot in the garage of your complex. You pushed your own door open and slammed it shut, your heels clicking against the asphalt of the garage – but you didn’t get very far as Mingyu rounded the side of the car and grabbed your arm gently, pulling you into him with a very soft whisper against the shell of your ear.
“I’m sorry.”
You ignored it, turning your face away as he held you close to his chest – the soft smell of his cologne filling your nose and making your knees stupidly weak.
You don’t remember much about that night, but you do remember the way he’d hoisted you over one shoulder and carried you to your apartment. You remember the way he apologized on his knees inside your apartment, before pinning you under him on the couch and kissing you fervently. You remember how easily your anger melted away as he pulled your dress off, as he kissed down your body, as he sank his teeth into the flesh of your soft thighs before he made you forget why you were even mad to begin with.
The bottle of wine was empty by the end of the night, and you had a horrible hangover that made you call in sick to work – only to lift up your blanket and see your legs littered with nips of your boyfriend’s teeth.
Then, Saturday came.
Date night. Starting at four in the afternoon and ending at eight in the morning on Sunday.
Mingyu loved date night and he was never late to date night. He brought flowers, he’d kiss you stupid on your couch for a good hour before your plans took effect. Sometimes it was dinner, a walk, a movie. Other times it was staying in and snuggling together after a long week of being apart and bitching about your work schedules.
Other times, though rare...Mingyu was all over you the entire night. From the moment he stepped foot into your apartment, his lips were on yours and his hands roamed any and every part of your body you allowed. It was, admittedly, one of your favorite types of date nights – and you always made it a point to wear a cute little set under your outfit just in case he was feeling froggy.
Four came and went.
Five in the afternoon, six in the evening.
Seven rolled around and you stared at the new bottle of wine you’d gotten to share with him on your way home from work on Friday. A nice Merlot, bitter on the back of your tongue as you finished your second glass. You took the pretty clips out of your hair, tossing them onto the coffee table and doing the same with all your jewelry before grabbing the bottle by the neck. You tucked your legs beneath you as you grabbed your television remote, clicking around the screen before some boring news segment crossed the screen and you tossed it into the couch cushions.
You drank from the bottle for a total of fifteen minutes – the news segment ending and a broadcasted dating show taking over before your phone buzzed on the kitchen counter. It buzzed twice, before it started ringing. It rang, and rang, and rang – and you felt tears prick at your eyes as you glanced down at your dress. Picked by Mingyu ages ago at a department store, one that he’d practically manhandled you into the dressing room over.
You turned the television off at ten to nine – just as Mingyu pulled your apartment door open. You could see the lines of sleep against his cheek, his eyes bloodshot as an apologetic look coated them. You’d pressed your lips together, before a laugh of disbelief fell from your mouth as you sighed. You shook your head as he toed his shoes off, guilt crossing his features as you slid the bottle onto the coffee table and grabbed your accessories in one hand. You didn’t care if your necklaces tangled – they had all been gifts from him anyway.
You stood on wobbly legs, kicking the heels you’d planned to wear that day out of the way as you moved to stand in front of him. His fingers flexed at his sides, itching to touch you as you gave him a wavering smile.
“Slept well?” You tilted your head, before holding your hand out and dropping the accessories in his hand, “you can have those back.”
“Baby.”
“That’s not my name.”
You shrugged, smiling wider still as you skipped to your bedroom. You pulled the dress over your head, tossing it onto the floor before pulling open all your dresser drawers and pulling out every article of clothing he’d ever given you and dropping it on top of the very same dress. Shirts, skirts, even a couple pairs of his sweatpants and a pair of his socks you’d stolen at the beginning of your relationship because you’d worn open-toed heels in winter.
He stood in the doorway of your bedroom as you tugged on a pair of pajama pants, his lower lip trembling as you pulled a shirt that wasn’t his over your head. You beelined back out of your bedroom, grabbing a garbage bag from your kitchen and prying it open before shoving everything inside it.
“Drive safe, Mingyu.”
“Baby, let me explain—”
“I waited like an idiot for five hours. I don’t do late. You know I don’t. You knew my one rule, and this week has just been a shitshow. Go home, get some rest and I’ll pick up my stuff next week.” You were fighting tears the entire time, covering your face with a trembling hand as he knelt in front of you, “stop! Go home, Mingyu!”
“Please. Please, baby, don’t do this—”
“Go! Get out!”
You were crying by the time Mingyu’s arms wrapped around your hips, burying his face in your shirt as he begged you to let him explain. You couldn’t hear him over your tears and the frustration festering in your belly, and you managed to twist yourself out of his hold despite wanting to melt right into him.
He left reluctantly – his face blotchy with tears and his shoulders heavy with fatigue. You knew he was tired. You knew he had this trip to Chicago every year and it was hard on him.
You had one rule. Don’t be late.
However...as you laid in your bed that night, barely able to breathe through your tears – you came to the conclusion that you had been a jerk. You knew you had been a jerk, but you had pride and you weren’t going to beg him to come back.
And now you’re sitting in your cubicle, a year later – wiping silent tears from your cheeks as you play his voicemail over and over.
I miss you.
I love you.
SUNDAY, DECEMBER 7 | 12:19 PM, SEOUL.
(4) Missed Calls – Kim Mingyu.
(1) Voicemail – Kim Mingyu.
Hi, baby. It’s me again! I miss you.
Just realized I said I was drunk in that last message and then said I wasn’t, but it doesn’t matter anyay because I’d tell you all of this sober. Did you know I got a promotion? I didn’t get to tell you, but I had meant for it to be news that night we broke up. I was going to tell you but everything just crumbled and I should’ve said more. I should’ve fought you on it, I think.
You didn’t really look like you were ready to let me go.
Sometimes, I wish you hadn’t. But, I’m still here. Kind of like an anchor, I guess, and you’re the ship. I guess that’s why they call boats she, right?
I’m just waiting for you to pull me out of the water again and say you love me like you used to. Maybe kiss me, too. I miss your voice. I miss your lips, too, and your cherry lip balm. God, I miss you. I can’t sleep without you, and Chicago fucking sucks. I hate Chicago because all I can think about it you when I’m here. Three years strong, thinking about you when I see the damn Bean and eat deep dish at Lou Malnati’s.
[MUFFLED NOISES] Anyway, Seungcheol wants to take off. I’ll talk to you later. This is call number...four? I think, yeah. Oof, bad luck, huh? [SOFT LAUGHTER]
I’m six beers in, baby. Still in Chicago, still missing you, still loving you and still yours. I’ll see ya, sweets.
Again, he was right.
God, you hate when he’s right.
He’s so smug about it sometimes, Kim Mingyu. He’s insufferable when he’s right – when he guesses something correctly, when he figures something out before you can, when he beats you at a damn game of Scrabble. You’d learned to roll your eyes at him, and really – it was endearing. Kim Mingyu was a champion, a master of all trades – and he’d won your heart over and over again.
You hadn’t wanted to let him go.
Your swollen eyes had been hidden behind a clunky pair of sunglasses and glued to the ground as you dropped off his last box of things on his stoop the following Monday, but he didn’t answer the door. You knew he was home – his car was parked in front of his apartment and the Ring camera clicked on and off. You knocked on the door for five minutes before groaning.
“Give me my stuff, Mingyu!”
He didn’t open the door, opting to talk to you through his camera like a coward.
“You’re insane if you think we’re breaking up.”
“We are breaking up! Give me my shit before I break your door down.”
He’d laughed through the camera, clicking it off before you heard the locks on his front door coming undone. He barely cracked the door open, holding a singular purse out to you and something about it made your gut churn.
“Mingyu, let me in.”
“No, you said give you your shit. This is all you’ve got here. I know, I looked.”
You shoved the door open further, only to see a mess of boxes in the living room piled up. Everything was labeled with your name, clothing of yours folded neatly on his couch – books you left there carefully wrapped in newspaper and pairs of your shoes neatly held together by black zipties. Your stomach hurt as you let your eyes scan over it, the room far too dark with your sunglasses on but you had too much pride to take them off and let him see that you knew you were making a mistake.
“...You don’t have to be so nice about it.”
“Stop being a douche and take your sunglasses off, then. You’re indoors, it’s bad manners.”
You hadn’t looked at him yet, but the thickness of his voice told you everything you needed to know. He was near tears and your shoulders tensed as your heart clenched in your chest, and you peered over your shoulder to see him thumbing at the strap of your purse in his hand. You pried it from his hands swiftly, your fist tight around it as he sniffled, blinking back tears as he shoved his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants.
“Are you gonna help me load this in my car or what?” You muttered, shoving the purse over your shoulder as he chuckled dryly.
“I’ll just drop it off. It’s too much for you to carry back alone and I can’t let you do that.” He shook his head, and your ears picked up on the music playing in his living room. You looked around, before spotting his television on YouTube – playing I Don’t Know Why by NOTD and Astrid S. You trilled your lips them, shoving your hand under your sunglasses as hot tears spilled over. Your shoulders shook as you cried inwardly, and he tentatively slid his hands over them, making you jolt against him.
“Don’t.”
“I’m sorry, Y/N. Please.”
“Stop! Stop telling me you’re sorry, Mingyu!” You exclaimed, stomping your foot as you shoved yourself away from him then. You pulled the sunglasses off your face, haphazardly wiping your hand across your face as more tears spilled down your cheeks. You heard a crack in the plastic of the glasses from how tight your grip was, and you simply shoved them in one of the open boxes before facing him and blinking rapidly. He was blurry in your vision, but he was a mirror of you – splotchy eyes, pleading, begging...
Don’t leave me.
Fight for me.
For us.
“Please, Y/N.”
“I don’t even know what you’re asking for, Mingyu. Just...drop my things off with the doorman. And leave your key with him, too.”
You sighed, running your hands over your face and feeling the warmth of your swollen eyelids beneath your fingers as you tried to walk past him. Your fingers urged to touch him, to feel him close and breathe in his scent – but he caved first, grabbing your hand and pulling you into him. He kissed you then, too – his lips chapped but you cared nothing of it as you melted into him like a fool. Your hands clutched at his sweatshirt like you needed him to stay grounded as he held you against the front door, his own hands gripping your waist like you were going to disappear.
“Stop, stop.” You pulled back, your eyes staring into his. So full of love, adoration and hurt – a perfect image of you engrained in those molten brown irises. His pupils were dialated as he peered at you, but he blinked and let you go, pushing himself away as he cleared his throat with a mumbled apology.
“Don’t make this harder than it has to be, Mingyu.”
Those had been your last words to him as you slammed out of his apartment – booking it to your car with tears in your eyes and the taste you missed on your tongue.
Him, him, always him.
You’re still sitting in your cubicle as you listen to this voicemail – your eyes probably just as swollen as you poke around a bowl of oxtail soup you’d packed for lunch from your leftovers the night before.
It doesn’t taste as good as when he used to make it.
SUNDAY, DECEMBER 7 | 2:11 PM, SEOUL.
(9) Missed Calls – Kim Mingyu.
(1) Voicemail – Kim Mingyu.
Caller number nine! Claim your prize, me!
Hi, babe. I’m still in Chicago, but I’m in a different bar. Cheol is sick of me talking about you but I can’t bring myself to give a shit. This bar has a really nice plum blossom syrup they put in their lemon drops, you’d love it.
Do you remember our first kiss, actually? In Japan?
It was under all those plum blossoms and I put one in your hair, and you were so nervous that you didn’t kiss me back for a good three seconds. I know that’s probably a bit embarrassing for you but it’s one of my favorite memories of us...of you. God, I miss you.
I made you dinner that night, too, and we had that nice gin that I can’t remember the name of. But, I do remember that you told me you’d never been in love and I didn’t know what to say because I didn’t think I had ever been in love, either. Looking back, though, I think I was in love with you, even then.
Pft, wait. No. I know. I know I was in love with you. I know because your perfume was still lingering on my pillowcase, and I remember begging you not to go back to your room because we weren’t together yet. Do you remember that? Mingyu, don’t book one room! We’re not together yet!
Ugh, but that ‘yet’ hit me so hard. It was such a huge risk for us to go on that trip together when we weren’t together, and that ‘yet’ really told me everything I needed to know. That I was for you, and you were for me, endlessly. Timelessly.
So...I think, no. Fuck. I don’t think, I know you were in love with me, too.
I am currently...six beers, one plum blossom lemon drop and three shots in the hole. Tequila, too. Horrible, I still hate it...but I miss you.
I’m still in Chicago, and hopefully...somewhere in your heart.
Later, winner winner. I love you.
You do remember your first kiss, and you’re sitting at the cafeteria at your job with your hands wrapped around a mug of coffee with seasonal plum blossom creamer in it. You’re done with meetings, your coworkers worriedly patting your shoulders at the swelling in your eyes, your lips bitten raw from holding back your sobs in the ladies’ room.
You’d been dating Mingyu for a few weeks at that point. Dating, not his girlfriend – you'd been on six dates and something about him made your skin prickle with excitement. His smooth words paired with clumsy movements, pouted lips that brought you to a steaming hot blush every time they brushed your cheek as he dropped you off to the door of your apartment...
Hands that snaked around your waist every single time he tried to go in for the kiss, and you turned away.
“You can wait a little longer,” you’d roll your eyes as he brushes his nose to yours, and you’d crinkle it as you patted his chest. He would wait, he’d been open about it – he'd wait as long as you needed him to...because Mingyu was absolutely smitten with you.
It didn’t take a genius to figure that out, or to figure out that if he insisted just a bit more – he'd be in your bed before the word girlfriend even followed his introduction of you to his friends.
You wanted Mingyu just as bad, if not more.
He proposed the trip to Japan on the sixth of December, to leave by the eight and be back home by the fifteenth. Six days and seven nights, and he’d book you separate hotel rooms.
“I just want to spend time with you...uninterrupted. God, that sounds perverted but I don’t mean it that way, I swear!”
You’d only laughed then, and threw caution to the wind, accepting his invitation with a shy smile. The eighth came fast – and you were buckled into your seat on the plane next to him as he told you all the things he had planned for the two of you to do once you landed. You tried to argue that you’d need to take a power nap, only for him to roll his eyes and say there was no way you were going to waste time sleeping in Japan of all places.
“We’ll have plenty of time to sleep, beautiful. Just trust me.”
And you did. So blindly, so willingly.
He took you all over Osaka, and you’d spent the ninth of December with your fingers intertwined between your hips and walking around an indoor arboretum, a giant greenhouse of sorts. Plum blossom season in Japan wasn’t for another handful of weeks, but he’d insisted he’d been to this garden before and they had them in December – and he was right.
Again.
“I haven’t kissed anyone in a while,” you’d admitted quietly, your hand rubbing your neck nervously as he shook his head, pulling you closer as the area seemingly cleared out of couples and families. You both stood looking at the trees surrounding you, his thumb tracing gentle circles on your skin before he pulled you slightly closer, “Mingyu.”
“I heard you, honey.” He nodded, pressing a kiss to your temple as he picked a blossom off the tree, tucking it carefully into your hair. “You’re so pretty.”
“Shut up.” You muttered, leaning your cheek against his bicep as he peered down at you. His fingers carefully pinched your other cheek between his knuckles, making you scoff as he leaned slightly into your space. Your eyes had darted down to his lips, pink and plump and smelling of cherry lip balm you’d given him on the train ride there...
And you didn’t kiss him back for three seconds when you felt him press his lips to yours carefully. Your eyes were wide, before you squeezed them shut and kissed him back carefully. You’d both broken into giggles not even five seconds after, but he held your face in his hands gently and peppered chaste kisses all over it before asking if you wanted dinner.
It was one of the first times he’d made dinner for you, and one of the absolute best to date. A beautiful white fish with roasted lemon and brown butter served over a bed of creamy risotto and broccolini. You’d both eaten in silence and on the floor, and you’d been amused at how much he’d been able to whip up on a two-burner hot plate he’d brought from home. He turned his nose up at you as you laughed at him, but smiled smugly as you were rendered speechless by the dishes he’d plated for you.
You were both laying on his bed with the balcony doors thrown open when the words fell from your lips without thinking.
“I’ve never been in love.” You blurted, and he stilled next to you. You'd cautiously peered at him out of the corner of your eye, only to see him deep in thought before he turned to look at you.
“I don’t know if I have, either.” He offered, almost as if to soothe anything you maybe have disturbed. He furrowed his brows, folding his hands on his stomach as he hummed, “I have no idea what that’s like, but...I’m willing to find out.”
You’d felt your face grow hot then, and you sat up abruptly, “with me?”
“If you’d allow it.”
“We’re not together yet.”
He smiled, his cheeks tinging pink as he grabbed the pillow you’d been laying on and covered his face with it, “stop saying that! It makes me nervous and then I can’t stop smiling like an idiot and I lose my cool guy demeanor.”
“You have zero inkling of a cool guy demeanor, Kim Mingyu.”
“Nuh uh! You told me I looked cool when we met at that tangsuyuk place! That you liked my jacket.”
You’d snickered then, crawling over him as his eyes widened. His fingers on the pillow tightened as he looked up at you through his lashes, lips parted as his ears burned bright red. You leaned down, pressing your lips to his carefully. He kissed you back almost immediately, his hands finding your hips just as you pulled back.
“I said your jacket looked cool, not that you were cool. And you tripped after asking for my number, so I say that knocks a couple points off,” you murmured against his lips, only for him to pout as you laughed in his face. You pressed a chaste kiss against his mouth before patting his hip, “I’m going to my room. I’ll see you in the morning, Mr. Kim.”
“You’re such a tease.”
You only smiled as you climbed off him, holding a finger up as you made your way to the door and looking over your shoulder with a scrunch of your nose.
“Well, I suggest you learn to love it!”
You stare down at the cup off coffee in your hands as the voicemail plays for a fifth time in your headphones. Your lipstick is on the edge of the ceramic cup, the very same lipstick you’d worn the day he kissed you.
If you flipped the tube over, it’d say Plum Blossom Baby.
And you’d remember every single time he kissed it off you like a man starved.
“I miss you, too.”
SUNDAY, DECEMBER 7 | 4:46 PM, SEOUL.
(12) Missed Calls – Kim Mingyu.
(1) Voicemail – Kim Mingyu.
Hi, baby! This is call number...twelve! Yeah!
That’s our anniversary date, by the way. December 12th. Mark your calendar, ‘cause it’s almost here!
Can you believe we broke up a year ago today, though? Well, it’s barely the seventh here in Chicago, but the seventh is almost over for you. Do you miss me? I miss you. Maybe that’s why the alcohol isn’t as bitter as it usually is, though.
Anyway, I know I’m probably not super intelligible right now because I’m now six beers, one plum blossom lemon drop, three shots and two whiskey sours in. Because of this information that I’ve just bestowed upon you, my love, I’m just gonna be honest, yeah?
Again.
I miss you.
You know, I probably would’ve introduced you to my parents this Christmas. I had it planned for last year, but then...well, you know. But, I wanted to bring you home, ‘cause that’s what you do when things get serious enough, right? When things feel right and you wanna pop the question, right?
I wanted to bring you home because then that means the future holds that big ass ring you deserve. The ring and the beautiful dress and the nice house I want to buy you and maybe some kids, right? You still want kids with me, right? I would’ve been such a good husband. I’d never be late, either, because I’d be your house husband, too. I would have given up everything for you, even when you tried to say you were just kidding, I know you. I know that glint in your eye...I know you and I love you and I would’ve given up everything to make you happy.
I still would.
I still want to, just like I still want you. I still need you, Y/N.
[SLURRED WHISPERING]
Cheollie wants me to hang up, but I had to tell him you’re not even talking back! God, you’re not talking back and I miss your voice so fucking bad, Chicago feels like Hell right now. I miss you so much it pains me. My stomach hurts, actually, thinking about you right now and missing your voice. Missing you.
I think...I think this will be my last call.
It has to be.
I miss you...so much. Even in Chicago, especially in Chicago. I feel it worse when I’m here, and I’m positive it’s because I was in Chicago the week before we broke up. You looked so pretty in all the outfits and selfies you sent me when I was gone on my trip...God, and you were so beautiful in that little red set you got. Fuck, I can’t think about that. It’s not right.
[SILENCE]
Oh, I never gave you the snowglobe I got you when I was here last year! I got it personalized, it had a picture of you and me the day I asked you to be my girlfriend! It’s still in the trunk of my car, though, and it’s buried inside one last box of stuff I couldn’t bring myself to give you when I dropped it all off with Myungjae. How is that guy, by the way? Still flirting with you? Dipshit.
Sorry.
God, I miss you. I miss kissing you...holding your hand and making fun of you for crying at Shark Tale when Angie confesses to Oscar that she was in love with him when he was nothing.
You loved me when I was nothing, too.
I’d be nothing without you.
...Do you think you’ll miss me too, someday? Maybe as bad as I miss you? Ever?
[SILENCE]
Bad question to ask. I’m sorry. I miss you.
Well.
My name is Kim Mingyu. I’m 28, and I am drunk in Chicago, Illinois. I am desperately missing you, I am irrevocably in love with you and I’ll see you as soon as you want me.
I’ll catch ya when I can, baby. December 12th, don’t forget. I love you.
God, I love you.
Bye, baby.
You’re thankful that you’re sitting on your couch when that voicemail comes in.
You’re so grateful no one can see your trembling fingers as you press play on it, or the way you burst into tears the moment the word baby crosses his lips. You can hardly hear him speaking, but you turn the volume up as high as it will go and sob into your throw pillow. You cover yourself with one of the blankets you’d thrown over the edge of the couch that morning, and you feel your chest ache as you get a whiff of his cologne.
You know Mingyu wanted to marry you.
You’d seen the velvet box in his dresser a few months before the breakup. It wasn’t at all the reason behind it, and you were confident in that. You would’ve married him in a heartbeat, he wouldn’t even have to ask you. He’d have to do nothing of the sort like he did when he asked you to be his girlfriend – no fancy rented restaurant, no engraved bottle of gin, no begging to go down on you after finishing inside you for the very first time.
You think it scared you, though.
God, it scared you so much.
To be Mingyu’s forever – it terrified you to know that you’d fallen so deeply in love with him that he wouldn’t even have to ask. You’d give him anything he wanted, anything he needed at the drop of a hat – just a kiss to your lips and you’d seal his fate forever. House husband, the kids, the house, the stupid fucking wedding that he’d talked about for a few weeks before he left for Chicago last year...
You’d give it all to him.
Every. Single. Thing.
“I love you, Kim Mingyu.”
SUNDAY, DECEMBER 7 | 7:15 PM, SEOUL.
INCOMING CALL – Kim Mingyu.
You watch the phone ring from your couch. You’re still in your work clothes, your pantyhose torn at the knee from picking at it. Waiting for another call.
Hoping for another call.
It rings, and rings...
And it starts going to voicemail before you grab it and slide the toggle to answer it, pressing it to your ear. Your skin prickles as you hear the crunch of snow under his boots, and a sigh from his lips – likely paired with tears beginning to coat his lashes. Seungcheol is hollering in the background, singing something about a girl from Ipanema.
“Okay, I lied. This is the last call—”
“Mingyu, you have to stop doing this.” You blurt, and silence follows your sentence. You dare yourself to peek at the screen, but he hasn’t hung up. He clears his throat, and you hear him stop walking.
“What the hell? Baby?”
“Mingyu, stop calling this number.”
You feel your throat tight, burning as you hear him sigh painfully on the other end, and a soft thud follows. He’s likely on the floor, sitting on a curb in the middle of Chicago....at almost five in the morning.
“I love you, Y/N.”
“I know. I know you love me, Mingyu. That’s why you need to stop.” You feel a rush of hot tears spill down your cheeks, and you don’t bother wiping them away as you sniffle, “Because I can’t promise you that I don’t love you back, and then we’re fucked. We’re in a mess if I can’t tell you that I don’t love you.”
“That just means that you do love me.” He’s pouting, and Seungcheol has switched songs to I’m Your Baby Tonight by Whitney Houston. “You know we can be together. I’ll drop everything for you, right now. I need to be yours or I won’t understand the meaning of life.”
You snort, the amusement feeing cynical as you shake your head, “we can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because I have pride.”
“Fuck your pride. Love me like I know you fucking do. I know you love me.” His voice grows soft despite the strong start, and you hear the ping of metal on metal. He’s probably leaning against a lamp post, “Love me, please.”
“Mingyu.” You groan, your voice thick as you sink into the cushions. He hums as you sigh, “I shouldn’t have answered. I gotta go, Mingyu. Get back to your hotel safe, okay?”
“Wait, wait. Don’t hang up, please. I miss your voice...so much.” He whines, before the sound of snow jostles around him, “What if I send you a ticket to Chicago right now? I’ll send you a ticket right now if you promise me you’ll come. Come see me. Love me.”
“Mingyu, why would I do that? I work...I have commitments. You’re just drunk.” You hate how close you are to caving, to calling in sick and using your PTO to go rescue him. A twenty-hour flight over a drunken confession of completely and utterly missing you that you’re sure he’ll regret.
“For closure, I guess. To prove you don’t love me. I’ll send you a ticket right now, and if you don’t love me...” Something akin to a sob rips through him, and you feel your lower lip tremble as the same burn settles in your chest, “if you don’t love me, don’t tell me. Just don’t get on the flight.”
“You’re wasting money, Mingyu.” The waver in your voice betrays you, and his response lets you know that he knows he’s got you. Hook, line...
“I was made to spend my money on you. My time. Give you all my love until I can’t anymore and when I can’t that’s when my time is up. But loving you...God, I'd never fucking die. I’ll love you in this lifetime, in the next one. I’ll love your lips and your face and your heart in every single time and space continuum, the Gods would be fucking sick of my ass yearning for you. That’s what this is. I’m yearning for you to love me from across the world while I’m drunk on a curb in Chicago and all the stars in the sky look like your eyes when you tell me you love me, too.”
Sinker.
“Good night, Mingyu.” You breathe out, and he hums again, his voice thick as he replies softly.
Carefully.
“Good night, Y/N. I love you...so much.”
He hangs up before you can, and you look at your phone with a weight in your stomach.
You stare at it for five minutes, your thumb hovering over the PLEDIS app your company had to put in paid time off or sick leave.
NEW! 2 Messages from: Kim Mingyu
[7:31 PM] [1 Attachment]
[7: 31 PM] check your email. come to me. please.
Your email pings as you press the photo. A screenshot – one first class ticket to Chicago through O’Hare, taking off at seven in the morning your time. A non-stop thirteen-hour flight, because you can’t stand waiting around an airport for a connection.
NEW! 1 Message from: Kim Mingyu
[7:32 PM] i love you.
You open the company app without a second thought.
MONDAY, DECEMBER 8 | 5:34 AM, CHICAGO.
Mingyu is nauseous as he paces back and forth in front of your gate, his hand nearly crushing the flowers he’s got gripped in his palm.
He’s still hungover as fuck, and he has absolutely no idea what came over him the night before – but he doesn’t care, either. If you got on that plane...you’ll be here.
Any minute now.
Seungcheol scolded him the entire ride to the airport. He went on and on about how he can’t do things like that when he’s drunk, that he can’t just drop over two grand to get you to Chicago because he misses you – when Seungcheol had done the same thing the year you and Mingyu met, but for Jeonghan.
Seungcheol argues he and Jeonghan have been in love longer than Mingyu has even known how to wipe his ass. Offensive, gross and not true...but slightly endearing as the older man flushes at the mention of his long-term boyfriend.
Mingyu’s collar is too tight as he nibbles on his lip, watching people start trickling out the gate. Families, a couple. Another couple, elderly and wobbly as they hold hands tightly and carry light backpacks – a young girl screaming from behind him and running up to them. He stops pacing, standing next to a man obviously waiting for someone – maybe a her. A girl, a woman.
He’s just as nervous as Mingyu is, holding flowers just like Mingyu. Lips bitten red, cheeks flushed...and Mingyu reminds himself to take a deep breath. He keeps looking over heads of people – more couples, more families...
You.
In a pink hoodie that belonged to him in college, with a black pair of his sweatpants tugged over your hips and almost too long. Wearing cable headphones, eyes swollen and sunglasses perched on your head. Your hands are stuffed in your pocket, and you’re chewing on your lip the way you always do when you’re nervous as you walk cautiously; your eyes slowly raking over everyone waiting before you drop them to the ground.
Mingyu feels glued to the goddamn floor, and the guy next to him nudges his arm.
“That’s your girl?” He utters, and you duck behind a couple, almost like you’re embarrassed. Like you’re not aware he’s there, and you don’t want to look like an idiot.
“Yeah,” he breathes out, “that’s my girl.”
The guy pats his arm, and Mingyu feels adrenaline start coursing through him like a wave swallowing him whole as your name leaves his mouth.
“Y/N!”
Your head darts up, eyes wide as you look all around. You spot him, covering your face immediately as your lip juts out in a pout and he bolts to you. He almost knocks you over as he wraps his arms around your waist, clutching the flowers to your back as he holds you close. Your hair smells like the same perfume that’s haunted him for the last year without you, and your tears are soaking through his shirt as he kisses the side of your face.
“You’re here. You’re here...a-and I love you. I love you so much.” He stutters between kisses, your fingers gripping his jacket tightly as you sob into his neck. “I love you, God. It’s so good to see you, baby.”
“Even when I broke up with you over something stupid?” You blurt, haphazardly wiping at your eyes as his hands come to hold your cheeks carefully. Your eyes are still as starry as ever, glossed over with tears as your fingers pull at his jacket, “I love you.”
He smiles softly, nodding, “I know, baby. I know you love me.”
He feels his eyes sting with tears, your face growing blurry as he pulls you into him. He buries his nose in your hair, inhaling deeply as his arms practically crush you in his embrace. Your arms wrap around his waist, your fingernails dragging lightly up and down his back as your sobs subside slowly. He kisses the crown of your head, “you’re really here?”
“I’m really tired.” You whisper back, pulling your head back slightly to look up at him. His thumbs wipe the corners of your eyes gently, and you seemingly hesitate before glancing at his lips.
A kiss.
“Luckily for you...my hotel room has two beds.”
“Don’t tell me you’re sharing with Seungcheol.”
“He’s a fucking cheapskate if it’s not about Jeonghan,” Mingyu jests, making you roll your eyes before they not-so-subtly land on his lips again. He nuzzles his nose to yours, “you’re mine, right? This, you coming. That makes you mine, right?”
“Leave a message,” you shrug, before pressing your lips to his abruptly, your hands cupping his jaw carefully as you pull him to you. He kisses you back softly, pulling away after a few seconds as his hands hold your hips tightly. He smiles against your lips, giving you another chaste kiss before leaning near your ear and pitching his voice up.
“Hey, it’s Y/N. Sorry I missed—”
“Mingyu, I'll get right back on that damn plane.”
He laughs, grabbing your hand and pulling you flush to his hip as he shows you the flowers. Your eyes widen as you smile inwardly, holding them to your chest as you peer up at him through your lashes, “...thank you for leaving all those voicemails.”
“Thank you for listening to them. And picking up...and getting on that flight.”
“I love you, Mingyu.”
He can’t bite back his smile as his cheeks tinge pink, his skin hot as his fingers tighten around yours and you both step out into the cold Chicago air. He rocks on his heels for a moment, before spotting Seungcheol down the pick-up area. He leans down slightly, pressing a kiss to your temple before clearing his throat.
“Hey, it’s Y/N. Sorry I missed your call, leave a message and I’ll get right back to ya! Hehehe.”
You shove him away, beelining for Seungcheol as he snickers. The older man looks pleasantly surprised to see you, opening his arms to embrace you. You allow it, before he opens the passenger side door as Mingyu opens his mouth to argue.
You both stick your tongues out at him, turning your noses up at him as you climb into the passenger seat while Seungcheol takes your carryon.
“I told you she’d come.” Seungcheol scoffs, and Mingyu scrunches his nose, “no you didn’t, idiot.”
“Be nice, Kim Mingyu. We’re kicking him out of his room later, we need to be in his good graces.”
“No way you guys are just getting back together and already fucking.” Seungcheol gapes, and Mingyu feels his face grow even hotter as he just scrambles into the driver’s seat. Seungcheol scowls as he slips into the backseat, too tired to fight it. You reach your hand across the center console for Mingyu to hold as he peels out of the pick-up area, your lips pressing to his knuckles.
PAIRING: F.Reader x ot13
PACK MEMBER FOCUS: Soonyoung
PACK MEETING: Soonyoung is an irritable mess and no one can figure it out until he wanders in your room in the middle of the night.
REQUESTED BY: ANON
REQUEST: soonyoung got his rut earlier than expected and everyone has been wondering why hes so snappy these days, and it was answered when soonyoung goes to the omega’s room and yeah u know it lol
GENRE: Fluff, smut, mild angst
AU: Omegaverse
WC: 9,867
RATING: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It may contain explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.
PACK WARNINGS: Some mild angst and fighting among members, Soonyoung is picking fights with everyone that are petty and stupid, lots of frustration, a single moment between Soonyoung and Mingyu where Soonyoung almost turns things physical but reader diffuses, some awkwardness because reader is still relatively new to the pack, lots of hormones and body chemistry, Soonyoung having some anxiety about spending a rut with reader, explicit language, explicit sexual content including unprotected sex, mild biting, some scenting, teasing, vaginal fingering, multiple orgasms, very very light dirty talk, Soonyoung being possessive, and a moment of Soonyoung being territorial to another member at the end briefly.
SMUT NOTICE: This chapter is centered around smut and shout be skipped if you don't like reading smut - it makes little sense to read without.
A/N: This does not lean into rut dynamics a ton nor does it lean toooo heavily into omegaverse smut dynamics because I wanted to lean into the idea that this is the first time since reader has joined the pack that she's helping with someone's rut and thus the dynamic is entirely different and slower/more personal than it typically would be among seasoned rut partners.
A/N 2: As usual this is not beta read this because I'm impatient and just wanna post these as I finish writing them. Also Hali stick to under 5k challenge failed again.
HOUSE RULES M. LIST | MAIN M. LIST | ASK
SOONYOUNG IS AN EASY ALPHA TO READ. As someone who wears his heart on his sleeve and his emotions on his face, you rarely have a problem reading him now that you know him well enough. Plus, whatever isn't on his face or in his tone is usually coming directly from the source himself, never the one to shy away from communicating exactly what he thinks of something.
So it's unusual when you realize on a Friday afternoon that something is wrong with Soonyoung but you don't quite know what that something is.
The sun is slanting through the western windows of the house, turning the floors honey-warm and catching the dust motes floating lazily through the air. You're curled into the corner of the sectional - a spot that has become yours over the last few weeks - with a book in your lap. It's some novel that Wonwoo recommended and that you're half paying attention to because Mingyu keeps singing off-key in the kitchen where he's baking and because there's base thrumming from Jihoon's studio basement, vibrating up through the couch into your spine.
It's the kind of afternoon that's calm but doesn't exactly leave space for reading, especially when Chan flops down on the couch next to you, immediately pushing into your side to nuzzle close and lay his head in your lap.
"Hi," he sighs dreamily, tilting his head back to look up at you. "This okay?"
You grin, running your fingers through his hair. "Of course it is."
He nearly purrs under your touch, melting into your lap as he settles, his dark hair soft against your fingers as he gets comfortable with one arm draped over his stomach and the other hanging off the edge of the couch. He smells like the laundry detergent the pack uses, warm and clean and the distinct lavender and sea salt smell that is so him.
Putting the book down, you continue to stroke his hair, feeling him relax into your lap, heavy and solid. You smile. You like this - you're glad that you finally have figured this out, the intimacy that's both physical and mental, both casual and sexual. Now that you've finally settled and figured them out, this kind of contact is easy. Welcome. Craved.
The afternoon light catches the side of Chan's face and you notice the faint freckles across his nose, the way his face is soft, eyes closed and content as he drifts. It's moments like this that make you understand why the pack works and why fourteen people in one house don't feel chaotic and feel like this instead.
Soonyoung's voice is what cuts through the silence, reminding you that the pack has its bad days too. You turn to look over the back of the couch the way his voice is coming, cutting through the ambient noise like a knife. Chan shifts too, the beta making an unhappy noise as he cracks an eye open.
"I said I would handle it, Seokmin," Soonyoung snaps somewhere. You straighten, the alpha's voice rigid and more severe than you're used to hearing. "So stop."
"I'm just trying to help." Seokmin's calmer voice barely reaches you, careful and placating. You can hear his confusion even without seeing his face. "If you'd just listen-"
"I don't need to listen."
Footsteps keep your attention pinned to the entryway from the hall. Soonyoung rounds the corner into the living room and the sight of him makes something in your chest clench. His jaw is tight, muscle twitching beneath the skin, and his shoulders are drawn up and rigid. There's something wild in his eyes that make your instincts prickle, a warning bell going off in the back of your head that's telling you there's an alpha in distress.
Seokmin trails behind him with his hands raised in a gesture of peace, his expression caught somewhere between apologetic and frustrated. He's still in his work clothes, dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up and tie loosened around his neck, but the tension in his neck has nothing to do with Soonyoung.
Your book is long forgotten. Chan's head is turned in your lap, watching as Soonyoung storms into the room, Seokmin behind him. Seokmin looks at you before his eyes dart meaningfully between you and Chan, a silent request. You understand immediately and pat Chan gently. The beta stirs immediately, unfolding from your lap with a quick kiss to your forehead before he heads toward Seokmin.
"Help me with something in the kitchen?" Chan asks Seokmin, reaching for him.
"Sure," Seokmin sighs, moving toward the hallway. He shoots you one last look, mouthing thank you as he follows Chan out of the room, leaving you alone on the couch.
The moment they're gone, Soonyoung is moving toward you, his agitation evaporating. He falls onto the couch, settling against you instantly, head finding the curve where your shoulder meets your neck, his arms wrapping around you as he breathes you in.
"Hi," he says quietly, voice muffled as he presses in closer. "You smell good."
His scent washes over you as he burrows closer, deep teakwood with an undercurrent of warmth that you've come to associate with him, though there's something slightly off about it now. Something sharp and acidic underneath. It makes your nose wrinkle slightly even as your omega instincts purr at his proximity.
"Hi," you murmur, tugging him further into you.
"What are you reading?"
"Something Wonwoo recommended."
He hums, a low sound in the back of his throat, and leans even closer to peer at the cover. You can feel the heat of him along your side, can see the way his hair falls into his eyes as he tilts his head. "Is it good?"
"It's okay. It's a little slow."
"Do you want company? I can sit with you."
There's something almost desperate in the offer, something that makes your chest tight. You study his face, trying to understand what just happened, trying to reconcile the alpha who just snapped at Seokmin with the one who's looking at you now like he might die if you say no. You'd never say no, though, so you smile and nod.
"Always," you say softly, and watch the way relief floods his expression like sunrise breaking over water. “Just keep the teeth away, yeah?”
He nods and shifts, adjusting his position so he's lying more fully against you, his head pillowed on your thigh where Chan had been moments before. The weight of him is different, heavier and more solid, radiating a heat that seems to seep through the fabric of your leggings and into your skin. One of his arms wraps around your leg, holding on like you might disappear if he doesn't anchor himself to you.
Without thinking, you card your fingers through his hair, and the effect is immediate. He melts. There's no other word for it as the tension that had been coiled through his shoulders and jaw just dissolves under your touch, his whole body going soft and pliant against you. A sound escapes him, something between a sigh and a groan, and he presses his face harder against your thigh.
"That feels nice," he mumbles. "Don't stop doing that."
You smile, continuing the gentle motion, your fingers sliding through the dark strands. His hair is softer than you expected, still slightly mussed from where he'd been running his hands through it earlier, and you work through the tangles with careful attention. Each pass of your fingers seems to pull more tension from him, until he's practically boneless against you, his breathing evening out into something slow and deep.
The afternoon light has shifted, no longer streaming directly through the windows but casting everything in a softer, golden glow. That's when you notice it again. That off note in his scent. It's subtle, easy to miss if you weren't paying attention, but it's there, sharp and acidic beneath the familiar teakwood warmth, like something fermented or turned. It makes your nose wrinkle slightly, your omega instincts prickling with a vague sense of concern. You've never smelled him like this before. Usually his scent is all warmth and depth, grounding and steady, but this is different.
You frown slightly, your fingers pausing in his hair as you try to place what it reminds you of. Your first thought is rut, that sharp, aggressive edge that alphas get when their biology starts to take over, but you dismiss it almost immediately. You've been with the pack long enough now to know everyone's schedules, the careful tracking system they use to make sure no one's caught off guard. Soonyoung isn't due for a rut for at least another three weeks. You'd know. Seungcheol keeps a calendar, and you've seen it enough times to have most of the dates memorized.
So it's not that. Maybe he's just stressed? The thought settles uneasily in your chest. He has been more on edge lately, more irritable with the others, though you'd chalked it up to work or pack dynamics or any of the hundred other things that can make an alpha tense. Maybe it's manifesting in his scent, some kind of stress response you're not familiar with yet.
You let it go, resuming the gentle motion of your fingers through his hair. Whatever it is, he clearly needs this and you're not about to pull away because of some vague concern you can't even properly articulate. If it's serious, someone else will notice. Seungcheol will notice.
Soonyoung makes another one of those soft sounds and you feel your heart do something complicated in your chest. You smile, thinking about how much you like him. The realization isn't new - you like all of them. But it hits you fresh at this moment, with him soft and sleepy against you.
"You're really good at that," he murmurs, his voice drowsy and content. His eyes are closed, his face relaxed. "Like, unfairly good."
"Just scratching your head," you say, but you're smiling, your fingers finding that spot behind his ear that makes him practically purr.
"Mm, no. It's more than that." He shifts slightly, tilting his head to look up at you, and the expression on his face makes your breath catch. There's something raw in his eyes, something open and honest that he usually keeps hidden behind jokes and easy grins. "You make everything feel easier."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." He reaches up, his hand finding yours where it's resting against his temple, and he threads your fingers together. His palm is warm, slightly rough, and the gesture feels impossibly intimate. "I really like being close to you. Is that okay? To say that?"
"Of course it is. I like being close to you too."
His smile is small but genuine, crinkling the corners of his eyes. "Good. Because I don't think I could stop even if you told me to."
You laugh quietly, resuming the gentle motion through his hair with your free hand while he keeps the other one captive, his thumb tracing absent patterns against your knuckles. His touch is comforting and you can feel the way his body has gone completely relaxed against you as the house settles around you, the sound of pack life continuing in other rooms.
You don't know how long you stay like that. Long enough for the light to shift again, the golden glow deepening toward amber. Long enough for your legs to start going numb under his weight, though you don't mention it. Long enough for you to memorize the exact shade of his hair in this light, the pattern of freckles across his nose, the way his eyelashes cast shadows on his cheeks when he closes his eyes.
"Thank you," he says eventually, so quiet you almost miss it.
"For what?"
"For not asking questions. For just letting me be here."
You want to tell him he never has to thank you for that, but the words feel too big, too revealing, so instead you just squeeze his hand and keep running your fingers through his hair, and hope he understands anyway.
He seems to. His eyes drift closed again, his breathing evening out. And despite that lingering concern about his scent, despite the confusion about what happened with Seokmin, despite everything, you let yourself have this, relaxing against the couch as Soonyoung dozes in your lap.
-
The second time you notice something off with Soonyoung is worse.
It's Saturday morning and the kitchen is alive with the weekend chaos you've come to expect now that you eat breakfast at more reasonable hours. Mingyu is at the stove making what smells like pancakes while Vernon sits at the island with his laptop and a cup of coffee that you think has gone cold. Joshua hums as he sets the table in the dining room while morning light streams through the windows, coffee and the scent of bodies filling the room.
You're standing at the counter making tea, watching the kettle when you hear the commotion start somewhere just outside the kitchen.
"I'm just saying," Junhui says, his voice measured and calm in a way that suggests he is trying very hard to be patient. "If you'd communicated better, it would-"
"I don't need you to tell me how to communicate, Jun." Soonyoung's voice cuts through the morning peace like a knife, sharp enough that you see Mingyu's shoulders tense at the stove, see Vernon's fingers still on his keyboard.
Your hands tighten on the edge of the counter, your whole body going alert. Not again. Please not again. You glance at Mingyu who winces and shrugs his shoulders before turning back to stare intensely at his pancakes, preferring to let the alphas argue it out.
"I'm not telling you how to do anything." Junhui's voice is still calm but you can hear the edge creeping in, can hear the alpha authority starting to bleed through. "I'm just saying that if you'd communicated better, we wouldn't have had the conflict with-"
"Right, so it's my fault."
"That isn't what I said-"
"It's what you meant!"
You turn your attention back to the kettle, listening with half an ear as the argument continues. It's not the first time you've heard pack members disagree, and it probably won't be the last. The whistle is building now, getting louder, and you're reaching for your mug when you hear a crash loud enough that you jerk your hand.
The kettle wobbles but you catch it, steadying it with both hands as you let out a breath. Your heart kicks up for a moment before settling back down. Just an argument. Just pack dynamics working themselves out.
Mingyu has turned from the stove, spatula still in hand, his expression somewhere between concerned and resigned. Vernon has closed his laptop, watching the doorway.
"Soonyoung." Junhui's voice is harder now, carrying that alpha command that says stand down. "You need to calm down."
"Don't tell me to calm down."
There's a beat of tense silence, and then footsteps, quick and purposeful before Soonyoung appears in the kitchen doorway. He looks wound tight, his chest heavy slightly, his eyes bright and a flush high on his cheeks that tells you he's stressed. His hair is a mess like he's been running his hands through it, and his t-shirt is rumpled, twisted slightly to one side. For a second he just stands there, breathing hard, his gaze sweeping the kitchen like he's looking for something.
Then his eyes land on you, and everything changes.
The tension bleeds out of his shoulders and his expression softens immediately, the wild edge in his eyes gentling into something warm. He crosses the kitchen in a few long strides, and before you can say anything, he’s pressing into your side like he needs the physical contact to breathe.
"Hi," he says quietly, his voice rough but softer than it was seconds ago. One of his arms wraps around your waist, and he leans into you, his forehead coming to rest against your temple. "You making tea?"
"Yeah." You can feel the heat of him along your entire side, can smell that sharp acidic edge underneath his usual teakwood warmth. It's more pronounced than it was yesterday. "Want some?"
"No. Just want to be here."
"Alright."
You reach up to run your fingers through his hair, scraping the blunt edge of your nails against his scalp. He hums, chest vibrating against you as his eyes flutter, scent blooming warm and rich, the acidic note vanishing. The kettle is whistling properly now, so you pour the water one-handed, Soonyoung still plastered to your side like he has no intention of moving. He doesn't say anything, just stands there with his arm around you, his breathing evening out as you finish making your tea.
Behind you, you can hear Mingyu returning to the pancakes, the quiet sizzle of batter hitting the pan. Vernon has reopened his laptop but you can feel his attention still on the two of you. Joshua appears in the doorway, takes one look at Soonyoung wrapped around you, and just nods to himself before heading back to finish setting the table.
"Breakfast is almost ready," Mingyu says after a moment, his voice carefully neutral. "If you guys want to sit down."
Soonyoung makes a noncommittal sound against your hair but doesn't move. You smile, wrapping both hands around your mug now that it's ready, and lean back into him slightly.
"Come on," you murmur. "Let's go sit."
He follows you without question, his hand sliding from your waist to tangle with your free hand, keeping you connected as you move into the dining room. The table is set thanks to Joshua, who looks between you and Soonyoung before winking.
You choose a seat near the middle of the table and Soonyoung immediately claims the chair right next to you, close enough that his thigh presses against yours when he sits. His hand finds your knee under the table, his thumb rubbing small circles against the fabric of your leggings, and you can feel the way he's still wound tight despite the softness in his expression.
Junhui appears in the doorway a moment later, and you watch as his eyes land on Soonyoung pressed up against your side. Something complicated crosses his face - frustration, maybe, but also understanding, and what looks like relief. He lets out a long breath, his shoulders dropping slightly, and when he meets your eyes there's gratitude there.
Thanks, he mouths silently and you nod.
He takes a seat across the table, his posture still tense but no longer aggressive. The argument isn't resolved, the set of his jaw and the tension in his hands making that much obvious, but it's set aside for now for when Soonyoung isn't whatever this is right now.
Soon, the table fills out with the rest of the pack and loud conversation backtracked by the sound of silverware on plates. Soonyoung serves you first, putting pancakes on your plate before his own, his hand never leaving your knee. He eats one-handed, the other staying firmly on you like he needs the anchor despite Seungkwan poking fun at him.
Soonyoung gradually relaxes against your side. His scent is still off, but his breathing has evened out, and the tension in his shoulders has eased. He's not talking much, just listening to the conversation around him, but every so often he glances at you like he's checking that you're still there.
Across the table, Junhui catches your eye again and gives you a small nod. The message is clear: Whatever you're doing, keep doing it.
So you do. You finish your tea and eat your pancakes and let Soonyoung stay pressed against your side for as long as he needs, and you try not to think too hard about what it is that's bothering him, ready to wait him out and let him come to you.
-
By Sunday, Soonyoung's tension has been noticed by everyone.
It's the kind of afternoon where the house has that lazy, syrupy feeling of the weekend as people scatter across the estate with their routines. You can hear Seungkwan's laugh coming through an open window, backtracked by someone playing music.
Sun bakes down on the top of your head as you stretch, sweaty skin sticky against the cloth of the cabana seating. Mingyu is tucked next to you, the smell of his clean, floral musk and sunscreen soothing.
The afternoon sun turns the pool surface into liquid gold, the light dancing and refracting in patterns that shift with every ripple. The air smells like chlorine and sunscreen and the jasmine that grows wild along the fence line, music playing from the speaker next to Mingyu softly while the two of you lounge
He's stretched out next to you in swim shorts that are slung low on his hips, his long legs crossed at the ankle, a book open in his lap that he's been so called reading for the past twenty minutes despite the fact he hasn't turned a page in at least ten. His chest is bare, shoulders already warming to a golden tan, and there's a faint sheen of sunscreen on his skin that catches the light.
You are definitely not reading your book. Instead, you're acutely aware of the way Mingyu's chest rises and falls with each one of his breaths, every defined line of his abs, and the way his muscles in his shoulders flex when he shifts his position. Your eyes drift from his collarbones to his sternum to the dip of his waist where his swim shorts sit low on his hips, and you have to physically force your gaze back to your book.
When you glance sideways, you catch the faintest smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. He knows. Of course he knows. Mingyu always knows when you're looking.
Footsteps draw your attention on the pool deck. Soonyoung is approaching, jaw tight and shoulders tense. You frown and his scent hits you a moment later as the wind shifts, sharp and acrid. You shift and Mingyu notices, glancing at you from behind his sunglasses before he realizes Soonyoung is there.
"Mingyu," Soonyoung says, voice clipped. He stops at the edge of the cabana, his eyes locked on Mingyu with something that makes the beta tense. "You left the fridge door open this morning. Again."
Mingyu blinks. "What?"
"Yeah."
"Soonyoung, I made breakfast at seven. It's been hours." Mingyu shields his eyes, looking up at Soonyoung, his tone more bewildered than defensive. "What even is-"
"And yesterday," Soonyoung continues, "You left stuff all over the kitchen counter. It's rude and messy."
You watch as Mingyu's expression shifts from confusion to something closer to exasperation. "I cleaned that up. Wonwoo saw me clean it up."
"Not very well, apparently." Soonyoung's voice is sharp. "And you were making noise in the kitchen at like six in the morning. Some of us were trying to sleep."
"You were literally in the gym at six." Mingyu closes his book deliberately and sets it on the small table next to the cabana. When he looks up at Soonyoung, his expression is guarded, not angry. "What's your actual problem Soonyoung? Spit it out."
"I don't have a problem. I just think it would be nice if people actually thought about the shared spaces instead of just doing whatever they want."
"Nobody's doing whatever they want."
Mingyu stands now so he's facing Soonyoung directly. He's a beta, but he's not small. He towers over Soonyoung, imposing in a way that makes your instincts flare, feeling the shift of tension between the two.
"You're picking a fight," Mingyu says, softer than before.
"I'm not picking a fight."
"Soonyoung, you're-" Mingyu cuts himself off and sighs. You can see him trying to control his temper, trying to figure out what Soonyoung is actually mad about. "You know what, whatever. You're right."
He turns to leave, his movements sharp and frustrated, stepping away from the cabana toward the pool deck. The afternoon sun hits him full-force, turning his skin golden, and for a moment you think maybe that's it. But then Soonyoung's hand darts out, wrapping around Mingyu's arm just above the elbow, fingers digging in hard enough to dimple Mingyu's skin.
"Don't walk away from me," Soonyoung growls, teeth flashing.
"Okay, enough."
Your voice cuts through the tension, sharp and commanding in a way that surprises even you. You're on your feet before you've consciously decided to move, a frustrated growling rippling through you at their bickering and Soonyoung's obvious struggle with something.
The effect is immediate and absolute. Soonyoung's hand drops from Mingyu's arm like he's been burned, his eyes going wide as they snap to you. Mingyu takes a step back, his posture immediately shifting from defensive to something closer to chastened. They're both staring at you now, and you can see the moment they register your expression.
"I don't know what's going on with you," you say, your gaze locked on Soonyoung, "but I am tired of watching you pick fights with everyone in this house. And Mingyu, you know it sets him off when you walk away like that."
"I wasn't-" Mingyu starts, but you hold up a hand and he stops immediately, his mouth closing.
"I don't want to hear it. Not from either of you. Soonyoung, put the teeth away."
The afternoon sun is hot on your shoulders, the chlorine smell sharp in your nose as a beat of silence passes. Soonyoung looks like he's been slapped, his expression crumbling from aggressive to something that looks almost like shame. His shoulders drop, his hands unclenching, and you can see the way his whole body seems to deflate.
"I'm sorry," he says, voice smaller than you've ever heard it.
"I know, Soonyoung." Your voice softens a fraction. "But you need to figure out what's going on with you, because this isn't okay. Mingyu didn't deserve that."
Soonyoung glances at Mingyu. "I'm sorry."
Mingyu is rubbing his arm where Soonyoung grabbed him, and you can see the red marks already forming, can see the shape of fingers pressed into his skin. His expression is a mix of anger and hurt, and you can tell he's struggling to not let his temper flare again. He takes a deep breath and nods, the frustration melting out of him in the way that betas are always good at.
"You need to talk to Seungcheol," Mingyu says, his voice much calmer now. "Today."
"I know."
Mingyu doesn't seem convinced. "I'm serious."
"I know. I'm going to."
For a second, Mingyu hesitates. Then he nods and glances at you, tilting his head toward Soonyoung subtly. You nod and Mingyu backs up a few paces, keeping his eyes on you until he's sure that you'll be fine with Soonyoung before he turns, sulky and irritated but knowing that Soonyoung needs space and recently, you're the only one who can reason with him.
Soonyoung looks wrecked, his expression apologetic. He's trembling a little, hands flexing at his sides like he wants to reach for you but can't or won't, his scent a mess. His pupils are blown wide, somewhere between fighting whatever instinct is making him so cagey and panic that he's upset you - he hates upsetting anyone, but most of all he hates when you're mad.
"Can I…?" He drifts off and gestures vaguely in your direction.
He's asking permission, deferring to you completely, and you can see in his eyes that he'll accept whatever answer you give. That he knows he just got put in his place and he's not going to push.
You let out a breath, some of the tension leaving your shoulders. "Yeah. Come here.
He crosses the distance between you in two quick strides, but when he reaches you, he's careful, his arms coming around you slowly enough to give you time to pull away. You don't and instead let him pull you close so he can bury his face in your neck, breathing you in and scenting you enough to make you both dizzy and clinging to one another. Your lashes flutter, a rush going through you as he brushes his nose against the softness of your neck, blood turning molten.
"I'm sorry," he whispers against your skin, and his voice is broken. "I'm sorry. You're right. I'm sorry."
Your hands come up automatically, one sliding into his hair, the other pressing flat against his back. You can feel the knobs of his spine through his shirt, can feel the way his muscles are locked tight with tension.
"I know you are," you murmur. "But you need to figure out what's wrong. This isn't like you."
You can feel the way he's trying to calm himself down, trying to match his breathing to yours, trying to use your presence to anchor himself. You feel a pang in your chest, hugging him a little tighter. Soonyoung is always hard on himself - harder than he needs to be - and he hates fighting with anyone, especially Mingyu. Especially in front of you.
You guide him back to the loungers, settling onto one and pulling him down beside you. He goes willingly, curling into your side like he's trying to make himself smaller, his head resting on your shoulder. The afternoon sun has shifted, the shade of the cabana stretching longer across the pool deck, and the water has gone still and mirror-smooth in the absence of any breeze.
"You should talk to Cheol," you murmur.
Soonyoung nods against you. "Okay."
You run your fingers through his hair, feeling the way he relaxes incrementally with each pass, the tension in his shoulders easing degree by degree. The strands are soft, slightly damp from the heat and humidity, and you work your fingers through them slowly, deliberately, the way you know he likes. His scent is still sharp underneath, still carrying that acidic edge that speaks to whatever is happening inside his body, but it levels out now, teakwood baked under sun.
"Better?" you ask softly.
He makes a small sound of agreement, his arm tightening around your waist. "Yeah."
-
Someone knocking on your door pulls you from sleep. You squint at the clock on the nightstand, the blurry numbers telling you it's well past three am. Your bed is warm, blankets tangled around you and the faint smell of Jeonghan lingering from the hoodie of his you have shoved under your pillow. You sit up, rubbing your eyes as you get your bearings.
"Come in," you croak.
Before the door even opens, you know who it is. You can smell Soonyoung before the door fully opens, but when it does, it hits you like a physical force. It's his normal warm, woody smell but there's something new now, something hot and thick and almost overwhelming. It makes your mouth water, omega instincts kicking in, warmth pooling low in your belly.
Soonyoung steps into your room and closes the door behind him with a soft click, and in the dim light filtering through your curtains from the streetlamp outside, you can see that something is very, very wrong. Or right, by the smell of him.
He's shirtless, wearing only a pair of loose sleep pants that hang low on his hips, skin gleaming with a thin sheen of sweat despite how cold the house is at night. You can see the way his chest rises and falls too fast, too shallow. His hair is a mess like he's been pulling at it again, and when he looks at you, his eyes are dark and dilated, pupils blown so wide there's barely any iris left.
"I'm sorry," he says, and his voice is rough, wrecked. "I know it's late."
You push the blankets aside and shift to the edge of your bed, feet finding the cool hardwood floor to stand. "What's wrong?"
His entire body reacts to the sound of your voice. He sways slightly toward you, nostril flaring as he scents you, a shiver rippling through him. You take a step toward him and he makes a pitiful sound, looking entirely at war with himself.
"I feel like I'm burning up," he mumbles. "Feel like I'm going to crawl out of my skin if I don't see you."
"Come here."
It's a command - softly given, but a command none the less. He listens like it's instinctual, crossing the room to you in three strides. You feel the heat radiating off of him when he stops in front of you and you reach up without thinking, pressing your palm to his chest. He's fever-hot under your touch, his heart hammering in his chest.
"You're burning up," you say softly, frowning.
"I know." His hand comes up to cover yours, pressing your palm harder against his chest like he needs the contact, needs the pressure. His eyes close and he takes a shuddering breath. "You smell so good. You always smell good but right now it's maddening."
Something clicks into place in your mind. The aggression. The clinginess. The way his scent has been getting sharper and hotter for days. The fever. The way he's looking at you right now like you're the only thing in the world that matters.
"Soonyoung," you say slowly, carefully. "Are you in rut?"
His eyes snap open, meeting yours, and for a long moment he just stares at you. You can see him processing the question, see the moment the realization hits him. His expression shifts from confusion to understanding to something that looks almost like relief.
"Oh. Um. It does feel like that."
"But it's early, isn't it?" You keep your hand on his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heartbeat under your palm. "You're not supposed to go into a rut for another few weeks."
"Right." He seems to think about something and he makes a small sound, leaning into your touch. "I've never had an omega in the house though."
"Oh."
"I think having you here made my body kind of freak out and decide it was time even if it wasn't."
You can feel your own body responding to his proximity, to the thick, heady scent of him in rut. Your omega instincts are screaming at you to help, to soothe, to give him what he needs. But more than that, you want to. You want to pull him into your bed, want to feel his fever-hot skin against yours, want to take care of him the way every cell in your body is telling you to.
"Let me help you," you say, and your voice comes out softer than you intended, almost pleading.
His eyes go wide. "What?"
"Let me help you through it." You slide your hand up from his chest to cup his jaw, feeling the way he leans into your touch like he can't help himself. "You don't have to do this alone. You don't have to suffer through it."
"I can't ask you to do that. You haven't been here that long and haven't been through one…"
"It's pretty instinctual. I'll be okay."
He's trembling now, and you can't tell if it's from the fever or from nerves or from the effort of holding himself back. "What if I hurt you? What if I can't control myself?"
"Soonyoung, you won't hurt me."
"You don't know that." But even as he says it, he's leaning closer, his forehead dropping to rest against yours. His breath is hot against your lips, coming in short, uneven pants. "You don't know what it's like. What I'm feeling right now."
"Then take it," you whisper. "Take what you need."
He makes a sound low in his throat, something between a whimper and a growl, and his hands come up to grip your waist. His fingers dig in, not quite hard enough to hurt but firm enough that you can feel the desperation in his touch.
"But what if-"
You cut him off by kissing him.
It's soft at first, just a gentle press of your lips against his to turn off his spinning thoughts, but the moment you make contact, something in him breaks. He makes a desperate sound against your mouth and kisses you back like he's drowning and you're air. His lips are fever-hot and slightly chapped, and he tastes like mint toothpaste and something underneath that's purely him, purely alpha, purely Soonyoung.
His hands tighten on your waist and he pulls you closer, eliminating the last few inches of space between you. Your chest presses against his and you can feel the heat of him even through your thin sleep shirt, can feel the way his heart is racing, can feel the slight tremor in his muscles as he holds himself back from taking more than you're offering.
But you want him to take more. You want him to let go.
You part your lips and he groans, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that makes heat pool low in your belly. The kiss deepens, turns hungry, and you can feel the moment his control starts to slip. His hands slide from your waist to your hips to grip your ass, pulling you flush against him. You can feel him harden against your stomach, the way he's already straining against the low slung sweat pants.
Knowing he wants you this much makes your head spin. You omega preens and you shiver, sucking his tongue into your mouth greedily, driven by a more powerful want than you have ever felt in your life. He responds in kind, walking you backward toward the bed, feet tangling until you're falling backward and he's caging you in.
For a moment, he just hovers over you, his arms bracketing your head, his chest heaving as he stares down at you with those dark, dilated eyes. You reach up and trace his jawline and he leans into the touch, eyes fluttering. You've always thought he had the prettiest eyes, dark and hungry and so full of life. Right now they're burning with something hotter than you've ever seen and it makes you sing.
"You're so beautiful," he says, and his voice is wrecked. "I've wanted this for so long. Wanted you for so long."
"Then have me," you whisper. "Take me."
"Okay," he whispers. "Okay."
He kisses you again, slower this time, his lips moving against you with gentle purpose like he's memorizing the shape of your mouth. His hands start to wander, sliding up your sides, pushing your sleep shirt up inch by inch until his palms are pressed against your bare skin.
The contact makes you both gasp. His hands are so hot they're almost burning, and everywhere he touches feels like it's on fire. He explores slowly, his fingers tracing the curve of your waist, the dip of your ribs, the soft swell of your breasts.
"Can I?" He asks, twisting a fistfull of your shirt in his hand. You nod and he grins.
He sits back on his heels and helps you pull the shirt over your head, and the moment it's gone, his eyes go even darker. He stares at you like he's never seen anything more beautiful, his gaze tracking over every inch of exposed skin.
"Fuck," he breathes. "You're perfect. You're so fucking perfect."
He leans down and presses a kiss to your collarbone, then another to the swell of your breast, then another to your stomach. His lips are hot and soft, and every place he kisses feels like it's been branded. He works his way down slowly, kissing and licking and occasionally scraping his teeth gently against your skin in a way that makes you arch up into him, his name broken and shaky on your lips.
Soonyoung's sounds are equally as needy, groaning low in his throat in a way that makes your thighs close around his waist, the ache between your legs growing despite the way his hips pin yours to the bed. Friction. You need friction but any thoughts of asking for it vanish from your head when he leans down and takes a nipple into his mouth, the heat and wet slide of his tongue making you cry out.
Your hands fly to his hair, threading through the messy strands, holding him against you as he sucks and licks and occasionally scrapes his teeth gently across the sensitive bud. The sensation is overwhelming, almost too much, and you can feel yourself getting wetter with every pass of his tongue.
"So responsive," he murmurs, almost to himself. "So perfect for me."
He gives the same attention to your other breast, his hand coming up to play with the one his mouth just left, and the dual sensation makes your head spin. You're panting now, your hips shifting restlessly against the mattress, seeking friction that you need so badly.
"Soonyoung," you gasp. "Please."
"Please what?" He lifts his head to look at you, and his lips are wet and swollen, his eyes dark with hunger. "Tell me what you need."
"Touch me. Please touch me."
His hand slides down your stomach, his fingers light and maddening. When he reaches the waistband of your shorts, he pauses again, waiting for permission. You lift your hips in answer, and he hooks his fingers into both your shorts and underwear, pulling them down your legs in one smooth motion.
Cool air hits your overheated pussy and you whine. Soonyoung growls in response, looking down where your thighs threaten to shut. He keeps you pressed open, his hands firm on your thighs as he makes an appreciative sound low in his chest, almost a purr.
"You're so wet," he says, his voice rough. "Is this all for me?"
"Yes," you breathe. "All for you."
He stays kneeled there on the bed, his hand tracing down your thigh until he’s sliding his fingers through your sticky, heated folds. He explores slowly, the drag of his fingers making you tremble, thighs twitching until he presses gently against your clit and you let out a high-pitched sound, the contact sending a bloom of warmth spreading through you.
"There?" He asks and you can hear the smile in his voice, smug.
"Yes. Please."
Soonyoung obeys, circling your clit slowly, increasing the pressure as you buck under him. You feel yourself dripping, a wet mess as he plays with you, making little appreciative sounds as his slick fingers work you higher until you're tangling your hands in the bed and writhing under him.
When he slides one finger inside you, you cry out, your hands fisting in the blankets beneath you. It feels good but you want more, immediately asking him for more, mumbling and messy and lightheaded and overwhelmed with the thick scent of him and the heat of his finger pressing against your front wall.
"Yeah?" He asks. "You can take another?"
"Yes. Please. More."
He adds a second finger and the stretch is delicious, perfect. He curls them inside you, searching, and when he finds that spot that makes you see stars, you nearly sob with relief.
"There," you gasp. "Right there. Oh god, Soonyoung, right there."
He works you with single-minded focus, his fingers curling and stroking while his thumb circles your clit, and you can feel yourself getting close, the pleasure building higher and higher until you're teetering right on the edge.
"That's it," he encourages, his voice low and rough. "Come for me. Let me see you come."
You turn your head to the side, pressing it into the mattress as your hips roll toward his hand, letting him fuck his fingers into you until you're coming around them, clamping down hard on his fingers. He moans with you, pumping his fingers through it as you squeeze and squeeze and squeeze, the pleasure so hot you stop breathing for a second.
"Too much," you gasp, and he immediately gentles, his fingers slipping out of you carefully.
He brings his hand to his mouth and sucks his fingers clean, his eyes closing as he hums in delight. You stare at him, panting and sweaty, sheets sticky against your skin as he opens his eyes, the moon reflecting off them.
"Taste so fucking good," he growls. "Bet you taste better from the source, but if I don't fuck you right now I might lose my mind."
"Please," you beg. "Want it so bad."
He makes a desperate sound and reaches for his sleep pants, shoving them down his hips. His cock springs free, hard and flushed and leaking, and the sight of it makes your mouth water. He's thick and throbbing, and you watch like you're hypnotized as he grips himself, stroking slowly a few times as he settles on the bed between your legs.
Soonyoung leans forward, one hand braced beside your head, the other guiding himself to your wet cunt where he pauses, swiping the head of his cock through your slick folds. You whine and he grins, clearly loving the effect he has on you.
"You sure?" He asks after a minute, the head of his cock notching on your entrance but not pushing in. "We can stop."
"I want you," you assure him, wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. "Please, alpha."
Your words have an immediate effect. He shivers, a ripple going through him as he growls low in his throat and presses in. You're wet enough that he slides in smoothly, but you can still feel every inch of him, can feel the way your body has to adjust to accommodate his girth. The drag of him against your walls enough to make you gasp.
"Fuck," he breaths, pressing in until he bottoms out. "You feel incredible. So tight. So perfect." He rolls his hips experimentally, grinding deep, and the pressure against that spot inside you makes you cry out. "Yeah, there it is. I can feel you clenching around me already."
You can feel the fever-heat of his skin, the way his muscles are taut with restraint. His scent wraps around you, that deep teakwood gone sharp and heady with rut, overwhelming your senses until all you can smell is him. It makes your head spin, makes you want to pull him closer, to drown in it.
"Soonyoung," you gasp, your nails digging into his shoulders. "Move. Please move."
"Impatient," he says with a grin, but there's heat in his eyes.
He pulls out so slowly that you can feel every ridge and vein of his cock, all the way until just the head of him is inside of you before he snaps his hips forward, driving deep in one smooth thrust, and the sudden fullness makes you cry out. He doesn't give you time to adjust before he's pulling out and driving in again, setting a rhythm that's deep and steady and absolutely devastating. Each thrust hits that perfect spot inside you, sending sparks of pleasure racing up your spine.
"Oh fuck," you groan, going tight around him. "Fuck fuck fuck."
The sounds of the wet slide of him fucking into you fills the room backtracked by his breathing, ragged and uneven as he groans everytime you clench around him. You dig your nails in, scraping down his back to his waist where you urge him faster, your fingers sliding against his sweaty skin.
"That's fucking it," he pants. "Taking my cock so well, huh? Were you made to take it?"
You nod, his words making heat flood through you, making you clench around him involuntarily. He feels it and grins, that cocky, confident smile that makes your heart race.
"You like that?" he asks, his pace never faltering. "Like hearing how perfect you are? How good you feel wrapped around me?"
"Yes," you gasp as he thrusts hard, jostling you up the bed. "Fuck. Yes, Soonyoung."
He shifts the angle slightly, pressing deeper, and suddenly every thrust is dragging against your g-spot with devastating precision. The pleasure builds rapidly, a tight coil of heat low in your belly that winds tighter with each movement. He reaches between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit and circling it with just the right speed.
"I can feel you getting close," he says, and there's satisfaction in his voice. "Can feel the way this perfect pussy is clenching. You gonna come for me?"
"Yes!"
You can feel yourself climbing higher, the pleasure building to an almost unbearable peak, your cunt clenching hard, breath hitching as you start to shake. He drives in harder, finger speeding up until you're standing on the edge of your orgasm, breath held, waiting to dive over.
"Come on," he murmurs, leaning down to nip your heard. "Come for me, baby."
You do, the orgasm hitting you hard. It steals your breath and your entire body locks up as you cry out his name, your pussy clamping down on him. His rhythm stutters immediately as he groans, but he doesn't stop, working you through it until you're shaking and feeling like you're going to come apart again, unsure if your orgasm has stopped or if it's another one starting.
"I can't-"
"You can," he urges, breath hot against your ear. "You're going to give me another one, baby."
He pulls out suddenly, and the loss makes you whimper. But before you can protest, he's flipping you over onto your stomach, his hands gripping your hips and pulling them up.
"On your knees," he commands, and the authority in his voice makes you obey without thinking.
When he slides in from behind, the new angle makes him feel deeper. You can feel him everywhere, the stretch, the fullness, the way he's pressed against every single spot inside of you. His hands grip your hips hard enough to dimple the skin, holding you exactly where he wants you as he fucks you in earnest, hips snapping and bed hitting the wall.
"Fuck, look at you," he groans. "Taking me so deep. You're perfect. So fucking perfect."
One of his hands slides up your spine, pressing between your shoulder blades, and you let yourself collapse forward onto your forearms. The change in angle makes him hit even deeper, makes you cry out with the intensity of it.
"Too much?" he asks, but there's a teasing edge to his voice. He knows it's not too much. He knows you can take it.
"No," you gasp. "More. Please, more."
"Greedy," he says with a laugh, but he gives you what you want.
His pace increases, his thrusts getting harder, faster, and you can feel another orgasm building already. It's different this time, deeper and more intense, starting low in your stomach and spreading outward like fire.
His hand slides around to find your clit again, and the added stimulation makes you sob with pleasure. You're so sensitive, so overwhelmed, but you don't want him to stop. You never want him to stop.
"Come on," he urges, his voice strained now. "Give me another one. Want to feel you come apart on my cock again."
The orgasm builds and builds, the pressure almost unbearable, and when it finally breaks you scream into the pillow. Your whole body shakes with it, your inner walls clenching around him so hard you can feel him groan, can feel the way his rhythm falters.
"Fuck," he gasps. "Fuck, you feel so good."
His hips stutter, his grip on your hips tightening almost painfully, and then he's coming with a groan that sounds like it's torn from his chest. You can feel the heat of him spilling inside you, can feel the pulse of his cock, and the sensation triggers another small aftershock that makes you whimper.
He collapses over you, his chest pressed against your back, his weight pressing you into the mattress. You can feel his heart racing against your spine, can feel the way he's trembling slightly, can feel his breath hot and uneven against your shoulder.
For a second, the two of you lay there like that, hearts pounding in sync, the messy slide of your bodies warm and comforting, his scent blooming around you as the mess between your thighs runs down your legs and onto the mattress. You don't care, going near catatonic as Soonyoung presses closer to your scent gland, his tongue darting out to taste you. It makes you moan and push back into him, wanting more and he laughs.
He shifts slightly, starting to pull out, but you make a sound of protest. "Not yet. Stay."
"I'm crushing you," he points out, but he doesn't move.
"Don't care," you say. "Want to feel you."
He makes a soft sound and settles more comfortably against you, his arms wrapping around your waist. He's still inside you, softening but not pulling out, and there's something intimate about it that makes your chest feel tight.
You lie there in the darkness, your bodies cooling, your breathing gradually evening out. You can feel the way his scent is already starting to shift, still hot and thick with rut, but not quite as sharp, not quite as overwhelming.
"How long do ruts usually last?" you ask quietly.
"Three days, usually. Sometimes four." He presses a kiss to your shoulder. "But I don't know if this one will be normal. Everything about it has been weird so far."
"We'll figure it out," you tell him.
He's quiet for a long moment, and when he speaks again, his voice is soft, vulnerable. "Thank you. For this. For helping me. For not being scared of me."
"I would never be afraid of you."
"Even after the past few days?"
"Especially after the past few days." You turn your head to look at him over your shoulder, and even in the dim light, you can see the uncertainty in his eyes. "You were in pre-rut and you were still gentle with me. You were still asking permission. You were still you. That tells me everything I need to know."
He closes his eyes and takes a shuddering breath, and when he opens them again, they're suspiciously bright. "I don't deserve you."
"Shut up," you say, but there's no heat in it. "You deserve everything good. And I'm going to make sure you get it."
He kisses your shoulder, soft and sweet and perfect. When he pulls back, you can hear the smile in his voice.
"Round two?" he asks, and you can already feel him starting to harden again inside you.
You laugh, the sound surprised and delighted. "Already?"
"Rut," he says, rolling his hips experimentally and making you gasp. "Told you it was going to be intense. Think you can keep up?"
"Is that a challenge?"
"Maybe. Think you can handle it?"
"I can handle anything you give me," you tell him, and you mean it.
"Good," he says, his voice dropping to that low, commanding tone that makes heat pool in your belly. "Because I'm not done with you yet. Not even close."
"Prove it."
"Oh, I will," he promises. "We've got all night. And all day tomorrow. And the day after that."
"Good," you tell him, rolling your hips and feeling the way he's already fully hard again inside you. "Because I'm not letting you go."
-
The knock comes around late morning, soft but insistent.
You're half-awake when you hear it, drifting in that comfortable space between sleep and consciousness where everything feels warm and syrupy. Soonyoung is sprawled across your chest, his head tucked under your chin, one arm thrown over your waist. His breathing is deep and even, his body finally relaxed after taking you four more times throughout the night on and off. There's an ache between your legs but it feels good, feels right. Like you're right where you should be, pressed against a member of your pack, scents twisted together.
The knock comes again, a little louder this time.
"Come in," you call quietly, not wanting to startle Soonyoung awake too abruptly.
The door opens and Jeonghan steps inside, cradling bottles of water and bowls of rice and chicken. You realize it's what you both need to sustain yourself through Soonyoung's rut and you're immediately grateful, shooting Jeonghan a tired smile. He smirks in response, trailing toward where you and Soonyoung are tangled on the bed.
Soonyoung senses Jeonghan's presence, eyes snapping open. He's up on his elbows in an instant, his body going rigid, and a low growl rumbles from deep in his chest. His lips pull back from his teeth in a snarl that's pure territorial aggression, his pupils dilating as he positions himself between you and Jeonghan like a shield.
Jeonghan doesn't even flinch. Instead, he sets the food and water down on the dresser and turns to Soonyoung, face calm and placid before his face shifts, lips pulling back to bare his teeth at Soonyoung in kind. There's no anger in it, but rather a reminder to Soonyoung that Jeonghan is number two in this pack and Soonyoung's senior and he is not intimidated.
Soonyoung's growl falters. You can feel the moment he recognizes the dynamic, the moment his rut-addled brain processes the hierarchy and accepts it. His teeth retract, his lips closing over them, and he settles back down slightly, though his arm never leaves your waist.
"Keep the teeth away," Jeonghan snorts, walking toward the door. "Congrats on finally figuring it out. You cannot imagine the relief I felt seeing you crawl up here last night."
He turns and exits the room without another word, closing the door quietly behind him.
For a moment, there's silence. You can feel Soonyoung's heart still racing, but his anger is immediately replaced with a sheepish laugh and him awkwardly scratching the back of his head, looking at you.
"Sorry," he laughs. "I've never done that before."
"It's okay," you tell him, reaching back to run your fingers through his hair. "It was cute."
"Cute?" He scoffs. "I'm not cute. I'm tough. I have teeth."
"Uh huh." You lay back on the bed, looking up at him, grinning. "Use those big teeth on me then."
"Yeah?" he asks, his voice dropping to something low and hungry. "You want me to?"
"Yes."
That's all the invitation he needs. He moves fast, rolling you onto your back and pinning you to the mattress in one fluid motion. His hands find your wrists, pressing them gently but firmly into the pillows on either side of your head. His body settles over yours, his weight pressing you down into the bed, and you can feel him already hardening against your thigh.
His teeth find the sensitive skin of your neck, just below your ear, and he bites down gently, not hard enough to break skin, but hard enough that you feel it, hard enough that it sends a spike of heat straight through you. He works his way down your neck, marking you with his teeth, and every bite is followed by a soothing lick of his tongue.
"I'll show you teeth," he mutters, scraping them over the curve of your breast.
You grin, arching into him, finally feeling settled and feeling home.
summary: You and Seungcheol have never known a life without each other, even though there's a fact that has always created a huge gap between you: he is the Crown Prince, and that's the only way you should know him as.
disclaimer: this story isn't meant to be accurate to any time period nor based in historical facts about any real monarchy so do what you must from that oop.
cw: unprotected sex.
see end of chapter for a/n.
playlist: end of the water (feel) by waterparks (the chorus).
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general masterlist, series masterlist
Chapter 5: Broken Heart Syndrome
You have always known that, if anything, Seungcheol is a big lover boy. Ever since you finally admitted your own feelings for him that aspect of himself has been amplified if that's even possible. The way it exudes from him demands for it to be given back. He's never been afraid to tell the people that matter to him the way he feels nor to show it. Like this, he's openly entrusted you with his heart.
He steps out of his clothes and from behind the dressing screen, eyes dancing with entertainment at the way you insist in also face the opposite direction despite already having seen all of him. One of you has to have some restraint, you'd most likely argue. Obviously, that someone is not him.
Minutes later, you hear Seungcheol call for you from the ensuite. You hesitate to enter the room because you never do while he's busy there, respecting his privacy.
It's intimate, the way your hands gently, thoroughly brush the washcloth over his skin. He's totally at ease under your attentions, eyes closed as he leans into your touch.
When he opens them again,still half lidded, he looks up directly at you, one of his hands coming out of the tub with rivulets of water running down the skin as he reaches up to take hold of yours. "Join me?"
"Seungcheol-"
"Please?"
"You shouldn't say things- We can't-" you struggle to finish your train of thought because he keeps looking at you like that, lip caught between his teeth while his hold on your hand tightens just a tad, the room starting to feel a lot more warmer. "What if someone comes in or-?"
"The doors are locked."
When did he locked the doors?
You make another half hearted attempt to protest, already knowing you're about to lose. The fleeting thought of congratulating him for having enough self control as to not throw you into the bathtub with him when you're still fully dressed crosses your mind, though you're not sure if he'd discarded the idea entirely. It's evident he'd been thinking about this.
You stand up, Seungcheol's gaze following your every movement, eyes glazing over as your skin is slowly revealed to him when you start to take your clothes off and let them fall into a heap on the floor. You don't mean to tease him or be provocative. He makes you nervous, the way he looks at you almost dizzying, and it makes him fall even more for you. You should get used to this, because he's never going to get tired of this view, of you.
In that careful way you do things, you're about to pick up your clothes and set them neatly on a chair nearby until he stops you,
"Leave it."
"But it's going to get wrinkled-" Your argument dies off when you hear him laugh, eyes still fixed on you affectionately while he shakes his head. He's been patient enough, you allow, walking over to him as he reaches for your hand again.
Seungcheol helps you get in the tub with him with a firm hold on your hand, his other one coming up to your waist to steady you until you're lowering yourself onto his lap, the water sloshing gently around you.
Shivers run through your body, either from being with him like this again, or as the water runs down your back when Seungcheol starts to ladle it gently over you. Sooner you're sighing against his lips when he starts to kiss you, slow and ever so softly. One of his hands comes up to your hair, taking off the clips that are pinning it up to let it cascade down your back. He leans back, admiring you. "So beautiful."
"Seungcheol." you breathe out his name as his hands caress your thighs, kneading the supple skin, his lips leaving a trail of kisses from the corner of your lips, your cheek, jaw, down your neck, your collarbone. Then he reaches your chest; he licks a broad strip on one of your breasts before his lips close around your nipple, eyes fluttering shut and his hand paying attention to the other before he moves over to it. You whimper as he keeps his face buried in your chest, sucking them into his hot mouth and getting them covered in marks and his spit, your hand tangling into the damp strands of his hair. He hums, the sounds against your skin shooting straight down adding to the heat simmering in your lower belly. His name leaves your lips again.
Seungcheol lifts his head, lips close to your ear as he hushes you softly, "I know, love. Need to feel me inside you just as bad, hm?"
The words earn him another whimper from you; they make your face burn, not used to him speaking like that. It's only in instances like this, where it's just you and him at your most vulnerable where you get to hear it. Only you.
Despite your shyness, you nod. It could drive Seungcheol crazy. "You think about me too, don't you?" His big hands keep moving over your body, tracing, kneading it softly, while his lips meet yours again. He catches your bottom lip between his teeth and bites on it, what earns him another moan as he pulls on it tenderly before he releases it, speaking up again, "I think about you all the time, my lady. Every morning you enter this room and I just want to push you back into bed with me and take you right there. Make love to you every night, wake up next to you and do it again."
When his hand travels lower and goes to sneak between your legs, you reach down to stop him. Seungcheol looks up, about to check up on you, but then you're wrapping your hand around his length. He groans, words failing him for a moment before you raise slightly on your knees bracketing each side of his thighs, beginning to position yourself. His voice comes out weak, "Wait, I should- I don't want to hurt you."
"It's okay." You're the impatient one now. "Need to feel you." As long as you'll have him, you don't care if it hurts, "Take me. Please, Seungcheol."
Seungcheol's hold on your hips is almost bruising as he surrenders to you looking so needily at him, helping you to slowly sit down on his cock. His eyes roll back, a guttural grunt tumbling from his lips and jaw set tight. He's holding back from rolling his hips up into your warmth, smoothing soothing motions onto your trembling thighs when his fingertips aren't digging into the flesh. You moan just as he lets out a drawn out curse, making you clench around him. "Are you okay, love?" he pants, "You're taking it so well. Just a little more."
His lips are back on yours, collecting every little sound that you make against his mouth for himself. He bottoms out, skin flush against skin. Like this you feel so full, his cock reaching even deeper, you have to take a moment until you can begin to move. Then, you're riding him, hands resting on his shoulders to gain more leverage while Seungcheol aids the lazy movement of your hips as you find your rhythm."Feels so good," fitting around him like you were made for each other. His lashes flutter as he looks up at you. "You're perfect."
You start to grind your hips down harder, whispered I love you's falling from your lips between whimpers and pants. You gasp, stopping, surprised when the water sloshes dangerously with some falling off the rim and splashing out. It breaks some of the heat of the moment and you laugh listening to Seungcheol's rich chuckles. You can still see his teasing smile as he bites down on his lip, resuming to snapping his hips up harder, the slapping of skin against skin sharper, giving you just what you wanted. He couldn't care less about any more water splashing out. He just wants you. A moan, louder, escapes from your lips and he stares at your pretty face, lips parting and mesmerized. The air is quick to get steamy again, his pace growing more desperate. You're doing your best to meet his thrusts, pleasure building up into that familiar sensation as your walls squeeze around him. "You're going to cum?" He curses again, "Look at me, love. Look at me while you cum." The sight of him so utterly affected has you letting go, body shuddering in his hold as he keeps rocking his hips up until he's swelling up and spilling inside you leaving you full.
You let your body collapse into his with your head resting over his shoulder, knowing you're safe while he wraps his arms around you, and stay like that together for a few more minutes. Seungcheol leaves kisses on your head, presses his lips to your temple, fingers playing with strands of your hair and tracing shapes over the skin of your back.
////
Maybe in another world, things would've lasted. You and him, nothing threatening the stability of your little love bubble. But despite what Seungcheol said, you weren't a princess, and he wasn't meant to be Prince Charming to you. Those things belonged to the Fairy Tales you used to read as little children. If you kept trying to rewrite your own, society would eventually sink its claws in it and rip its pages. Your story never should have gotten mixed up with his. You ignored your own advice in order to indulge in one more kiss, one more touch, one more smile that shouldn't have been directed your way. You should've listened, but you didn't, and now "should've"'s are useless. Now you have to pay the price.
You were supposed to head over to Seungcheol's chambers like every evening to attend to him and whatever he may need - whenever he let you. It was becoming increasingly more difficult for you to do your job properly when he always sought to distract you- before parting for the night and retire to your room. That was until a royal guard came seeking for you, informing that the Queen demanded your presence at once in her drawing room. Your body seemed to catch up faster than your mind about the meaning behind it, a cold shiver running over you. Nonetheless, your feet didn't falter as they carried you over to meet your Queen's orders.
Announcing your presence, you bowed respectfully once inside the Queen's drawing room, standing in front of her. Upon straightening up, the first thing you noticed was her hard gaze, void of any of the kindness they were known for. She stood up from her seat and turned away from you, walking towards the window, the world swallowed up in darkness outside. Bitter, dry laughter fell from her lips before she spoke, "You know, I never expected it of you to be so conniving."
Despite your surprise, you schooled your expression. You didn't understand what she meant by that, you would never think of deliberately cause any harm to anyone. "Do you think I'm stupid?"
You shook your head, wanting to speak but you felt like you weren't allowed to do so yet. This was confirmed when she turned in your direction again and seized you up with a furious look, like an invisible force that had you tied up. "Do you think I don't know about what you and my son have been doing?"
There it was. Reality was thrown at your face, and she sneered gauging your reaction. A sliver of your perfectly trained composure to give was all it took."That's right. I know everything that goes on in this castle, everything about this Kingdom. I've known about my son's silly infatuation with you for some time. A maid!" She laughs again, "A nobody! There's nothing regal about you yet you managed to seduce him!"
"I meant to stop this from the moment I saw the Prince sneaking out after you, but the King said to let him be. "A boy has needs" is what he said. That he'd eventually get tired of you."
Her words are harsh as she spits them at you and you have to blink back the tears that are threatening to spill from your waterline."I have withstood a lot. It was my mistake for letting you two get so close. And now my son is confused thinking- whatever you have done to him, whatever this is," she gestures vaguely around you, belittling, "as him having feelings for you."
You are scared, yet you shake your head, "I have not-"
"And you dare speak back to me without being addressed!" The Queen scoffs, practically seething now, "I thought we had given you an education, we gave you a roof over your head. But my son you can't have and I can't have you believing that. He must be with someone of his own stature. Do not be fooled, young lady, by forgetting your place. The Prince could never love you, he's just young and clearly still immature if he believes you more than a fling."
There's a pause after her furious rant, only her agitated breaths filling the silence.
"I love your son." Your voice breaks the silence, firm even as you wipe your tears away. Holding the Queen's gaze, you see the emotion in them shift to shock as you brave to speak up once more. And she sees something else that she refuses to acknowledge that reminds her of her own son: there's no hesitation, that flame of pure sincerity ignited in both your voice and your eyes. Like despite your fear you refuse for your love to be questioned or ruled as a ploy to take advantage of him.
She shakes her head, "You insolent girl. You didn't care to throw your life away. What happens when the Prince inevitably discards you? Whom would want something to do with you once everyone finds out you were his mistress?"
"Did you even think of your parents?"
What?
"Wait." She pretends to think, "They're probably part of your scheme of pursuing the Prince. For what? Wealth? Power?"
You blanch. Your parents tho whom The Crown comes first than anything, who've served it proudly their entire lives. They meant for you to do the same, but instead, the only thing you'd bring them with your actions is shame and misery. Their livelihood would be taken away from them. You'd put them first for a long time until you didn't. Wanting to choose something for yourself for once, to choose to love Seungcheol knowing the risk. So, had you really cared for them enough?
You shake your head, fear oozing out of you now, unfiltered, "They don't know anything about my feelings for the Prince. Please, leave them out of this."
"Don't tell me what I can and can't do." Her smile was sadistic now that she knew where to press for you to break entirely, "But you see, I can be merciful even to those undeserving of it like you."
"If you can find yourself being even a little grateful for everything we did for you, you'd leave far away quietly on your own will without ruining anybody else's life, especially my son's. Otherwise, I'll have to see you gone not so kindly."
////
There's a soft knock at the door to his chambers, one that Seungcheol's grown familiar with and finds himself always looking forward to. It's you. A smile is already taking form on his face.
"Hey," he greets softly, "I've been waiting for you." You were several minutes late. But then his smile is falling and replaced with worry when he takes in your face. You look like you've been crying, traces of tears left behind in your lashes and the redness around your eyes. He crosses the distance between you in a beat, hands cupping your cheeks. You stiffen. "Love, what's wrong? Has something happened?"
The tenderness in his voice and in his touch threatens for your expression and your resolve to crumble. But before you leave, there's something you must do.
"Do not call me that." The sudden coldness feels like a punch to his chest. His eyes keep searching for the answers you're not giving him. Roughly, you slip from his hold. "We can't keep doing this."
His heart drops to his stomach, fear flickering in his eyes. "What do you mean?"
"This. Us together. That's what's wrong."
"No." He shakes his head. "No. There's nothing wrong about you and me. Where did you get that idea from? What's gotten you like this?" He tries to get closer to you once more but stops. Under your tough front, you look so shaken, cornered and ready to bolt. It hurts him that he might be adding to it with the state you're in.
"I knew I should've stopped before it went too far."
"Don't say that like you regret loving me." he swallows the lump growing in his throat, "You can't really think that." His mind races, looking for an explanation from where this is coming from all of a sudden.
"It's not about what I think, it's reality. Open your eyes, Seungcheol! We were just fooling each other thinking this could last!"
Seungcheol ignores how unsettling the words are coming from your mouth, "Someone told you something, is that it?" And you still, wide eyed and just as afraid as he is. It's nothing but an instant, yet it's all it takes for him to confirm his suspicions."What we have has always been real to me. And I know that it has been real for you too, I can feel it. Otherwise you wouldn't be this upset over it."
You just shake your head. "It's for the best if we just end it here."
"For whose best?"
You keep going as if you didn't hear him, which only gets him more upset. You are not talking to him and you're feeling so far away while standing right in front of him."You'll forget me eventually and you'll be together with someone from your world-
"You are my world! You are it for me! Don't you get it?" What does he have to do for you to do?
"You can't seriously love me!"
A hitch of breath. Then silence. You can't believe what you just said, and you meet his eyes, frightened, his own finally overflowing with tears and hurt for you questioning his love. This is it, you're losing him. You just need to push him away a little further. But how much is too far when you're already killing both of you? Your voice trembles as you go on, "Once the thrill of it is gone, you'll grow weary of me."
Your jagged words pierce him. Knowing that this isn't like you doesn't make it any less painful, "I thought you knew me better than that." His voice comes thick, quiet.
The distance is settling, the argument draining you. Seungcheol knows you won't so he must reach out. Desperately, he tries one more time, taking hold of your hand."I can fight for us. All I need is for you to believe in us too."
You slip your hand away from his,"No matter what you do, it won't change anything." and you turn to leave.
"I love you." He says, his voice raw with emotion. You stop, and it's like the whole room is holding its breath, the air too thin. In the absence of you saying it back, you think you can hear as you crush both of your hearts before you cross the rest of the way towards the door and exit the room.
////
Seungcheol couldn't sleep that night. He kept thinking about how scared you looked, rightfully so; if things came to worse, you stood to lose. And he can't help but think this is all his fault. He should've done things differently so you didn't have room for doubts that he was serious about you, that he could protect you. He just hopes it isn't too late to start things right. But he knows you and knows all the things you said last night were lies to push him away. You will talk again when you come to rouse him in the morning.
What he isn't counting with, is that it is not you who comes to wake him.
Suddenly, he's on high alert despite the signs of a restless night lingering on his face. A servant greets him and he hastily leaves his bed. The light spilling from the open window curtains is harsh on his fatigued eyes, and he squints taking in the unfamiliar face.
"Who are you? Where's y/n?" He doesn't mean to be impolite, but something is wrong. You should be here.
The young servant apologizes, looking somewhat uncomfortable as Seungcheol all but ignores him, clogs working on his head before he rushes out of the room.
Still dressed down, all disheveled, he starts looking for you everywhere. Guards and servants turn in his direction as he passes, doing a not so subtle job at trying not to stare. He must look crazed since you always make sure he looks impeccable before he leaves his chambers.
At last, he goes to find his parents. They're about to hold court. The guards outside the room stare him down and hesitate as they stand on his way, not letting him through. "Your Highness. Our King and Queen-"
"Move."
They share an unsure look before they step aside. Seungcheol opens the large, heavy doors. Once his mother spots him, there's an immediate look of disapproval on her face. "Seungcheol, you are not presentable to be walking around like that." She scolds.
"Mother, father." He bows respectfully, "I must speak to you regarding something important- someone important to me." He corrects. "Y/n-"
"Ah," The Queen brushes him off, "You don't have to worry about that girl anymore. Wasn't a servant sent to your chambers? Is that why you're here?"
Seungcheol grows wary, trying to keep that feeling of dread at bay. "What do you mean? Where is she?"
"Her services are no longer required here. She's gone."
"You fired her?" It dawns on him then, "You…You told her something. It was you! What have you done?"
"Do not raise your voice towards your mother." His father, the King warns.
There's a white, hot anger pulsing through his veins along with the sinking feeling that follows after learning you're no longer here, that you're gone. They pushed you away from him again. His face twists, heartbroken "How could you?"
"You must learn, if you're meant to be a ruler one day, that you must make sacrifices. An affair with someone as unworthy as a maid would only rise scandal. With your carelessness you're bound to make a mistake and taint our bloodline. Imagine if such things reached neighboring kingdoms."
"Do not speak about her like that." He roars at his father. "You don't know how I feel about her."
"That girl has bewitched you."
"If with that you mean she has done nothing but love me, then yes. She sees me, not titles, not possessions." At this point, tears are constantly streaming down his face, but he doesn't back down. "All you have been worried about is the kingdom falling apart. You still might get that all the same because you are getting nothing from me."
"You listen to me, boy!" His father bellows, "You'd do as you're told and no one will speak about this matter ever again!"
"Or what?" He challenges.
The King gestures to the guards, who close in on Seungcheol. "Guards, The Prince is feeling unwell. Take him back to his chambers and make sure he doesn't leave them."
"You are going to keep me hostage?" He stares at his parents incredulously.
"You are being unreasonable. One day you will look back and see we did this for your own good. You will forget her and move on once you've found someone adequate for you."
Seungcheol shakes his head, steps back."I will find her." The guards hold each of his arms and begin to haul him out of the room. "Don't touch me!" He thrashes, manages to shrug them off, accidentally connecting an elbow to the face of one of them. Immediately, he feels bad. It's not like he meant to assault one of their own guards, but he's still stepping back as he apologizes. With one more glance towards his parents, he breaks into a run exiting the room. He looks down the hallways, frantic, with only one thing on his mind. But he doesn't have a plan. He doesn't even know where you are. He still keeps running.
Near the castle gates, your father had just returned after having been out looking for you. He shakes his head defeatedly under your mother's hopeful gaze, whose face crumples with sadness at the fruitless search. Seungcheol spots their familiar faces, hurrying over. A guards calls out close behind him, his voice echoing down the hall as he tells the ones up front to stop him.
Your mother stares stunned, eyes glassy with unshed tears, as the Prince runs towards her, trembling hands clasping hers tightly. He looks entirely distraught, his voice desperate and hurried, pleading, "I need to find your daughter. Can you tell me where she is?"
You disappeared without saying why, without telling anyone where you were going so they wouldn't get involved. To protect them. But Seungcheol doesn't know that either. "I am in love with her. Please, I need her back." Your mother shakes her head, at a loss for words. She wants to tell him she doesn't know either, although she fears that her loyalty would keep her from saying anything regardless if she knew. Because duty and the Crown have always come first, even before her own daughter. A single tear manages to slip from her eyes right as the guards catch up to him and rip him away. "Let go of me!" It takes four of them to drag him back, and they watch, the Prince's confession hanging heavily in the air while he struggles against them.
pairing: flower shop owner!seungcheol x reader
synopsis: When you were ten, Seungcheol taught you to blow dandelion seeds and make wishes. Years later, after moving away, you return to town and discover he's inherited his grandmother's flower shop. Inside an old drawer is a collection of childhood notes: "Things I wish for." Almost every one mentions you.
wc: 6.6k
genre: Fluff, Romance, Mild Angst, Slice of Life, Childhood Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Flower Shop AU
warnings: Grief/Loss of a grandparent (past event), Emotional Discussions about Separation and Missed Opportunities, Nostalgia, References to Childhood Loneliness
a/n: this fic is a part of the First Bloom collab hosted by @svthub!
The strangest thing about coming home is discovering that the places you left behind never received the memo that you were gone.
You notice it almost immediately after stepping off the bus.
The old bakery on the corner still has the faded striped awning that seemed enormous when you were ten years old. The convenience store still has the crooked sign hanging above the entrance. Even the park across the road appears unchanged, the swings swaying gently in the afternoon breeze as if time itself had simply decided to settle down here and refuse to move forward.
Only you seem different. Only you seem out of place.
You stand beside your suitcase for a moment longer than necessary, staring down the familiar street while an uncomfortable ache settles somewhere beneath your ribs.
Three days ago, you had been packing up your apartment. Two days ago, you had been sorting through legal documents and answering sympathetic phone calls.
Now, after years of saying you'll visit eventually, after years of finding excuses and postponing plans and convincing yourself there would always be another opportunity, you're back in the town you spent most of your childhood trying to leave.
Not because you wanted to return. Because your grandmother died. The thought lands heavily, even now.
Your grip tightens around the suitcase handle. The funeral had been small. Simple.
Exactly what she would've wanted.
Most of the relatives had already left again, returning to their own lives, while you stayed behind to sort through paperwork and prepare the house for sale.
Just a few weeks, you told yourself. Long enough to finish everything properly. Long enough to say goodbye.
Then you'd leave again. The plan sounds reasonable in theory. In practice, every step through town feels like walking through memories.
The route to your grandmother's house passes the elementary school where you spent countless afternoons pretending to pay attention during class. The creek behind the football field still winds lazily through town, hidden beneath the same willow trees that once provided the backdrop for summer adventures so important they had felt life-changing at the time.
You know exactly where every turn leads. You hate how much of it you remember. The house itself sits exactly where it always has. The garden is slightly overgrown. The mailbox leans to one side. The front porch creaks beneath your weight.
Home.
Not home anymore. But close enough to hurt.
—
The first few days disappear beneath a mountain of responsibilities. Boxes. Documents. Phone calls. Dust-covered photo albums.
Closets packed with items your grandmother had somehow convinced herself she might need someday.
You spend hours sorting through decades of accumulated memories, discovering things you forgot existed and things you wish you could forget.
Old school reports. Birthday cards. Drawings. Photographs. Far too many photographs. By the fourth day, the house feels quieter than ever. The silence eventually becomes unbearable.
Which is how you find yourself wandering through town with no destination in mind, hands shoved into your jacket pockets while the late afternoon sun bathes everything in warm gold.
You tell yourself you're just getting fresh air. You tell yourself you aren't searching for anything. The lie lasts approximately fifteen minutes.
Because eventually you turn a corner. And stop.
The flower shop still stands exactly where it always did. For a second, you think you've imagined it.
The familiar brick storefront. The flower boxes beneath the windows. The painted sign hanging above the entrance.
Only one thing has changed.
The name.
Your chest tightens. Not because the shop exists. Because you know who owns it now. You learned it from one of the older ladies at the funeral.
"Oh, have you seen Seungcheol yet?"
As if that were the most natural question in the world. As if years hadn't passed. As if hearing his name didn't still do something strange to your heartbeat. You haven't seen him. Not yet.
You hadn't planned to.
But suddenly there he is. Standing inside the shop. Alive. Real. Older.
The breath catches somewhere in your throat. For a moment, all you can do is stare.
He's arranging flowers near the front counter, sleeves rolled to his forearms, dark hair falling slightly into his eyes as he focuses on adjusting a bouquet.
You knew he would have changed. Of course he would've changed.
The last time you saw him, he was fourteen years old and trying very hard not to cry while helping load boxes into a moving truck.
The man standing in front of you now is nothing like that boy. Except he is. The shape of his smile when he speaks to a customer. The way he absentmindedly scratches the back of his neck. The slight furrow between his brows when concentrating. Some things remain stubbornly familiar.
Then, as if sensing your stare, he looks up. And sees you.
The world doesn't stop. Nothing dramatic happens. Cars continue driving past. The shop door remains closed. The flowers continue existing. But something shifts.
You know it does because Seungcheol freezes. The bouquet slips slightly in his hands. For one stunned second, neither of you move.
Then his eyes widen. Your stomach drops. And suddenly you're ten years old again.
—
"You have to make a wish first."
"I already made one."
"That doesn't count."
"It does count."
"No, it doesn't."
"Why not?"
"Because I said so."
Ten-year-old Seungcheol had always been incredibly confident for someone who spent half his time making things up.
The two of you sat cross-legged in a field behind his grandmother's flower shop, surrounded by dandelions and sunlight.
He held one proudly between his fingers. You rolled your eyes.
"You literally just invented that rule."
"Every game has rules."
"This isn't a game."
"It is now."
You groaned dramatically. He ignored you.
"Close your eyes."
"No."
"Y/N."
"No."
"Trust me."
At ten years old, trusting Seungcheol was the easiest thing in the world. You closed your eyes.
"Now make a wish."
You sighed. Made one anyway.
"Done."
"Okay."
You opened your eyes just in time to watch him blow the dandelion apart. White seeds scattered into the wind.
"What'd you wish for?" you asked.
His expression became immediately suspicious.
"You can't tell people."
"You made that up too."
"Maybe."
"You definitely did."
"But what if it's true?"
You laughed. He grinned. The sunlight caught in his hair.
And somehow, without either of you realizing it, that afternoon became one of the memories that followed you everywhere.
—
The bell above the flower shop door rings softly when you finally step inside. The scent hits you immediately.
Fresh flowers. Soil. Greenery. Something sweet and familiar.
The same scent that used to cling to Seungcheol whenever he spent all day helping his grandmother. The same scent you haven't thought about in years.
He stands behind the counter now. Watching you. Still looking mildly shocked. You suspect you look exactly the same. For several awkward seconds, nobody says anything. Then—
"Hi."
Brilliant. Absolutely incredible. Years apart and that's the best you can manage. Seungcheol laughs. The sound eases something inside your chest instantly.
"Hi."
His voice is deeper than you remember. Everything about him feels older. Not unfamiliar. Just older.
"You came back."
The words aren't accusatory. If anything, they sound slightly disbelieving. You nod.
"Temporarily."
Something flickers across his face. Gone too quickly to identify.
"Right."
The conversation stumbles forward after that. Careful. Tentative. Questions about work. About family. About how long you've been back.
Neither of you mentions how strange this feels. Neither of you mentions how many years disappeared between one conversation and the next.
Eventually another customer enters. Then another. The moment passes. You tell yourself that's probably for the best. Still, when you finally leave, Seungcheol walks you to the door.
"If you're bored," he says casually, "you can stop by anytime."
You blink.
"What?"
"The shop."
He gestures vaguely around himself.
"I'm usually here."
The invitation sounds simple. Normal. Yet your heart reacts as if he's offered something much bigger. You smile before you can stop yourself.
"Maybe I will."
His smile mirrors yours.
"Good."
—
The following afternoon, you return. Then again two days later. Then once more. Not intentionally.
It just keeps happening.
Sometimes you help carry deliveries. Sometimes you organize shelves. Sometimes you sit near the counter pretending to read while Seungcheol works.
The ease returns surprisingly quickly. Not completely. There are still years between you. Still things unsaid. But the foundation remains.
As if friendship had simply been waiting patiently beneath the surface. One evening, after closing time, Seungcheol disappears upstairs to answer a phone call. You volunteer to finish organizing a neglected storage room.
The space is cramped. Dusty. Filled with forgotten boxes. You sneeze twice. Immediately regret your life choices.
And then you notice the drawer. Small. Wooden. Hidden behind a stack of old gardening catalogues.
Curiosity wins.
You pull it open. Inside are dozens of folded papers.
Hundreds, maybe.
All carefully preserved. You hesitate before reaching for the top one. The paper is yellowed with age.
The handwriting is instantly recognizable. Even after all these years.
Your breath catches.
Slowly, you unfold the note. Across the top of the page, written in uneven childhood handwriting, are four words.
Things I wish for.
And underneath:
For Grandma's roses to survive winter.
For my knee to stop hurting.
For Y/N to stop crying when they lose races because I don't like it.
At the bottom, squeezed into the corner:
I think wishes work better when you blow two dandelions instead of one.
– Seungcheol
You stare at the page. Then read it again. And again.
Somewhere upstairs, floorboards creak. The sound barely registers.
Because suddenly you're ten years old.
Standing in a field.
Holding a dandelion.
Listening to a boy make up rules about wishes.
And for the first time since returning home, you wonder whether maybe some memories never left at all.
—
The problem with nostalgia is that it never arrives alone.
It comes hand-in-hand with comparison, with grief, with all the quiet questions that only appear when you're staring at the person you used to know and trying to reconcile them with the person standing in front of you now.
By the end of the second week, you have become painfully aware of that fact. You have also become painfully aware of how often you find yourself at the flower shop. The first few visits had reasonable explanations.
You needed somewhere to walk. You needed a break from sorting through your grandmother's belongings. You needed a distraction.
The seventh visit is significantly harder to justify.
Especially when you're carrying two iced coffees and walking toward the shop before you've fully finished convincing yourself you're only dropping by for a few minutes.
The bell above the door rings. Seungcheol immediately looks up. The smile that appears on his face happens so naturally that neither of you seem to notice it.
You do. Unfortunately.
"You're late."
You stop.
"What?"
He gestures toward the wall clock.
"You usually get here fifteen minutes ago."
The realization settles over both of you simultaneously.
Because he's right. Because apparently you've established a routine. Because apparently Seungcheol has noticed.
Heat crawls up your neck.
"You timed me?"
"I didn't time you."
"You literally knew I was fifteen minutes late."
"I just noticed."
"That's timing me."
"It isn't."
"It absolutely is."
His laugh fills the shop. You hate how much you missed that sound.
—
The flower shop feels different now that you've spent enough time inside it to notice the details. The place still carries traces of his grandmother. The old cash register remains displayed on a shelf near the counter.
Framed photographs line one wall.
The ancient rocking chair in the corner somehow survived several decades despite looking permanently one bad day away from collapse.
But Seungcheol is everywhere too. The organization. The handwritten signs. The new displays. The garden outside. The entire place feels like a conversation between generations.
A continuation rather than a replacement.
His grandmother would've loved that. You think she already knew he would inherit the shop.
You glance up from the arrangement you're helping prepare.
"Daisies?"
"Dandelions."
He nods toward the window.
Outside, several bright yellow flowers have appeared amongst the carefully maintained garden beds.
You smile.
"They're kind of pretty."
"Exactly."
He sounds offended.
"Kind of?"
"Okay, they're pretty."
"There we go."
"You care way too much about dandelions."
"I inherited that."
His voice softens slightly.
"Grandma used to say they were the bravest flowers."
You pause.
"What does that mean?"
He carefully trims a stem.
"They grow everywhere."
A shrug.
"They survive getting stepped on."
Another cut.
"People call them weeds, but they keep blooming anyway."
You watch him for a moment. Sunlight filters through the front window. Dust drifts lazily through the air.
The shop smells faintly of lavender and soil. For a second, the years between childhood and now seem remarkably small.
"They sound stubborn."
Seungcheol grins.
"Exactly."
—
The first time someone mistakes you for his partner, you're unprepared. The culprit is an elderly customer named Mrs. Kim.
One moment she's purchasing carnations. The next she's looking between you and Seungcheol with obvious satisfaction.
"It's nice to finally meet them."
You blink.
"I'm sorry?"
Mrs. Kim waves dismissively.
"Don't worry."
Seungcheol visibly tenses. You immediately become suspicious.
"Don't worry about what?"
The woman pats your hand.
"Oh, honey, we've all heard about you."
Silence. Complete silence. You slowly turn toward Seungcheol. He refuses to make eye contact.
"Seungcheol."
"No."
"What does she mean?"
"No."
Mrs. Kim laughs. The traitor.
"You know, Y/N this and Y/N that and—"
"Mrs. Kim."
The warning in his voice only makes her smile widen. You stare. He stares determinedly at the floor.
A customer enters. The conversation mercifully dies.
Unfortunately your curiosity survives.
—
You corner him later.
"What exactly have people heard?"
"Nothing."
"That sounds suspicious."
"It isn't."
"Seungcheol."
He groans.
"You're impossible."
"You avoided the question."
"I mentioned you sometimes."
"Sometimes."
"Sometimes."
The response is entirely too fast. You narrow your eyes.
"How many times?"
His expression immediately suggests the answer is significantly higher than either of you would like.
—
That night, after returning home, you find yourself sitting cross-legged on the floor beside the drawer again. You know you probably shouldn't be reading the notes.
They're private. Personal. Hidden for a reason. And yet. The temptation wins.
Again.
The next paper is dated in messy twelve-year-old handwriting. You unfold it carefully.
Things I wish for:
To beat Jeonghan at soccer.
To grow taller.
For Y/N to stay here forever.
Don't tell them I wrote that.
You stare. Then reread the sentence. Then reread it again.
The words somehow feel heavier each time.
For Y/N to stay here forever.
Simple. Innocent. Childish. Yet something twists painfully inside your chest.
Because you didn't stay. Because neither of you had any control over that. Because twelve-year-old Seungcheol didn't know he was writing a wish that would never come true.
—
Middle school had been awkward. Not terrible. Not dramatic. Just awkward.
The age where suddenly everyone became aware that boys and girls existed. The age where friendships acquired strange new rules nobody explained properly.
You remember sitting beside Seungcheol during lunch one afternoon. He arrived carrying two juice boxes. Immediately handed you one.
Completely normal. Entirely routine. Unfortunately half your classmates witnessed the exchange. The teasing started instantly.
"Ooooh."
"Look."
"It's Y/N and Seungcheol."
You remember wanting the ground to swallow you whole. Seungcheol had looked equally horrified. The two of you spent the rest of lunch aggressively denying accusations nobody had technically made.
Neither of you acknowledged how red your faces became.
—
You wake the next morning determined not to think about old letters. The determination lasts approximately twenty minutes.
By lunch, you're back at the flower shop. By evening, you're helping prepare arrangements for a wedding. By closing time, you're laughing so hard you nearly drop an entire bucket of peonies.
The transition feels alarmingly natural. As if this version of life has been waiting patiently for your return. As if leaving had only been an interruption.
Not an ending.
The thought unsettles you.
—
The following week, the town begins treating your presence as permanent. The bakery owner asks whether you've found a job yet. The librarian asks if you're staying. Three separate neighbors mention available apartments.
You spend most conversations repeating the same answer.
"I'm only here temporarily."
Every single person responds the same way.
"We'll see."
The most irritating part is that nobody sounds uncertain.
Least of all Seungcheol.
—
One afternoon, while helping water plants behind the shop, you finally ask.
"Did everyone in this town secretly agree to annoy me?"
He laughs.
"Probably."
"I'm serious."
"So am I."
You splash water toward him. He dodges. Barely.
"Traitor."
"I didn't do anything."
"You never tell them I'm leaving."
His expression changes slightly. The smile remains. Something else disappears.
"Oh."
Immediately, guilt settles in your stomach. You hadn't meant—
"I mean—"
"It's okay."
The words are gentle. Too gentle. The conversation moves on.
Yet the silence lingers.
—
That evening, while closing up, Seungcheol disappears upstairs to search for inventory records. The opportunity presents itself. You tell yourself you're only checking one note.
One. That's all.
The lie fools absolutely nobody. Especially not yourself. You return to the drawer. Select another folded paper. Open it carefully.
The handwriting is older this time.
Less childish. More controlled. The date makes your chest tighten.
The year you moved away.
Things I wish for:
To have my own flower shop someday.
For Grandma to stop working so hard.
For Y/N to smile like they did before they found out they're moving.
I hate this wish.
The words blur slightly. You blink. Look away. Look back.
The paper remains unchanged.
The same ink. The same handwriting. The same impossible honesty.
For a long moment, you simply sit there.
Remembering.
—
The moving truck had arrived too early. Or maybe it only felt that way.
You remember cardboard boxes. Your mother's stressed voice. Relatives carrying furniture.
Everything happening much too fast. You remember friends saying goodbye. Teachers promising you'd make new ones. Adults insisting change was exciting.
You remember hating every second of it.
Most of all, you remember Seungcheol. Standing beside the driveway. Hands shoved into his pockets. Trying very hard to act normal.
You'd both promised to stay in touch. You'd both promised nothing would change. At fourteen, promises like that feel unbreakable.
Reality is less cooperative. Calls become texts. Texts become occasional messages. Then birthdays. Then silence.
Not because either of you stopped caring.
Because life happened. Because growing up happened. Because distance is sometimes quieter than heartbreak.
—
A floorboard creaks overhead. You quickly fold the letter. Return it to the drawer. Close everything.
By the time Seungcheol returns, you're standing beside a shelf pretending to examine gardening supplies.
His eyes narrow immediately.
"You look suspicious."
"What?"
"You look guilty."
"I do not."
"You absolutely do."
You point at a random bag of fertilizer.
"Did you know this contains nitrogen?"
The silence that follows is devastating. Then Seungcheol starts laughing.
The kind of laugh that forces him to lean against a table for support. You hate him. Possibly. A little.
—
Later, after you've returned home, sleep proves impossible. Your mind keeps returning to the notes.
The wishes. The years. Everything that existed while you were gone.
Eventually curiosity wins one final time. Near midnight, you retrieve the drawer once more.
One last letter. Just one. You unfold it slowly.
The handwriting immediately looks different.
Shakier. Messier. Lonelier.
The date makes your stomach drop. A few months after you left. Nothing else is written on the page.
No numbered list. No jokes. No soccer. No flowers.
Just a single sentence.
Things I wish for:
Y/N comes back.
Just once. That's all. For a long moment, the room remains completely silent.
Outside, wind rattles softly against the windows. Inside, your chest feels painfully tight. You remember all the times you almost visited. All the summers you said maybe next year. All the holidays that slipped away. All the opportunities lost to convenience and distance and the assumption that there would always be more time.
The note trembles slightly in your hands.
And for the first time since returning home, you begin to understand that maybe you weren't the only person who spent years missing someone.
The realization follows you long after the lights go out. Long after the letter is folded away. Long after sleep finally arrives.
And somewhere across town, completely unaware of the storm currently unfolding inside your chest, Seungcheol closes his flower shop for the evening and locks the front door, still carrying pieces of a wish he made twelve years ago.
—
The worst part about reading the letters is that they make everything impossible to ignore. Not impossible in the dramatic sense. Not in the way movies portray it, where suddenly every interaction becomes charged with unbearable tension and every glance feels life-altering.
Instead, it becomes impossible to ignore the accumulation of small things. The details. The habits. The spaces someone occupies in your life without permission.
Before finding the drawer, spending every afternoon at the flower shop had felt natural.
After finding the drawer, you become painfully aware that Seungcheol automatically hands you a drink before grabbing one for himself.
That he remembers how you take your coffee. That he moves around the shop with the unconscious expectation that you'll be somewhere nearby. That every time the front door opens, his eyes immediately search for you before searching for the customer.
None of these things mean anything individually. Together, they begin to feel like something dangerous. Something you've spent years pretending not to recognize. Something that looks suspiciously like first love growing up and refusing to leave.
—
The flower festival arrives at exactly the wrong time. Or perhaps exactly the right time. You haven't decided which.
The annual event has existed for as long as you can remember, transforming the town into something bright and overwhelming for a weekend every spring. Streets fill with flower displays. Local businesses compete for awards. Families wander between stalls carrying bouquets and iced drinks.
As children, you and Seungcheol used to treat it like the most important event of the year. Now, as adults, it means two weeks of preparation and approximately zero free time. Not that you mind.
Being busy makes it easier not to think.
Unfortunately, Seungcheol keeps ruining that strategy by existing.
—
"You're staring."
You nearly drop the box you're carrying.
"What?"
He raises an eyebrow.
"You've been looking at me for ten seconds."
"I was not."
"You were."
"No."
"Y/N."
The use of your name should not feel that unfair. It does. Especially when accompanied by a smile. Especially when he knows exactly what he's doing. You point aggressively at the display you're assembling.
"I was looking at the flowers."
"Sure."
"Why would I stare at you?"
His grin widens. You immediately regret speaking. Across the room, an elderly volunteer watching preparations sighs dramatically.
"Please date already."
Both of you nearly choke.
—
The town has become unbearable. Not because the people are cruel. Quite the opposite. The people are far too invested.
Everyone appears convinced that you and Seungcheol are one conversation away from getting married. The florist across the street keeps offering relationship advice. Mrs. Kim has started winking whenever she enters the shop. Even children seem suspicious.
At one point, a ten-year-old asks if you're Seungcheol's spouse. You spend five full minutes recovering.
Seungcheol spends ten.
—
The problem is that every joke lands slightly closer to the truth than either of you are comfortable admitting.
Because somewhere between sorting flowers and revisiting childhood memories and reading letters you definitely should not be reading, something has changed.
Or maybe nothing changed. Maybe you've simply stopped running from it.
You don't know which possibility scares you more.
—
One evening, after the shop closes, rain begins unexpectedly. Heavy. Relentless.
The kind that turns roads silver beneath streetlights. You're trapped. Not that either of you seem particularly bothered.
Seungcheol locks the front door and flips the sign to CLOSED.
The two of you remain inside. Waiting. The shop feels different after hours. Quieter. More intimate.
The scent of flowers seems stronger somehow. The silence stretches comfortably between conversations. You sit together behind the counter drinking tea.
Outside, rain taps steadily against the glass. Inside, memories linger everywhere.
"You know," Seungcheol says eventually, "Grandma used to think you were going to marry me."
You nearly inhale your tea.
"What?"
His laughter echoes through the empty shop.
"I'm serious."
"Why would she think that?"
"You were ten."
"That's not an answer."
"You followed me around everywhere."
"I did not."
"You absolutely did."
"You're making things up."
"I'm not."
"You are."
He shakes his head.
"She used to tell me all the time."
The smile softens.
"'That one loves you very much, Seungcheol.'"
Something catches unexpectedly in your chest. You look away.
The rain suddenly becomes fascinating.
—
Later that night, after returning home, you find yourself sitting on the floor beside the drawer again. You don't even pretend to resist anymore. The letters feel less like an invasion now.
More like a conversation delayed by years. The next note is dated two years after you left.
You unfold it carefully.
Things I wish for:
To stop thinking about Y/N.
Didn't work.
For several seconds, you simply stare. Then laugh. Actually laugh.
Because somehow, despite everything, fourteen-year-old Seungcheol and sixteen-year-old Seungcheol remain unmistakably the same person.
Hopeless. Earnest. Painfully honest. You continue reading.
The next note is eighteen.
Things I wish for:
To see Y/N again.
To stop comparing everyone else to Y/N.
Didn't work either.
The smile disappears. A strange ache replaces it. You know what he's implying.
You wish you didn't.
Because suddenly every year between then and now feels tangible.
Every missed opportunity. Every person he met. Every relationship that apparently failed to become something lasting.
The thought follows you into the final letter. Age twenty-one.
Things I wish for:
Y/N.
Just Y/N.
No explanation. No joke. No elaboration. Only your name.
The page trembles slightly in your hands.
—
The next morning, you arrive at the flower shop exhausted. Emotionally. Mentally. Possibly spiritually.
Seungcheol notices immediately.
"Rough night?"
You consider your options. Lie. Deflect. Change the subject.
Instead:
"Why didn't you throw them away?"
His hands stop moving. The flowers remain half-arranged between his fingers. For a moment, neither of you speak.
Then:
"The notes?"
You nod. The silence stretches. Long enough for your pulse to become annoying. Long enough for the question to feel dangerous. Finally, Seungcheol exhales softly.
"Because throwing them away felt like giving up."
The answer lands harder than expected. You stare. He continues looking at the flowers.
Neither of you moves. Neither of you looks away. The shop suddenly feels too quiet.
Too small. Too honest.
—
The conversation changes after that. Not dramatically. Not immediately. But something shifts.
A wall lowers. A distance disappears. You begin talking about things you've avoided for years.
University. Family. The struggles nobody posted online. The loneliness. The uncertainty. The versions of yourselves that existed while the other wasn't there to witness them.
For the first time, it feels like you're catching up properly. Not on events.
On each other.
—
The breakthrough arrives unexpectedly. Through gossip. Naturally. Because this town cannot help itself.
You're helping arrange flowers outside the festival pavilion when Mrs. Kim appears. You should have run. Instead, you smile politely. A mistake.
"Did you know," she begins immediately, "that Seungcheol never brought anyone serious home?"
Your heart stops.
"What?"
Mrs. Kim continues cheerfully.
"Such a waste."
You stare. The woman sighs dramatically.
"Everyone liked him."
The implications begin arriving one by one. Slowly. Terribly. You don't want to ask. You ask anyway.
"Why?"
Mrs. Kim blinks.
"Why what?"
"Why didn't he date anyone?"
The answer comes far too quickly.
"As if we don't all know."
Then she walks away. Leaving you alone with approximately twelve different emotional crises.
—
The festival opens the next day. Crowds flood the streets. Music drifts through the air. Children race between displays. Customers fill the shop. The entire town seems alive.
You should be enjoying it. Instead, you're distracted.
Because every time you look at Seungcheol, another letter appears in your memory.
Another wish. Another year. Another version of him quietly hoping for something he thought he would never get.
By evening, exhaustion settles over everyone. The crowds thin. Sunlight begins fading. And somehow you find yourselves alone behind the shop.
Again.
The garden glows gold beneath the setting sun. Dandelions sway gently amongst the flower beds.
The same flowers. The same stubborn flowers. Hope disguised as weeds.
Seungcheol sits beside you on a wooden bench. Close. Not touching. Close enough. For several minutes, neither of you speaks. The silence feels full. Waiting. Anticipating.
Like the final moments before a storm breaks. Then he says quietly:
"I was happy you came back."
Your breath catches. The confession isn't romantic. Not technically. But it feels significant anyway. You glance toward him. His gaze remains fixed on the garden.
A nervous habit you've started recognizing.
"I was happy too."
The words come easily. Truth always does. He smiles. Small. Soft. Real.
And suddenly you're struck by a realization so obvious it almost feels ridiculous. Every important moment in your life somehow leads back to him. Every memory. Every wish. Every version of home.
The thought settles heavily between your ribs. Not uncomfortable. Just undeniable. The sun sinks lower. The dandelions sway.
And for the first time, you begin wondering whether the final letter in the drawer isn't actually the end of the story.
Maybe it's only the beginning. Because tomorrow is the final day of the flower festival. Tomorrow you'll finish sorting the last boxes from your grandmother's house. Tomorrow you'll have to decide whether you're leaving again.
And somewhere deep down, beneath years of distance and excuses and carefully maintained walls, a small stubborn hope begins to bloom.
Much like a dandelion. Refusing to die. Refusing to be ignored. Refusing, despite everything, to stop growing.
—
The last day of the flower festival arrives far too quickly. You know this because you spend most of the morning trying not to think about it. Unfortunately, thinking about something and trying not to think about something are often the exact same activity.
By noon, you're painfully aware that this is your final week in town. By three o'clock, you've mentally packed your suitcase twice. By five, you've considered extending your stay. By six, you've considered cancelling your return entirely. None of these thoughts help.
Especially because every possible future seems to revolve around the same person. Across the square, Seungcheol is helping a little girl choose flowers for her mother. You watch him crouch down so they're eye level. Watch him listen seriously to her explanation. Watch him help arrange a tiny bouquet.
The girl leaves looking delighted. Seungcheol looks equally pleased. The sight hurts. Not because it's sad. Because it feels familiar.
Because it feels like home.
Because somewhere along the way, without realizing it, you've started measuring places by whether or not he exists in them.
And that seems like a dangerous way to live.
—
The festival winds down slowly. Stalls begin packing away displays. Families drift home. The streets gradually quiet.
For the first time all weekend, the town feels peaceful. You spend most of the evening helping return decorations to storage.
Boxes. Signs. Flower stands. The work is repetitive enough to keep your hands busy. Not your thoughts.
Those remain frustratingly active. By the time darkness settles over town, only a handful of people remain.
The cleanup continues. The shop stays open late. And eventually you find yourself alone.
Again. In the storage room. Again. Standing in front of the drawer. Again.
At this point, you suspect fate has completely given up pretending to be subtle.
—
The final note is hidden beneath all the others. Tucked carefully at the very bottom. Almost as if someone wanted it protected. Your pulse quickens immediately. Because unlike the others, this paper looks newer.
Not recent. Just newer. Adult handwriting. Adult paper. Adult ink.
Slowly, you unfold it. And the world narrows.
Things I wish for:
I don't think this one belongs to a dandelion anymore.
I think some wishes are supposed to be said.
I love Y/N.
I've loved them since we were kids making rules about wishes in the park.
And if they come back someday, maybe I'll finally tell them.
– Seungcheol
For a long moment, nothing happens. You simply stare. Reading the words once. Twice. Again. As if repetition might somehow make them less overwhelming.
It doesn't.
The confession sits plainly on the page. No jokes. No hiding. No pretending. Just the truth. The same truth that has apparently existed for years. The same truth you've spent the entire month slowly uncovering one letter at a time.
Outside the storage room, a floorboard creaks.
You look up.
Your heart immediately attempts escape.
Because Seungcheol is standing in the doorway. And judging by his expression, he knows exactly what you're holding.
—
"Oh."
Brilliant. An excellent response. Truly.
Years of emotional buildup and the first thing either of you manages is:
"Oh."
Seungcheol closes his eyes. Briefly. The expression on his face suggests he is considering several possible methods of spontaneous death.
"You found that one."
You hold up the paper.
"A little late to ask me not to read it."
His groan echoes off the walls. You almost laugh. Almost.
If your heart wasn't currently beating hard enough to qualify as a medical emergency. The silence stretches. Neither of you seem sure how to continue.
Finally:
"You were never supposed to find that."
Your eyebrows rise.
"There are literally eight hundred letters in that drawer."
"There are not eight hundred."
"There are enough."
The corner of his mouth twitches. Then disappears. The seriousness returns. And suddenly the air changes. The humor fades. The truth remains.
"You meant it?"
The question comes out quieter than intended. Seungcheol looks at the floor. Then the shelves. Then literally anywhere except you.
Eventually, he exhales.
"Yeah."
Just one word. Simple. Certain. Enough.
Your chest tightens painfully. Because there is no hesitation. No uncertainty. No attempt to take it back. Just honesty.
The kind that takes years to build. The kind that only appears when someone is finally tired of hiding.
"Since we were kids?"
A small laugh escapes him.
"Unfortunately."
The response is so Seungcheol that tears immediately threaten.
"You make it sound tragic."
"It was."
Now he smiles. Softly.
"I liked you for fifteen years."
Your laugh comes out suspiciously emotional.
"I was very committed."
The tears win. Just slightly. Enough for your vision to blur. Enough for Seungcheol's expression to immediately change. Concern replacing nervousness.
"Hey."
"I'm fine."
"You don't look fine."
"I'm having a normal reaction."
"This doesn't seem normal."
"It absolutely isn't."
And somehow that breaks the tension. Both of you laugh. Both of you look slightly overwhelmed. Both of you look suspiciously close to crying.
When the laughter fades, the truth remains. Patient. Waiting. You stare down at the letter again.
At your name. At years of wishes. At every version of him that existed before this moment.
Ten years old. Twelve. Fourteen. Twenty-one. Twenty-six. Every single one hoping for the same thing. Every single one writing your name.
The realization settles heavily inside your chest. Not because it's surprising.
Because it isn't. Not anymore.
Somewhere between the first letter and the last, you've already known.
You simply weren't ready to admit it.
"Do you know something funny?"
Seungcheol looks confused.
"A dangerous start."
You ignore him.
"I used to wish for you too."
The words leave before you can stop them. His expression freezes. Completely.
"What?"
You laugh softly. Because honestly, the universe has a terrible sense of humor.
"Every birthday."
You look down at the letter.
"Every shooting star."
A smile. Small. Embarrassed.
"Every dandelion."
Silence. Absolute silence.
"Seriously?"
You nod. His eyes widen.
"You never told me."
"You never told me."
"That's because I was terrified."
"So was I."
The answer arrives instantly. Truth again. Always truth.
—
The confession isn't dramatic. There are no grand speeches. No perfectly rehearsed declarations. No movie-worthy dialogue.
Instead, there is honesty. Messy honesty. The kind built from years of friendship.
Years of absence. Years of missing someone without fully understanding the shape of that feeling.
You talk. Really talk. For the first time. About moving away. About losing touch. About all the almost-visits.
The unanswered messages. The missed opportunities. The people you both tried and failed to become. And somehow, through all of it, the conversation keeps returning to the same conclusion.
You found your way back. Not immediately. Not perfectly. But eventually. You came back. And he waited. Not intentionally. Not actively. Just quietly.
Like someone protecting a wish.
—
The flower shop closes early the following evening. Not because business is slow. Because Seungcheol insists on taking you somewhere.
You recognize the destination immediately. The field.
The one behind the shop. The one from childhood. The one where everything started.
The walk there feels strangely familiar. As if no time has passed. As if every version of yourselves still exists somewhere among the grass.
The field is smaller than you remember. Most places are. The dandelions aren't.
They remain everywhere.
Bright. Stubborn. Impossible to ignore.
Exactly like him.
—
"Do you remember the rules?" Seungcheol asks. You laugh.
"The rules changed every week."
"They were very sophisticated."
"They were completely made up."
"They were based on science."
"They absolutely were not."
His offended expression is immediate. You grin. Some things never change.
Thank God.
—
Eventually the conversation fades. The evening settles around you. Warm. Peaceful. Comfortable.
Seungcheol picks a dandelion.
Then another. Holding one out. You accept it automatically.
Like muscle memory. Like childhood. Like home.
The white seeds tremble gently in the breeze. For a moment, neither of you speaks.
"What are you wishing for?"
The question is familiar. The same question from years ago. The same field. The same flowers. The same boy.
Only now he's a man looking at you like you're the answer to something. You stare at the dandelion. Then at him. Then smile.
"Nothing."
His eyebrows lift.
"Nothing?"
You shake your head.
"No."
The answer feels surprisingly easy. Certain. Complete.
For the first time in a very long time, there is nothing left to ask for.
No missing piece. No distance. No unanswered question. No wish waiting to be granted.
Just this. Just him. Just the future.
Whatever shape it takes. And somehow, that's enough.
More than enough.
Seungcheol smiles. Slowly. Softly. The kind of smile that belongs entirely to you.
Then together, sitting side by side in a field full of dandelions, you blow the seeds into the evening air.
Thousands of tiny white fragments drift upward.
Carried by the wind. Carried toward whatever comes next. Not because you need wishes anymore.
But because some traditions deserve to survive. Some things deserve to bloom again.
And some first loves, despite distance and time and every reason they should have faded, are stubborn enough to wait.
Like dandelions. Like hope.
Like Choi Seungcheol.
Like you.
The seeds disappear into the sunset. This time, neither of you watches them go.
Because for the first time, you're both looking in the same direction.
PAIRING: F.Reader x ot13
PACK MEMBER FOCUS: Seungcheol
PACK MEETING: You're having a hard time adjusting to your new pack. Good thing your head alpha knows exactly how to help you adapt.
REQUESTED BY: @peaspeas
REQUEST: Idek if this qualifies because I'm talking like, maybe pré-rules or before they were finalised formally but I want Seungcheol finding reader whenever she's eating and sitting with her and she has no idea why. If he shows up and she's already eating, he's like oh shit, panic to make up a reason that he needs to as well etc. Almost a sort of farcical comedy vibe? Both idiots ofc
WC: 5,135
RATING: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It may contain explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.
PACK WARNINGS: Very mild angst like wouldn't even call it that, reader has some anxiety adjusting to a new pack, she's a little in her head, Seungcheol is a little shit, some vague references to hormones and adjusting to being near others, reader being lonely and feeling a little on the outside, both of them are kind of stupid lmfaooo but in a good way, some playful arguing at the end.
A/N: Moni this is not as cracky as it was supposed to be and didn't really notice to the end I'm saur sorry lmfaoooo. Also this is not beta read we die like men guys.
HOUSE RULES M. LIST | MAIN M. LIST | ASK
THE KITCHEN IS PAINTED IN SHADES OF BLUE AT 5:47 IN THE MORNING. As the only resident of said kitchen this early in the morning the past two weeks, you've learned that the pre-dawn light that spills through the wide windows above the sink turns everything soft and cool in the morning. The white subway tile back splash starts off a muted grey before the sun finally melts away the blue and turns it bright white each morning.
This morning, the honey-colored cabinets look muted, nearly colorless as the sun hides beyond the horizon. You take another bite of cereal, listening to the old house settle around you. The house has taken getting used to - not because it's ancient, but because it's old enough to feel lived in and have its own quirks of floorboards that squeak, doors that click shut because the hinges are a little loose, pipes that groan when one of the thirteen people upstairs showers late at night.
It's a big house. It has to be, to fit the pack of thirteen - fourteen now, including you. Six alphas, seven betas, and you. A single omega, new and a little out of your comfort zone as you try to figure the ins and outs of a pack who have been together so long, they don't even have to think about how to navigate one another. They just do, planets who have been in rotation of one another for so long that it's as easy as breathing.
Where they've had years together, you've only had two weeks. It still feels like you're learning an entire new language - not because any of them are difficult or unkind, but rather because there's a difference between being welcomed into a pack and belonging, and you're somewhere in the strange gap between the two.
Unfortunately, the omega part of your brain doesn't really understand the distinction between the two, even though you do. You get that it'll take time to integrate yourself fully and to fit in as intimately as the others do with one another, but your instincts don't have that nuance. All your omega knows is that you should be surrounded by a pack, that you should be scented and claimed and constantly near people who want you.
Instead, you're sitting by yourself in a kitchen that feels too big and your instincts are ramming against you to go knock on a door and ask for company. You can't, though. Not that they wouldn't let you in - they would. You know they would. But the small fraction of the what if keeps you rooted to your seat. What if they end up not liking you? What if this doesn't work out? What if they decide they don't need an omega after all?
You stare at the cereal in your bowl, now soggy. It's something honey-flavored and generic that you took out of the pack pantry without looking. Mingyu swore you could take anything out of the pantry and fridge - anything in the house. What’s theirs is yours until you start filling the house with your favorite things, but like the anxiety of asking one of them to spend time with you, you can't seem to figure out how to ask for cinnamon sugar cereal or sweet cream coffee creamer.
Another bite confirms your cereal is as soggy as it looks. You ignore it, watching the kitchen in the morning stillness. It still smells like cinnamon and brown sugar from something Mingyu baked yesterday. Dishes pile in the sink and you know Seungcheol is going to have a field day when he sees it, adamant about dishes being done each night.
Under the layers of the smell of the kitchen is them. You're still trying to pick out the strands of scents that belong to each member, but thirteen scents layered over the top of one another is dizzying and hard to get used to, each one blending into something that you recognize as almost pack. Pack but not.
There are a few you can pick out individually, at least. You know Seungcheol's cedar and smoke, the head alpha easier to scent than the others. Jeonghan's citrus and something that you can't put your finger on. Mingyu's clean laundry smell with a hint of something soft and woody. The others remain a bit of a mess, but you're determined to try, hoping that maybe untangling each scent will lead you to untangling them and finding a sense of belonging that you'd hoped to find here and that they said they'd wanted you to find.
You try not to think about what happens if you don't find a place here. Though it's actually entirely normal not to, you don't know if you could survive that kind of embarrassment. You had already been a bit wary of using omega placement services as it was, desperate to find a pack after years of living on your own and unwilling to go back to living with your all-beta family in your tiny town where nothing much ever happened.
Thirteen pack members is a lot after coming from something small, something lonely. You'd been thrilled at the idea, realizing that you'd never be alone again, that you'd always have someone to lean on. Now you're here, in a house full of thirteen people who are supposed to be your pack, and you're still eating breakfast alone. Still sitting on the outside of their easy familiarity. Still trying to figure out how to bridge the gap between being new and being home.
Creaking stairs catch your attention. You perk up, freezing as you listen to the soft steps of someone coming down the stairs and toward the kitchen. You smell the cedar and smoke before you see him, your brain getting a little foggy before Seungcheol ever steps into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
He pulls up short when he sees you. He's surprised, and you realize he hadn't smelled you before he walked in, unused to having an omega or an outsider in his house. He looks devastating this morning in sweatpants slung low on his hips and a t-shirt that's tight enough to show off the width of him and strength in his chest. An alpha not only built strong mentally but physically, someone who feels and looks dependable, someone who looks entirely too soft and swollen and pretty in the dawn light.
He blinks at you. His eyes are dark and a little unfocused, still soft with sleep, but there's something sharp underneath. It makes you sit up straighter, you body thrumming as he flicks on the light. You squint, but when your eyes adjust, he's still looking at you with an expression he doesn't understand.
"Why are you sitting in the dark?" He asks, voice rough with sleep. "Are you alright?"
"What? Oh." You lower your spoon to the bowl, hyperaware of him. "Sorry, I'm an early riser in new places. I can go if you need the kitchen, sorry-"
"No, stay."
It's not a command, but his voice is firm enough that you nod instantly, relaxing a little. He moves further into the room, carrying the heavy presence of a head alpha with him. You can feel it in the way he moves, the way he takes up space and the gravity around him that has nothing to do with physical mass and everything to do with him.
You grip the edge of the counter, trying to stay composed as your omega instincts kick in. The last thing you want is for him to think you're awkward or needy. You don't want him to know how much you're struggling with this transition more than you should be. You're supposed to be settling in and comfortable by now, but you're not.
It scares you.
"Coffee?" he asks, already turning it on.
"No, I'm okay."
He hums, opening the cabinet next to the coffee maker. You watch him scan the mugs until he finds a specific one and selects it. You wonder if they have assigned mugs, if there's a hierarchy in the cabinet beyond your understanding like so many other things here.
Silence hangs between you as he makes his coffee, turning to lean backward against the counter with the mug tucked between his hands. His gaze drifts back to you and he gives you a soft smile that you tentatively return. The attention makes you feel exposed, like he's looking at you and sees right through the core of you despite only having been in the same room for a few minutes.
"Couldn't sleep?" You ask, desperately trying to fill the silence.
"Something like that." He gestures toward you. "What about you? Do you do this a lot? Waking up early and sitting alone in the dark, I mean."
"I guess, yeah. I have a hard time sleeping in new places and I don't like to just lay there."
"Mmm." There's a pause, and you can feel him still watching you. Still assessing. "You eat breakfast alone a lot too?"
You glance down at the bowl. "Sometimes, I guess? I'm usually up before anyone else."
"How long have you been up?"
"Maybe an hour?"
"And you've just been sitting here by yourself."
It's not quite a question, but it feels like one. You glance up at him, trying to figure out where this is going, but his expression is unreadable. His scent shifts and you realize what it is. Protectiveness. He doesn't like that you're sitting here by yourself, and the realization makes something warm unfurl in your chest.
"I don't mind," you murmur, looking down again to hide the sudden flush you feel.
He hums. "I'm hungry." You look up, confused at the statement. He points to your bowl. "What are you having?"
"Cereal. I think it's honey? I didn't want to wake anyone up by cooking."
"Cereal sounds good. Honey is Chan's. Good choice."
He moves with purpose then, crossing to the cabinets to pull down a bowl. Your eyes catch on the line of his shoulders and the way his muscles shift under the cotton tee, the way it rides up just slightly as he reaches for the milk in the fridge, revealing a tiny strip of skin at his lower back that makes your mouth go dry. You look away quickly, back down at your soggy cereal, and try to get your breathing under control.
You watch as he fixes himself a bowl of cereal and strides over to you, dragging a stool up next to you. You blink in surprise. You expected him to sit across from you, but instead he plops down next to you close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off his skin and close enough that the cedar and smoke of him makes your eyes flutter. His knee brushes yours as he adjusts and you have to physically stop yourself from leaning into him, your nervous system lighting up at the proximity.
"So," he says, pulling you from the static of your thoughts. "Tell me about yourself."
You blink at him. "Like what?"
"Anything." He takes another bite of cereal like this is completely normal. Like he wakes up at five in the morning to eat with strangers all the time. "Where are you from again?"
"Small town." You stir your cereal. The milk swirls. "Really small. Everyone-knows-everyone small."
"And you left."
"For college. I came back for a few years after but it didn't feel like I fit in anymore so I moved to the city, got an apartment by myself. Thought I wanted independence and freedom to figure things out on my own terms." You take a bite of cereal just to have something to do with your hands. "Turns out being alone and being independent aren't the same thing. I was just lonely. Really lonely. Didn't even realize how bad it was until I started looking into pack placement programs and well… now I’m here trying it out, I guess."
Seungcheol goes quiet. When you glance over, his expression is soft. "How long were you alone?"
"Three years."
"That's a long time for anyone, not specifically an omega."
"Yeah." You swallow. "I didn't know what I was missing. I'm still trying to figure it out, I think and how I… fit in."
"You're doing fine," he says.
"I eat breakfast alone every morning."
"Not this morning, though."
The words are simple and direct. When you look up at him, he's watching you with something warm in his expression. Something that makes your chest tight.
"No," you say quietly. "Not this morning."
He gives you a small smile that transforms his face. Suddenly, he's not the intimidating pack alpha - he's soft and warm, more like a person than someone you have to impress or earn the trust of. You relax a little, stirring your milk aimlessly.
"What about you?" you ask. "What made you want to lead a pack this big?"
He huffs a quiet laugh. "Honestly? I didn't set out to. It just kind of happened. We all met in college, started spending time together, and it felt right. Natural. Then more people joined and suddenly I was the one everyone looked to when decisions needed to be made. Sometimes I wonder if I'm doing it right. If I'm taking care of everyone the way I should be."
"I think you're doing a good job," you say. "Everyone seems happy. Settled."
He looks at you and gives you a look, one brow raised. "Everyone except you."
His words make you wince. Not because they're accusatory, but because you didn't think he noticed. You realize it's a bit of an insult for you to have doubted him - Seungcheol's entire role as the head alpha is to understand his pack, to balance the personalities, to lead. That includes you, despite not feeling like it, and you realize that he's taken notice and doesn't intend to let it go.
"We don't eat alone unless we want to in my pack," he says simply.
My pack. The possessiveness in those two words makes something flutter in your chest and you bite the inside of your cheek, trying to stop yourself from grinning, to stop yourself from getting too hopeful.
"I didn't want to be a burden," you admit.
"You're not," he promises. "You're a part of our pack which means you're never a burden. We want you here. We wouldn't have gone through the trouble of the agency and placement if we didn't think there was something missing. You were missing and we're happy to gave you, even if it's a little awkward at first."
You can feel your heart beating too fast, the warmth of him making you dizzy. Seungcheol doesn't lean closer, but you feel him closer, the smell of him overwhelming and comforting. You realize he's doing it on purpose, pheromones comforting you like he should. You glance up and he has a knowing look on his face, a little smug and a little endeared and you find yourself smiling.
"Thank you," you manage. "For noticing."
"Always," he murmurs.
You finish your cereal together as the sky outside continues to lighten. For the first time since you moved into this house, you don't feel quite so alone.
-
It's Tuesday in the middle of the day when Seungcheol interrupts your next meal. You look up as he walks onto the back porch, the apple covered in peanut butter in your hand pausing as he sits down next to you at the table. He's got a full plate with him, rice, chicken and vegetables piled high as he sighs and settles in comfortably.
"Hey," he says casually, cracking open the can of soda he's brought along.
"Hi," you say slowly, eyeing him.
"I am starving. Wanted something sweet."
You look at his plate. Then back at him. Then back at the plate.
"Seungcheol, that is not sweet."
"What?"
"You said you wanted something sweet. That's chicken."
He blinks and looks down like he's just now noticing what's on it. You press your lips together as he scratches the side of his neck, nodding. "Right. I meant I wanted something sweet after this. You like ice cream?"
"I do."
"Great." He leans over, peering at your apple slices as his shoulders brush yours, sending a spark through you. "What are you having?"
"Apple and peanut butter."
"Hmmm. Classic." He starts cutting into his chicken as you watch him, eyes narrowed. "How's your day?"
You're still processing the fact that he claimed to be starving for something sweet while holding a savory meal, but you answer anyway, amused.
"Good. I've been reading."
"Yeah? What are you reading?"
Taking another bite of your apple, you tell him. Seungcheol is an engaged listener, nodding and asking follow up questions as he devours his plate. Somehow, time passes easily. Even after he's cleared his plate, he leans back into his chair, foot up on the seat as he tells you about one of his favorite books growing up, dimples appearing every time he smiles.
You love his dimples, watching them as he ducks his head and laughs, long hair falling in his eyes. You smile too, unable to help it around him. He's infectious like that, easily shifting the mood from something tense to warm or lonely to comfortable, like an alpha should.
Eventually, he sighs heavily, stretching. You try not to notice the way his shirt peels up, revealing the barest hint of soft stomach before he drops his arms back down and grins at you.
"I have to get back to work," he says. "But this was nice. We should do it again."
"That would be nice."
He smiles and gets up, clearing his plate and reaching to grab your empty one without much preamble. You watch him go inside, shaking your head when you realize that he never wanted something sweet in the first place.
-
You've been awake for three hours.
It's not insomnia, exactly. It's more like your brain won't shut off and you keep laying in bed replaying conversations, analyzing the way Seungcheol looked at you on Wednesday, wondering if you're reading too much into the fact that Mingyu sat close enough to scent you yesterday but didn't, if any of this means anything or if you're just desperate enough to convince yourself it does. As usual, your brain is doing laps, restless and unsettled, and the quiet of the house at midnight isn't helping. It's making you hyper-aware of how alone you are in your room, how easy it would be to just stay here without anyone noticing and how good you've gotten at it.
So you give up on sleep. Again.
The kitchen is dark when you pad downstairs in your pajamas, the hum of the refrigerator going as you open it up, squinting against the light. You don't bother to turn the overhead lights on, the moon filtering in through the big windows over the sink enough to get by. You steal the honey cereal - Chan's - again from the pantry, and fix a bowl before sitting at the counter, sighing as you take a bite.
Your phone buzzes on the counter, startling you. You flip it over, squinting in the dark as you frown when you read it.
SEUNGCHEOL [12:15 AM]: What are you doing?
Your stomach does something complicated.
YOU [12:15 AM]: Eating cereal… why?
SEUNGCHEOL [12:16 AM] Be right there
You set your phone down slowly, your heart doing something erratic in your chest. He heard you come downstairs. His room is above the kitchen - you know this now - and realize that he must have heard you snooping around down here like he did that first morning he found you eating in the kitchen at five in the morning.
A minute later, he appears in the kitchen doorway and your brain short circuits a little. He's in soft cotton pajama pants and a t-shirt that's clearly old and pulled tight across his chest. His hair is completely disheveled, sticking up in about fifteen different directions, and he's rumpled and sleepy enough to tell you that he absolutely was asleep until he heard you.
"Hey," he croaks.
"I didn't mean to wake you."
"You didn't," he lies.
"You didn't have to come down, Seungcheol."
"I did. And you can call me Cheol, you know. Seungcheol makes it sound like I'm in trouble."
He moves to the cabinet, and grabs a bowl, making himself a matching snack before he sits down close enough that his thigh brushes yours. You shiver and if he notices, he has the decency not to point it out.
"Maybe you are in trouble," you mutter, taking a bite.
"Yeah? What for?"
"Being a liar who lies. You heard me and came down."
He grins and takes a bite of cereal. He chews thoughtfully for a few seconds, ignoring your stare. "So what if I did? I wanted to join you, so I did. Anyway, trouble sleeping again?"
"Kind of." You push cereal around your bowl, not quite meeting his eyes. "My brain won't shut off."
"Yeah?" He shifts slightly, and you're hyperaware of every point where his body is close to yours. "What's it doing?"
"Thinking."
"Pack stuff?"
"Maybe." You finally look at him. His eyes are soft in the moonlight. "Can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"Are you doing this on purpose?"
He doesn't ask what you mean. Doesn't pretend to be confused. Just smiles into his cereal, and the smile is so knowing that your face goes hot.
"Yep."
"Why?" Your voice is barely a whisper. "Why are you doing this?"
He sets his spoon down. Turns to face you fully, and there's something serious in his expression now, something that makes you sit up and pay attention to him.
"I told you already," he says softly. "We don't eat alone unless we want to. Do you want to?" You hesitate only a moment before shaking your head. "Exaclty. So until you feel confidence to ask someone - you can ask any of us, by the way - I'll make sure you're not eating alone."
It's something so simple and yet it devastates you to hear him say it. It isn't the words themselves exactly, but rather the way he says it, like it's a promise, like he's already decided that this doesn't require permission or gratitude or even for you to ask. It's just a fact that he's going to do this, no negotiation, no need to think about it.
You think about the last three years of your life of eating in your apartment along, of making meals for one, of not having to consider anyone else's schedule or preferences. Three years of being fine with it because fine was easier than admitting you were lonely. And now you have a pack you don't know what to do with, but this alpha - this head of a thirteen-person pack - is keen enough to pick up on what you need and come down to the kitchen at midnight to make sure you have what you need.
It's wonderful and terrifying all at once.
"Okay," you murmur, nodding.
You watch him in the moonlight filtering through the kitchen window. His hair is still a mess and his face is puffy with sleep, but he's soft. Warm. You notice a small scar on his collarbone you've never been close enough to notice before, and wonder where he got it from.
When he finishes his bowl of cereal, he looks at yours, raising his brows. "You finishing that?"
You shake your head and he grins, reaching over and brushing against you deliberately to steal your bowl. The contact is electric as his arm grazes your shoulder, his chest brushing your back for just a second, and your entire nervous system short-circuits. You nearly go catatonic at the contact, omega melting even when he pulls away, leaving you dizzy and touch starved and hungry for something not food. Your skin tingles where he touched you.
Seungcheol notices. This time, you see the way he grins, smug and content at your reaction. It hits you that he planned that, that he wanted you to feel it. The realization makes your chest tight in a way that's half panic, half something else entirely.
You can feel the heat crawling up your neck, your face, and it pisses you off - not at him, but at yourself for being so transparent, so easy to read. You huff and cross your arms over your chest, turning to him, temper flaring a little. You're not mad at all, but your omega instincts bristle in a way that feels playful and fun, something entirely unfamiliar to you. It's like your body knows something your brain hasn't caught up to yet.
"Well that's not fair," you huff. "You can't just do that."
"Do what?"
"Brush up against me and use your… alpha ways."
He laughs, full bellied and loud, echoing off the kitchen walls. "My alpha ways?"
"Yes!"
"That's how it works."
"Well!" You stomp your foot against the footrest on the stool. "I would like to file a complaint. Wait, who do I file a complaint with? You're head alpha."
Even as you say it, you know how ridiculous you sound. You're literally complaining to the person you're complaining about. It's absurd. But there's also a part of you that likes this game, this playful banter.
"You're cute when you panic."
The word lands like a punch. Cute. You're not cute. You're competent and sarcastic and you've survived three years alone in a city that didn't care about you. You're not cute. Except the way he says it makes you feel small in a way that isn't entirely bad. You like it, even.
"I'm not panicking," you say, which is a lie and you both know it.
"Sure."
"And for the record, I'm not cute. I am a very strong, very assertive omega." You stand up, trying to reclaim some dignity, trying to put distance between yourself and the way his presence makes your skin feel too tight. "I've even lived on my own. Very independent."
"Absolutely," he agrees, not sounding convinced at all.
Seungcheol stands with you and puts the bowls in the sink, leaving them unwashed for once. He grins at you and gestures to the door and you listen, because apparently you do that now. Your body just obeys him, no thought required, no decision made. You just move when he moves, follow when he leads. It should feel wrong, but it doesn't. It feels familiar in a way you've been craving and you finally have it.
He follows you up the stairs and you're hyperaware of him behind you, footsteps quiet and measured. . You can feel the warmth of him in the space between your bodies, close enough that you could lean back and touch him. Your omega is purring at his proximity, at the simple fact of him being there, and you hate how easy it's becoming to just accept it. To want it.
The hallway is dark except for the moonlight filtering through the window at the end, letting in enough light for you to walk to your room, third door to the left. When you reach it, you pause, your hand on the doorknob, suddenly unsure of the protocol. Do you just say goodnight? Do you invite him in? The uncertainty makes your stomach knot uncomfortably, panic spiking.
You turn to look at him and he's closer than you expected. Close enough that you have to tilt your head back slightly to meet his eyes. He's still soft from sleep, and he's looking at you like he looks at the other members of his pack, warm and soft and so gentle that it makes your omega nearly scream.
Seungcheol grins and leans down, pressing a kiss briefly to your head, soft and warm and over before you even know it's happening. Your throat tightens immediately, thoughts turning to static as he takes a step back, winking at you.
"Sleep, he murmurs. "Wake me up when you want breakfast. I mean it."
He dismisses himself then and you watch him walk back down the hallway, his silhouette disappearing into the darkness, and you don't move until you hear his door close softly upstairs.
Only then do you slip into your room and lean against the door, your heart still racing, your forehead still burning with the ghost of his kiss. You touch your fingers to the spot where he kissed you, like you can hold onto it somehow.
Crawling into bed, you do exactly what Seungcheol has asked and you sleep.
-
The next morning when you wake up, you don’t have to wake Seungcheol. You hear the noise downstairs, confusion drawing you down the steps and into the kitchen where breakfast is being made in full. You stand in the doorway, confused as you watch Mingyu and Joshua argue at the stove, the sound of eggs sizzling and the smell of bacon wafting toward you.
Seungkwan is at the coffee machine, staring lifelessly into the open air as his coffee brews while Chan stands on his tip toes to reach more coffee mugs out of the cabinet behind him. Seokmin is sitting on the counter swinging his legs, laughing animatedly at whatever Soonyoung and Jihoon are arguing about near the sink while Jeonghan lays across the counter, head in Seokmin’s lap as he dozes.
Seungcheol walks in behind you, not missing at beat as he steers you by the waist toward the counter. Jeonghan peeks an eye open and grins, lifting himself from Seokmin’s lap to make room for you just as Seungcheol grip you by the waist and halls you up to sit on the counter next to Jeonghan, the citrus and jasmine smell of him placating your immediate irritation at being lifted.
“Why is everyone in the kitchen?” You demand, turning to Jeonghan because Seungcheol is already leaving you and heading for the fridge. “The sun isn’t even up yet.”
“Rule number one,” Jeonghan yawns, scooting closer so that he’s pressed up against you. You hesitate for only a second before you let yourself relax and tentatively lean toward him. “The omega is never allowed to eat alone unless she asks to.”
Seokmin peers around him. “Do you want to?”
His question hangs in the air among the noise and chaos of the kitchen, scents hitting you from every angle, the sound of Minghao complaining about burnt bacon and Mingyu hollering as oil pops and burns his wrist.
You grin, ducking your head a little as Seungcheol catches your eyes from across the kitchen and winks.
warnings: nothing just fluff, suggestive in the slightest way, uhm not really anything else, reader is stubborn and dramatic hehehaha, not that angsty at all reader just feels the tiniest bit neglected, olderbf!cheol being hot 😛, petnames: baby, pretty girl, good girl pls i had to (hers), cheol (his)
author's note: its no secret that i am down horrendously bad for olderbf!cheol so please let me have this very self indulgent very short drabble thing hehe SORRY IF THERE'S ERRORS OR ANYTHING literally just wrote this bc i wanted to and i couldn't stop thinking about it bc cheol is just so fucking fine i can't
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you've got your arms crossed, refusing to look at him. holding your ground even after you internally acknowledged that, yeah, maybe giving cheol the silent treatment and the cold shoulder earlier was a liiiittle dramatic. but he was on his stupid work ipad for like the whole time you two were supposed to be enjoying a movie night together in the living room—you had your reasons.
“cheol, i said I’m not apologising," you repeated, still in your mood.
seungcheol exhales through his nose deeply, still looking at you with a look that's fond even if you're giving him high blood pressure right now. he's leaning against the kitchen counter after you stomped off to the kitchen and are now doing everything in your power to not look at him.
he attempted to reason with your snappy attitude, “baby, i just checked a few emails. i promise."
you rolled your eyes as you turned to him, making him fight letting out a small cocky chuckle. "you were on your ipad for the whole second half of the movie!" you answered back.
he reaches out and catches your waist when you try to walk past him with a soft and firm, "baby."
“let go. i don't wanna talk to you," you try to wriggle out of his grip and fail. keeping your head low so you don't make eye contact with your unfairly handsome and super annoying boyfriend.
obviously he doesn’t. he knows you too well to actually listen to whatever comes out of your mouth when you're like this. "wanna tell me why you're acting up like this, baby?" he says, so gently and patiently.
“i'm not acting up like anything,” you shoot back, chin tilting up, your glare meeting his gaze. “you're just-"
“i'm just what?” he continues, one eyebrow lifting.
you soften, head dipping low again after his eyes stare holes into yours. "you're being annoying..." you say quietly.
his hand slides from your wrist to your chin, tilting your face properly toward him this time. “mhm,” the hum rumbles through him lowly.
your stomach flips a little, but you stay defending your stance.
he huffs out a soft laugh, “stubborn girl,” he mutters, almost to himself as he taps your bottom lip lightly with the pad of his thumb.
you open your mouth to argue again but this time he leans in just slightly to interrupt you, “baby.”
“don't push it,” he adds, eyes locked on yours. “i've been letting you pout and give me the silent treatment for over half an hour now."
you swallow but your pride’s still there. “so?” as you cross your arms over your chest.
“so,” he murmurs, "you either tell me what's actually got you wound up like this... or i'll make you feel very, very good until you forget it. hm?"
your breath stutters while you're still trying to look unimpressed. he smiles because he caught that. slow and knowing.
and he leans down, kissing your forehead sweetly as if he didn't just say that, and you could still feel that smug smile he had. "i swear, baby," he kisses your forehead again, "that i only checked a couple of emails," and he pulls back to look at you properly.
"but you're right. it could've waited til after, or tomorrow morning, hm?" his thumb brushed your cheek once. seungcheol tilts your face up a little more so he can kiss the corner of your lips gently, "'m sorry, pretty girl. my fault, i know it is."
and you go completely weak. how could you not?
you melt into him a little more, not fighting him as much as he kisses the attitude out of you.
"next time, talk to me. okay, baby?" he says between kisses to your lips. "want you to tell me when you feel upset. you hear me?" his warm hands now holding your waist like you're the most precious thing in the world while his series of i'm sorry kisses continued.
you nod at his words, and he smiles, kissing you again. "there's my good girl. i love you so much, baby."
Mingyu doesn't want to pay you any mind. To him, you're just another girl that'll get her heart broken by his dumb best friend.
Why would he care, right? He shouldn't care about the crying sounds he hears from his bedroom when his friend stands you up for the girl he's actually in love with. And he shouldn't be getting close to you. He shouldn't dread the day his friend decides to end things with you and bring someone else home. He shouldn't be wishing to have met you first.
pairing: mingyu x f!reader (with a side of bad bf!jungkook)
word count: 30,2k (lmaooo)
genre: bf's best friend mingyu, (awkward) acquaintances to lovers, the other side of the f2l trope, angst, smut, you could say there's a drizzle of fluff
content warnings: emotional cheating, tsundere mingyu at first, too much crying, self-manipulating, moral dilemmas, jealousy, possessiveness, alcohol consumption, denial (tons), one minor injury, mention of blood, a love triangle?, sexual tension, inappropriate things happen between mc and mingyu, petnames: babe, baby, princess (hers) | explicit smut, teasing, body worship, praise, marking, protected penetration, it's love making guys
🎧: mine — ive, breathing — nct dream, knew you — kailee morgue, begin again (taylor's version) — taylor swift, i wanna tell u — lexie liu
a big thank you to tiya @gyubakeries and ro @shinysobi for reading this over and telling me it doesn't suck ♡ and rae @nerdycheol for supporting my simp and pathetic men agenda ♡
THIS FIC IS FOR +18 READERS ONLY! I can't control what people read, but I can control who interacts with my blog. MINORS CAUGHT INTERACTING WILL BE BLOCKED.
disclaimer: i didn't want to make any svt member the asshole so i made him jungkook, but i love jungkook he's literally my bias in bts and my forever ult so please just remember that this is a work of fiction and it doesn't represent how he is in real life nor how i view him (it pained me writing him this way you have no idea kdjfgnrjeskgf). i also didn't proofread the last two scenes i¿m sawrry
last note: there are several pov switches throughout the whole fic, because it just went where it wanted, I had no control over it, it was the fic i swear.
check out my main masterlist ♡ dividers used: heartbeat, paper texture (banner)
i hope you enjoy! i'd love to read your thoughts :)
“Are you sure I won’t bother him?"
You’ve blocked Jungkook’s hand from opening the door to his shared apartment, forcing him to look at your pleading eyes.
“Babe, it’s not the first time you’ve come to watch a movie, he doesn’t mind, stop worrying.”
“It’s just... he always locks himself up in his room when I come over. Maybe he doesn’t want to get to know me.” You whisper, in fear the door doesn’t muffle the sounds from outside and he’s standing just by the entrance.
The few times you’ve crossed paths with your boyfriend’s roommate, he barely said hi before sprinting out of whatever room you were in. Sure, your relationship with Jungkook is fairly new, and you don’t expect to become friendly with his circle of friends so quickly. But if his closest friend won’t pay you any mind then how are you supposed to get along?
“He does that to give us privacy, I promise it has nothing to do with you.” Jungkook doesn’t notice the coldness you're sure his friend exhibits towards you, as he has been that way every time he brought a new girl to their home. Jungkook attributes it to his friend simply giving him some space, to not make everything awkward by being the third wheel. “He wanted to watch a movie, and he said it was cool when I told him you were coming over.”
A deep breath leaves your lungs at his confirmation, even if it’s already the tenth time you’ve asked the same question and got the same answer.
Inside the apartment, Mingyu sits manspreading on the couch, phone in his hand and headphones at the maximum not-deafening volume. Jungkook’s still in his fairytale phase, that time at the beginning of a relationship when he still tries to introduce his new partner to aspects of his life, in which Mingyu is included. That’s the only reason he accepted his friend’s insistent plea to hang out with you both tonight. And when a hand shakes his shoulder lightly, he knows it’s his Jungkook with his new catch of the semester.
You sit on the other end of the couch, as far as possible from Mingyu’s motionless body, still unsure on where you stand with him. Neither of you make the effort to talk to the other while Jungkook goes to his bedroom to change. You don’t want to bother him and make him have a reason to dislike you, and Mingyu notices your nervousness, but prefers not to do anything about it.
Mingyu has learned to not try hard to get to know Jungkook’s fleeting girlfriends, because no matter how nice or how pretty you are, in a matter of weeks, he knows his friend will find something to complain about and eventually use as an excuse to break things off. It’s a never-ending cycle, and he learned he can’t do anything to stop it.
“What are we watching?”
Jungkook’s loud voice breaks the ice beginning to build up in the living room, and quickly sits down between Mingyu and you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. He doesn’t seem to notice the ignoring contest going on, chatting with Mingyu like the other man wasn’t just dead silent.
After discovering you’ve never seen Rocky, a few gasps from Jungkook and a lot of convincing later, the movie starts playing on the screen in front of you. You didn’t actually care what they chose, just happy to spend some time with your boyfriend, even if you’re not alone.
Mingyu knows the movie from beginning to end and backwards, could even recite the dialogues if asked, not because he particularly likes it, but because Jungkook somehow always convinces the girls he brings to their home to endure it.
He used to argue with him about the reputation he built of being a heartbreaker, but Jungkook doesn’t see it that way. To him, he’s just trying to find the one in an endless quest that never fulfills him the way he thinks a relationship should. But Mingyu knows Jungkook well, and the real reason why he can’t last in a relationship for longer than a few months is clear as day, but Jungkook’s blind to it.
You pretend to focus on the storyline, Rocky’s growth journey that Jungkook was so excited about, while he comments on his favorite parts. It’s not a movie you’d pick if you were alone or with your friends, too manly for your taste, and the romance aspect is too shallow, but Jungkook’s perspective and insightful comments are making you appreciate it more.
Tears begin forming on the corners of your eyes as the final fight progresses, your throat closing up in warning as the rounds pass and Rocky gets beaten up by his opponent. No matter the genre, movies always make you cry during the final act as the protagonist reaches the goal after struggling so much.
After the referee separates both opponents, tying at the 14th round, the public demands a rematch, but Rocky’s more preoccupied to look for the woman he loves. You try to sniffle quietly, no longer being able to put a stop to your weeping, and snuggle against Jungkook’s chest, just as his phone rings, receiving a call from Cathlyn.
From the corner of his eye, Mingyu notices the whole interaction, and he almost gets shocked by Jungkook blankly rejecting the call in an instant and putting his attention back on the screen. How didn’t Jungkook notice you’ve been loudly sobbing for the past fifteen minutes is beyond him. But the shock lasts less than two seconds, as Jungkook's phone rings again and he gets up from the couch, heading to the kitchen with his phone in his hand and his thumb already opening Cathlyn’s text conversation.
You know Cathlyn has been your boyfriend’s best friend since high-school, and became inseparable since then. You even came to meet her a few times. She’s funny, nice and outgoing, effortlessly being the center of attention.
The living room gets cold again after Jungkook goes to the other room, and it’s too obvious that Mingyu just doesn’t have any interest in engaging in small talk with you. Your last sniffles echo against the walls, and the sigh Mingyu lets out almost sounds louder in the sea of dense silence.
Another sniffle from you and a tired sigh from him, Mingyu gets up to go after his friend who doesn’t seem to be coming back to the couch soon enough. He leaves a pack of tissues in front of you without sparing you a glance, and just walks past the couch.
"Dude, don’t just leave me alone with her.” You don’t mean to eavesdrop on their conversation. You really don’t. But the sound carries. And it just proves that Mingyu clearly doesn’t like you. “She’s your date, not mine.”
“Sorry bro, Cathy was calling me nonstop. I thought something had happened.” Not necessarily true, as she called only once and Mingyu's aware of it. “She wants to go out tonight, clear her head a bit.”
“I don’t care what Cathlyn wants. Your girlfriend was crying and you just left her there.” It’s almost like he was defending you, but something in his tone suggests that it isn’t about you specifically. You blow your nose one more time, and the sound echoes into the kitchen. “Listen, she’s still crying like a baby, go with her bro.”
Last words you hear before heavy steps begin and get closer and closer to the living room couch until the man sits by your side.
“Sorry babe, I know movies always get you emotional.” Jungkook apologizes sweetly, even if there’s something else in his mind.
“It’s okay.” The sun setting behind the windows draws your attention away from your boyfriend. “I should get going. It’s getting late and I promised my roommate we’d go out for dinner.”
Lame excuse, but you’re aware you’re not wanted at the apartment anymore by half the people living under that roof, and it really is too late.
Jungkook nods, unbeknownst to the uncomfortable situation he's a part of, and grabs your coat as you get up from the couch. You turn back, smiling to Mingyu coming out of the kitchen as a form of goodbye, but he just nods and sits back down.
“We're going out later, and Cathy’s paying, you wanna come? It’s a bar close to here.” Jungkook naively asks as he walks you to the door. He might be genuine with his invitation, but you’re not sure.
“I told you I have an important meeting for the congress tomorrow morning, I can't go out."
Jungkook hasn’t proven himself as someone with the best memory out there. You’ve had to remind him of important stuff a few times already. The key is to just take a deep breath and not let it stir up any anger within you, because that’s just how he is.
“Oh, I thought it was on Sunday.” Jungkook asks just as Mingyu walks past the end of the hallway into his bedroom and shuts the door.
Even he knows about your meeting, because you told Jungkook last time you were there, and even if he locks himself up in his room, the walls might as well be made of paper the way he can always hear your conversations.
“Tomorrow is Sunday.” You note as you chuckle lightly.
“Oh, shit. Then I guess I’ll see you when you're done.” He gives you a sweet kiss for the first time in the day, light and fleeting like a feather, and closes the door after you take a few steps towards the elevator.
Nayeon closes her macbook suddenly, done with all the work you have been doing since the early morning, ready to take a deserved break. “So? How was the hot date last night?” She rests her chin on the palm of her hand, ready for whatever gossip you’re willing to share.
“It wasn't hot.” Your eyes don’t leave your notebook, in an intent to work on ideas to make the presentation more interesting.
“You’re so secretive! C’mon, tell your best friends forever and ever what you did!” She insists, making you chuckle as you see your other friend mirroring her from the corner of your eye.
Your pen drops from your hand onto the table as you finally look at them. “It was just a movie night with his asshole roommate.”
“The hot one?” Jennie intercepts, now more interested than before.
“I don't know Jen, his only roommate.” You try to go back to your notes but your friends’ unrelenting stares make it impossible to concentrate. “And how do you even know him? I’d never seen him before meeting Jungkook.”
“It’s ‘cause you’re too cool for campus gossip,” Jennie takes the chance to poke fun at your lack of knowledge of basically anyone, “but everyone knows Jungkook and Mingyu.” They both giggle at their mention.
“Be serious, we're not in high school.” You deadpan, but deep down you know nothing really changes from high-school to college. The drama remains the same, just with a few years added to the people involved. “There’s no such thing as the popular guys.”
When you were younger, the different cliques that formed were crucial to what the experience was going to be for the years to come. And you used to live for the gossip. You always knew the latest fight or the newest couple before anyone else. It felt important at that time and it kept you entertained. But as you grew older, got into college and met new people, meaningless gossip lost its interest, your focus now on passing your classes, meeting new friends, and having the best contacts to move forward with your career.
Sure, you knew of a Jungkook, as your best friends are up to date with the gossip and like it or not, you end up hearing everything even if you don’t know the people they’re talking about. But before he approached you at a party, you had no real idea who he was. It’s true that when you first saw your boyfriend at that party, he caught your attention immediately, and it’s undeniable that if you had seen him before, you would’ve been caught in his spell like every other girl on campus.
“What I mean is that people take notice when two hot guys hang out everyday.” Nayeon points it out like it’s the most common thing in the world. And maybe it is. “They’re like candy to the eye, too sweet, unapproachable, but nice to see nevertheless.”
You don’t forget to roll your eyes before replying. “Mingyu’s still an asshole. He never talks to me! I’m sure he curses at me in his head every time I show up at their apartment.”
“He seems so serious all the time.” Nayeon adds, having your back. “He’s probably a stem major or something like that.”
“He’s always hunched over his computer, so he probably is.” You note, eyes returning to your notebook so you can keep working on the presentation and be done with the topic.
“I once tried talking to him at a party, but he just looked me dead in the eye and said he wasn’t interested.” Jennie’s stare gets lost to the view out the window as she remembers. “I barely told him my name.”
Nayeon and you exchange looks before erupting into laughter.
“You guys are so mean!” Jennie complains, but joins to laugh with you two.
“Hey, at least he had the decency to tell you that and not lead you on.” Jennie shrugs, not really hurt as she has already forgotten that cursed interaction. “He barely says hi to me before sprinting out of my sight.”
“He doesn’t really talk to many people except that group of friends they have. It’s not personal, he's just a little anti-social.” Nayeon puts her two cents in. “Just let him be an asshole if he wants to be one!”
“I shouldn’t let him occupy that much space in my mind.” You nod at them and they both nod back in agreement. “I’m dating his best friend, he’s going to have to accept it.”
Nayeon and Jennie exchange looks, raising their eyebrows at your words before going back to you.
You have a vague idea what they meant by that, but you still ask, incredulously. “What?”
“Nothing!” They say in unison.
They tried several times to enlighten you about Jungkook’s “reputation”, as they called it, but you prefer to get to know him on your own and not have your judgement clouded beforehand. Rumors are just that, rumors.
“Look,” with your hands slapped on the table, you order their attention, “I know you guys don’t really like that I’m dating him,” you observe, “but I promise, It’s fine! He’s really nice and I think he really likes me.”
“It’s not that.” Jennie says at the same time as Nayeon exclaims, “I’m sure he does!”
“We already told you, he usually dates for a few months before breaking up all of the sudden.” Jennie continues, paraphrasing every warning they already gave you. “We’ll have your back with whatever you want to do, just be careful.”
“I won’t let a tattooed man who I've only been dating for a couple of weeks break my heart.” At least you think you're stronger than that.
“Am I an asshole if I tell you to just not get your hopes up?” Nayeon asks, and if it was any other person, you'd get mad, but only because it's her and she just lacks tact sometimes, you let it slide.
“Yes! You are!” You chuckle, knowing she’s just looking out for you. “Thank you guys for worrying about me. Now, I think we should shorten the introduction a little bit. Everyone there already knows who Durkheim is, we don't need to explain his whole biography.”
The notes you've been taking all day stare back at you, now more of a bunch of senseless scribbles than useful annotations.
“Ugh! Back to work already?” Jennie’s body falls limp on her chair, not ready for more hours of brainstorming and not reaching any goals.
“The professor wants to hear the whole thing tomorrow, we can't show up with anything less than a perfect speech.” You insist, opening Nayeon's macbook again against her will.
“Do you promise to tell us any good gossip about those friends of his, in about…” she looks at her empty wrist, pretending there's a watch there, “two hours? We'll work diligently until then.”
A deep sigh leaves you with a barely there smile you try to hide. “Fine. Two hours, and then we can take a real break.”
The waitress carries two pieces of cake and the biggest strawberry smoothie you’ve ever seen in your life, heading to your table. The size of the cup brings out chuckles from both Jungkook and you, but as soon as it gets placed between you on the table, the two straws draw your attention, and Jungkook asks the waitress for another smaller chocolate smoothie.
“You can have that all for yourself babe, I know how much you love strawberries.”
You don’t admit that you were excited for the corny romantic moment of sharing a smoothie with two straws, appreciating that he at least remembered your love for berries.
Jungkook’s phone keeps vibrating with notifications, which he reads but doesn’t respond to, trying his best to focus on whatever you’re telling him. His mind is anywhere but the diner where you decided to have an afternoon snack, battling between answering Cathlyn’s worrying texts and listening to the ideas you gave for the presentation you’re doing with your friends in front of various colleges soon.
In the middle of your story is when you realize Jungkook hasn’t said a word, his eyes lost to the much more interesting brown swirls on the wooden table.
“Is everything okay?” He’s been noticeably distracted lately, getting lost in thought more often, taking longer to reply to your texts. You attribute it to the time of the year, as he’s busier at work and with his studies, and so are you. But even if he says he’s fine, you’re beginning to worry.
“Yeah babe, sorry, just a little tired.” His lips line up in a tight smile in an attempt to reassure you. “Do you mind hanging out at my apartment after we’re done eating?”
Scraping your plans to catch an afternoon movie, you hum and nod before returning to eating your piece of cake, seemingly disguising your disappointment since he doesn’t ask any more questions.
Jungkook leaves his plate exactly the way the server left it for him, the piece of chocolate cake with not even a particle less, his fork unused and clean on the side. He gulps down his new personal smoothie in a second, and as soon as the last piece of your cake is entering your mouth, he’s asking the waitress for the bill. He knows you’re still talking to him, he can see your lips moving, but your words enter one ear and leave through the other, having no meaning in his mind.
Jungkook pays without asking for your share, which you weren’t even going to argue with him about. You’re usually a heavy supporter of each person paying for what they ordered, but as the minutes pass by, it’s becoming harder and harder to not get mad at him, so you’re going to spend his money without feeling bad about it. You know you should ask him about it, but shouldn’t he tell you if something was wrong? Especially after you’ve already asked him? Between being a pushover and pretending nothing’s happening, you end up choosing to just spend the rest of the afternoon with him and hope he’ll just tell you the truth.
The walk to his apartment is less than 10 minutes long, but every dreaded step drags heavily, making everything move slower, with the both of you in silence, and the incessant notifications blowing up his phone acting as a remainder of his true priority.
Jungkook’s trying to ignore the constant ping coming out of the pocket of his jeans, pretending he isn’t dying to just answer who keeps trying to contact him.
And you have a vague idea of who it could possibly be.
The cold apartment doesn’t feel welcoming as you enter through the door, lights off and deadly silent. Excusing yourself to the bathroom, you tiptoe around as if in fear. Your reflection in the mirror looks unmistakably disappointed and sad, and you wonder if Jungkook really didn’t notice or just didn’t care.
He can be charming and gentle when he wants to, always so polite and respectful, but the ability to be aware of your feelings may be something he could work on. Or at least understand that the things he does ultimately affect you too.
In the kitchen, he’s already forgotten his one rule for the date, and is carefully answering every message he got, the glasses of water he was filling for the both of you forgotten on the counter.
When he hears you come out to the living room, Jungkook rushes to sit with you, with a plan already in mind.
“Babe, will you get mad if I go for a bit?” His fingers trace lines on your forearm, and you begin to lean into him before your brain registers his words.
“What? Why?” You ask as your eyes search for any type of clue on his face.
“Cathy called me,” he takes a second to think about the best words to use, “she had a fight with her boyfriend, and I have to be there for her.”
Jungkook never liked Cathlyn's boyfriends. Something about them always feels off about them, as if none of them are ever right for his best friend. In his eyes, he just wants the best for her, someone who'll really be able to care for Cathlyn in the way he thinks she deserves.
“Oh, I hope she’s okay.” Deep down, you wonder if it really is so serious that Jungkook feels obligated to stand you up. But it’s fair, she needs her best friend when she’s having a bad time. The fact that her best friend is your boyfriend is a coincidence you can’t be mad about.
“I’ll be back before dinner and I’ll make it up to you, okay?” He’s already standing up, his arms on both of your sides as he crouches to give you a quick peck goodbye.
The door closes shut before you can even utter a reply, and his steps echo on the hallway, getting further away every second, until you’re left in complete silence.
In the quietness of the apartment, you instantly feel out of place, unwelcomed by the inanimate objects surrounding you. Seconds turn into minutes, the ticking of the clock being the only sense of time you have left. You don’t want to grab your phone, avoiding the inevitable feeling of disappointment that’ll take over you if there are no texts from Jungkook waiting in your notifications.
How stupid is what you’re doing? How desperate? Waiting for your boyfriend to come back from the home of the woman that seems to be his priority? You know you shouldn’t be feeling this way, especially since he's already told you that she’s just his best friend. But it’s still hard.
The back of your eyes burn as tears threaten to come out, blurring your vision just as you hear a key turn, heavy steps entering the home you’re not supposed to be in.
⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄
Mingyu knew he'd find you at his apartment.
Jungkook texted him that he had an emergency and had to leave in a rush. And Mingyu knows what “emergency” really means in that context. It means Jungkook rushed over to Cathlyn's at the first sign that she was feeling off, and he wanted to hide it from him so he wouldn’t have to hear the same reprimand again.
What Mingyu didn’t expect was to find you on the verge of crying on his couch, scattering to find any form of tissue paper somewhere inside your bag.
You both freeze, looking at each other for about half a second before rushing to greet. You pretend you weren’t crying, and he acts as if he didn’t notice. Mingyu utters a quiet hello as you mumble some kind of apology for being there, and then he locks up in his bedroom as usual.
His friend put him in an awkward situation once again. Mingyu doesn’t want to get to know you more than he already does. He knows you're on a different major and that’s enough, because one day, in the near future, it’s going to be another girl walking through the door instead of you, and he’ll never see you again.
He tried a few times to stay friendly, but no one really wants to stay in contact with someone so close to the man that broke their heart. And he gets it. That's why he stopped trying all together.
Mingyu would usually come home from work, put on his headphones, and spend a few hours on his computer until his stomach urges him to eat something. But for this particular afternoon he’s been put in, he skips the headphones in case you need something, or at least until Jungkook comes back, which he isn’t even sure is going to happen.
A project for work distracts him for a good while, organizing different stats and numbers on the excel sheet his boss sent him earlier in the day. He almost forgets you’re on the other side of the wall. Almost.
If he loses his focus on his computer screen, he can hear when you move around on the couch. What can you possibly be doing? Is what he asks himself at any noise that reaches his ears, but there’s never an answer. Until something alerts him that you’re not doing well. The same sniffle he heard days ago as you were watching a movie with Jungkook echoes against the walls of his bedroom.
You’ve been trying hard not to make any sounds that may disturb Mingyu, as you assumed he was busy by the way you could hear the non-stop clicking of his keyboard from where you were sitting. But your mind seemed to have other plans, so much so that you lost control of the cascade of tears brimming from your eyes.
In between everything, you miss the sound of a door opening and steps getting closer to you. Mingyu comes into view as you’re wiping away tears with the back of your hand, and you can’t pretend he didn’t see you this time.
He sits by your side in silence, mainly because he doesn’t know what to say, but also because he can’t just leave you alone in this state. He feels responsible in a way.
“Is he with…” Are the first words that come out of his mouth after seconds of dead silence.
“He didn’t tell you?” You look up at him to find him staring into the wall. He shakes his head, glancing at your slightly blotchy face before looking down.
“He just told me you'd be here, but I figured.” Your body relaxes the tiniest bit. Good, at least you’re not an unannounced guest.
“She had a fight with her boyfriend.” You explain, more frustrated than understanding.
“Right.” He simply replies.
Both of you sit there, fixed on your spots, too aware of the other. Mingyu realizes you’ve stopped crying, maybe because you don’t want to cry in front of him, but at least your breaths became less deep than before.
A growl from your stomach reverberates through the room, and you flush in embarrassment.
“You can–” he coughs before continuing, “you’re here often, you can help yourself if you’re hungry, it’s no big deal.”
“Oh, thank you,” you chuckle, trying to conceal the humiliation, “but he said he didn’t have anything. That’s why we went out. And I can’t really cook, so.”
Never in the past weeks would you have thought you’d be sharing embarrassing details about you with your boyfriend’s cold roommate, but life has a funny way of turning things around.
“I’m sure that’s not true. There’s no way you can’t do the basics.” His body turns, now facing you as he takes an interest in your not so fun fact.
“I’m not lying! I can’t even make scrambled eggs.” You hide your face behind your hands, and you immediately hear Mingyu laughing as the dent beside you on the couch disappears.
“C’mon, I’ll teach you. I happen to be a great cook.” Your stomach growls again, and Mingyu looks back at you as he walks towards his kitchen, leaving you no choice but to follow him.
Mingyu’s not thinking about this exchange with you too much.
Yes, he’s doing exactly what he promised himself he wouldn’t, as this will inevitably make you both closer and he will not be able to turn back to his cold self again. But he couldn’t just go on with his day knowing you were having a bad one, and even worse, knowing you were crying because of his friend.
He had to do something, and if that something is becoming your friend for the afternoon, then so be it.
“Grab the egg carton with his name on it.” You chuckle as you follow his instructions, “and his milk too, why not.” If he left you stranded, the least you can do to get back at him is use his stuff and not Mingyu’s.
Between laughs and Mingyu indicating instructions like he was teaching a 5-year-old to cook, time passes, you forget why you were at the apartment in the first place, and you end up with a fine plate of scrambled eggs that doesn't taste bad at all.
“I told you it wasn’t that hard.” Mingyu sits in front of you on the rounded table as you share the food.
“Well, I’ll let you know if your teaching lasts until I have to cook alone.” You chuckle and avoid his stare, realizing your words sounded much friendlier than you intended.
Back in the living room, Mingyu’s ringtone disrupts your conversation, and his sigh alerts you that he might already know who’s calling. He gets up with another sigh, throwing you a knowing look before going to answer Jungkook’s call.
You appreciate his effort to make you feel better, and when he doesn’t ask Jungkook any questions over the phone, only replying with yeahs and okays to whatever he’s telling him, you understand that Jungkook’s not coming back, and whatever he’s telling Mingyu will just make you feel worse.
Before Mingyu comes back, you do the dishes that you used and get your stuff together. The decision to leave has already been made.
“Leaving already?” He appears at the entrance to the kitchen, leaning on the edge of the door like a statue.
“I know he’s not coming back. I’m sorry, I should’ve left earlier, I didn’t mean to be a bother.” It’s the first time you’ve addressed that feeling you have that you constantly bother him, and it’s kind of freeing.
“You’re not a bother.” A man of few words, Mingyu feels like he meant a lot more with that simple statement than just dismissing your apology.
His blank reply doesn’t feel forced, not like he only said what you wanted to hear. No. He said it automatically, not thinking much about it, and it took a heavy load off your shoulders.
“Still, I should–” You’re now standing right in front of him, looking up at his face as he doesn’t realize he’s in your way.
“Right, sorry.” Mingyu rushes to get out of your way, stumbling against his own feet as he walks backwards to go get his keys. “Do you need a ride? I could–”
“Oh, thank you, but it’s okay. I’m meeting a friend at a restaurant close by.” A warmness spreads on your cheeks at his offer. “Do you happen to know which way to go? It’s supposed to be a few blocks from here.”
To redirect his attention away from you, you show him the address of the restaurant on your phone screen. You frequent the neighborhood on a weekly basis, but the blocks tend to mix up, as the buildings look too similar to each other. Mingyu scratches the back of his neck, trying to remember the names of the streets around his place.
“I think it’s three blocks to the right, and then two to the left.” He doesn’t sound very convinced, but you trust you’d be able to tell if he’s sending you the wrong way, so you take his word.
Even after denying him, Mingyu still accompanies you downstairs, and you politely say goodbye to each other at the entrance before separating.
The sun sets on the horizon, the golden hue painting the streets beautifully as you walk. ‘Third block to the right, then turn left,’ you mentally repeat, trying to concentrate on the directions as well as you try to find a street sign that'll tell you if you’re going the right way.
As you reach the second block to the left, where Mingyu implied the restaurant should be at, your phone vibrates inside your purse. The unknown caller doesn’t give up while you contemplate whether to pick up or let it go to voice-mail, but something in the back of your mind urges you to answer. So you do.
“Who is this?” In case that another telemarketer got a hold of your phone number, you try to sound annoyed.
“It’s Mingyu, sorry,” his deep voice sounds the tiniest bit robotic due to the poor service, “I realized I sent you the wrong way. You have to turn right instead of left.”
“Oh,” you chuckle as your eyes read the street number you’re at, “thank you.” You don’t tell him you could’ve figured it out on your own, a tiny smile appearing on your face at his gesture.
“I should’ve warned you that I’m terrible with directions.” His breathy chuckle reaches your ear at the same time as a metal ruffling sound. Was he heading out to find you in case you didn’t pick up?
“No worries.” Your mind is blank, as the two things you’re most awkward at doing are getting combined in one: phone calls and talking to Mingyu. “How did you get my number?”
“I asked Jungkook for it just now.” That feels weird for some reason, but you toss that feeling away, trying not to overthink about it. “You okay?”
“Yep! Heading that way now! Thank you! Bye.” You abruptly hang up on him, the only way you thought to end the awkward conversation.
Your heart rate escalates, pumping hard like it’s about to beat out of your chest as you go the correct way now. Whatever you do, your mind still manages to replay what just happened over and over again, until you’re standing in front of the restaurant hostess.
Walking towards the table you see Nayeon sitting at, the idea of Mingyu having your number saved makes the back of your neck tingle with nervousness, and you can't shake the feeling even as you greet your friend and she starts telling you about her day.
Maybe you’re giving it way too much thought. It’s just the excitement of finally feeling like you’re growing closer to your boyfriend’s friends. Nothing more.
There's been a noticeable shift in the awkwardness of your “friendship" with Mingyu. You didn’t become best friends overnight, but at least he stopped fleeting away from you anytime you'd be over at their apartment, and wouldn’t deliberately choose the spot furthest from you at any group gathering.
As you and Jungkook step out of his car and walk over to the front door for the costume party a classmate of his was throwing, you can only take a deep breath and hope your extroverted self appears after a few drinks, and that Mingyu doesn’t decide he hates you again, because he’ll be the only other person you know at the party.
Not much of a partier yourself, you’re just trying, for him. Trying to join your boyfriend in what he likes, especially after he showed interest in you being there with him by inviting you.
The loud music can be heard even with the door closed, and Jungkook texts his friend to come pick them up, because ringing the bell clearly won’t do anything.
“Hi man! Sorry for making you both wait.” A tall blonde man who you’re sure is named Jackson welcomes you in, giving Jungkook a man hug before looking you up and down and asking. “What did you guys come as?”
“I’m a firefighter dude! And she’s...” Jungkook looks at you waiting for your answer, not even trying to remember the name of the character you’re dressed up as.
“Mavis, from Hotel Transylvania!” You smile as Jackson finally lets you in, and you can see in his expression that he has no idea who you’re talking about when you walk past him.
As soon as you cross the door, it is a relief to find Jungkook’s whole friend group there, sitting occupying the entire couch for themselves, only one big body missing from the ensemble.
Jungkook only takes his hand off you to greet his friends one by one, and makes them promise to save you seats while you go to the kitchen to find something to drink.
It hasn’t been long since the party started, but the crowded house is already filled with that dense air mixed with the smell of sweat, and the sticky bodies make it harder for you two to advance into the kitchen.
Part of you is relieved that Mingyu’s nowhere to be seen, if he’s even at the party. Sure, you’re getting along now, but being around him is still stiff and awkward. Maybe you can use this opportunity to try and get close to Jungkook’s other friends.
Sitting between him and other two strangers that squeezed themselves on the far end of the couch, that plan is quickly scrapped. It’s possible Jungkook doesn’t realize you’re too far away to be included in any conversation, he wouldn’t do it on purpose, but you have no will to tell him. Not when his body is fully turned away from you as he talks to Cathlyn and the guy she's dating, Yugyeom.
The music's too loud for their voices to travel backwards and let you hear, but judging by Jungkook’s menacing body next to yours, he doesn't seem to be liking the conversation. He didn't talk much about Yugyeom, that name being new to you as Jungkook’s hadn't even mentioned him before. And from what you know, he and Cathlyn have been having some problems for the past few weeks, so it's normal for her best friend to dislike him.
⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄
Mingyu thinks of himself as somewhat of a good friend. Sure, he may have some faults and he fucks up every now and then, as everyone does, but whenever his friends need him, he’s there. He covers for Jungkook at school, listens to his girl problems as any friend would do, hates whoever he hates, and he’d never break that friendship over any random girl. That said, he’s still a man, and he has eyes.
When he comes back from the patio after catching up with some old friends he bumped into, he first lays eyes on the striking yellow costume Jungkook’s wearing. But as he follows the bright color, he sees you sitting by his friend's side, his arm wrapped around you but giving you no attention as you drink from an almost empty cup.
It's no surprise to him that Jungkook's too enthusiastically talking with Cathlyn instead of any other friend, or instead of dancing and enjoying the party. What shocks Mingyu is how blatantly he’s ignoring you, sitting so pretty by his side.
Yeah, Mingyu can admit he finds you pretty. He might be a good friend, but he’s not blind, and denying it would just make him stupid. Any guy with a brain should be lining up for a chance to talk to you, getting lucky to be the ones you spare a glance to. Instead, you’re sitting with an arm around you and being ignored by its owner. It could be that he’s gulping down his fourth drink already, but he might even go as far as saying you’re his type. But that’s about as far as it could possibly go. You’re pretty, nice, and in love with his best friend. Well, maybe not in love yet, but you like him enough to put up with his shit. And Mingyu’s not interested. He can’t be.
A smile forces itself on your face as your eyes catch his across the room. The most polite way to acknowledge his presence without trying to interact with him further.
Mingyu nods your way and drives his eyes elsewhere. It’s not like he wanted you to do anything else, and even if he wanted to go up and chat with you, he couldn’t have fit in between you and the people on your other side crushing your free arm.
So, he stays there, standing against a wall on the only free hallway –in which there aren’t any people because Jackson threatened anyone who dared to step within a two feet radius of his bedroom, watching the scene progress before his eyes.
Where his friend has a reputation of being a heartthrob, a player, or a heartbreaker, Mingyu’s always thought of as Jungkook’s serious and mean friend. A bad school reputation is the least of his priorities, and he doesn’t care to change how people he doesn’t care about think of him. It’s not like he’s not enjoying the party, he just prefers to stand alone and drink. If that paints him as a boring guy, so be it. He tries scanning the room to find a friend to catch up with, but it's pointless, only the bright yellow costume makes itself visible.
It's mostly a blur of bodies messily dancing to 2000’s pop songs inside that room, but Mingyu could recognize his best friend's silhouette if he was miles away and 90% blind. Your costume contrasts with Jungkook's in a way that even drunk Mingyu realizes it’s you who's being dragged onto the “dancefloor".
He sees you get loose as his friend's hands wrap around your waist and move your bodies in sync. It seems that every single light in the house is on despite it being a party, and you’re in the center of his line of sight, constantly and too easily catching his attention.
What he doesn’t see, however, are your constant complaints about dancing, appearing as flirty whispers to anyone who wasn't listening. And after he takes his eyes off of you two to find a glass of cold water, you’re back again to your original place on the couch, this time with much more space around you.
“Not much of a dancer?” His feet directed Mingyu to where you sat almost instinctively. There’s finally room to sit down so he’s going to take the opportunity before somebody else does.
“Only when I’m in the mood.” Your stare’s lost somewhere in the room, paying attention to your drunk boyfriend dancing with his best friend.
“I see.” You both sit awkwardly, body facing front and eyes focused on the same view.
“Cool costume, by the way. I love Hotel Transylvania.” Mingyu manages to fill in the gaps of the heavy silence.
“Thank you! You’re the only one that recognized me.” A small smile appears despite your bad mood.
“People here lack basic culture.” A simple joke followed by awkward laughs from the both of you, the atmosphere doesn’t help to ease the tension of your interaction.
“I wanted Jungkook to dress up as Johnny.” You have to stretch your neck to Mingyu’s side so he can hear you above the loud music.
“That would’ve been cute.” Mingyu doesn’t know what else to say. It’s been a common occurrence for him to go blank when talking to you.
“I guess he’s not a fan of matching costumes.” You try your best to continue the conversation, not really caring whether he’s interested or not. The little alcohol in your system won’t let you fall on an awkward silence again.
“He probably got tired of them after so many years.”
You freeze.
“What do you mean?”
Mingyu realizes he just fucked up. All those drinks he had before you came, and that one after, finally brought him to the stage where his mouth gets loose and he starts blurring out things he shouldn’t.
“Uh–, I mean, Cathlyn used to force him to do it for halloween.” Force.
For the record, Mingyu's not a liar. He might be loyal to his friend, not wanting to put him in bad situations, but he’s not going to go above and beyond to protect an already weak relationship. So, he picks a word that’s going to save Jungkook’s ass, but still saying part of the truth.
“Right.” If you caught on to his deliberate choice of words, you don’t show it to him.
⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄
It’s pointless to get mad at your boyfriend for such a meaningless piece of information. Every relationship is different, and you shouldn’t be comparing yours to a much older one. Their bond’s just different! It doesn’t have anything to do with you if Jungkook didn’t want to do stupid matching costumes.
Still, you’re glad Mingyu slipped and gave away the truth, and you appreciate his effort to make it sound less bad.
Jungkook gives you no time to ponder on what to do though, as he stumbles his way back to you, so drunk he can’t regulate his strength and falls hard on the couch.
“My heead hit the back of the c-couch with my head.” Jungkook pouts and slurs his words.
“Ow, baby, you’re really drunk.” Mingyu’s eyes pierce through your back, and a wave of self-consciousness takes over you. “Should we go home?”
Jungkook’s cheeks feel warm in your hands as you try to get him to look at you, but his drunk mind can only concentrate on one thing at a time, and for the time being, his eyes are focused on Yugyeom’s hands groping Cathlyn's ass shamelessly as they dance.
“I don’t feel so good.” He only says, his drunk stare having a hard time straying away from that scene as he gets up and stumbles his way out the house.
Mingyu runs after Jungkook just behind you, and manages to catch him before he faceplants on the damp grass outside.
“Where did we leave my car?” Jungkook asks no one in particular, disoriented from his almost-fall. “Wait, you’re not my girlfriend!” His eyes go wide as he realizes who was helping him and tries to escape.
“I’m here, babe.” Before he manages to, you wrap your arm around his other shoulder, leaving him no choice but to be embraced by yours and Mingyu’s hold so he doesn’t hurt himself again.
Now that you’re outside, with no music blasting at full volume, no people around pushing you constantly, and breathing fresh air, you’re too aware of your surroundings. Or more specifically, how Mingyu’s arm and yours touch behind Jungkook’s back.
It's a weird way to break the ice of skin to skin contact in a friendship, but maybe it’s what you need to end the lingering awkwardness that surrounds your interactions once and for all.
“I saw you drinking.” You scold Mingyu after you two lay Jungkook down on the back seat and he turns to find his way back to his car.
“I’m not drunk anymore.” He mutters just before he trips with his own foot. “Okay. I’ll crash on the back seat for a while and then I’ll go home.”
“I’ll drive you.” Mingyu's silence as he thinks of a polite way to turn your offer down only eggs you further. “I’m going there anyways.”
“I-I wouldn’t want to take advantage.” He fiddles with his keys, avoiding your eyes.
“Of what? Me? His car?” Mingyu hesitates, the gears in his brain visibly turning.
“I don’t know.” It’s quiet, his response, and no matter how cute and defenseless he looks when he’s drunk, you don’t really have time to wait.
“I’m offering.” You deadpan, but try to flash a small smile so his drunk brain doesn’t understand your hurriedness as anger. “You’re clearly still drunk, c’mon, don’t make me have to drag you.”
Realizing there’s no way out of this other than listening to you, Mingyu caves in and gets on the passenger seat of Jungkook’s car. “You wouldn’t be able to drag me anyways.”
Of course, you can't push an over six-foot-tall gym bro even if you use all possible bodily strength you have. "Hell yeah I can!” Your teasing stare meets his, and you know he got what he wanted by pushing your buttons.
"I’d love to see you try.”
An indescribable feeling completely shuts down the workings of every organ inside you. It could be what he said, but it’s just a common phrase to tease a friend. It could be his eyes that refuse to leave yours. Or it could be the silver of a smirk that appears as you hold your breath. Whatever it is, you push it down, hide it on the very back of your mind and put up ten walls to disguise as a simple and normal response to teasing.
“We should-”
“I don’t like him.” The drunken backseat passenger you had forgotten about interrupts you.
“Who?” The distraction allows you to break eye contact with Mingyu. A believable excuse to put a stop to whatever was happening.
“That guy she was with.” Jungkook looks like he’s talking to himself, his eyes closed as if he wanted to fall asleep and unaware of who he's actually talking to.
“Cathlyn? Her boyfriend?” Mingyu intercepts so you wouldn’t have to ask the awkward questions, already knowing where this conversation’s going. “Yugyeom?”
“Ugh, don't say his name.” Mingyu’s instinct tells him to see your reaction, to check if you realize what Jungkook means by all of this, and especially if it hurts you. “He has a douchebag face.”
You chuckle at his pouty statement, but deep down his words pierce a surface cut on your denying heart. It’s gone as fast as it came, but it was there, and your hands automatically started the car, urging you to start driving like nothing happened.
Ever since the evening started, Mingyu knew Jungkook wasn't going to have a good time. Not since opening the door to the bar that revealed Yugyeom there with Cathlyn.
“Why is he here?” Jungkook muttered under his breath, annoyed, on the verge of being angry.
“She's allowed to invite her boyfriend. Just like you invited your girlfriend.” Is all Mingyu replied.
Jungkook has been in his life ever since he can remember. When their first tooth fell out, when they schemed behind their parents to figure out if Santa was real, when he got his first bicycle and Jungkook laughed in his face when he fell and scraped his knee, when they met Cathlyn in high school and Jungkook’s eyes shined brighter than ever, when they went to prom and lost their virginities on the same night, and when they got accepted to the same college and joined the same classes. Every memory Mingyu has, it’s always Jungkook by his side. He can't mess with that peace, no matter how violently he wants to tell his friend to stop playing with girls’ hearts and realize he’ll be much happier if he owned up to his true feelings.
So, he resorts to trying to make Jungkook connect the dots himself by telling him harsh enough truths. It’s a work in progress.
In the few hours you’ve all been at the bar’s pool table, Mingyu hasn’t said a word. He's been sitting alone at one table on the side, seeing his friends sucking at playing and actually having fun.
With the excuse of being tired and simply enjoying watching each round, he took the opportunity to be temporarily invisible. With all of them busy, he can look at you all he wants, smile to himself when you miss your shot, and pretend to be drinking from his half empty glass.
There’s not much more he can do. Whatever he thinks he feels, whatever he thinks of you, it’s wrong. That’s why, at that moment, he prefers the loneliness of his table. The crude reality punishing him in real time is enough.
Doesn’t matter if you’re on the same team as Jungkook or not, your attention is always focused on him. You search for his touch, his eyes, crave his attention on you. But the more drunk his friend gets, the more competitive he gets, and the little patience he had with your lack of pool skills is quickly dissipating.
Another round finishes, with the both of you losing to Cathlyn and Yugyeom again, and it’s more than obvious that Jungkook’s annoyed. When your opponents excuse themselves to the bar to get more drinks, you try playing on your own and see an opportunity to try and get Jungkook in a good mood again.
“I swear I know where to hit it! My arms just won’t cooperate.” A chuckle escapes during your lighthearted shout.
Jungkook sighs at your missed shot, your pout having no effect as he’s trying to conceal his annoyance. “Which one are you thinking?” He only asks.
“The red one, close to the middle?” You point to it, waiting for any reaction, but he just waits for you to continue. “If I hit it a little to the right, I think it can go inside the left corner hole.” Bodily coordination may not be your strong suit, but you’ve played enough online pool that your brain’s trained to draw the imaginary angles.
The main idea was telling Jungkook your theory, him realizing you actually have an idea of how to play the game, and finally teaching you how to get a hold of the cue stick correctly.
“You have to do it like this.” Jungkook takes the cue from your hands and takes your place, ushering you to the side to watch as he takes the shot. “Your index and middle fingers serve to place the tip of the stick where you want it.”
“But I-” You were right, and the ball enters exactly where you said it would, but you can’t chant victory. Not when his attention shifts to a heated argument just meters away from you.
In the second it takes you to focus on what’s happening, your eyes land on Yugyeom stomping out of the bar, a crying Cathlyn left behind. You don’t even have to check if Jungkook’s still by your side, as he soon enough appears with an arm around her shoulders in an intent to console her.
When he starts getting the pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, and heads to walk out the door, you realize the comforting session won’t be quick. But why would it be? His best friend just had a screaming fight with her boyfriend in public. It makes total sense that he’d want to take her out to have some fresh air and a little more privacy than inside the full bar.
“If I knew the night would be like this, I would’ve stayed home resting for next week.” Your body falls on the chair next to where Mingyu’s been sitting in silence. His flat expression rapidly makes you uncomfortable, like you just crossed a line. “Shit, they’re your friends, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t hav–”
“No, you’re right.” He interrupts you, with a tone that implies you must've taken the words right out of him. “I get having troubles, God knows I've seen them go through stuff, but we're allowed to be tired of it.”
Between his cold exterior and sometimes unfriendly choice of words, Mingyu's surprisingly capable of understanding other people's feelings.
“Has this been happening a lot recently?” You don't care to sound like a gossip. “Her fighting with her boyfriend, I mean.”
Mingyu sighs, eyes wandering to the door through which both of his friends just stepped out of. “Let’s just say, it’s been a regular occurrence.”
“Well, let’s not let other people’s problems ruin the fun.” You decide out loud. You’ve been having fun since you got here, regardless of your boyfriend’s bad mood, and you’re not going to let anything ruin your last night out before the busy week you have ahead. “Do you want another drink?” You down the last sip of what Jungkook was drinking.
“Oh, actually, I’m saving to pay for gas for the trip we have next week. I promised to drive, so.” Mingyu explains, too apologetic for simply refusing a drink. “You’re coming right? It’s a congress that our college’s doing.”
“Of course I’m coming,” maybe you should be offended that he doesn’t know, but it’s not his fault, “I’m the one giving the presentation.”
“Wait, seriously?” Mingyu’s eyes go wide, in slight shock as well as in embarrassment. “I knew you had a big thing coming up, but I didn’t think it was that! How did I not know?”
“Maybe Jungkook forgot to tell you. You know how he is…” Mingyu nods at your statement, but the answer brewing in his mind gets cut short by the glass door opening once again.
As if he was summoned, Jungkook re enters the bar alone, quickly lets you know he'll wait outside for Cathlyn's uber with her, and leaves again without sparing you another glance.
Silence fills the void between Mingyu and you, only murmurs from the people around the bar manage to make it not unbearable. Awkward again, you never seem to have a normal conversation with Mingyu without feeling some type of way. Jungkook interrupting seemingly added a layer of tension very hard to dissipate.
“I’m gonna… practice playing.” You aren’t the best at handling awkward silences, so you stand up with that excuse. “I’m so bad at it! I think the stick does the opposite of what I want on purpose.”
Mingyu chuckles behind you, following you to the pool table to watch up close. “You’re not that bad.” You look at him dead in the eyes, head tilting to the side with scepticism. “I’ve been watching you play! You just need to learn how to get into position correctly.”
Your arms cross in front of your chest, deciding if what Mingyu’s saying is in any way true, or if he’s just trying to make you feel better. He takes the cue laying on the table, accidentally knocking a few balls away from their places in the process.
“Show me how you’d do it.” As he hands the pool stick to you, warm smile and standing tall facing you, you feel secure he won’t tease you if you’re awful.
“Okay, but don’t you dare mock me.” The lighthearted threat makes him chuckle again, and your fingers tremble grabbing the stick from his hand. “This is my usual.”
You mentally cringe at yourself, but you push through it and lean your chest forward, hovering over the table, setting the tip of the stick between your fingers and analyzing which ball to hit.
“I see where things might go wrong.” His voice sounds closer with each word, but it's not enough to prepare you to feel his chest against your back, his arms embracing you to guide your hand where he wants to. “Your hand’s too close to the end of the stick. You’re not in full control of it.”
When he places his hand over yours, helping you slide it up the cue, you’re sure your whole body’s covered in goosebumps. Your heart accelerates to unimaginable speeds, about to jump out of your chest as Mingyu’s breath fans on the back of your neck.
“I think we can get the blue striped one,” your mouth blurts out faster than your brain can think, “If I manage to hit the white a little to the left, I can go right and push it into the middle hole.” You try to play off the unprecedented effects Mingyu has over you, forcing yourself to get your mind back in game mode.
He doesn’t let go of his hold on your hand, his arm grazing yours even more closely. “Are you sure? That one seems like a long shot.” You can hear his smirk through his teasing words.
“Just help me hit it there.” Your head turns just barely to the side, finding his face much closer than you imagined, and your eyes roll before going back to the table, trying to mask the blush you feel creeping on your cheeks. “I know I’m right.”
“Relax a bit. It’s close to the hole, so you don't need to hit it too hard.” Mingyu extends his other arm over the table, helping you position the tip to hit exactly where you told him to. You don't dare move, his cheek brushing against your temple freezing you in place momentarily.
When you feel his hands tighten over yours, taking control of the stick with your fingers tangling with his, your arms fall limp, letting him shoot the shot. With the tiniest push, the barest tense of his muscles all around you, both your arms move the cue forward and hit the white ball.
The both of you smile as the striped ball falls in the hole you said it would, relaxing against one another before realizing just how close you really are.
“I told you, I was right.” You chuckle away from him, using cue in your hands as a barrier.
“I’m sorry I ever doubted your skills.” Maybe it’s the drink he was stalling to finish until you approached him, but Mingyu’s more relaxed with you tonight, a little more prone to smiling than usual.
“Babe?” But Jungkook’s voice quickly wipes it off his face. “Let’s get going, wait for me outside.”
“Wait!” You get off Jungkook’s hold, almost offended that he thinks he can drag you away at his will. “I was finally getting a hang of it. Mingyu’s a better teacher than you, you know.” You try to joke to ease the suddenly tense atmosphere, but it doesn’t work.
“I’m really tired, babe. And I promised I’d take you home, so, please?” Jungkook retorts, face turned your way, but his eyes are on his roommate.
The staring contest between the two men doesn’t stop, an indecipherable friction you don’t really want to find out the meaning behind.
“O…kay,” there isn’t really an out where the three of you will be happy, so you just accept Jungkook’s petition to leave, “bye Mingyu.”
You walk away, your hand in the air wishing for Jungkook to take it and come after you.
Mingyu begins to grab his stuff, assuming the both of you will be quickly out the door by the time he’s done paying his tab, but it seems the night is not over for him yet.
Jungkook grabs him by the arm and turns him around so they’re face to face. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“What the hell man?” Mingyu shoves the other’s hand away, a hunch telling him his friend’s anger has something to do with you.
“I leave for a minute and you’re all flirty with my girl.” Jungkook’s always been a jealous man, but Mingyu can’t help but sigh at the accusation.
Still, Mingyu can’t lie and say he wasn’t flirting. He can’t say he didn’t love the way you were blushing and squirming under him. And he can’t say that it wasn’t what he was looking for.
“I was entertaining her because you left.” He retaliates with a part of the truth. “It’s getting old man, you can’t just leave her to go after Cathlyn all the time.”
“You’re back with that again.” Jungkook throws his arms in the air, easily irritated by the topic. “You know what? I’m tired of this.” As the confrontation he was looking for didn’t turn out the way he wanted to, Jungkook begins walking away, “I’m leaving, we’re leaving.”
“You never want to talk about it, but you know it’s wrong.” Mingyu adds, a little louder this time. “You gotta stop.”
“Why are you so worried?” Getting more frustrated by the second, Jungkook barely turns, not fully facing Mingyu. “You never cared about it before.”
“C’mon man, I’ve always noticed.” How awful of a person he is. Accomplice to his best friend breaking girl after girl’s hearts, it’s true that he never cared this strongly about Jungkook’s extracurricular activities. Even though he always tried to make Jungkook realize the truth by himself, for his own good, Mingyu can admit, to himself at least, that now he has an added, selfish reason to want his friend’s behavior to come to an end.
“It’s my life. When I need an opinion, I’ll ask for it.” With that, Jungkook finally leaves, getting out the door to where you’re waiting in the cold.
Mingyu wasn’t done with the conversation. There was so much more he wanted to say. He wanted to say that it’s your life too. Jungkook's messed up feelings were affecting the people around him too, especially every girl he dates to forget. Especially you. But he just couldn’t keep pushing it, not without the truth coming to the light.
Mingyu’s reputation of being too serious, or even heartless sometimes, wasn't born out of nothing. He's aware of his resting bitch face, of the way he bolts in and out of class and the way he's never the first choice for group projects in the classes none of his friends attend. If he cared what other people thought of him, maybe it'd hurt. But he has enough friends, friends who like him the way he is, and doesn't go to college to expand his contact list.
Going to university, to him, was exclusively a way for him to learn more about his likes and interests. He goes to his classes and focuses maybe a little too much, but it’s how he lives his days, how the hours pass until he has to go to work. That is, until you came into his life unprovoked, and disorganized his sharp and efficient lifestyle.
He never crossed paths with you on campus before, and if he were to run into you after the first time he met you, he would've probably ignored you and scurried to his building like a flash. But today, he unconsciously looked around, hoping to catch even a glimpse of your figure coming out of your major’s building. He hoped you’d see him and smile at him as you walked his way to make useless small talk. But you didn’t, of course you didn't, and as soon as he sat down on his usual seat in his favorite class, he realized. He’s fucked.
For the first time in his life, the numbers on the chalkboard didn't make any sense, the words coming out of his favorite professor's mouth sounded like a mumble of pure nonsense. His mind couldn't focus, diving into the memory of your sweet smile next to his ear. Or the shivers your body graced him with as his hands purposely covered yours on the cue stick. His hand would grab his pen to try and write a single sentence, and the feeling of your fingers barely interlaced with his would overwhelm him.
What’s worse than pining after your best friend’s girl? As of the moment, Mingyu has no answer. There’s nothing he can really do either, besides accept you’re in a sort of happy relationship. He can’t take you aside and say ‘hey, you know your boyfriend? My friend? Yeah, so I have a theory that he might be in love with his girl best friend, sorry!’ Even thinking of doing so puts a bad taste in his mouth.
He's aware that, currently, he's at least top5 worst friends in the world. And he's not looking to end your relationship and get bumped up to the top1. It's decided. He'll just ignore whatever feelings are bubbling on the pit of his stomach until they disappear!
Easier said than done, because nothing he does seems to get you out of his mind. And the vivid reminder that he’s nothing more than someone you have to get along with is screaming at him everywhere around his home.
The four walls of his bedroom imprison him, suffocate him with the thought of you. He is a bad friend. He does want you. He does resent Jungkook for keeping you his. But if he broke up with you, would Mingyu ever see you again? Would he ever get the chance to see the heat visibly rushing to your cheeks as he walked closer to you?
Mingyu hates himself. He hates himself for getting turned on at the memory of your body heat against him, shivering at his closeness but not pulling away, letting him wrap himself around you, even if the both of you knew he shouldn't. He needs to drive his mind elsewhere.
Locking in to work in front of his computer, trying to scare away the sturdiness building up in his jeans, it might become the first time he wishes it was his day to go to the office. The front door of the apartment opens, rushed steps and messy, wet, breaths echoing against every thin wall that surrounds him. The reminder that what he deeply wants, it's not, and should never be his.
Working from home has never been so much of a curse.
⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄
Jungkook grips at your sides, his body flushing against you and pressing you further into the couch. The near desperate way his lips roam over yours has you gasping for air, but he doesn’t relent, hands making a mess of your hair as he hopes you give him the satisfaction he craves for.
He grinds his hips against yours with determination, and you press against him trying to give him what he’s hopelessly looking for. But no matter what you do, he goes in for more, your bodies getting more and more out of sync.
You try to give him what he wants, emitting sounds of a satisfaction you're nowhere near feeling. His mouth moves to the side of your neck, leaving marks you're not sure you want.
The white door, now in your line of sight, calls for your attention. You shouldn’t be thinking about other people while you have a man in between your legs doing everything to feel any type of pleasure. But if the yellow light sneaking below the closed door alerts you of something, is that the person at the back of your mind is probably right there, behind the dangerously thin cardboard the architects of the building call a wall.
“Isn't Mingyu gonna hear?” The choked up question comes out in a whisper, in fear, in panic. And the mention of his name speeds up your heart rate far more than your current activity.
Jungkook barely cares about your worry. “He's gaming.”
You know gaming implies wearing noise canceling headphones and tuning out of the real world. But is he really?
“I don't know, babe, shouldn't we check?” It sounds stupid to even ask. Check? Knock on his door to very politely ask him if he can hear you having sex?
“He's not gonna hear,” Jungkook sighs, finally looking you in the eyes to answer, “and I wouldn't care if he did. He has to know you're mine.”
There's a speck of disdain behind his words, behind the weirdly possessive statement he just made. It leaves you more breathless than ever.
“What are you talking about?” You don't know what kind of egotistical manly fight they have going on, men friendships are not exactly your expertise, but it can't be about something you're aware of.
“Don't tell me you don't see it.” Jungkook hasn't gotten up from on top of you, but his hands on the sides of your waist tighten a bit more after your question.
“I don't know what you mean.” You chuckle in an intent to ease up the newly tense atmosphere. You didn’t mean to make it about him. “He's your friend, you shouldn't be jealous.”
“And you shouldn’t be talking about another man while you're under me.” Jungkook retorts, half angry, half still turned on. It's a weird mix. One that doesn't let you reply to correct yourself.
Jungkook lowers down to your mouth once again, kissing you fervently to make you forget about anyone else. And you decide to let go. He’s here, your bodies tangled together and your loose clothing crumbled up your torsos to feel each other’s skins. You shouldn’t doubt that, in that moment, he wants you.
You drift away into the feeling of his lips against yours, both hands cupping his jaw to relax the hurried pace he’s setting. His hands under your t-shirt feel good, like he knows what he’s doing, like he knows how women like to be touched, and it helps. It helps free your mind of everything else.
Still, you’re careful of the sounds that leave your lips. You let Jungkook’s tongue slip inside and dance with yours, muffling any soft moans you don’t get to restrain. He searches for something, his hips angling with yours to feel some kind of friction. If he keeps moving like that, you’ll be in the mood in no time.
A ringtone coming from the back pocket of Jungkook’s jeans disrupts the quiet setting. You stiffen under him, but he doesn't let his mood come down. You're grateful when he grabs his phone to decline the call and puts it on the end table in a rush, finding your body with his hands once again.
It's like, for the first time, he's prioritizing the time he planned to spend with you. He searches for your touch like nothing happened and you're the only thing he's thinking about.
“Just let it go to voice-mail.” Your hoarse voice surprises you, echoing over a new call. Jungkook doesn’t respond, not stopping the trail of kisses up your neck until your lips are against each other again.
But a call comes in again, and he groans against your mouth, trying to ignore it, letting the default ringtone soundtrack your activities until it stops on its own. It’s awkward, but he doesn’t stop kissing you and wraps your legs around him, trying to make you forget.
By the fourth call, you're both annoyed, and Jungkook reluctantly gets up from on top of you to check who's bothering him so much. The caller gives up just when he gets the phone in his hand, but from the corner of your eye, you catch a glimpse of him opening his texts. You don’t mean to spy on him, not wanting to be a controlling girlfriend that needs to know everything her boyfriend's doing, but it’d be nice to simply… get told.
The clicking sounds of his fingers typing on the small screen of his phone are about to send you straight to a mental hospital. Why's he typing so fast? So insistent? Is he mad? He's not telling you anything, as if he forgot he was just kissing you out of breath.
“Did something happen?” You dare ask, even if deep down, you know the answer is clear as day. You know who’s the only one capable of making him drop everything in a heartbeat. “Is Cathlyn okay?”
“She needs me.” Is all he replies. Cold. Decided.
“What do you mean?” The question manages to mask the anger brewing inside you. For now. But you need an explanation. How many times can you put up with the same situation until you blow up? He can’t expect you to be all right with being stood up constantly.
“Yugyeom broke up with her.” He explains without looking at you, like that’s enough of an excuse.
“She always needs you when you’re with me.” Bitterness bleeds through your mumble. It doesn’t feel good. You should understand that best friends need each other. But why are you never on the receiving end of his undivided attention?
“You can’t expect me not to care when she’s going through something. She’s my best friend. She goes first. Always.”
His words are like a bucket of ice water in the middle of winter. The explicit revelation that his priorities are carved on stone. There's silence as he realizes what he said, and neither of you dare speak up.
Your lungs expand but no air gets inside, and your throat threatens to close as your body prepares to start shedding tears. “Why make plans with me if you're just gonna sprint her way at any sign of trouble?” You can’t stop them. “You’re supposed to be with me.”
Tears cascade down your face, quiet sobs getting in the way of your pathetic pleads. Covering your face from the outside world, you shrink in place, giving in to the crying as Jungkook kneels in front of you.
“Baby, I'm sorry.” His now soft voice barely reaches you over your sobs. “I know I haven't been very present.”
“No, you haven't.” His hands carefully withdraw yours from your probably blotched face.
“I promise you,” Jungkook makes the effort to look you in the eyes, “after this, I’ll be better. I'll make it up to you.”
He tries. But you, convinced or not of his willingness to fulfill the promise, don't want him to leave. It's not about the fight, or the sex, or even him. If he leaves, it cements you as the second option. If it was about winners or losers, you'd lose.
“Stay.” It comes out so quiet you're afraid he didn't hear you.
But he did.
“I can't.”
Silence again. Deafening silence as you look at each other with different thoughts racing through your brains. He decided. There's nothing to be done.
Jungkook takes your hand in his and squeezes it tight in an attempt to bring you comfort. He thinks he's doing the right thing. He thinks he'll be able to nurse his best friend's heart and then come running back to you after.
At your silence, he stands up, reaching for his coat hanging on the hallway before sparing you one last look and heading out.
The soft click of the door closing behind him breaks you a little more inside. The couch, no longer warm with the weight of two bodies, feels empty, too big for you to fill.
Bare, exposed, you let yourself be vulnerable only for him to cut you off and leave you there, with your feelings blurting out of you in the form of tears and sobs. The undecorated walls judge you as you cry your eyes out. Is there something you can do that’ll make him like you more? You already try so hard, you’re just not… her.
When the white door opens to reveal the other man of the house, you're not surprised. Of course he was there, and of course he heard everything. Your luck wouldn't let you escape this situation without throwing a more embarrassing one at your hands.
It took Mingyu all of two seconds to realize what was happening. His headphones in the grip of his hand are proof that he did not want to hear what you two were doing, he just didn’t get to put them on. He may be a bad friend, but he's not one to invade someone's privacy.
That's why it took him a bit more time to decide to step out of his room. Would you let him be there for you? Would you be too embarrassed? You shouldn’t be, he thinks. It’s not your fault.
At one point, he got used to Jungkook abandoning his fleeting girlfriends at the first notification from his best friend that popped up. Mingyu never did anything for the girls, and they usually left after a few minutes. Maybe that's why most of them didn't like him. He didn't care, and they always cut ties with everything Jungkook related after the break up, so why would he?
He shouldn't be doing anything. Caring that you're crying alone in the middle of his living room goes against every rule he imposed onto himself. He should be cleansing his mind of you, stepping away from the weird not-friendship you two developed and going back to focusing on the things that matter. He shouldn’t let you climb up that list.
But as soon as he heard his roommate standing up and leaving, the itch at the back of his brain started screaming at him to do something. How can he step back and do nothing? He can’t be indifferent this time. Unfortunately, he does care. Unfortunately, every sob and quiet sniffle tugs at his heart and urges him to be there for you, to come out and try to be there for you as best he can.
The sight of you, even if it's not something he hadn't seen before, breaks him. Making yourself as little as possible, with your clothes wrinkled and your hair a mess, you let him sit by your side, the cold couch caving under him as he settles at a good enough distance that he’s close enough to feel him beside you, but not sticking to your side inappropriately.
The silence with him is a more understanding one. It’s not the first time he’s seen you cry, but you don’t dare say anything. Is there even something to say? You didn't argue, Jungkook didn't run away angry at you, he didn't tell you he hates you and wishes you were somebody else, yet, you feel as if he did something worse. Empty yet full of self deprecating thoughts you wouldn't voice out to the best psychologist on the planet. You couldn’t tell Mingyu even if you wanted to.
A hand, warm and firm, places just above your knee. It’s soft, careful, an innocent touch to understand that he’s there for you. The gesture is oddly comforting, and you allow yourself to feel everything. The embarrassment, the disappointment, the hurt, knowing Mingyu won't judge you for it.
“It’s not your fault.” Mingyu claims, his voice overpowering your racing thoughts.
Maybe it’s the way he says it so sincerely, but you break down even more. Your hands cover your face once again, bending down until your forehead touches your knees. Mingyu’s hand frees itself from the cage you created. He’s definitely had enough of your crying for the night by now. He tried to help and you repay him by dropping half your weight onto his hand and continue crying? If he leaves too, you wouldn’t blame him.
But he doesn’t leave. Instead, Mingyu wraps his arm around your shoulder and brings you closer to him. “He doesn’t deserve your tears.”
Your heart stops for a second, taking in your closeness and the reason behind it, and what he said about his close friend. Your head lays against Mingyu’s shoulder almost on its own, and he keeps you there, even if your tears start staining his shirt.
“He wasn’t like this before.” Your voice breaks trying to defend the you of the past, and the arm behind you stiffens before you feel his hand hold onto your other shoulder for comfort. “They warned me, and I didn’t listen.”
He shouldn’t be the one to tell you. Mingyu knows that. But you’re so broken, crumbling against him like there’s nothing else you can do, that he almost lets the truth slip out. It’s on the tip of his tongue, the thing that’ll break you even more. But he can’t allow himself to do it.
So, he stays silent, offering a place for you to let out all your feelings. Whatever you need to feel better, even if it’s just a little.
Mingyu doesn’t know how much time passes, or what you’re thinking, but he can feel how your breathing regulates with every second. Eventually, your sniffles become rarer and rarer, you straighten your posture and, unfortunately for him, step away from his hold.
“I’m sorry, I–” You can’t look him in the eyes, taken aback by the realization of what happened, guilt making you trip over your words, “I shouldn’t have–”
Getting up and gathering your things is the only thing you can think of doing. Whatever solace you found in his arms is now gone, replaced by an awkwardness you don’t know how to handle. Mingyu’s eyes bore holes on your back as you pick up your things that fell down when you first entered the apartment without care.
“It’s okay,” Mingyu’s gentle words help you relax, but the need to get out of the apartment is stronger. “You can stay, I don’t want you to leave while being upset.”
“I can’t be here, Mingyu.” You don’t mean to sound so hostile, but everywhere you look is a reminder of how pathetic you just were. It’s pushing you away.
“Is there anything I can do?” Mingyu hovers around you, not wanting to scare you away. He’ll do whatever you ask him to. “Anything.”
“I– I just want to be alone.” You walk yourself to the door, too tired to think about how you feel about everything that happened. Too busy to consider anything else. “I have to get ready for tomorrow.”
“Right, it’s tomorrow.” He’d forgotten about the college thing. Your college thing. He was so busy pretending to mind his own business and hiding from his feelings that he forgot you have your own life too. “You’re gonna do great.”
“Thank you…” Your hand rests on the door handle, hesitating leaving Mingyu after he helped you. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Your lips tight in the best smile you can manage, in an attempt to not seem mad at him.
“We’ll pick you up in the morning.” Mingyu announces, even if he knows you planned to come on your own.
“There’s no need for that.” You let out a sad, airy chuckle that squeezes Mingyu’s heart.
“No, We’ll–” he starts, but corrects himself, “I’ll pick you up. It’s not up to discussion. You, focus on resting.”
Mingyu takes the decision for you and opens the door himself, both of you ignoring the tingling at the touch of your hands. A quiet mumble goodbye is all you manage to say before going for the elevator. And Mingyu stays at the door until he’s sure the elevator’s going down.
The scorching mid-day sun heated the car so much you can’t rest against it. A few feet ahead, the guys stand in line at the convenience store at the gas station, with mainly energy drinks in hand and a few sandwiches. After driving the entire morning, everyone collectively decided to stop for a while for a bit of leg stretching and to recharge for more hours of driving.
It’s been a weird day from the start.
Mingyu picked you up like he promised, and even made sure you didn’t dare take an uber to their home by texting you they were on the way too early in the morning. You were about to open the uber app when he texted.
You barely got any sleep during the night, your brain switching from replaying the evening at Jungkook’s place and revising for the presentation. You rested so little, yet the usually soothing hum of the car isn’t helping you sleep, choosing to focus on everyone’s voice.
Since you opened your eyes, after tossing and turning all night, you didn’t let yourself think about anything that wasn’t the presentation. When to pause, how much to wave your hands in the air. It worked to an extent. But hearing Jungkook sitting by your side making the effort to talk to Cathlyn, who was sitting in the passenger seat while Mingyu was driving, almost made you go insane.
The only reason you’re alone waiting while the rest of them shop is because you insisted. No, you don’t need to go to the bathroom. No, you don’t want anything specific to eat. No, you don’t need to walk it out. Just in need of a little bit of peace. And Jungkook let you be. He’s been pretending nothing happened the previous night, and you’re glad he’s not forcing you to voice out your thoughts.
The bell above the store’s door chimes as everyone leaves altogether. Instinctively, you reach for the passenger’s door, as the idea was for Mingyu and Jungkook to switch seats so Mingyu can take a rest from driving, but a voice reaches you before you get the chance to open the car.
“Is it okay if I stay there?” Cathlyn runs over to you with a pack of chips in hand.
“Shotgun again?” Jungkook appears behind her, a sly smile on his face before he rounds the car to open the trunk.
She giggles at him but turns her attention back to you when she notices your silence and questioning look. “I’m sorry, I just get really dizzy in the backseat.”
Giving up on reality is easier than fighting it. You’re not going to be the one to deny the poor girl who just got broken up with. Sure, sit with your best friend, laugh with him and ignore the rest of the world outside your bubble. Who cares? “Sure, I don’t mind.”
The car is not that small, but with Cathlyn’s friend, who you didn’t know was coming on the trip until you were in front of the car on the street by your building, you end up between her and Mingyu in the backseat.
Feeling him by your side wakes up flashbacks from the previous night. But if before he was warm and comforting, he’s now rigid in place, looking out the window as the car gets back on the road. You don’t know what you expected, or why you feel a hint of disappointment at the pit of your stomach, but there’s nothing you can really do. You aren’t giving him many chances to be friendly with you either.
For a moment, you’re thankful for the cease in conversation, when Jungkook turns up the volume of the radio and random pop hits start entrancing everyone in the car into listening quietly. Cathlyn and her friend, who they call Mel, bob their heads to the song in sync without realizing, and it’s peaceful.
But then, the next song plays, and the two people sitting in the front part of the car collectively gasp. Mingyu shifts on your side, and you know he recognized what they did too.
“This is the song that–” Cathlyn starts, but they both laugh before she can finish explaining.
“He really hated you for that.” The only reason Jungkook’s eyes are on the road is because he’s driving, because if he weren’t, you’re sure he’d be laughing his ass off with Cathlyn.
“He hated me before too!” She slaps his shoulder before erupting into laughter again. “For no reason may I add.”
All three of you in the backseat just stare at them, listening, waiting for one of them to think of telling the anecdote. Your instincts want nothing more than to look at Mingyu, side eye him for a little help, but you fight them.
“What did you do?” Mel asks by your side, trying to get the attention from the party in the front.
“Our history teacher hated her in senior year.” Jungkook looks at Mel through the rear-view mirror. “She argued with him almost every day.”
“I can see her doing that.” While her friend chuckles at the bit of the story, Cathlyn still doesn’t turn around, almost exclusively laughing with Jungkook.
“And he threatened to fail me on the last test we had!”
“I keep telling you, there’s no way he would’ve done that.”
“It seemed like a very real threat to me.”
“So, you had to blast this song outside the classroom?”
“I had to make a show out of it!”
As they keep bickering about their senior year, leaving you out of the fun, the air around you becomes as awkward as ever. Mel’s laughing with them, the only one paying real attention to their jabs at each other. Mingyu, on the other hand, looks down as he plays with his fingers. You’re… bored.
The conversation you’re not a part of doesn’t interest you, the music’s no longer loud enough to help you take your mind off everything, and you have at least two more hours of agony.
So you focus on the cars on the road, the ones you pass, the ones that pass you, the grass, the animals, the farms, until your eyes finally close on their own.
⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄
When you open your eyes again, the car’s slowing down, arriving at the motel that’ll house the five of you for the following days. It’s still bright outside, but the slightly orange tones in the sky and your stomach growling indicate the beginning of the evening.
A familiar hard surface below your temple holds your head in place. When exactly you fell asleep is the first question that pops up in your head. The second one answers itself quickly.
“We’re here.” Mingyu’s low voice accompanies his soft grip just above your knee, with a little reminder of the last time it was there.
As you lift your head and stretch your neck until it pops, it hits you. You fell asleep on Mingyu’s shoulder. A whole two hours where you bothered him, again. Made him take care of you, again.
“You should’ve woken me up.” Mingyu shakes his head at your intent of an apology, but you interrupt him before he speaks up, “I’m sure you were uncomfortable.”
“Really, I didn’t mind.” In the background, Cathlyn and Mel excuse themselves out of the car to look for their room in a rush. “I can wash all the drool off my shirt just fine.”
“I do not drool.” The way he chuckles compels you to join him. It’s easy, and the first time you even smiled in the day.
The door to the driver’s seat shuts closed with force, and both you and Mingyu scurry to get out of the car as soon as possible.
You don’t miss the way Jungkook studies you as he hands each of you your bags from the trunk. Cold as ice, he stays silent when Mingyu excuses himself to find their shared room.
“If your plan’s to make me jealous, that’s not gonna cut it.” Jungkook’s voice surprises you from behind, and the frown he wears on his face accompanies the angry tone.
“I didn’t plan anything.” He doesn’t speak to you the whole trip, and now he has the audacity to be mad at you? “But by the looks of it, whatever you think I did, it clearly worked.”
“Already looking for a rebound?” He follows behind you to the entrance of the motel.
“Jungkook, I don’t have time for this.”
You have hours and hours of practice ahead of you, and they might not be enough for your talk to be perfect. He knows the congress is a big deal to you, or at least he should. You can’t be thinking about anything else. Not about him. Not about your relationship with him. Not about Mingyu.
“Are you planning to break up with me?” You’ve never heard him talk like this before. He doesn’t sound hurt, just angry, jealous.
You scoff. “If you keep being an asshole, I might.” The answer blurts out without checking with your brain first. He didn’t expect you to say something back. You didn’t either.
“Fine.” Jungkook crosses his arms, waiting for you to say the words you’re not even sure you want to utter. “Do it.”
“Look, I can’t deal with this right now.” You take a deep breath, trying to think clearly, to not do anything impulsively. “You’re mad and I’m stressed. It’s not the best time.”
“Are you saying you’ll do it tomorrow?”
“What? I’m not saying anything, Jungkook, stop.” Your bag’s heavy on your shoulder as you rack your brain for anything to help you out of this. “Why don’t we take the night off, I’ll practice for tomorrow, you can relax after all the driving, and we’ll have a proper talk tomorrow. Okay?”
Jungkook huffs, mumbling something close to a ‘fine then, bye’ before storming off.
The back of your throat feels dry and hoarse from the hours of speech practice. How to modulate correctly, how to make your voice bigger. It takes a toll on you.
When you and your friends planned to do the finishing touches the night before the congress, none of you thought you’d be trapped in a tiny motel room for hours, tweaking the words to seem more professional, timing yourselves to fit in the 15 minute time slot, and even going as far as to plan when and how to look at the screen behind you.
Your stomach growls incessantly. You haven’t had anything to eat in hours, besides the simple dinner the three of you had after setting up in your rooms. Seeing every one of you is tired, the girls don’t stop you when you get up and leave the room in search of a vending machine.
Somehow, the balcony has better lighting than your hallway, and you spot a big vending machine just outside your hallway. Picking a snack is not hard when your tummy begs for anything, so you grab the random chip bag you picked and begin to head back when you hear a loud thud and a curse coming from the next hallway.
Judging by which hallway you’re walking into, and the sheer size of the person bending over in pain in front of their door, it’s Mingyu.
“Are you okay?” You rush to help him in any way you can.
Mingyu’s head shoots your way and he curses again. “Shit, it’s you, hi, yeah.” He grunts in between words and tries to stand up straight. “I closed the door right in my hand. It’s no big deal, really. Go rest for tomorrow.”
Even from afar, you could see the sweat stains on the back of his sleeveless t-shirt. His shallow breathing and sweat dripping down his hair and face welcome you as you reach him. It's a sight. His skin glistening under the white hallway lights catches your attention a second longer than it should before it goes back to the cause of his pain.
“You’re bleeding!” Taking a closer look at the hand he’s holding, you see a growing red bubble right under the ring finger’s nail. “Let’s get you inside.”
“You don’t have to–”
“Shut up and go put your hand under running cold water.” After he’s helped you so many times, the least you can do is google what to do when someone has a bubble of blood growing under their nail.
The empty room catches your attention as you read the quick answers your search pulled up. “Jungkook’s not here?”
Looking over to the open bathroom door, Mingyu’s hand is under the running tap like you instructed, but he’s staring at you with an indecipherable look in his eyes. He must know about the fight you two had.
“He went out with some friends that came here too.” He answers before giving up and drying his hand. “It’s not clearing out.”
You should be used to him sitting closely by your side. Your breath shouldn’t quicken and your hands shouldn’t sweat as the bed creaks below him. Actually, you need to stop getting into situations where Mingyu needs to sit beside you. But you can’t help it.
Maybe focusing on his minor injury can help your body relax. “Okay, so, google says it should go away on its own in like… two or three days.” Even if there’s so many questions you have for him that you avoided all day, it’s not the time.
“I'll have to stay with a blood bubble on my finger for days?” His threatening pout lifts your mood quickly.
You chuckle, taking his hand in yours once again. “Does it hurt?” Mingyu shakes his head with a small smile growing in his face, letting you have your way.
Now that he’s calmer than when you found him outside, his fingers relax in your hold as you look for any bruises. His hand that held you and comforted you one too many times, now being taken care of by you. Rushes of warm blood follow where your skin meets his, even the lightest of touches aren't free of his effect on you.
“Why didn’t you go with them?” Your mouth betrays you once again, voicing out your thoughts instead of getting through the silence. “Your friends.”
“Didn’t feel like it.” His answer is simple. And you wish it was enough to satiate your curiosity, but you simply can't stop asking questions.
“Nothing more?” You don't know what you expect him to answer. Maybe you're just looking for excuses to keep talking to him, to stay in the momentary bubble that surrounds you every time you’re with him.
“I haven't been… liking him much lately.”
Mingyu's careful with his choice of words. Still believing it’s not his place to talk about what goes on in Jungkook’s life, he can’t not be honest with you, not when you’re so close to him he’s sure you can read every expression on his face.
A drop of sweat drips down the side of his face, training your eyes to follow its way down until it dampens the side of his mouth.
“You're best friends.” A remainder, more to yourself than to him.
“Doesn't mean I have to agree with everything he does.”
Mingyu hopes you understand the meaning behind his words.
You hope he doesn't notice the way your eyes stayed too long on his moving lips before going back to his eyes.
You both hope for things you can't voice out, charging the little space between your stares with electricity. With his hand forgotten in your hold, reading his expression becomes your main task.
None of you dare move, and you know, somehow, that he's waiting for you to do something –anything. What you don't know is what you want.
Your phone chimes in your back pocket just when you part your lips to speak. There's a millisecond, barely noticeable to anyone who wasn't watching Mingyu's gaze closely, where his eyes drift down your face. With your lips dry at his attention, you break the spell, letting go of his hand to reach for your phone.
Nayeon asks where you disappeared to, and sends a long chain of suspecting emojis when you tell her who you’re with.
“I–I have to get back.” Getting up from the weak motel bed in a flash, Mingyu's eyes follow you to the door. “Sorry for taking up your time.”
“You gotta stop with that.” He stops you in your tracks, with a soft grip on your wrist to turn you back to him.
“Stop talking like you're a bother.” He doesn't let you dismiss him. “You don't bother me. I wouldn't spend time with you if you did.”
“You didn't use to like me. And now you pity me, that's why you spend time with me.” Even if you'd like to believe otherwise.
“That's not true.” He doesn't let go of you, and you stop aiming to get out the door. “I don't pity you.”
“You never talked to me until you caught me crying that day.” Your head tilts, trying not to seem so serious with your counter argument.
Another text comes through your phone. You shouldn't be wasting time on such an important night. But is it really wasted time if you're spending it with him?
“It wasn't about you.” Mingyu reveals, but it doesn't really clear up your doubts. “I don't like getting to know people I'm not sure will stick around.”
“So, it's true.” You bring your arm out of his grip, a way to protect yourself. “I wasn't supposed to last this long.”
“Look. It's not my place, and I've already gotten too involved.” Mingyu's words fly over you, choosing not to overthink what he means. “Jungkook's shit is Jungkook’s shit, but you can decide what to do too. Don't wait for him to make a decision for you.”
“I'm capable of making my own decisions, Mingyu.” You say, convinced but weary of his tone.
“I know you are. He doesn't.”
The silence is striking, breathtaking, heartstopping. Words don't come up in your brain, an infinite echo of Mingyu's remark rendering you incapable of following a simple order.
“See you tomorrow.” You can only offer him a small smile before finally leaving the room full of him.
The applause almost breaks you down. You can finally take a deep breath. The thing you’ve been preparing for weeks, taking up most of your sleep time and raising the bar for how much stress you can handle, is finally done.
Well, not completely. Your speech is done, yes, but the time for questions begins. Jennie and Nayeon answer everything swiftly as your eyes scan the room for any known faces. You finished the presentation and you can barely catch your breath as your heart tries to slow down, so they take on the most annoying part of the job.
From across the room, behind the people eager to ask their questions with their hands in the air or attentively listen to your friends’ responses, the tall man only looking at you makes your heart stop.
Was he there the whole time? When you speak in a room full of people, you tend to disappear into your own mind, barely registering what surrounds you until your time’s up. He could've just got here, but deep down you know he didn’t. Deep down, you know he’s been there since the start, supporting you without your knowledge.
As a hand on your shoulder starts gently dragging you away from the stand, splitting the way between your connected stares, a sense of accomplishment washes over you. You're done, you can carry on with your life.
In the hallway just outside where you just spent the most stressful hours of your life, you can hear the next group beginning their presentation, one that luckily you’re not required to be present for. Perks of being in the line up.
Getting out the other door, Mingyu searches for you and finds you walking over to him with the biggest smile adorning your face.
“What did you think?” Your friends’ giggles make it to your ears from behind. Merging the constant teasing you’re the victim of with their infatuation with Mingyu is dangerous, but there really is only one thing in your mind now.
“You talked really well.” The highlight of every word as his eyebrows wiggle with confusion lights a warmth in your belly that spreads across your body into a chuckle.
“You didn’t understand a thing, did you?”
“I didn’t.” It’s his chuckle, and his smile, and his eyes glimmering, and his chin tilted down to get a better look at you.
Have you ever felt this way before? Easy under someone’s gaze, unafraid of making them feel less intelligent. He’s… genuinely happy for you. Out of all the presentations in the schedule, your subject matter was the least close to his field, yet he chose to listen to your sociology lesson.
“Thank you for coming.” You say before the magic fades. “You–you didn’t have to.”
“I didn’t want to miss it.” He’s the most genuine he can possibly be.
Mingyu undoubtedly, and selfishly, cares about you. From the sidelines, he saw you getting the opportunity, the toll the preparations were taking on you. He wasn’t going to skip one of the biggest moments of your life after seeing you struggle for so long.
“That makes one of you.” You don’t mean it to sound as spiteful, but the sour taste in your mouth as you realize who isn’t present triggers the resentful tone. “Anyway, I’m not gonna let some asshole ruin my day! We’re going to celebrate with the girls and some guys I have no idea how they managed to make friends with, do you want to come?”
Mingyu doesn't think about what you mean behind your invitation. “Sure, if you want me there.” He’d jump at any chance he got to spend time with you.
Ever since that night at the pool bar, Mingyu never forgot your willingness to not let one bad moment overshadow an otherwise enjoyable day. A quality he could learn from. That’s why, he also can’t forget about the moments he comforted you, when everything became so overwhelming you had no choice but to let it all out.
“Let’s go then!” Your hand aims to stretch back for him to take, but the little angel on your shoulder wins this round, and you just walk out the hall with Mingyu following you, hand hanging cold by your side.
The evening sky greets you on the outside world, and the fresh air filling your lungs after being trapped inside the suffocating new college is very welcomed by your body.
Following your friends wherever they go, letting them choose which bar or club to go celebrate, you can only smile and silently walk behind them. Mingyu’s towering presence occupies the space to your right. He’s also silent, admiring the new city, letting you have the unspeaking moment you need.
It’s not long before you’re getting into a club with flashing colored lights and loud pop music coming out of the speakers. The sense of accomplishment embodies you whole. One less thing to worry about, one less thing weighing you down. You won't let anyone take the freedom from you.
It’s a carefree night. You let yourself be dragged to the packed dance floor, your friends leading the way amidst all the bodies crowding as they dance out of sync.
Being drunk could never compare to the happiness you feel as you join everyone dancing. You allow the music to take over you, with your hips and limbs coordinating to the rhythm of each song playing, blending into the sea of people.
You don't know when, you don't care how, and with no will to stop, you and Mingyu drift towards each other, the little space and dim atmosphere making it easy to hide everything wrong with what you're doing.
“You're happy.” Mingyu leans down to say to your ear. The only way you could hear him over all the noise.
“I am!” You don't fight the smile growing in your lips, focusing on the way Mingyu's eyes scan your face under the blue lights.
This time, the battle between the little angel and the devil dictating your choices ends with the victory of the mischievous voice that tells you to inch closer to Mingyu.
With the excuse of the loud music, you stand on your tiptoes to reach the side of his face, your lips grazing his ear as you say, “I'm glad you came.”
His hands steady you in place before you lose your balance, holding onto your hips and keeping you in place.
You should swat his hands away. He should stand back from the girl who isn't his. The tension sizzles from the tip of his fingers barely dipping into a bit of uncovered skin and up your body until your chest tightens.
“I'm sure you'd want someone else here.” Even with the scandalous meaning behind his words, you don't ignore the light teasing tone he purposely uses.
“I'm not thinking about him right now.” His eyes search for yours, finding only truth in them.
The people surrounding you, unscrupulously dancing against each other and paying you no mind, sway your bodies from side to side. Neither of you make a move to separate, letting the pushing crowd be the excuse for your closeness. You have the urge to wrap your arms around his neck, but you fight it. Maybe if he was something else, you would.
But the universe would never let you be this careless without some karma waiting for you.
When your gaze reluctantly disconnects from Mingyu's in search for your friends, the sight of two familiar people catches your attention a few meters to the side. You should've known he was with her. That he'd choose her over you even for this.
They're just dancing, and you can't complain about it because you're currently in the arms of another man too. It's just… different.
Your hands find Mingyu's still on your sides, grabbing them softly to get them off you as your eyes go from the scene you just witnessed to him and then back. Of course, he gets it immediately.
“I can talk to him.” Mingyu has this instinct now, to shield you from having a bad time.
“No, I'll do it. I have a few things in mind to say.” While you appreciate him wanting to help, it’s something you have to do on your own. You can’t shield behind Mingyu any longer.
Making the sacrifice of looking like a psychotic girlfriend, the adrenaline moves your legs forward, no time to think further about what you’re about to do. They don’t see you coming, they probably didn’t even see you with Mingyu before, too sucked into their bubble to notice other people.
“Jungkook.” His shocked expression just confirms your theory. He notices you’re mad quickly, but the wheels turning in his mind, failing to find the reason for your anger, are so visible you can’t control your mouth. “Glad to see you’re having fun.”
“Hi, babe! I didn’t—see you come in!” He leans into the wall behind him for support, body as stiff as ever. “Having a good time?”
“Are you kidding me?” Admittedly, you’re raising your voice a few decibels over the necessary amount, but you’ve never cared less about drawing attention than at this moment. “You really forgot, huh?”
Only then, Jungkook realizes he messed up. It’s not normal to see you angry, especially not at him. “Let’s talk outside, okay? It’s quieter.”
You catch his eyes going back to Cathlyn before he places a hand on your lower back to direct you to the door. Astonishing, really.
“You could make it less obvious, at least.” The harsh cold night wind slaps you even more awake. “I’m not stupid, Jungkook.”
You’re not dressed to be standing outside on the street at this hour. The city’s too windy, making you shiver as if it was the middle of winter. You don’t want to look weak in Jungkook’s eyes, you need to look like you stand your ground. The cold is a mental state anyway, you can fight it.
“You’re not, babe, but what are you talking about? What are you doing here?” His cluelessness does everything but help his situation.
“We’re celebrating that our presentation was a success.” At the news, everything clicks in Jungkook’s mind.
“It was today.” Jungkook reminds himself out loud.
“Of course it was today! Why else do you think we drove all this way?” He has to be a special kind of disengaged and disinterested to selectively wipe his memory like this, you think.
“I’m sorry, baby! So much happened today, and I thought you didn’t want to see me after last night.”
“Don’t use one fight as an excuse. You forgot or you didn’t care. Either way, this was important to me and you didn’t come.”
People passing you on the street side eye the scene you’re making. Jungkook seems to care about being judged, taking in account the way his eyes widen at every raise of your voice.
At his silence, you keep going. “What did Cathlyn fucking need this time? What could have possibly been more important than your girlfriend?” It feels pathetic to call yourself that.
“You have to understand,” his voice becomes tense at the utterance of her name, “she’s my best friend. She means everything to me.”
You’re positive she’s listening to all of this. Hiding behind the club’s door waiting for the chance to come out and comfort her oh so dear best friend. It’s not her fault, but it’s hard not to grow an ill feeling thinking about her.
“Don’t I mean anything? Why get into a relationship with me if you won’t take it seriously? If you’re in love with someone else?”
It’s hard to form an articulated sentence when the anger and the sadness spar in your mind. It’s hard not to feel desperate, a pitiful attempt at making a careless man care about you.
Your gaze trains on the floor, tuning out Jungkook’s lame excuses and not truthful apologies. Without looking at him, and with only the grey sidewalk on sight, it’s like you can think clearly for the first time.
“I’m sorry, baby, I promise I’ll make it up to you.” It’s just a moment where you let his words register, and it’s the last thing you need to decide.
“No. You won’t.”
Jungkook shuts up instantly. Your gaze doesn’t falter this time, locking into his with your best poker face. You can see every thought passing through his mind, every little reaction he fights to show. He analyzes your expression, looking for another meaning, for any sign that you don’t mean what you said.
“I promise I will, baby, c’mon.”
The thing is, after so many promises, those words coming out of his mouth become meaningless. They’re just empty words he uses to get you to forgive him, he’s not being truthful, he’s just begging so he can feel better with himself.
“No! You won’t! That was your last chance.” It gets clearer and clearer to him what you’re saying.
You shouldn't have been silently enduring the scraps of his attention he was giving you. Waiting for your growing feelings to be reciprocated by someone who doesn’t respect you. Those feelings, however big or small —you’re not sure, quickly started dissipating at the realization that he simply didn’t care. It wasn’t his memory, or his busy schedule, it was the lack of intention. Care and intention he always showed to someone else.
“Babe…” He sounds like he gave up too, one last pity attempt you know he doesn’t mean.
“We’re done. You never wanted to be with me, and I certainly don’t want to be with you anymore.”
When you start walking away, Jungkook doesn’t stop you, standing where you left him with his eyes lost to the ghostly street.
Realizing the burden he’s been on your life and letting it go finally lets you see clearly. Your night might’ve been ruined, but you’re liberated from that pain. You’re not happy, but you’re not sad either, just walking forward, a new future ahead.
You’ve walked almost two whole blocks, the motel a half block away, when the sound of rushed steps chasing you alerts you. You didn’t think anyone would be coming after you, but you realize who it is right when the figure appears in your line of sight.
“Are you okay?” Mingyu’s breathless, slowing his pace to match yours. He definitely heard everything that happened.
“Yeah, I think so.” Even if you sound convinced, he stays walking with you.
“I’ll walk you inside.” He doesn’t look back, deciding on what to do. But you know he should be making sure his friend is okay. You guess he is, though.
“I'll be fine. You can stay with—”
“I want to make sure you’re okay.” Mingyu interrupts you before you can say the other’s name. “I don't care about him right now.”
Your heart stops for a moment before your brain catches up. All those times Jungkook left you and Mingyu came right to the rescue, when he got annoyed at them in the pool bar, or admitting he didn’t like what Jungkook was “choosing”. Of course he has to know how his best friend and roommate feels about everyone.
“You knew it all this time.” He doesn’t look at you, staring at the distance as he listens closely. “That he’s in love with her.”
“I didn't want to be the one to tell you.”
Your room door’s just one step away now, but you still stop in your tracks at his words. You never thought of his silence as his way to shield you from the truth. You never thought that the initial pity he took on you —even if he denies it, came from a place of hiding something from you.
“He was in love with somebody else while being with me! That’s the kind of thing you need to tell me!” Luckily, the hallway is completely deserted at this hour. You wouldn’t want to make another scene. You’re more aware of everything now, free but raw, as if anything could scar you.
“It wasn't my place!” For a second you understand Mingyu. Imagining him even implying it hurts more than realizing the truth yourself. But it still hurts. You trusted him with your most vulnerable moments, and all that time he hid that he knew the real cause for that pain. “And don't act like you didn't know it too.”
Mingyu’s harsh comment feels like a punch in the gut. There’s no malice in his tone, you’ve come to know him and his tendency to be too direct sometimes, it was just unexpected this time.
But he is right. There were signs everywhere for you to see, signs you turned a blind eye to. It was a thought that often crossed the back of your mind, but you dismissed it before you could think about it further. You were stupid to think you were paranoid and it meant nothing.
“Stop.” You realize you weren't looking at him and shoot your gaze up. “I know what you’re thinking. Don’t blame yourself. He’s the asshole and you’re not at fault for believing him.”
“But I shouldn’t have. I thought I was smarter than that, turns out I’m just dumb.” You want to curl up in bed, hide from the judging outside world and forget all about Jungkook and the past few weeks. But not all of it.
“He’s the dumb one for not seeing how great you are.” Mingyu's hand on your shoulder manages to comfort you enough to hold off on the tears. “Are you okay? About breaking it off?”
“I know it was the right choice for me. But I have to assimilate it, I think. Sleep it off”
Mingyu nods in acknowledgement as your hand reaches for the doorknob. As if that was your way of ending the conversation, he turns his body to head out the grimy hallway, because he knows what’s next. You’ll cut off everything related to your now ex, a pack of memories in which he himself is included. This is why he shouldn’t have gotten involved with you. There’s no way you’ll want to be in touch with him after everything.
“Mingyu.” It’s your voice that makes him turn around. Even considering how heartbroken you must be, there’s a slight grin on your face as you think about what to say next. “I didn’t say I wanted to be alone.”
His heart accelerates as if it was miles ahead of the thought process his brain is having a hard time catching up with. Still, beyond whatever he wants and feels, he knows you need some time to think clearly, someone to be there for you regardless of feelings.
At his hesitation, you open the door and look back at him as you enter. It’s a clear invitation, one he accepts immediately.
After closing the door behind him, the unmade bed calls his name and he sits at the edge to take his shoes off as you begin your night routine in front of the bathroom mirror.
“I’m curious about something.” You look cute smothering moisturizing cream all across your face, Mingyu thinks. “Do you think she likes him back?”
He finds it in himself to chuckle. “Do you really want to talk about that right now?”
“Look, I won’t be sad about it if I can turn it into a gossip session later. It’s my way of getting over things, so please just indulge me this time.”
You’re looking at him as you tap your face with the pads of your fingers. Mingyu doesn’t see an ounce of sadness in your expression, instead, you’re very serious with what you’re asking. And he won’t argue with that logic, if that’s what it takes to help you forget and spend more time with you.
“She never told me anything.” Your half closed eyes and head turned to the side signal Mingyu to keep talking. “If he confessed, I think she could like him back. They already act like a couple anyway.”
Mingyu realizes he went too far. You don’t say anything, but your shoulders slouch before you grab your pajamas from the nightstand and lock yourself in the bathroom. That was definitely not what you wanted to hear. Shit.
“I hope they can finally realize they’re idiots.” When the door opens to reveal the loose but all too revealing clothes barely covering your body, Mingyu can almost hear all the air in his lungs escaping at once. “Are you getting in bed?”
Maybe it’s his mind playing sick games with him. You can’t possibly be asking him to slip under the covers with you and be calm about it. There’s a lot of things he can calmly face up to. The idea of laying down so close to the person who’s been making a mess of his every thought is not one of those.
Still, he follows suit with your not so indirect invite. He doesn’t want to make assumptions about you, about the situation, or about what you want, so he lets you take the lead for tonight. Trusting that you’ll show him what you need and believing that he can give it to you.
The both of you lay awkwardly side by side, facing the ceiling deep in thought. Only the breathing sounds and the way your arm grazes against his keep Mingyu’s senses in check. He feels like a highschooler having his first conversation with his crush. He can no longer be the cool, calm self he praised himself to be. So, he resorts to silence.
“Was he always like that? Ending relationships after realizing it’s not what he wants?” You turn in your place, facing him with those doe eyes of yours that always make him fold.
“If it makes you feel any better, I think it’s the girls that break up with him.” He mirrors your position, feeling better at the entire situation when he sees your smile at his comment.
“Good for them.”
There’s something in your gaze that makes Mingyu question if it’s worth it to be loyal to his friend. Though that moral code must’ve been broken already, there’s still a line, no matter how thin, he hasn’t crossed yet. Emphasis on ‘he’, because he can never be sure what’s your next move.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” He dares to ask again.
Mingyu’s hyper aware of how close you are. How you shift a bit closer to him as you think your answer. He thought the clothes he was wearing were okay to sleep in, but his bodily temperature keeps rising at the thought of you.
“I still feel a bit stupid.” He can’t stand hearing you talk about yourself like that, but he doesn’t get to argue. You shut his mouth closed, placing your index finger on the center of his lips before he can utter a word. A touch so innocent he immediately feels bad at how electrifying it felt. “My friends warned me that his relationships never lasted. And I guess I wanted to see it for myself. Have the empirical data, if you will.”
He sees your gaze go down from his eyes, and your hand goes down with it to whatever caught your attention. He swallows hard, waiting for just one signal. The chain around his neck tugs at the back, and he realizes you’re inspecting the little charm hanging from it.
“It’s not like I was in love with him.” Every word you say feels like fire on his end. “He was fun at first. That’s what I liked about him.”
You play with Mingyu’s chain like it’s second nature. Like you don’t realize your hand’s dangerously close to his chest, about to feel the beating of his heart growing stronger each second.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” That makes your eyes go up again, eyelashes fluttering so close he could count each one of them.
“I get why you didn’t, you’re a good friend. And I think it was better for me to realize on my own, if that makes you feel any better.” The smile that grows on him matches yours perfectly.
“I don’t know how much of a good friend I am anymore.” The honesty slips out of him under your scanning stare. “I’m here after all, aren’t I?”
Mingyu should feel guilty. He left the bar to go after you without so much of a second thought, leaving his supposed best friend to deal with everything on his own. That’s how much he cares about you. His need for you overflows into every area of his life, making the guilt disappear into the stream of things that don’t matter. You’re not taken anymore. And, deep down, he knows Jungkook’s going to be fine. He doesn’t care about you even a fraction of how much Mingyu does.
He’s still deep in thought when he feels your hand going up the side of his jaw. Your icy fingers contrast against his fiery skin, driving him to lean into your touch. He’d close his eyes and let you do anything you wanted if it wasn’t for the intoxicating force of your gaze.
The irrational part of his brain doesn’t let him stop you as your face gets closer so his. You’re slowly testing the waters, seeing if he’ll back down, but Mingyu’s quicker, and leans down the last millimeters to finally connect.
Your lips melt against his with a soft sigh, and everything stills for a moment. Enveloped with the tenderness of your touch, he feels you hazily pressing further against him, unsurely yearning for more.
But the rational part of his brain, the one that tugs on the last strand of morale he has, retrieves his head from your electrifying kiss.
“We shouldn’t—” Mingyu regrets it instantly at the sight of your saddened eyes. But he knows it’s for the best. He couldn’t live with himself if you weren’t sure.
“You don’t want to?” The way your hand flies away from his personal space almost makes him take it and put it back where it belongs.
“I do.” He sounds desperate. He needs you to understand. “But you should see how you feel when you have a clear mind.”
A thousand thoughts rush through your mind, visibly turning your expression soft again. Mingyu offers his arm for you to lay on, the most outlandish peace offering he can make without losing his mind first.
“Okay.” Your soft voice reverberates up his arm as you lay your head on his relaxed bicep. “Do you want to leave?”
He couldn't begin to imagine any dimension in the multiverse where he'd choose to stay away from the featheriness of your skin against his. “Do you want me to leave?”
“I asked you first.” Your light chuckle heals the worry beginning to creep up on Mingyu. In the future, he'll make sure you never doubt him again.
“I don't want to leave.”
The way your smile keeps making a blank slate of his brain should worry Mingyu. But he's never felt this way before, and if there's a chance, however big or small, that you could feel the same way, he won't go back.
“And I want you to stay.”
The morning sun rays bleed through the flimsy curtain, illuminating the otherwise plain motel room in a golden light. You feel warm all around, wrapped in Mingyu’s arms instead of the bedsheets that sometime along the night seem to have fallen to the floor.
But even in the confinement of Mingyu’s backhug, you feel free. What has been dragging your spirit through the floor finally cut from your life. The previous night’s events faded to a distant memory as soon as you laid your head in Mingyu’s chest and drifted to the best sleep you’ve had in weeks.
You don’t dare turn in his hold, afraid to wake him up and make him face the day. That’s the one thing you haven’t been able to dust off since you opened your eyes. The guilt.
Maybe for you, cutting Jungkook out of your life was the best decision, but Mingyu was his friend first, and last night, for whatever reason, he chose you. He chose to comfort the whiny girl that dumped his boyfriend instead of his best friend since they were in the womb.
The morning with him feels like sunrises on the beach, like a warm cup of coffee on the coldest day, like being trapped in an infinite bear hug. It feels like hope. And the guilt from wanting it all could consume you whole just like the need for him.
Mingyu must have mind reading superpowers, because his arms tighten around you before the guilt overwhelms you, easily forgetting it all at the feeling of his breath on your neck.
Neither of you say anything, sharing the comfortable silence, relishing being in each other’s arms. You don’t stop him when he tangles his legs with yours, feeling him everywhere from head to toe. You let your hands caress his forearms as they drift dangerously close to your lower belly.
It’s wrong. It’s definitely wrong on some moral level. Borderline evil even. It’s too soon, and you need to understand what you’re feeling before moving forward with whatever this is. This that feels so nice, so right, but so wrong.
Mingyu doesn’t seem to be having the same moral dilemma that’s running around your mind anymore. The hardness you feel pressing against your inner thigh followed by a gasp that spreads goosebumps all across your back confirming your theory.
In the morning haze, in the limbo between days where time doesn’t run and actions don’t have consequences, you give into his infectious desire. The agreement you made the night before flying out the window as soon as a fire ignites all across your body.
You purposely grind against him, the indecent action causing your face to feel even warmer. A low moan gets caught in Mingyu’s throat at the feeling of your ass against his morning wood, one hand gripping your hip to keep you in place.
“What are you doing?” His raspy voice sends another fire down your body, making you squirm in his grip.
“Nothing.” You feign innocence, pretending to straighten your posture but ultimately pressing yourself harder against his chest. “You don't like it?”
The space between your bodies is crushed impossibly tighter until all you can feel are his muscles tensing in his search for you. The barrier you left standing the night before, demolished with little care as he sighs to your ear.
“It's not that, princess,” every bit of skin Mingyu touches works like a button to make you need him more and more, “we should wait.”
You'd agree with him if it wasn't for the elastic of your sleeping shorts stretching to fit his wandering hand. It’s a timid action, one that contradicts his words but only gets encouraged by your gasp. These aren’t the hands that held you close when you were broken, no, these are the ones that felt you shiver pretending to teach you to play pool, the ones that pushed you against him in the dimness of the club. The ones you crave with your whole body.
At your reaction, he drifts further down, playing with the hem of your panties so painfully slow the grip of your hand on his forearm grows stronger with each second he doesn't fully touch you. His lips graze your shoulder, trying to contain himself from kissing every inch he can reach.
When he flattens on your pelvis, pressing you against his faltering hips, you swear your whimper drives him to not so innocently thrust behind you. The room is impossibly hot, but you don’t care, nothing matters other than your need to feel him inside.
Your mouth opens, hoping to work enough to plead for him, but a loud knock on your door startles you both out of the embrace.
If the earth it’s going to swallow you at any point in life, you hope it’s right then and there. Your panties are uncomfortably sticky as your embarrassed gaze connects with Mingyu, the both of you speechless with guilt. The most awkward second ever before another knock echoes into the room.
“Tell Jennie I’ll be out in a second? I promised her we’d go out for breakfast together.”
The embarrassment doesn’t let you look at him a second longer before you lock yourself in the bathroom. Maybe a splash of cold water on your face can help you not look like you just got cockblocked.
⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄
However Mingyu thought his morning would go, the reality was far from his imagination, though it felt far better. He wouldn't mind waking up next to you again, heating up your skin with his touch until you whimper for him.
The sight of you, just woken up and shy at the boldness of what you just did, puts a sheepish smirk on his face. He almost forgets the wrongness of everything. But the decision he made, selfish and long forgotten, quickly comes back to bite him in the ass as he opens the door.
“Wow, this is a nice sight!” Jungkook's face morphs into sarcastic shock as the door reveals a disheveled Mingyu.
“What are you doing here?” In all honesty, Mingyu didn’t think about his friend last night, deep down knowing he wasn’t going to be hurt for long.
“Are you her bodyguard now? I just want to talk about last night.” Jungkook attempts to take half a step into your room, but Mingyu immediately blocks the door.
“It’s not the time to get in my way, man.” The baseless threat doesn’t make Mingyu budge in the slightest, which pisses Jungkook off. The man’s eyes widen after scanning the state of the room. “Did you fuck her?”
“What?” Mingyu can't believe what he's hearing.
“I asked, Did. You. Fuck. Her?” Speaking each word with clenched teeth, Jungkook's voice bleeds anger.
“Why do you care?”
Jungkook barely lets him finish his question. “So you fucked her.”
The crude language puts a bitter taste in Mingyu's mouth. As if only the sex mattered and not everything else. Not that he comforted you at your weakest, that you opened up your heart to him, that you kissed him so softly he almost passed out. Mingyu can only hope the bathroom door miraculously becomes soundproof.
“Don't pretend to care about her now.” Never in his life has he talked to Jungkook this way, always afraid of what could happen to their friendship if he tried to put some sense into him. Then again, his actions never hurt someone Mingyu actually cared about.
“I bet you couldn’t wait for me to dump her.” The words spit out of Jungkook’s mouth like acid. “Eager to take on my leftovers.”
“Dude, I get that you're mad, but you're getting out of line.” The peacemaker in Mingyu takes over —it’s either that or a punch in the face, and tries to get his friend back in the hallway.
“I’m not mad!” He gasps with a hand to his chest. “Just shocked, that's all. Didn’t even let a day pass.” Venom coats every word he says, justifiably betrayed by the one friend he thought he could always count with.
“I didn’t mean for it to come to this,” Mingyu admits quietly, “I wasn’t supposed to care.”
There’s nothing as Jungkook processes those words. A tense second that becomes an infinite one, a void sucking every apology out of his mouth. Mingyu would pay millions to know what’s going on in his friend’s head. He could always tell what he was feeling even when he shut everyone off. But he was never the one causing his anger.
“I can g—”
“I’ll take the bus home with Cathy.” Is all Jungkook says.
His blank face waits for Mingyu to nod before walking away with no second thoughts. Out of the million outcomes he thought for this conversation, Mingyu never thought he’d be the one left speechless. But they both clearly need some time alone before going back to being roommates, before talking like two grown adults and resolving this.
It’s the sound of a door closing just meters behind him that takes him back to the room, your room.
Mingyu doesn’t know what to do to shield you from the hurt. He’s tired of simply being there to comfort you in the aftermath. He can’t stand the sight before him, your lips turn downwards trying to get a hold of your feelings. He can see it all, the process of all the emotions going through your brain, until your face settles to a serious expression.
“I’m sorry you had to hear that.” Mingyu stays at the threshold of the door, not sure if you’d still want him as company.
“Don’t be. I’m glad I did.” You stay put in place, half a step from the messy bed, looking everywhere but at him. “At least I don’t have to feel guilty anymore.”
Guilt. That’s what he noticed when he gained consciousness and felt you tense in his hold. “About what happened earlier—”
“I’m sorry about that,” you interrupt him in his hesitation, “you said you didn’t want to and I crossed the line.”
“It’s not—” Your lips part in surprise as your eyes fly to his. “I—shit, I don’t want you to think I’m only being nice for something in return.”
“You should be glad I don’t think of you that way.” It’s a weird feel of rejection, the one in your heart as you start picking up your things. A man says he doesn’t want to have sex after rubbing himself against you and fighting with your ex boyfriend. “We should pack, get ready to leave.”
“What do you think of me then?”
Mingyu standing leaning against the doorframe, following your every move with his eyes, makes you stumble upon every possible obstacle on your way. Even with your gaze elsewhere, you can feel him watching your every move.
“I think you’re a good man that lacks a sense of urgency.” Unfortunately, you didn’t bring much stuff on the trip, and you’re getting to the end of things to take your mind off of Mingyu. “Are you going to stare at me all day?”
“I like you.” Mingyu’s sure about a lot of things, but at the weight lifting from his shoulders, the way you stop at his words and how you wait for him to continue, he’s certain he’s never felt like this before. “I’m sorry if that's weird and wrong to say, but I do.”
“I—” There’s no way to describe it, how your mind clears of any reasonable thought the second those words escape Mingyu’s lips.
“You don’t have to say anything. Like I said last night, I want you to figure out how you feel on your own time. I’ll be here, you can count on me. I’m not going anywhere.”
His assurance helps. He somehow always knows how to help you, what to say, how to act.
Before you know it, you’re face to face with him, his warmth embracing you as he tilts his head down, waiting for your next move. Your cheek lays softly on his chest after wrapping your arms around him, hugging him tightly, the only way you have to express your gratitude.
Warm air effortlessly fills your lungs, the scent of him coating every one of your senses as he replicates your hug. His arms feel right around you, as if you were meant to be like this forever, and you relax in his hold.
“Thank you.” Two simple words that mean so much more are the only thing you manage to utter, hoping he'll understand.
“Always.”
Some girls my friends met at the congress came to town and begged for us to take them to a club
Do you want to come? It’s close to my place
As soon as you press send, you throw your phone at your bed on the other side of the room.
It’s been two weeks since the most eventful weekend of your life. Two weeks since you finally stood up for yourself and chose your well being for once. Two weeks since Mingyu started being one of the most important parts of your everyday life.
Those afternoons when he made you wonder if you actually fit in his friend’s life, when the thought of him would cause you an immediate headache, feel like a ghost of the past. You couldn’t imagine not being around him now, not receiving his ominous texts in the middle of the night after he finishes a random project for college that you don’t understand, or not seeing his face after class when he picks you up and rambles about how good his class was that day.
He promised he’d be there for you, waiting for you to see how you feel about him without expecting anything in return. And every day that passes, the hurt and confusion fades away bit by bit, and a new, stronger, unexplored, feeling grows in your heart.
You don’t know what compelled you to invite Mingyu out of nowhere. You’re fully dressed, about to leave and with your friends already waiting on your building’s front door, but something at the back of your mind itched with a potent need to see him. Your fingers clicked on his contact and texted him before you could realize what you were doing.
It’s not two minutes later that your phone vibrates with a new notification. Your skin crawls with the combined anxiety of wanting to see him but also not wanting to see him at all. The usual two feelings that fight to take over every time you think of him.
You’re quick to run out your apartment before your friends come up and drag you out themselves. With your unlocked phone in hand, Mingyu’s name lights up your screen.
Sure. Text me address.
I’ll meet you there.
The simplicity of his texts always makes you chuckle, embarrassingly smitten by his short sentences. You quickly text him the name and address before hopping off the elevator and joining your friends in the cold weather in which you’re not meant to be wearing the club clothing you chose.
You’d be a liar if you didn’t admit you were nervous to see Mingyu. The change came without warning. After getting used to him checking up on you, learning your coffee order and your class schedule, the anticipation started taking over you. Your eyes look for him around campus, your feet flee out of your classroom knowing he’s going to be there waiting for you.
You try to distract yourself when you get too in your mind about it, about him. It’s a difficult new kind of occurrence you’re not sure how to navigate, so you resort to acting nonchalant about it. That’s why, when he arrives and your friends make eyes at you, you don’t let the subject go further than admitting you invited him. It’s a normal thing for people to invite their friends to hang out!
But no matter how hard you try, your eyes don’t stop wandering to the bar, where Mingyu’s forgotten his quest to get another round of drinks and is talking to the most graceful and gorgeous woman alive.
Of course, Mingyu chose tonight of all nights to look like a prince coming to the rescue. A fitted black shirt that even with the lack of light inside the club managed to highlight his build. You almost fainted when he locked eyes with you across the room and smiled walking all the way to you.
And you’d caught that girl’s eyes glued to him when he first entered the club and greeted you all. As soon as he took one step away from you to walk to the bar, the girl unhooked herself from your group and followed him.
“I wonder what’s taking so long with the drinks," You’re barely processing your words as they leave your mouth. As if you haven’t been policing the interaction since it started.
“Yeah, did he…” Jennie’s voice trails out before she can finish, following the line of sight you basically burned in the air after so many stares. A small smirk flashes through her before she mumbles, “Oh.”
Now there’s four more pairs of eyes witnessing why you’re making a fool out of yourself.
“Guess he found something else to do.” Still digging your own grave, you can’t stop making stupid comments.
Jennie and Nayeon exchange a look you’re too busy to catch, while you make sure your empty drink is still… empty. Yeah, the very interesting plastic cup in your hand. Definitely the most interesting sight you can be staring at. The cheap cocktail you thought could ease out the anxiety, and now that the little effect it had left your body, all you can do is laugh at yourself.
“Who is she anyway?” You didn’t even catch her name before she jumped at the chance to get Mingyu alone.
“We presented right after her.” Your friend’s voice barely reaches you over the loud music, and on top of that, you don’t really care to know much about her anyway.
“Right…”
It’s not a big deal. What else did you expect? That he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off you like the last time you were in a club together? That you’d feel him all around you again as he felt you up with everyone watching? Stupid. You got too comfortable, took him for granted, and he got tired.
“Are you okay?” Nayeon materializes by your side, her hand on your arm steering your eyes back to her.
“He can do whatever he wants! I really don’t care.” Seeing how they can always tell what’s going on with you, of course they read through the lines.
The other two girls you came with look confused before they dare to speak up.
“We tried telling her that he was off limits," One says as the other confesses, “We thought you two were together.”
The girls’ confusion only fuels yours. You really didn’t want to think about it further before, just in case, but it gets you wondering. “W—why would you think that?”
“We just saw you talking after you presented," The blonde one giggles before her friend adds. “You guys looked cute!”
How did they get to that conclusion after the simplest interaction? Were you that obviously nervous? Was the prickling of your skin visible when he stood too close by your side? It’s become the norm for you two to act this way, the invisible skinship boundary long broken.
Deep down, you know there’s no reason to doubt him. You want to be weary of him, find one single flaw to use as an excuse to not like him, but it’s pointless. Mingyu’s never proven to be anything other than supportive. He’s been so patient with you, the deeper feelings for him developed almost on their own. No warning.
Even before breaking up with Jungkook, Mingyu was always present. Since that first day he found you crying, he made sure you had company, made sure you didn’t get too in your head and helped you have a good time. He was there for you before you even realized you needed it.
You took him for granted for too long, and now he has a pretty girl in front of him showing clear signs of attraction, all while you get scared texting him.
You've been so stupid, so blind to what you had in front of you, that now you're losing it, seeing it disappearing from your life with your own eyes.
The charged stares you've been sparing them must've made their way into Mingyu’s sixth sense, because he finally unglues his eyes from the girl and connects them with yours. You know you have no right to be jealous, you two are nothing, just two people with a very complicated relationship.
As if he knew everything going through your mind, Mingyu smirks your way. He fucking smirks. The twist of his lips cause a chain reaction from your hanging jaw down to your insides becoming a roller coaster. You barely hear your friends saying they’re going to the restroom, choosing to stay and challenge Mingyu.
⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄
When he got your text inviting him out, Mingyu was sitting on the couch that had seen it all happen. Jungkook, just beside him, easily took a peek at the notification that lit up his friend's mood.
“Is that her?”
Even if they’ve resolved the bad blood between them, Mingyu couldn’t help to hide the reality of his feelings from Jungkook. “Yeah," He told him after replying to your text.
Mingyu could count with one hand the few times you had dared to text him first these past few weeks. Seeing your name pop up, inviting him out, was thrilling.
It's been no secret that every time Mingyu disappeared to go somewhere unannounced, he was going with you. Jungkook knew it, but it was time he encouraged it.
“Dude, if you like each other, I'm not looking to get in between," Jungkook assured with his eyes back to the tv in front of them.
“Isn’t it weird?” Mingyu tested the waters, checking if he was hallucinating the support.
“It’s only weird if you make it weird," Jungkook shrugged, as if it were that simple.
The situation is weird. And maybe it will always be weird.
Mingyu started making up this fantasy in his head, where, in the future, you’ve finally let him in and he can love you the way you deserve. One where you can look back at the past and laugh with that blinding toothy smile of yours, with all the hurt being just a distant memory. But before you two get to that point, Mingyu will make sure nothing gets in the way of your happiness ever again. And he foolishly hopes you find it with him.
“Is she okay?” Jungkook’s question took Mingyu out of his thoughts. “I’ve been thinking if I should apologize or not.”
“She’s fine,” at that moment, Mingyu realized that maybe his best friend is better at hiding how he feels than he thought, “but an apology wouldn’t hurt.”
Having long conversations was never their strong suit, so the topic ended there, with Jungkook deep in thought and Mingyu getting up to change clothes.
Something drove him to try and be more presentable for you. The last time you two went to a club together, he almost gave up everything right then and there. Now that there are no barriers between the two of you, he won’t hold back at your advances, he won’t freeze if you dance close to him. At least that was his initial goal.
When he arrived at the club, Mingyu had to pause as soon as he saw you across the room. The smile you showed your friend after something she said illuminated the whole room, leaving nothing else in front of his eyes but you.
He greeted all your friends as politely as he could without straying his eyes off you. His hand traveled itself onto the small of your back, keeping you intoxicatingly close to him as best he could. And he didn’t want to leave your side, but maybe breathing an air free of your perfume would help him think clearly, he thought.
Talking to one of the girls you were with, Mingyu partly feels bad for already forgetting her name. The overworked bartender’s taking too long to prepare all the drinks, and he has no other choice than to entertain the girl.
Answering her questions gets harder and harder with the music blasting, and as she places her hand on his arm to get closer to him, Mingyu can feel the interaction being under someone’s scrutinizing eyes.
Is this all in his head? Are you really standing with your arms crossed and the cutest frown ever on your forehead, almost killing the girl in front of him with your stare? The corner of his mouth lifts autonomously at the thought of you not liking him flirting with another person.
He hasn’t seen this side of you, the jealous and slightly possessive one. And even if you’re nothing more than friends, he loves it. He loves the way you squint when you lock eyes, how you shrug when he doesn’t back down. It’s easy for him to excuse himself and walk towards you again.
At the sight of him, you turn your back on Mingyu, pretending to be dancing alone. So, he has no other choice but to stand behind you and ask in your ear. “Something on your mind?”
Your back tenses against his chest, but you don’t move away, allowing Mingyu to wrap his arms around your waist to keep you close. With your friends suddenly nowhere in sight, he interlocks your fingers while in his hold, helping you relax even if you’re still pretending to be mad.
“You took your time.” The initially suffocating sea of people now feels protective, working like a barrier between your bodies pressed tightly together and the outside world. “Having fun?”
“I am now," Mingyu’s lips graze the side of your face as they lit up in another smirk, growing goosebumps all across your body. “How about you?”
Somehow, being like this doesn’t feel weird. You’ve had Mingyu’s arms wrapped around you so many times now that they easily mold to your figure. There really is only one difference, one that none of you dare speak up but washes over your every interaction.
“I was thinking of going home already.” You look down at your hands tangled in one, fearing that Mingyu can notice at any time how butterflies erupt in your stomach at every word he purrs right in your ear. “Not much to do here.”
“I can take you," His choice of words halts your breath, but you remember.
Untangling Mingyu’s hands from yours, you turn around in his arms to face him, regretting instantly as soon as your eyes connect again.
“You should stay. You looked like you were having fun.” That makes Mingyu chuckle, and an embarrassed warmness bursts inside you at the sound.
“I didn’t think you were the jealous type, princess.” And you didn’t think he was the type to tease you in public, but life takes you to unthinkable roads sometimes.
You scoff as an excuse to take your eyes off him for a second. “Jealous, huh? You’re funny.”
In an intent to get away from his menacingly broad body, your hands take the unconscious decision to push his chest away. But you don’t have the true will to do it, or the strength. He’s too big, too muscly for you to move, and he traps your hands against him, against the sheerest shirt ever that lets you feel every muscle tense under your touch.
“I’d like to think I can make a girl laugh sometimes.” He’s all you can see, covering every spot in your vision with his unerasable teasing smirk.
“Yeah, I saw that.” At the roll of your eyes, there’s no denying that you’re jealous anymore. Do you really care if he knows anyway?
“Oh, you did? Controlling.”
“I’m not controlling! You can do whatever you want, I won’t get in your way.” If he wants to flirt with an emotionally available girl after the infinite amount of time he waited for you, you can’t stop him. You’ll take your feelings to the grave.
Something brews in Mingyu’s mind at your rebuttal. “You won’t?”
“No.”
For the first time in forever, Mingyu willingly unclasps one of his hands from yours, “And if I do this?”
Mingyu’s fingers creep up your neck and get a hold of your chin, titling it up until you have no other choice but to look him in the eye. He waits for your answer, as if you’d ever say no. As soon as you nod, giving him the okay, another smirk is the only warning you get.
Your lips, meant to be pressed against his forever, part with a sigh as Mingyu's arms wrap around your waist. The world around you, with frantic music and people moving at lightspeed, fades to nothing in his embrace. You move along Mingyu’s soft lips naturally, letting your heart convey your feelings through the kiss.
The memory of that last kiss you dared give him all those days ago can’t compare to this one. There’s no hesitation this time, no guilt restraining you from following your true desire. Nothing outside your bubble really matters as your hands travel up his chest to keep his head in place.
His hair feels soft between your fingers as you push yourselves together closer and closer. You never want anything else in life, just kissing and kissing Mingyu until your lungs give out. It’s unfortunate that you can’t.
“Let me take you home," He gasps with your lips just millimeters away.
Your stomach twists and turns with anticipation. “Okay,” barely a whisper accompanies your nod, fearing the way your voice could come out if you said more.
With his hand in yours, walking the moonlit streets in swift steps and giggles, any worries you had slip away with the wind. The feeling of his lips linger on yours every second it passes, every breath you take, every step forward until you stop at an intersection and Mingyu pulls you into him again.
The walk blends between kisses and hand squeezes to check if you’re in a dream or not. You never want to back away from his hold ever again, but as your building materializes in front of you, you're forced to take your hand off the hem of his shirt.
The elevator’s wall hits your back as soon as the automatic doors let you in, barely giving you time to push your floor’s button before Mingyu’s over you again. His mouth takes yours with a hunger that grows every second you’re not inside your apartment. He’s losing control, succumbing to his desires the more you show your want for him.
By some way, your tangled bodies manage to reach your door, though Mingyu’s hands refusing to stop going over your hips and waist are the challenge to overcome. Your fingers tremble trying to turn the key the right way, your nervous system focusing on the lips kissing every inch of the side of your neck he can reach and his fingers slipping underneath the fabric of your top.
As soon as you close the door behind you, the reality closes in on you. With Mingyu’s arms wrapping around your waist again, the bag you forgot you were holding dropping onto the floor with a thud, and the bright lights in your apartment making everything clear.
Mingyu notices your sudden hesitation and stands before you, worried eyes studying you, looking for any sign to tell him what's happening in your mind.
“I made you get in a fight with your best friend," Your reminder is like a dagger against the silence.
“Is that what's bothering you?” His eyes find yours and understand immediately. “We're fine,” He tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear, “he actually encouraged me to come tonight.”
Your eyes widen with hope, leaning into his touch when he doesn't retrieve his hand from the side of your face. “Did you guys—”
“We talked,” Mingyu's voice explains so softly, one wouldn't think he was just making you gasp with that same mouth on yours, “and I told him he should apologize to you.”
Standing in the middle of your entrance hallway, you feel stupid for even bringing that up. He wouldn't be here with you if he felt guilty. He wouldn't be cupping your face in his hands, making you look up to him to find the glimmer in his eyes outshining every light source in the room.
“And you’re sure about this?” What ‘this’ means, you’re not sure either.
“I've never been more sure about anything.” Your breath hitches at his answer, your body noticeably frozen as you look for a non-existent lie in his eyes. “Maybe we should take things slow, let you figure out what you want.”
Before he can back away from your personal space, you react. “No, no, I want this too. I want you.”
Those words coming out of your mouth combined with your hands gripping his shirt to keep him in place quickly make Mingyu regret his previous statement. You're so close, too close to him, saying you want him with your eyes dark and wide.
Mingyu’s hands stay on you, caressing the side of your face as if he was debating whether to give in and kiss you again or do the rational thing. Yours, instead, find the first button at the end of the all too well fitting shirt Mingyu’s wearing, and start unbuttoning it one by one.
“I should take you out on a real date first," Mingyu maintains with a sigh, but not stopping you in your quest.
“I personally think,” at his unmoving body, you take a step closer, with your hands against his chest not daring to sneak under the welcoming fabric, “we’re past that, don’t you think?”
For a second, Mingyu thinks you’ll be able to feel the rapid beating of his heart, stronger with each second your hands lay on his chest. Rationality is losing the fight against his desire.
“Just making sure this isn’t a rebound situation,” Mingyu blurts, even if he doesn’t really care about it for himself. He’d take whatever you give him.
“You aren’t a rebound. This isn’t a revenge plot.” You think for a second before you continue, “You saw me cry way too many times and were there for me at my weakest. You make me feel seen, wanted, and getting to know you has made my life better in ways I could’ve never imagined.”
Your words go through Mingyu's ears and right into his bloodstream, getting warmer and warmer the closer you get. His hands go down your body, encouraging you to move forward until your chests touch.
“I needed you even before I knew what I needed.” You can sense the tears beginning to build up, but you push through. He has to know. “I know what I want now, and it’s you.”
“If this is a dream, I never wanna wake up,” every word Mingyu says comes with a widening smile.
You chuckle, wrapping your arms around his neck with confidence, “I can assure you, it's not.”
As if you've been getting chased by your feelings all this time, putting it into words and letting it all out works, and your brain stops racing. You can finally breathe, think, see.
“So, was that a no about the date?” As always, Mingyu manages to make you chuckle again, and it reverberates all across both your bodies. Every shiver of his, you feel, with the minimal skin to skin contact against his barely uncovered chest and the tiniest top you found to put on.
“You can take me on a date another day. Now, I want something else.” You don't know where all this confidence is coming from, but seeing the shock in Mingyu's eyes, it only grows. “You okay with that?”
“I’ll give you anything you want.”
The space between your faces charges with electricity as you take in his words. An unconscious bite on your lower lip pulls his gaze down, egging him to close the space slowly. You almost don’t register his advance, focusing on the part of his lips that were just on yours minutes ago.
There’s nothing more to be said, no invisible walls to tear down, only you and him and the pull between you, pushing you closer until your breaths mix. After all the obstacles you overcame, and the bumps that lead you to where you are now, there’s no more time to waste.
When your heads meet again, your tingling lips mold against Mingyu’s for the thousandth time, worried about nothing and wanting it all. And he doesn’t hold back either. His hands on your waist venture up inside your top, feeling your back tense at his touch as the fabric crumples up, leaving more of you exposed to him.
You can’t hide your craving for him any longer. You follow his rhythm eagerly, making a mess of his hair between your fingers and pushing him further against you. Every touch of his makes you gasp, and he takes the opportunity to kiss down your jaw and neck. His hands and lips everywhere.
“Might as well just take this off.” Mingyu’s lips print a smirk on the sensitive skin of your neck before pulling back. You get what he means immediately as he tugs on your top, taking it off you as soon as you put your arms up.
His hands feel your chest up to his liking, getting to know the places that make you sigh into his mouth. Every touch of his fingers makes that spot light up like fire, and every sound you make encourages Mingyu more and more.
Your hands sneak under his opened shirt, feeling the firmness of his chest directly elicits a groan from Mingyu, making you shiver as you slip the fabric down his arms.
Your living room becomes a cliché mess of scattered clothing before you direct the both of you to your bedroom. You barely have time to drink in Mingyu’s body before you’re falling with your back on the mattress, chest to chest again, bare against one another, free of any fabric in between.
Mingyu slots between your legs effortlessly, a low moan coming from him as his hardening length grinds softly on the crevice between your limbs. His golden skin that was the star of your every dream, finally at your reach, soft and warm under the pads of your fingers.
“Gyu—” Words choke up on your throat as you feel his lips wrapping around one of your nipples.
“You're gorgeous,” His lips against your chest makes you halt your movements, mind focused solely on him, “so pretty, only for me.”
It's almost as if he was talking to himself, but you moan at every compliment, arching your back for more of him. And he loves it. Loves the way you react to the stream of thoughts that run around his brain every time he looks at you.
“Fuck!” The curse leaves you both in unison when Mingyu finds his digits against your core.
“I barely even touched you and you're already ready for me?” Mingyu feels your reaction to his words first hand as a wave of arousal hits you.
“Fuck you,” you gasp and he chuckles, kissing down your torso until he’s facing your core.
“I'll take care of you, don't worry, baby.” His breath fans at your wet folds, so close to where you want him but still teasing you with his fingers.
You’re about to fight back when you feel him teasing at your opening, his eyes entranced by how ready you are for him. All the anticipation, the tension between you from the past weeks, culminating at once at this very moment.
The slickness leaking out of you from all the kissing and groping makes it easy for him to set the pace. Mingyu’s fingers stretch your insides with expertise, as if he learned every spot of yours to touch to have you squirming.
The torturously slow thrusts of his fingers drive you crazy, curling and hitting exactly where you need them before he’s pulling back. You don’t hold your sounds back, your every reaction letting Mingyu know how good he makes you feel.
“That’s it, baby,” His low voice sets fire to the blood rushing through your veins, and your walls clamp harder around his fingers.
Your knuckles turn white as you grip the sheets below you, and Mingyu’s other hand has to hold your thighs apart so you don’t close them around his head.
“Mingyu—shit!” His lips leave a trail of breathy kisses on your inner thigh, trying to help you relax and take him in, but ultimately turning you on further. “Gyu, wait.”
“I love that you’re calling me that.” He listens and stops thrusting, leaving his fingers to fully fit inside you.
“I need you.” You’re not embarrassed to say what you want. Not with him.
“But you have me?” He tries to tease, but you’re ahead of him already and immediately correct yourself.
“Inside.” His fingers adjust themselves inside you, almost making you forget what you were asking for. “I need you to fuck me.”
Mingyu chuckles at your neediness, but you know he wants it just as bad. His rock hard length draws your attention as he stands up and retrieves his wet digits from you, leaking and ready to split you in half.
There’s a second of hesitation as he looks at you splayed on the bed, as ready for him as he is for you. You recognize the train of thought going through him and stretch your arm to open the drawer below your nightstand, where you keep condoms just in case.
It’s sinful, the sight of Mingyu rolling down the condom as his eyes rake up and down your body. When he kneels on the mattress, fitting like a glove between your legs, it takes another kiss of his on each of your spent legs for you to realize that what’s happening is real.
Caged between both of his arms, his hands holding his weight on both sides of your head, your legs wrap around his waist and push him inside you, at last.
His length fits inside you, opening up your walls to mold to his shape as you both moan.
Your hips collide as he hits your deepest parts. “Being inside you is gonna kill me.” You can feel the twitching of his cock deep inside you. He paused to let you get used to his size, but the last thing you want to do is wait.
“I’m gonna kill you if you don’t move.”
You’ve learned teasing him works wonders, and as soon as those words leave your lips, he’s complying with what you ask of him. “Whatever my princess wants.”
Whatever thoughts you had, they fade at the drag of his length deliciously making you his with each thrust. Deep and slow, he lets you feel everything he has to give before almost pulling out.
The skin of his back becomes the victim of your scratches, your nails digging into his tense muscles with every grind of his hips. But no matter what you do, how you touch him, how loudly you moan, his pace remains at the same torturing speed.
“Relax, baby.” A hand caresses the side of your face, and you realize you’d shut your eyes closed at the feeling of him pushing inside you.
Mingyu lowers his head, flushing your chests together again as he kisses you softly, matching the pace of his thrusts with his tongue tangling with yours. He drinks every sound you make, as they are only for him, and lowers his hand down your torso until it meets your connected cores.
Your sensitive clit feels like fire under the touch of his fingers, circling around it to help you ease up the tension. “That’s it, baby, taking me so well.”
Everywhere he reaches becomes your new favorite place for him to touch. From your lips, down to your cunt, and all the way inside you, everywhere now has his name written. You’re his.
The pulsing of your walls around him doesn’t cease, becoming quicker and harder the more he continues with the slow pace. Your insides wait for every intoxicating thrust as if starved of him, craving everything he gives you and more.
His lips move on yours, parted and unable to work, mumbling praise you don’t get to hear as every one of your senses focuses on the fire inside you threatening to burst. Mingyu’s hips falter, having trouble thrusting inside you as you tighten impossibly tighter around him.
Your vision turns white as your orgasm explodes without so much as a warning. Your legs tremble around Mingyu’s pistoning hips, thrusting endlessly searching for his release.
Mingyu’s broad body falls limp on you as his length twitches, coming inside the condom with a groan while your walls hug him tight.
You lay under him happily, a smile on your face as you stare at the ceiling. He feels warm all around you, a feeling you could get used to. Mingyu can’t resist it and kisses you again. He’ll take every opportunity he can get to feel your lips on his.
“What's on your mind?” He asks, eyes locking in to yours as he slips out from you before attacking your lips again.
You both smile in the kiss before he stands up to discard the used condom and put his boxers back on. “Just thinking where you can take me on our date.”
He turns around with a glowing smile. “You’re thinking about that already?”
The way he lays down on your bed with you, naturally wrapping you in his arms and pulling you to him, feels like a dream come true.
“Of course, baby, I always think ahead.” You note the way he blushes when you use that nickname on him and snuggle against him.
Listening to Mingyu’s steady breathing and heartbeat under your ear, drifting to sleep has never been easier.
The smell of freshly grounded coffee fills the air around the café Mingyu picked. A cozy new place, lighted with yellowy light bulbs and with a space designated to read books you can borrow from the shelves covering the walls. It opened a few weeks ago in his neighborhood and he’s been insisting you try it out together since.
You’ve been on countless dates with him already, but you still feel nervous having him sit by your side in the booth. Still get embarrassed when he asks for a big smoothie with two straws for you both.
You don’t see a future where you don’t get nervous around him, but he’s always there. A future without him wouldn’t be life at all. And the best thing is, Mingyu feels the same way.
“Are you sure they’re coming?” You ask as your eyes drift to the glass door for the tenth time in the past five minutes.
“I promise they are!” Minguy takes your jaw in his fingers to make you look at him. “Remember to not say anything about the apartment. He'll as her when he's ready”
“What are you talking about?” You ask, feigning cluelessness, and Mingyu chuckles before giving you a peck.
Detaching your lips is always the hardest chore. But after a few awkward instances where you let your kisses deepen in public, you both decided to control yourselves, even in a secluded booth like the one you’re currently in.
Mingyu’s eyes light up watching the street from the window you’re sitting against, and you turn around to see the people you’ve been waiting for.
Jungkook and Cathlyn walk inside the store holding hands and with matching smiles on their faces as they greet you. How Mingyu convinced them to go out on a double date with you still astonishes you, but you’re glad everything that happened could finally be put behind you.
It was hard at first, even after Jungkook apologized to you, you didn’t dare go inside their apartment for months until Mingyu moved in with you a few weeks ago.
As soon as they sit in front of you, the plan you’ve been scheming starts. Your eyes lock with Mingyu’s and he instantly realizes what you're about to do, but not even his hand squeezing your thigh under the table can stop you. “So, Jungkook, what are you going to do now that you live in the apartment alone?”
note: it's finally here!!!
thank you all for being so excited this past month and for reading this monster of a fic i somehow came up with.
if you reached the end, just know that i love you, and i'd love to hear your thoughts <3
GENRE | TAGS. One-shot, non-idol!au, strangers to friends to lovers, fluff, smut.
WC. 14.9k+
RATING. Explicit adult content (MINORS DNI).
WARNINGS. Reader is dealing with anxiety, insomnia, mental health struggles, and here nobody believes in seeking medical help (apparently), just the plug, mentions of food, Scream (1996) spoilers (in case you never saw it), drug purchase, smoking, drug use, drug use before sexual activities, shotgunning, oral (f. and m. receiving), fingering, pussy eating, cum eating, multiple orgasms, blowjob, unprotected sex, dirty talk, hand kink, pulling out, cum-shot.
AN. I literally just brought this to another format, with a few small changes. And now I’m actually, actually back. Anyway, hope you enjoy it, and let me know what you think! <3
🎧 SOUNDTRACK. chocolate - the 1975, ojitos lindos - bad bunny, junk of the heart (happy) - the kooks, like real people do - hozier, disconnected - 5 seconds of summer, don’t come down - the maine, satellite - harry styles, fallin' for you - colbie caillat, drop dead - olivia rodrigo.
The streetlamp flickers overhead, casting long shadows across the cracked pavement. You pull your jacket tighter around your shoulders, checking the time on your phone screen for the fifth time in two minutes.
9:14 PM.
A very old blue jeep is parked halfway down the block, engine off, exactly where the dropped pin had indicated. As you approach, the driver’s side door clicks open.
Vernon steps out, casually pulling back the hood of his dark sweatshirt. He looks even more handsome than in the picture he sent earlier, which only makes you more nervous. His relaxed, unbothered posture immediately contrasts with your stiff and coiled tension. He leans against the car door, shoving his hands into his pockets as he watches you close the distance.
You stop a few feet away, practically vibrating with nerves. “Vernon?”
“Yeah.” His voice is low, carrying a slight rasp. He doesn’t move toward you, leaving a comfortable gap between to let you dictate the space. “You’re Chan’s friend.”
“Y/N,” you supply quickly, voice slightly breathless.
It was Chan who gave you his number after seeing you have an anxiety attack. He said Vernon was the seller with the best prices and the best products, that his stuff would definitely help you relax, and that he was a reliable guy.
Which is what brought here.
Vernon offers a small, crooked smile. “Nice to meet you, Y/N.” He pause, his eyes scanning the empty street before settling back on you. “Chan said you’d be reaching out. To be honest, I wasn’t sure if you’d actually show up after our texts earlier.”
“I... yeah.” You bite your lip hard, wrapping your arms around yourself against the night wind. “I’m sorry if the timing was weird, I just really needed to find a way to settle my head tonight.”
He nods slowly, his expression understanding. Vernon doesn’t treat your confession like a burden or a business pitch; he just listens. “No need to apologize. Chan’s a good guy. He wouldn’t have sent you my way if he didn’t think I could help you out.”
Vernon shifts his weight and reaches into his pocket. You instinctively flinch, taking a quick half-step back. The movement is entirely involuntary, a byproduct of the buzzing, suffocating anxiety that had driven you out here in the first place.
He freezes, slowly pulling his hand back out empty and resting it visibly on the roof of the car. His expression shifts, the casual politeness melting into something far more observant, and surprisingly gentle. He takes in the way your shoulders are practically up to your ears, the way your hands grip your phone and arms like a lifeline, and the wide, panicked look in your eyes.
“Hey,” Vernon says softly, dropping his voice a register. “Take a breath. You’re okay. I’m not here to make things harder for you.”
“I know, I just—” You swallow hard, embarrassed heat rising to your cheeks. “I’m not really used to this. Meeting strangers in the dark. It’s… a lot.”
“I get it. But you don’t have to look at me like I’m about to bite. You’re making yourself self-conscious.”
Your eyebrows shoot up, eyes widening even further. “I am?”
“Yeah.” The corner of his mouth ticks up, and he scratches the back of his head. “Don’t be, though. It’s a compliment. Most people around here try too hard to look like they aren’t feeling anything.”
The tension in your chest doesn’t vanish, but the sheer directness of his gaze makes the frantic buzzing start to slow.
Vernon finally reaches into his pocket again, moving slowly and deliberately this time, and pulls out a small paper bag. He holds it out, stretching his arm far enough that you don’t have to step completely out of your comfort zone.
“Here. The mellow option, like you asked. Should help quiet things down.”
As you reach out to take it, your fingers briefly brush against his. His skin is warm against the chill of the night air.
“Thanks,” you murmur, finally feeling the tight band around your chest loosen.
“Don’t mention it.” He steps back and opens his car door, but pauses before sliding into the driver’s seat, looking over his shoulder one last time. “Get home safe. Let me know if you need anything else. And seriously, breathe. You’re doing fine.”
As his taillights fades down the empty street, you stand on the sidewalk and take your first full, deep breath of the entire day.
“Sorry for the odd hour,” you say for the thousandth time, pulling your cardigan tighter around yourself. “I just… I can’t sleep. My brain won’t shut up. It’s okay if you want to charge me a delivery fee or something for the trouble.”
You’d been buying from Vernon for about a month. Almost every Tuesday, you left him a message to drop your usual order. Today, however, was Thursday, and you had been awake for nearly twenty-four hours without managing to close your eyes for even a single second. So you figured, why not see if he was awake and willing to sell you something strong enough to finally put you down?
And after a month of buying from him, you had decided it was okay to let him come up to your building floor instead of making him meet you out on the street. He had proven himself to be surprisingly reliable—exactly like Chan had promised you—, after one day when you could barely get out of bed, and he’d offered to bring your order up himself.
Now he was standing in the hallway of your building, looking like he hadn’t gotten much more sleep than you had, yet somehow far more awake than anyone had the right to be at this hour. And the craziest thing of all? He looked incredibly handsome, while you are pretty sure you looked hungover despite not having consumed a single drop of alcohol.
Vernon lets out a low, easy breath, shaking his head. “You’re good. I don’t sleep much anyway, so you’re not exactly interrupting a deep slumber.” He reaches into his pocket, his movements slow, as if he’s in no hurry at all. “Tell you what, I’ll give you the loyal customer discount tonight, Bambi.”
You blink, the name catching you off guard. “Bambi?”
He leans one shoulder against the doorframe, his gaze softening as it fixes on yours.
“Yeah.” Vernon tilts his head, studying your face with an intensity that makes your heart skip. Then he points at his own eyes with his index finger. “It’s the eyes. Yours are big and curious… like you’re seeing the world for the first time.”
You feel a flush of heat creep up your neck, and you look down at your slippers, trying to deflect. Vernon does that quite often; making you blush so hard you never know where to hide your face, that is. You don’t even know if that’s his actual intention or if he’s just naturally nice.
“If that’s the case, then I must look like a really tired bambi. Bags under my eyes and everything.”
Vernon chuckles, the warm sound seeming to fill the empty hallway. “You still look cute, though.” He shrugs, far too casually for your liking. “Just… don’t go bolting into traffic or anything like that. I need my favorite customer in one piece.”
The blush deepens, spreading across your face until even your ears feel hot. You duck your head further, fiddling with the hem of your sleeve.
You wanted to know if he was genuinely flirting with you or if it was just something he said to all his clients. You were still confused about how you felt about those two possibilities, but the first was the only one that made your stomach do those strange, fluttery little flips.
“Oh, I’ve got a new indica blend coming in next week,” Vernon continues, his tone slipping back into his usual seller mode. “I’ll bring some by. It’ll help you sleep like a rock, I promise.”
You manage a small, shy smile, finally looking back up at him. “You’re like a specialized pharmacist at this point. Should I be tipping you extra, or will a thank-you card do it?”
A slight smile appears on Vernon’s face, and he straightens up and takes a step back, preparing to head toward the elevators, but he pauses to look you in the eye one last time, making sure the panic has truly subsided. The teasing light in his expression fades into something sincere and unexpectedly sweet.
“Neither,” he murmurs, his voice dropping an octave. “You being less anxious is enough for me. That’s the only tip I need, Bambi.”
He turns to leave, tossing a lazy wave over his shoulder and leaving you leaning against your doorframe.
The phone screen goes dark, but the words “anything you want” seems to burn brightly behind your eyelids.
For the past twelve hours, you’d been pinned to the mattress since your alarm first went off in the morning. But those three words from Vernon acted like a sudden shot of adrenaline straight to your heart, breaking the paralysis and making you throw the heavy duvet off and practically scramble out of bed, your feet hitting the cold hardwood floor with an urgent slap.
Your apartment was the physical manifestation of a terrible mental health week. Half-empty water bottles clustered on the nightstand, clothes draped over every available surface like exhausted ghosts, and a tragic pile of unopened mail sat on the kitchen counter.
“Oh God,” you mutter, grabbing a laundry hamper and sprinting through the living room.
Sweatshirts, socks, and a pair of jeans are aggressively lobbed into the laundry basket. Books that had been discarded on the floor are shoved haphazardly onto shelves. A collection of coffee mugs is swept into the sink and buried unceremoniously beneath a layer of dish soap bubbles just to hide the evidence.
You move at a dizzying speed, pausing only to catch your breath and aggressively fluff the flattened sofa cushions.
Despite the sheer panic of the impromptu cleaning spree, there’s an undeniable warmth spreading through your chest. You’re nervous, yes—your hands shake slightly as you kick a stray pair of sneakers into the hall closet—but beneath the nerves, you’re overwhelmingly happy.
Vernon is coming over. Not just to drop off your usual or make a quick exchange in the doorway, but just… coming over. To keep you company.
It hits you right then, standing in the middle of the slightly less disastrous living room, just how drastically things have shifted between you two. Somewhere along the line, the boundaries had blurred, melted, and completely re-formed into something entirely different.
Lately, he hasn’t just been your plug—he’s been your friend too. And you’ve been texting. A lot.
It had started innocently a few weeks ago, after he dropped off a new indica strain at your doorstep, one that worked a little too well on you. Pleasantly immobilized and entirely trapped in your own head, you had spent twenty minutes staring at your palms before deciding they actually looked like clouds, and texted him to give feedback.
Most people in his line of work would have ignored it, or maybe replied with a laughing emoji. But Vernon had replied three minutes later, and after a single text, a floodgate opened. The sheer relief of not being mocked, of having someone lean into the absurdity of the moment, made you feel unexpectedly safe with him.
The texts didn’t stop the next morning, when you sent a mortified apology and he replied with a picture of a fluffy cloud. From there, it became a daily routine with good mornings, random memes, complaints about the weather, late-night philosophical tangents, and very, very high debates. Vernon had slowly woven himself into the absolute fabric of your day-to-day life.
But today was Tuesday, and normally, by 2:00 PM on a Tuesday, you would’ve texted him for the usual. Except today, you didn’t. And when you didn’t, he texted you first to check how you were doing.
The conversation didn’t take long before Vernon calmed you down in his usual quiet, steady way, and then, casually as always, he offered to come over. And you accepted immediately—even if it was just for him to sit with you and keep you company—which had led you to this moment, where you’re trying to shove dust under the living room rug.
A firm knock at the door pulls you violently out of your thoughts.
Smoothing down your oversized sweater and taking one last, desperate look at the living room to ensure no rogue laundry was visible, you walk to the door and pull it open.
Vernon stands in the hallway wearing a faded gray hoodie with the strings pulled unevenly and a pair of jeans. But it isn’t his clothes that catch your attention; it’s his hands. He isn’t holding a small bag or his phone. He’s holding two massive, grease-stained brown paper bags from the twenty-four-hour diner down the street, along with a cardboard drink carrier balancing two milkshakes.
“Hey, Bambi,” he greets you, his voice carrying that familiar low rasp. The corner of his mouth ticks up into a soft, unmistakable heart-shaped smile. “Hope you like fries, because I bought, like, an insane amount of them.”
“You didn’t have to do this,” you breathe out, the last residual knot of anxiety in your chest instantly dissolving at the sight of him. You can’t believe how absolutely gorgeous he looks standing there in your doorway, looking like he just rolled out of bed, dressed in the most casual clothes imaginable.
“I know.” He shrugs, stepping past the threshold as you step aside to let him in. Vernon kicks his shoes off by the door with an easy familiarity that makes your heart flutter. “But you said you couldn’t get out of bed today. Which means you definitely didn’t cook. And I couldn’t have you passing out on me. I need someone to help me eat all of this.”
He carries the food into the living room, setting it down on the coffee table. The smell of hot, salty fries, grilled burgers, and heavy diner food fills the apartment, instantly making it feel infinitely cozier, and your stomach lets out an angry, shameless growl.
You hover awkwardly by the armchair. “I... I really meant it, you know. I don’t have any cash on me. I feel awful making you drive all the way out here.”
Vernon stops unpacking the bags and stands up straight, turning to face you. He closes the distance between you in two long strides, his expression softening completely. He reaches out, his warm fingers lightly catching your shoulder, just enough to straighten you and make you look at him.
“I am not here for your money, Bambi.” The sincerity in his voice and eyes pines you to the spot. He has amazing eyes. “Nor am I here to be your delivery guy. I’m here because it’s Tuesday, you were having a bad day, and I wanted to see you. Do you understand?”
You bite your lip to suppress a smile, the warmth of his fingers sending a rush of electricity straight down your spine. “Yeah. I understand.”
He smiles softly. “Good,” he says, letting his hand drop, though his eyes linger for a second longer on your face before he turns back to the food. “Now, grab some napkins, Bambi. We’ve got a situation here with these milkshakes.”
You settle onto the floor, using the coffee table as a dining table. The food is incredible and exactly the kind of heavy, comforting, terrible-for-you meal that bypasses anxiety almost entirely and goes straight to the soul.
“Alright,” Vernon says around a mouthful of fries, leaning back against the base of the sofa. “We need a movie. Something that requires zero brain power but also something we can yell at.”
“Yell at?” you ask, dipping a fry into your milkshake. Vernon watches the fry-in-milkshake maneuver with mild disgust but don’t comment.
“Yeah. A classic. Something where the characters make terrible decisions and we get to judge them from our moral high ground on the floor.”
You scroll through a streaming service for ten minutes before finally settling on Scream.
“It’s the perfect choice,” Vernon argues as the eerie opening music swells through the television speakers. “The ultimate movie about teenagers who think they know all the rules of surviving getting absolutely humbled by another pair of teenagers in a cheap Halloween mask.”
“Sidney is actually smart, though,” you counter, pulling your knees to your chest. “She managed to not get killed in seven out of seven films.”
Vernon scoffs, pausing halfway through a bite of his burger. “Thanks to the power of being the protagonist, of course.”
You shake your head with a laugh. “Well, I stand by my opinion.”
He chews slowly, nodding as he points at you with his index finger. “A woman who stands her ground. I respect that.” You let out a small giggle, and Vernon swallows before continuing. “But she ran up the stairs instead of out the front door, Bambi. She literally locked the deadbolt and then trapped herself on the second floor when she had a clear shot to the yard.”
“It’s a classic trope!” you defend your point, laughing as Vernon rolls his eyes. You feel so at peace in his presence that you no longer remember a single thing that affected you in the last twenty-four hours.
“It’s a death wish! That was the entire problem!”
You eat and argue nonstop, the tension of the day bleeding out of you with every passing minute you spend in his presence. You debate the rules of surviving a slasher, whether you would actually make it out alive in Woodsboro, and roast the characters’ survival instincts.
“I know I would probably die,” you state with conviction, biting the end of the straw, “but it would never be because I went to investigate some strange, suspicious noise. Especially not if I were alone.”
Vernon chuckles, nodding along. “Ditto!”
You grab another fry, pointing it at the screen as Billy Loomis leans through Sidney’s bedroom window.
“Okay, but you have to admit, Billy and Stu are objectively very attractive. The whole ’90s grunge, floppy hair thing? It works.”
He pauses mid-chew. Slowly, his eyes slide from the TV to you, his expression flattening into an unimpressed, deadpan stare. “They look like they haven’t showered in a month.”
“Yeah, but look at the cheekbones,” you insist, another teasing smile breaking through the heavy exhaustion. “It’s attractive.”
“If the attractive is homicidal bedhead, sure.” Vernon scoffs, pointedly taking a long, exaggerated sip of his milkshake. “Good to know your bar is literally on the floor, Bambi.”
He shifts slightly, stretching his long legs out and casually crossing his arms, his tone perfectly nonchalant but carrying a subtle defensive edge.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re jealous of fictional ’90s teenagers,” you laugh between words, the sound bright and entirely devoid of anxiety. It would be completely ridiculous if he were, considering he looked like he’d stepped straight out of a ’90s movie himself.
“I’m deeply concerned for your survival instincts,” he corrects smoothly, not missing a beat, though he aggressively dunked a fry into his ketchup. “Remind me to never let you go to a Halloween party alone.”
As the movie shifts from eerie suspense to full-blown terror, the food begins to take its toll. The frantic, anxious energy that has kept you awake for the last twenty-four hours is suddenly entirely depleted. The apartment is warm, the couch against your back is soft, and the low, steady sound of Vernon’s voice beside you is the most effective sedative you’ve ever experienced.
Without realizing it, you begin to slide sideways. The debate over whether throwing a landline phone at the killer was actually an effective evasion tactic fades into background noise. The edges of your vision blur, the flashing light from the television softening into indistinct, hazy color. With a soft sigh, your head tips over, landing gently against the solid, warm curve of Vernon’s shoulder.
On the screen, Tatum screams. In the living room, Vernon stiffens completely. He had been mid-sentence, ready to deliver a scathing critique of Dewey’s police work, when he feels the sudden weight against his arm. He stops talking immediately, his jaw snapping shut. Slowly, carefully, he turns his head just a fraction to look down.
Your eyes are completely closed, your breathing already deepening into the slow cadence of genuine sleep. Your face, which had been tight with worry and exhaustion when he first walked in the door, is now entirely smooth. The dark circles under your eyes remain, but the tension in your body is gone. You look very peaceful.
Vernon feels a strange, tight pull right in the center of his chest. He glances at the empty takeout bags, the half-finished milkshakes, and you currently using him as a pillow, realizing he’s never been happier to lose a Tuesday night’s worth of business.
He doesn’t dare reach for the remote to turn the volume down, afraid that even the slightest shift in his muscles will wake you. He doesn’t reach for his phone either, which is buzzing in his pocket with texts of customers he no longer cares about.
Instead, Vernon adjusts his posture by a millimeter, shifting his weight just enough to give your head a better angle against his shoulder. He carefully leans his own head back against the sofa cushions, letting out a long and silent exhale.
On the screen, the survivors run for their lives. In the quiet of the apartment, Vernon sits perfectly still, entirely content to stay trapped in this exact position for as long as you need to sleep.
The next day, when you wake up tucked comfortably into your bed, everything is organized, clean, and back in its proper place. And unless you somehow did all of this in your sleep, there’s only one person who could have done it, even if he’s nowhere to be found in the morning.
Vernon drives with an relaxed posture, one hand resting lightly on the top of the steering wheel while the other rests on the center console. He doesn’t press for conversation, letting the low volume of the radio fill the space between you. Every so often, you catch him stealing a quick glance in your direction, his eyes checking to make sure you’re still breathing easily.
About an hour ago, you’d texted him about how awful your day had been, and within minutes he was at your door, ready to take you for a drive to clear your mind.
After a couple of minutes of driving, the dense architecture of the city gives way to the open stretches of the coastal highway. The streetlights grow sparse, replaced by the vast, ink-black expanse of the sky. The air rushing through the slightly cracked windows shifts from the smell of concrete to the sharp and cold scent of ocean mist and salt.
Vernon finally slows the car, the tires crunching against gravel as he pulls into a deserted overlook. The headlights sweep across a wooden barricade before he kills the engine, plunging them into darkness. Out the windshield, the ocean stretches endlessly, moonlight catching the white crests of the churning waves below.
“I didn’t know you liked the beach,” you whisper, pulling your jacket tighter around your frame. The cold seeps through the glass, but the car’s heater still blows warm air at your feet, creating a perfectly cozy contrast.
“I don’t usually,” he shrugs, his voice a low, gravelly rasp. He unbuckles his seatbelt and shifts his weight, turning slightly in his seat so he can look at you. “During the day, it’s a nightmare. Too crowded, too loud. But at night… it’s different.”
You nod slowly, looking out at the horizon. “It makes everything else feel really small. The ocean, I mean.” You tilt your head slightly, stealing a quick glance at him before continuing. “You look out there and realize how massive it all is, and suddenly worrying about emails or… or literally anything else just feels completely irrelevant.”
“Exactly,” Vernon agrees, leaning his head back against the headrest. He watches the water for a long moment, his profile sharp against the dim light filtering in from the moon. “We construct this entire, agonizing reality inside our heads.”
He pauses, a quiet, almost self-deprecating chuckle escaping his lips. He turns his head to look at you, his eyes looking thoughtful.
“You ever think we’re just brains in jars imagining stuff?”
You blink, caught entirely off guard by the sudden existential pivot. A laugh bubbles up in your chest, breaking the solemn quiet of the car. “Brains in jars? Really? That’s where we’re going at three in the morning?”
“I’m serious,” he defends himself, though the corner of his mouth is ticking upward. “Think about it. How do you know any of this is real? Your brain is just locked in pitch-black darkness inside your skull, hallucinating a reality based on electrical signals. For all we know, we’re just sitting on a shelf in some laboratory, running a simulation.”
“Well, if this is a simulation,” you counter, turning to face him completely and pulling your knees up onto the seat, “then the developers seriously need to patch my software. The anxiety settings are dialed way too high, and the executive dysfunction glitch is making the gameplay terrible.”
Vernon laughs properly then, the sound that echoing in the small space of the Jeep cabin, his gums on full display. “I’ll submit a bug report for you. Tell the admins to turn down the overthinking slider and boost the serotonin drops.”
You want to tell him that this happens every time you’re in his presence, but you aren’t sure if it’s acceptable to flirt with your plug. It’s been two months since you met, and you’re still amazed by how being with him shuts down your nervous system and makes you forget everything. Even if it’s just a phone call, hearing Vernon’s voice calms you like no weed or medicine ever could.
“Please do,” you smile back, resting your cheek against your knees. “But honestly… even if we are just brains in jars, I think I’m okay with whatever hallucination this is right now. It’s the quietest my head has been in days.”
The teasing amusement in Vernon’s eyes softens, melting into something more tender. He reaches across the center console, his fingertips lightly brushing your arm before settling on the edge of your sleeve. It’s a grounding touch, anchoring you to the present moment.
It’s strange how entirely safe you feel sitting in a dark car on a deserted cliffside with a guy who, on paper, you barely know. But looking at him now—the relaxed slope of his shoulders, the attentive way he listens to every word you say, the quiet intelligence in his eyes—you realize he isn’t just a guy or your plug anymore. He’s becoming someone indispensable.
“I really appreciate this,” you whisper softly. You look down at his hand, which is still resting near yours on the console. “You didn’t have to stay with me today, and you definitely didn’t have to drive me out here. So… thank you, Vernon.”
The name hangs in the air for a second. Vernon doesn’t flinch, but a subtle shift ripples through his posture. He’s quiet for a long beat, his thumb tracing a slow, absentminded circle against the fabric of your sleeve.
“Hansol,” he corrects quietly, his voice dropping into a register so low it’s almost a whisper.
You frown, blinking in confusion. “What?”
He lifts his gaze, his eyes locking onto yours, a small smile on his lips. There’s a vulnerability there he usually keeps buried under layers of nonchalance and cool detachment. “My name… it’s Hansol.”
“Oh,” you breathe out, a rush of embarrassment suddenly heating your cheeks. You pull your hands back slightly, feeling suddenly stupid. “Sorry, I thought everyone just called you Vernon.”
The realization hits you like a bucket of cold water. Could Vernon be his moniker? A professional handle used to keep a safe distance between the guys selling drugs and the people buying them? That wouldn’t be unusual in his line of work.
But Hansol doesn’t let you retreat. He shifts his hand, catching your fingers gently before you can pull away completely. His skin is warm, his grip steady and reassuring.
“Some do. It’s my middle name,” he explains, his gaze unwavering. “But people close to me call me Hansol.”
He pauses, letting the weight of that categorization settle between you. He’s drawing a line in the sand, officially pulling you across the boundary from client to someone close to him. You bite your lip to suppress a smile that wants so badly to form on your lips as the thought settles, the bucket of ice water from seconds ago already beginning to warm.
“You don’t have to,” he adds, an uncharacteristic hint of shyness briefly flickering across his features. “I just don’t mind it from you.”
Your heart does a violent stutter against your ribs. The sheer intimacy of the admission is overwhelming. You look at his hand holding yours, then back up at his face. He is waiting, giving you the space to decide what to do with the information.
“So you’re saying I’m close to you?”
Hansol doesn’t hesitate, leaning in just slightly, his thumb continuing the slow circle over your knuckles. “You text me at 1 a.m. and I show up every time. You slept on my shoulder the other night. We’ve talked about everything and anything at this point. I’d say we’re close, Bambi.”
You feel the air leave your lungs. It isn’t just the words; it’s the matter-of-fact way he says them, like it’s the most obvious truth in the world. He’s acknowledging the bond you’ve built in the quiet hours between midnight and dawn, admitting that you’re more than just his client, while you try to ignore the butterflies battering against the walls of your stomach, desperate to escape their cage.
“Hansol,” you test his name out loud. It feels foreign on your tongue, yet somehow incredibly right.
A small, devastatingly heart-shaped smile breaks across his face at the sound of his name in your voice. “Yeah. That’s it.”
You stayed at the overlook for another hour, the atmosphere in the car fundamentally changed. By the time his Jeep rolled to a stop outside your apartment building, the sky had begun to bruise with the first deep purples and blues of early dawn.
“I guess this is my stop,” you observe hesitantly, not wanting to get out of his car and put an end to the moment.
“Looks like it,” Hansol says. “You gonna be okay today?”
“Yeah,” you nod. “I think I am. Thanks to you.”
“Anytime, Bambi.”
You push the door open, stepping out into the crisp morning air, and turn back to look at him through the open door. “Drive safe, Hansol.”
“Always,” he replies, a smile lingering on his face at the sound of you saying his name. Then he leans across the passenger seat, catching the door frame to stop it from closing completely. Hansol tilts his head, eyes lazily tracking over your messy hair and the oversized sweatshirt you’re still wearing. “You looked extra Bambi today.”
The blush is instantaneous. It surges up your neck and floods your cheeks with a furious heat. Your jaw drops slightly, a flustered, embarrassed laugh escaping you as you struggle to find a comeback.
“Shut up!” you finally manage to stammer out, ducking your head to hide your flaming face.
Hansol lets out a low, victorious laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He pulls his hand back, letting you close the door, and you watch his taillights disappear into the morning light, your heart still racing.
Hansol doesn’t have much time tonight. His phone is already vibrating in his pocket with three other drop-offs pinned on his map, but when he reaches your door, his pace slows into effortless strides. He reaches out and gives the wood a lazy but firm knock.
When the door opens, the warm chamomile scent of your apartment spills out into the sterile hallway. You look tired as always but your eyes brightened the second they landed on him, dressed in his usual uniform of neutral colors, a hoodie pulled up just enough to frame his features, his hands buried deep in his pockets.
“Right on time,” you greet him, a smile spreading across your face as you lean against the doorframe where he usually stands.
He doesn’t say much at first, just offers a small, knowing tilt of his head as he hands over the plain brown bag. His fingers brush yours briefly during the exchange, a spark of heat that lingers longer than the transaction warrants.
You take the bag, your brow furrowing as you feel the weight and the shape of the contents inside. You peer in, eyes widening slightly. “Did you mean to put two in the bag?” you ask, looking back up at him.
“Yep,” he answers simply, his voice low and gravelly in the quiet corridor.
“But I only paid for one.”
“I know. The other one is on me.”
You hesitate, confused, chewing on your lower lip. “Is this like a promo, or are you high right now?”
A ghost of a smile touches his lips, that effortless charm radiating off him even in the dull atmosphere of the hallway. “Neither. You’ve had a rough week. Figured Bambi needed a little extra today.”
“That’s really sweet. But you don’t have to do that.”
He shifts his weight, closing the distance between you by just enough to make the air feel different. You hold your breath, acutely aware of how little space remains. Just a few inches more and your lips would touch.
“I want to.” Hansol’s voice is firm. “You’re not just a client. You know that, right?”
You look down at the bag, then back at him, your heart sinking into a slow, heavy thud. “Yeah. I think I knew that. I just didn’t want to assume.”
“Well, now you can assume a little,” he says, his gaze not wavering. “Also, tell me how that one hits. I picked it thinking of you, Bambi.”
You breath hitches. “You picked a strain thinking of me?”
“Yeah,” he replies nonchalantly, one shoulder rising in a casual shrug, as if he hadn’t just quietly flipped your entire world upside down. “Chill, warm, kinda sweet. Like you. Don’t overthink it.”
You let out a shaky laugh, leaning your head against the wood of the door. “Too late. I’m absolutely overthinking it.”
Hansol checks his phone screen, a flicker of genuine regret crossing his features. “I gotta go. Others are waiting,” he mutters, his gaze falling to your lips for the briefest moment before pulling back up to meet yours. “I wish I could stay longer.”
“Me too,” you admit without hesitating, looking up at him through your lashes. You don’t know where this sudden burst of courage came from, but it’s there, and it makes Hansol smile beautifully.
A genuine, incredibly warm smile breaks across his face at your words, not his usual confident smirk, but something entirely soft and real, gums showing and the heart shape of his lips coming back. He begins to back away toward the elevator, his eyes never leaving yours until he finally has to turn around.
He reaches the elevator and presses the button. Just as the bell chimes and the doors begin to groan open, you step out into the hallway, your voice echoing off the walls.
“Hansol!”
He pauses, one foot already inside the elevator. He turns his head, a playful, expectant look on his face. “What’s up, Bambi?”
“Nothing big,” you begin, hands gripping the doorframe behind you. “Just... wanted to know if you ever think about me when we’re not together or texting.”
He doesn’t even hesitate, the metal doors framing him like a portrait. “I think about you pretty much all the time.” he claims. “Even when we are texting.”
The honesty of it makes your stomach flip, the padlock that holds the butterflies in your stomach slowly loosening. “Good,” you manage softly.
“You’re flirting with your plug right now, Bambi,” he points out, his voice dropping an octave, teasing yet dangerously sincere.
“Maybe,” you counter, shrugging as a bit of courage grows. “Is that illegal?”
“Mm, no, not really. Especially if I flirt back.”
“And would you?”
The elevator starts to beep, a warning that the doors were going to close. He steps fully into the car, leaning his shoulder against the back wall, looking at you with a heat in his eyes that makes your knees weak.
“Have been for the past three months,” Hansol confesses, his smirk widening as the doors begin to slide shut. “Just hiding behind a lot of self-control.”
You let out a breathy laugh, your face flushing a deep crimson. “Hm. Self-control’s kinda hot.”
“So is the girl in her doorway,” he shoots back.
The doors click shut, severing the connection and leaving you standing in the hallway with a racing heart and a bag held tight to your chest. Behind those closed metal doors, Hansol is already checking his map for the next stop, but his mind is still back at that doorway.
When Hansol shows up at your apartment a few weeks later, you’re so nervous about the night’s activities that you almost forget how to open the door.
He’s wearing a simple gray shirt and black sweatpants, a baseball cap with the brim facing backward. He smells like soap, faint weed smoke, and something woodsy underneath it all. He leans against your doorframe the same way he’s been doing it for months now, and you are instantly, completely doomed.
Earlier this same day, you’d asked Hansol if he knew how to shotgun after the two of you saw it in a movie two nights before. Gently—and flirtatiously—he explained that it wasn’t that difficult, asking if you wanted to try it next time since it would involve the two of you getting closer than you ever had before.
Hansol always made you feel safe, and you knew he wouldn’t laugh at you, so you saw no reason not to try, even if there was still a chance you’d chicken out.
“You nervous?” he asks after you make room for him to come in. He slips off his shoes and tosses his keys onto the coffee table.
“A little,” you admit, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.
His mouth curves lazily, his eyes crinkling just a fraction at the corners. “Cute.”
You roll your eyes, quickly looking away. You have to. Because if you don’t, Hansol will see exactly how hard that single word hits, and then you’ll never recover.
You guide him toward the balcony where you usually light one up. There’s only one beach chair out there, something you bought at a thrift store right after moving in and renewed yourself. The balcony is so small that the chair is practically wedged between the railing and a tiny patio table, alongside a forgotten fern surviving purely on its own willpower.
After a brief, pointless argument about it, you let Hansol keep the chair while you lean against the railing with your back to the city. Your knees bump together with every small, abrupt movement any way, the balcony too cramped for there to be any real distance between you.
Hansol sets the tin on the tiny table and flips it open. You lean in slightly to get a better look at the contents.
“This isn’t your usual stuff,” he says by way of introduction. He’s not looking at you yet, just at the tin as he pulls out the papers, setting everything in order with that unhurried precision of his. “Just so you know.”
You look at it, then at him. “Should I be worried?”
“No.” Hansol says it simply. “I wouldn’t bring something that’d mess you up, Bambi. You just…” He meets your eyes for a second to reassure you even though he already knows you trust him blindly. “Your usual is too mellow for this. You’d just fall asleep on me.”
“I don’t fall asleep that easily.”
He gives you a look so unimpressed it makes you laugh. “You fell asleep the last time.”
You would argue it wasn’t really the weed; it was Hansol. With him, you felt safe enough to fall asleep whenever and wherever, to finally shut out everything that usually kept you awake.
After a couple weeks, it had become a routine: he’d make his deliveries, then stay a while to keep you company until you drifted off. Eventually, you started smoking together, and usually he’d just share whatever you normally rolled for yourself, never seeming too concerned about how hard it hit, just worried that you’d sleep soundly.
Something about the way he speaks, though—matter-of-factly, like he knows you too well by now—makes your chest feel like it’s leaping out of place before crashing back down where it belongs.
“That was different,” you finally say, resting your elbows against the railing behind you.
“You were out in twenty minutes, Bambi.”
“Well, I was tired.”
“You were cooked,” he counters, no judgment in his tone, just a fact. Because—shockingly—he knows your tolerance as well. Of course he does. “This is something in between. Hybrid. It’ll relax you, but it’ll keep you here. You’ll actually feel it without it running you over.”
You look at the bag again. “Where’s it from?”
“Same guy. Different batch.” Hansol picks it up again, turns it once in his fingers with the easy confidence of someone who can read these things on sight. “It’s good. Not complicated. You’ll like it.”
You believe him. That’s the thing about Hansol knowing exactly what you smoke—about him knowing you. He’s never steered you wrong. He remembers what worked, what didn’t, what made you text him at midnight saying never again. He filed it all away somewhere without making it a thing, and now he just knows.
“Okay,” you say, your teeth catching your lower lip.
Hansol smiles, and then he tears the paper with a casual precision that shouldn’t be interesting to observe. It is. You try not to examine that too closely as he spreads everything even, long fingers working slow and deliberate, and there’s something almost meditative about the way he does it, no wasted movement or fumbling. Just ease.
He rolls it between his palms, smoothing it down. Then he raises it to his mouth, the lick slow as he seals the edge, and runs his thumb along it afterward, pressing it closed with the kind of focus that makes you look up at the sky for a second because you have absolutely no business staring at his mouth or tongue.
A few seconds later, he holds it up once, looking quietly satisfied with his work. Then he flicks the lighter, the flame catching small and warm in the dim space of the balcony. He brings it to the tip, cupping his hand around it out of habit even though there’s barely any wind, and draws in slowly, the paper crackling faintly as the cherry burns bright orange and the scent of marijuana slowly surrounds you both.
He holds it in for a moment, then lets it out slowly through his nose, unhurried. A thin ribbon of smoke drifts upward toward the sky before disappearing completely. He takes another drag, longer this time, and leans back into the chair, his head tipping slightly against the wall behind him, eyes closing for just a second like he’s savoring it.
There’s no explaining the reactions moving through your body just from watching him in action. The aching tension low in your stomach, the way your thighs press together instinctively, the strange heat that blooms every time his mouth closes around the joint.
Almost as if he’s reading your thoughts, Hansol looks at you and holds it out. Not pushy or expectant, just offering you, his elbow resting on his knee and the smoke curling up lazily between his fingers. He watches you with that expression you still haven’t figured out how to read, somewhere between patient and quietly amused.
You take it from him and bring it to your lips without overthinking it, one elbow still resting against the concrete behind you, the light breeze pushing your hair back from your face. You wrap your lips around the joint and draw the smoke slowly into your lungs, letting it settle there for a moment and holding it for a beat. The warmth spreads through your chest in a slow unfurl that reaches all the way to your fingertips.
When you exhale, the smoke slips from your mouth in a thin stream, immediately snatched away by the night breeze. Hansol’s eyes follow it for half a second before they drift back to your face.
“There you go,” he says, voice low and approving enough to make heat crawl right back up your neck.
You take one more hit, feeling the night softening slightly, the city sounds below drifting to a different register, the small balcony going quieter around you. Then you throw your head back to exhale the smoke, watching it disappear into the dark sky above you.
When you lower your gaze again, you catch the way Hansol’s eyes have drifted down the line of your throat to your collarbone, lingering there for just a second too long. The look sends another rush of heat through you, and he notices you noticing. His gaze flicks back up immediately, but not before the corner of his mouth curves faintly, subtle and almost guilty, like he got caught staring but doesn’t regret it nearly enough.
You pass the joint back to him, and he takes it from you, fingers brushing against yours in the exchange without either of you commenting on it. Hansol holds it loosely between his fingers and watches you for a moment with that same unreadable patience.
“Feeling it?”
“A little.” You shrug lightly, though you’re not entirely sure you’re still talking about the weed. “Give it a minute.”
Another crooked smile tugs at his mouth as he nods. Hansol brings the joint to his lips, dragging in slowly before blowing another lazy cloud of smoke into the night air. “Good,” he whispers, smoke still curling lazily from between his lips.
You can’t explain why the sight feels so unfairly appealing, heat now unfurling lower in your body at something so simple. It’s not like you’ve never seen him do this before, because you did. Except tonight, everything about Hansol feels amplified somehow; his hands, his mouth, the slow rise and fall of his breathing. Even the way he looks at you feels… different, settling somewhere beneath your skin and and camping there.
Hansol takes another hit, the cherry burning bright for a moment before he pulls the joint away. He holds it there, and you watch his throat move slightly as he swallows the smoke. His eyes are half-closed, fixed somewhere out toward the city. He looks completely unbothered in a way that makes you feel the exact opposite.
Then he looks at you as he exhales one more time, his eyes searching yours through the haze. His brows arch slightly, and his voice comes out lower, roughened by the smoke he was holding in. “Ready?”
A wave of shivers travels across your skin like it has nowhere else to go. The butterflies in your stomach aren’t just fluttering anymore, they’re frantic, crashing wildly against your ribs every time your eyes meet his beautiful, inviting brown ones.
You’ve been thinking about this moment in various versions ever since you sent that text this morning. You’ve been thinking about it in the abstract, in the safe, theoretical space of it’s just a thing people do, it doesn’t mean anything, plenty of people do this without making it weird. You’ve spent hours constructing a very reasonable internal argument about proximity and exhaled smoke and the entirely non-romantic history of the practice.
All of that argument completely falls apart the moment Hansol says the word.
You just nod, pressing your lower lip between your teeth again before whispering, “Yeah.”
He explains how everything will work, walking you through each step, and even pulls his phone out of his pocket to show you a TikTok video in case it’s easier to learn visually. And maybe it’s ridiculous, but you love the effort he puts into making sure you feel comfortable, safe, completely at ease with him.
Hansol then sets the joint down on the edge of the glass ashtray. He doesn’t take his eyes off you as he shifts in your thrift-store beach chair, making space for you between his knees. Then he taps his thigh twice.
“C’mere, Bambi.”
Your breath catches in your throat.
The balcony is already tiny, but the space between the chair and the railing suddenly feels like a tightrope. You hesitate for a fraction of a second, not sure if you heard right, your heart doing a wild, erratic dance in your chest. Once again, Hansol doesn’t pressure you; he just waits, his hand resting casually on his knee, his brown eyes going completely dark and focused entirely on you.
Stepping forward, you slowly let go of your grip on the railing. Before your nerves can make you chicken out, you step into his space and sit down across his lap.
The shift in perspective is dizzying. Suddenly, you’re completely enveloped in his presence, somehow even more than before. The fabric of his shirt is thin enough that you can feel the solid heat of his chest underneath it. His hands move instinctively, settling firmly around your waist to steady you on his lap. His grip is grounding, holding you securely against him.
Looking down at Hansol, you realize just how close your faces are, the kind of close he mentioned earlier. With the brim of his baseball cap turned backward, there’s nothing shading his eyes. You can see every tiny detail of Hansol: the faint crinkle at the corners of his eyes, the heart-shaped curve of his mouth, the tiny freckles scattered across his nose, the intensity in his gaze as he looks up at you.
“Still nervous?” His voice drops so low and raspy it sends another wave of shivers straight down your spine, and you can barely hide the way your body reacts to it.
Your hands slowly find a home against his shoulders, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “A little more now,” you admit honestly, not finding any reason to lie or hide it.
“Don’t be.” Hansol lets out a breathless laugh that brushes against your lips, the vibration hitting your chest. “I’ve got you, Bambi.”
And you believe him.
Without ceremony, Hansol picks up the joint from the table and takes a long drag before turning fully toward you. When he leans in, it’s slow and unhurried, making you understand immediately that he’s giving you time to adjust, or back out, if you want to. Mostly, because he’s Hansol, and well… he does everything at his own pace while respecting yours just as carefully. Rushing doesn’t exist in his vocabulary.
You lean in too, not much, just enough to show him that everything’s okay, that you are okay with this, that he can proceed however he wants. And you can see the exact moment his expression shifts with understanding, settling in his eyes like he expected nothing less.
Hansol parts his lips and exhales smoothly. The smoke comes out slow, and you inhale it in through your lips exactly the way he taught you to, barely touching him, but close enough that the warmth of his breath folds into yours.
Your eyes close immediately, and you hold it in for a beat, then another, the whole world narrowing down to the inch of space between your mouths, the solid heat of his hands at your waist, and the distant sound of the city existing somewhere far below, fading into something completely irrelevant.
You let it out and open your eyes to find that Hansol still hasn’t moved back. He’s watching you attentively from beneath his lashes, and there’s nothing patient or unreadable about his expression anymore.
Perhaps the marijuana is clouding your better judgment, but the look in his eyes feels different now, focused in a way that makes your stomach do a double twist. He looks like someone who has already made up his mind and is simply waiting for the exact right moment to act on it, maybe searching for the perfect opening before finally giving in to what he’s been holding back.
You suspect it’s the same for him as it is for you.
When his gaze drops to your mouth, you’re convinced this new hybrid he bought is playing tricks on your mind, especially when his eyes linger there long enough to make your breathing go shallow before finally lifting back to yours again.
“Again.” Hansol’s voice is barely above a whisper, but it’s definitely not a question.
You don’t trust your voice right now, so you just nod.
He picks up the joint again and takes another slow drag, the cherry burning warm between your bodies. You watch his throat move as he holds the smoke in, and it absolutely shouldn’t make you all hot and bothered but it does. His hands still haven’t left your waist, one thumb tracing a small arc just above your hip—probably unconscious, probably not even something he realizes he’s doing—and somehow the touch burns straight through the thin fabric of your shirt
Hansol turns back to you even closer this time. Or maybe you’re the one who moved in closer. Truthfully, you stopped keeping track of who’s been closing the distance first somewhere minutes ago, if the distance between you even really exists anymore.
He exhales, and you inhale him in again, and this time, when it’s over, neither of you pulls away. You stay in the half inch that remains, sharing the same air, and letting the moment stretch itself, his eyes fixed on yours.
There had been a few moments during this strange new friendship with your plug when you’d caught yourself wanting him to kiss you, or wishing you had enough courage to kiss him first. But this was different. Now the desire felt overwhelming, practically screaming inside your head as you stared at his mouth from impossibly close range, silently hoping he could somehow read your thoughts and finally close the tiny distance still separating you.
“Hansol…” His name leaves your lips like a shaky plea. Maybe just to say something, maybe just to fill the space before it you swallows you whole.
“Yeah?” he murmurs back. His pupils are enormous, and just by looking at them, you think he already knows exactly what you’re thinking. “What do you want, Bambi?”
Your fingers tighten slightly against his shoulders, your pulse so loud you’re convinced he can feel it where your bodie1s are pressed together. “I—” The word catches in your throat before it can fully form.
For a second, all you can do is look at him, at the way his eyes keep flicking down to your mouth, at the patience still somehow woven through the tension sitting heavy between you. And then Hansol’s thumb drags slowly against your waist again, grounding and dangerous all at once, and your breath stutters.
His hand comes up to grip your jaw gently, thumb pressing against the corner of your mouth, and for one dizzy second you’re sure he’s finally going to kiss you. But instead, he keeps you there, close enough to feel his breath against your lips as his eyes lock onto yours.
“Tell me what you want, Bambi,” he breathes, voice rough and impossibly steady at the same time. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll give it to you.”
“Kiss me. Please.”
The words come out almost breathless, but the effect they have on Hansol is immediate. His eyes darken even more, and everything you can’t read in his expression is in his pupils, which dilate even further, if that’s even possible. His thumb brushes once across your jaw, and for a second, he just looks at you, like he’s letting himself fully believe you mean it.
Then his mouth curves faintly at the corner, a flicker of almost disbelieving amusement in his gaze. “Yeah?” he murmurs again, his voice low enough to melt straight through you.
You nod before he’s even finished speaking, and that’s all it takes for Hansol to stop hesitating. Without breaking eye contact, he reaches over blindly, pressing the glowing cherry of the joint into the glass ashtray until it goes out completely. The second his hand is free again, it returns to your waist, his grip firm as he pulls you that final, infinite inch closer.
When his lips meet yours, the sheer relief of it makes you exhale a soft sigh right into his mouth. It’s everything you’ve been agonizing over for the past three months, amplified by a thousand.
It starts slow, exploratory and incredibly filled with the same patient precision he applies to everything else. Your hands slide up from his shoulders to tangle in the soft hair at the nape of his neck, right beneath the edge of his backwards cap, and Hansol lets out the quietest grunt against your lips like he’s been wanting this just as badly as you have.
His hands at your waist tighten, pulling you flush against his chest until there’s nothing left between you. He adjusts you slightly so you’re seated more securely against him, surrounded by the solid warmth of his body, a jolt of electricity traveling straight down to your toes at the feeling of him pressed against you.
Tilting his head, Hansol parts your lips with his own, the kiss deepening into something that makes your head spin faster than any pot ever could. He tastes exactly like you imagined: sweet and earthy, like the lingering haze in the air around you, mixed with something unmistakably, comfortingly him.
The feeling of being held so securely, combined with the gentle, creeping warmth of the hybrid strain, makes everything around you fade. The apartment, the city sounds below, the cold night breeze, the small balcony; it all completely disappears. There is only the solid weight of Hansol beneath you, the steady, grounding grip of his hands on you, and the rhythm of his mouth moving deliciously against yours.
The butterflies in your stomach have ignited into a heavy heat that pools low in your belly as his tongue sweeps against your lower lip, coaxing you to open up more to him. You follow his lead blindly, completely lost in the sensation of his hands mapping the curve of your spine and his mouth devouring your every breath.
When you finally, breathlessly, pull back just enough to draw air into your burning lungs, you don’t go far. You rest your forehead against the brim of his cap, eyes closed, chest heaving. You can hear Hansol breathing just as heavily, his thumb gently stroking the sensitive skin along your jawline.
“You okay, Bambi?” he asks into the tiny space between your lips, a lazy, satisfied smile evident in the rough timbre of his voice.
You open your eyes to find him looking up at you with an expression so soft, so completely stripped of that unreadable patience, that it makes your heart ache in the absolute best way possible.
You nod, biting your lip to keep yourself from kissing him breathless again. “Better than okay,” you answer, nodding frantically, your hands sliding down to frame his face as you lean in briefly.
His hand comes up to brush a strand of hair from your face, his fingers lingering along your jawline. Hansol’s voice is soft when he speaks, a faintly amused crease forming between his eyebrows. “You sure?”
“I’m great,” you assure him, leaning into his touch. You can’t help but let out a shaky laugh, still in disbelief at what just happened. You just kissed. No, you just kissed Hansol. “Didn’t expect tonight to go like that.”
Hansol’s eyes crinkle at the corners. “Me neither. Not complaining though.”
Another flustered laugh escapes you, and you rest your forehead against his shoulder for a second to hide your face. “Just so you know... I literally asked you to come over to teach me how to shotgun. Not make out with me on my balcony.”
He hitches you a little higher on his lap. “Okay but... you didn’t exactly stop me.”
“I didn’t want to stop you,” you admit softly, looking back up at him, the honesty leaving you feeling completely vulnerable in his arms.
His gaze drifts down to your lips again, the air crackling with a heat that has nothing to do with the weed. “I want to kiss you again,” he confesses, his thumb brushing lightly against your lower lip. “Is that okay?”
You nod, too caught up in the intensity of his stare to manage words. Hansol leans forward, his hand cupping your jaw as he closes the distance between you again. He kisses you slowly once more, as though savoring every second. One hand slides from your jaw into your hair, while the other keeps you firmly anchored against him—not that you plan to go anywhere while he keeps kissing you like that.
You melt into his embrace, losing yourself in the taste of him further. You feel him grin against your mouth, his hands slipping under the back of your shirt to find the bare skin of your back. His palms are warm, and the slow drag of them up your spine makes you shiver. You feel the heat of his chest through the thin fabric of his shirt, and it’s not enough. You want to feel his skin beneath your fingers.
When he pulls back this time, it’s only far enough to start peppering your jaw with kisses. Your breath hitches as his lips move lower, skimming down the column of your throat until you can feel the heat of his mouth even through your shirt.
“Hansol,” you gasp against the crown of his head, hands reaching up to push his cap down and thread your fingers into his hair. “The balcony isn’t very private.”
He hums thoughtfully, but doesn’t stop the delicious maddening, drugging kisses he’s placing along your collarbone. “Your neighbors can see?”
A moan escapes your lips when he bites your most sensitive spot. You shake your head, trying to force words out. “Just the people below.”
He pulls back to look at you with a crooked smile. Hansol rests his forehead against yours, hand still cupping your face. “Sorry. I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he admits, not a hint of shyness on his face.
“You have?” you ask, heart hammering in your chest.
“Of course I have.” Hansol chuckles, like it’s almost absurd to think otherwise, the sound sending shivers down your spine. “From the moment our eyes met.” He pauses briefly, then adds, “You’re impossible not to want, Bambi.”
Your breath hitches at his words, a blush spreading across your cheeks. “I want you too,” you whisper, suddenly feeling more bold. “I’ve wanted you since the first time I saw you under that shady streetlight.”
His grip on your waist tightens, his lips hovering just over yours. “Is that so?”
“It is.” You nod, unable to tear your gaze away from his.
With a single movement, Hansol stands up with you still in his arms, making you let out a small squeal as you wrap your legs around his waist to steady yourself, your arms linking around his neck, and face burying in the curve where his shoulder meets his neck.
He moves with an easy strength that makes your head spin, carrying you as if you weight nothing at all. The world tilts on its axis, the view of your tiny balcony shifting into a dizzying blur of city lights and dark sky. This side of him is almost enough to give you whiplash, but you can’t help but loving it.
As he moves, you inhale deeply, and the scent of him is a heady, overwhelming cocktail: the clean soap from his shower, the earthy tang of the weed clinging to his shirt, and something underneath it all that is just purely, intoxicatingly Hansol, something you’re still trying to figure out.
You feel him shift his grip, one hand supporting your thighs as he navigates the threshold of the sliding glass door. There’s a moment of slight awkwardness as he sidesteps into the living room, the cool night air replaced by the still, warm atmosphere of your apartment. But he doesn’t put you down. Instead, he kicks the door shut with the back of his heel, the soft thud echoing in the sudden silence.
The only light comes from the faint glow of the city filtering through the windows, casting long, distorted shadows across the room. It paints his features in soft grays and deep blacks, highlighting the line of his jaw and the curve of his lips. In the dim light, he looks less like your friendly neighborhood plug and more like a fantasy brought to life.
The effects of the weed hums pleasantly in your veins, a syrupy sensation that makes everything feel slow-motion and dreamlike. Every nerve ending in your body is awake and singing, amplifying the feeling of his body against yours, the texture of his shirt under your cheek, and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your chest.
Hansol crosses the small living room in three long strides and gently lays you down on the cushions of your couch. He doesn’t move away, though. He follows you down, one knee on the cushions between your legs, his hands bracketing your head as he leans over you. His body cages you in a welcome weight that makes you feel incredibly safe.
“You’re suddenly quiet,” he observes, his voice still a low, gravelly whisper.
His thumb traces the line of your cheekbone, the simple touch sending a cascade of sparks across your skin. The hybrid strain he brought is doing exactly what he promised: you’re relaxed, your limbs heavy and pliant, but your mind is sharp, hyper-focused on him. Every tiny detail is magnified—the way his eyes seem to drink you in, the sheer heat radiating from his body.
“Just… processing,” you manage to breathe out.
A slow, lazy smile spreads across his lips. “Processing what?”
“This,” you say, gesturing vaguely at the space between you. “Us. And the fact that you just carried me out of my own balcony like I was a sack of potatoes.”
Hansol lets out a low chuckle. “A very cute sack of potatoes.” He leans down, his lips brushing against yours, a feather-light touch. “I can process with you, if you want.”
You don’t need to answer. You just slide your hands from his shoulders up into his hair, your fingers sinking into the soft, thick strands. You pull his head down, and this time the kiss isn’t slow or exploratory. It’s hungry, desperate, a release of all the tension that has been building between you for months.
His mouth meets yours with equal force, his tongue sweeping past your lips to tangle with yours in a slick, heated dance. It’s messy and perfect and everything you’ve been craving. His hands leave the couch, one sliding down your side to rest possessively on your hip, the other threading into your hair, cradling the back of your head as he angles the kiss deeper.
A soft moan escapes your throat, and you feel him smile against your mouth. The sensation of his tongue in your mouth is an almost psychedelic experience. You can feel every texture, taste every note of him, the world narrowing down to the single, explosive point of contact between you, and it feels incredible.
His kisses trail from your mouth, hot and open mouthed, down the sensitive line of your jaw, to the frantic pulse fluttering at the base of your throat. You arch your back, granting him better access, your head tipping back against the cushions. His lips find the soft spot just above your collarbone, the same one he bit on the balcony, and he sucks gently, creating a pleasant pressure that sends a jolt of pure arousal straight to your core.
“Hansol,” you whine, your hips instinctively bucking up against him. The friction of his sweatpants against the thin fabric of your shorts is maddening.
“Yeah?” he murmurs against your skin, his breath hot and damp. He doesn’t stop his assault, his mouth moving lower, pressing kisses against the thin cotton of your shirt, right over your heart. You can feel the damp heat of his mouth through the fabric, while his tongue circles your nipple.
“I need…” You trail off at the feeling, not even sure what you’re asking for, just knowing you need more.
He seems to understand perfectly, pushing himself up slightly, just enough to look you in the eyes. His gaze is dark and intense, his pupils blown wide. Add in the messy hair and swollen lips, and it’s the most insane, delightful sight you’ve ever seen in your life.
“I know what you need, Bambi.”
Without another word, he moves down your body. His hands find the waistband of your shorts, his fingers hooking into the elastic. He pauses for a beat, his eyes asking a silent question. You give a single, shaky nod, and that’s all he needs. Your shorts and underwear are gone in one smooth, efficient motion, tossed onto the floor beside the couch.
The cool air of the room hits your bare skin, and you shiver, a mixture of cold and raw, unadulterated anticipation. He stays there for a moment, kneeling between your legs, his gaze slowly, reverently, taking in the sight of you. The look in his eyes isn’t lecherous; it’s one of pure, unadulterated appreciation, and it makes a fresh wave of heat pool low in your belly.
You like to think getting high has stripped away your usual inhibitions, leaving you feeling bold and open beneath his stare. You part your legs for him, exposing your folds entirely, a silent, shameless invitation. His answering smile is devastating. He leans forward, his hands coming to rest on your inner thighs, his thumbs stroking the soft skin there in slow, hypnotic circles.
“So beautiful,” he whispers, and you can just make out the slow smile forming on his lips. “Perfect fucking pussy.”
Hansol lowers his head, and his hot breath ghosts over your sensitive skin, making you gasp and buck against his hands. He presses a soft, chaste kiss to the top of your mound before his tongue finally sweeps down.
The first touch is electric. It’s a broad, wet slide from bottom to top that makes your entire body jerk. A strangled cry escapes your lips, and your hands fly up, fisting in the fabric of the couch cushions beside your head. He chuckles against you, before he settles in, and you realize with a jolt that his earlier patience and precision have returned, now focused entirely on your pleasure.
If he wasn’t your plug, you’d swear Hansol was a cartographer, mapping every fold and crevice with his mouth. His tongue is relentless, sometimes teasing with light, feathery licks around the edges, other times pressing down with a firm, insistent pressure that makes you see stars and the world dissolves into pure sensations.
You can feel the rough texture of his faint stubble against your inner thighs, the slick heat of his mouth, the gentle pull of his suction. Your hands leave the cushions, searching blindly for purchase. They find his head, your fingers tangling desperately in his hair. You grip him tight, your body starting to writhe as he finds your clit and circles it slowly, deliberately, driving you mad.
“Hansol,” you moan, tugging gently on the hair your fingers are tangled in. He pauses, his mouth still pressed against you, and look up, eyes wide with a mixture of lust and confusion. “Want your hand, too.”
If there’s one thing the night has left you with, it’s the thought of his hands, especially the way it looked while he rolled the joint.
He chuckles, a low, breathy sound that vibrates against your thigh. He pushes himself up, moving from between your legs to hover over you on the couch. The sudden loss of his mouth makes you let out a small, complaining whimper.
“My hand?” he asks, voice not even trying to hide the amusement. He held up his right hand, palm open, presenting it to you like a sacred offering.
And you take it, your own hands trembling slightly as you hold his. You bring it to your lips, pressing a soft kiss to the center of his palm before turning it over and kissing each of his long fingers one by one. You study his long deft fingers with a devotee’s focus, your gaze tracing the road map of pretty blue veins beneath his pale skin.
Every detail of it turns you on enough so you take the pad of his thumb into your mouth, sucking on it gently, your eyes fluttering shut as your hips rolled up against his thigh in a slow, needy grind. The solid muscle against your bare pussy pulls an even needier moan from your throat.
A deep groan rumbles in his chest, pupils going wider. He leans over you, free hand bracing on the couch cushion beside your head.
“Jesus, Bambi,” he gasp, lips now brushing against the skin of your stomach, sending a fresh wave of shivers through you. “Then let me fuck you with it.”
You release his thumb with a wet pop and let his hand go. He reclaims it, eyes burning into yours, before he moves back between your legs. He doesn’t waste a second, leaning down, his mouth finding your folds again, his tongue lapping at your pussy with a renewed vigor that makes you cry out. At the same time, he slips one of his long fingers inside you.
The sudden fullness combined with the merciless work of his mouth is too much. Your senses overload, a wave of pleasure building higher and higher until you’re certain you’re going to shatter. You writhe against the couch, back arching, hips lifting off the cushions to meet the pressure of his mouth and hand.
“Please.” The word tears itself from your throat before you can think. “Hansol, please.”
He hums in response, adding a second finger and giving a harsh suck to your clit. His fingers curl inside you, hitting a spot deep within that sent a lightning bolt of pure ecstasy tearing straight through your body, while his tongue works faster and harder against your clit.
You grip his hair like an anchor against the raging sea of pleasure he’s created, pulling him closer, your nails scraping lightly against his scalp as the wave crests. “Oh, god, I’m—I’m gonna—”
He seems to take that as a challenge, tongue flicking even faster, fingers curling inside you with precision until they find the spot that undoes everything. The wave doesn’t crest so much as collapse, and then you break completely.
Your orgasm crashes over you, a blinding, white-hot supernova of pleasure that rips a scream from your lungs, no room for thinking of anything as trivial as your neighbors. Your body convulses, your inner muscles clenching tightly around his head. You grip his hair tighter, hips bucking wildly as the waves of pleasure roll through you, one after another, leaving you utterly breathless and spent.
Hansol doesn’t stop, though, continuing to lick and soothe you through the aftershocks until your trembling subsides and you melt into the couch, a boneless, quivering mess.
He finally pulls away, and you let out a weak whimper at the loss of contact. He moves up your body, his face slick, lips swollen. He looks impossibly pleased with himself, a satisfied smirk playing on his mouth. He leans down and captures your lips in a wet kiss, and you can taste yourself on him, the flavor musky and sweet and incredibly erotic.
When he pulls back, you’re panting, your mind a blissful, hazy fog. “Wow,” is all you can manage to say.
He giggles, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “You’re very welcome, Bambi.”
You lie there for a moment, letting the last delicious tremors of your orgasm fade, watching him through heavy-lidded eyes. The need to reciprocate, to give him even a fraction of the pleasure he just gave you, is practically a primal urge. You reach out, your hand landing on the front of his sweatpants. You can feel the thick, hard length of him through the soft fabric, and a fresh wave of desire cuts through your post-orgasmic haze.
“My turn,” you whisper, your voice husky.
You push yourself up onto your elbows, then swing your legs over the side of the couch. You sit up and look at him, at the hunger in his eyes. Without a word, you slide off the couch and onto your knees on the rug in front of him. Hansol’s breath hitches audibly while you reach for the drawstring of his sweatpants, fingers fumbling slightly.
He covers your hands with his. “You sure?” he asks, voice rough.
You just look up at him through your lashes, meeting his intense gaze, and give a slow nod. He removes his hands and leans back against the couch, giving you complete control. You pull the string, loosening the waistband, and then slowly peel the gray fabric down his hips, revealing the taut line of his stomach and the trail of thin hair that disappears below. You push the sweatpants down past his knees, along with his black boxer briefs, freeing him.
He is beautiful. Long, thick, and perfectly straight. A single, clear bead of pre-cum glistens at the tip, and your mouth waters. You reach out a tentative hand, fingers wrapping around his velvety length. Hansol groans, a low, guttural sound that vibrates through the floor, his hips twitching involuntarily.
You lean forward, your hair falling around your face like a curtain, and take him into your mouth. You start slowly, your tongue tracing the prominent vein that runs along the underside of his cock, following it all the way to the head. He tastes like an incredible mix of salt and musk, and you take him deeper, lips creating a wet, tight seal around him.
Hansol hisses through his teeth, hands coming up to fist in your hair, but his grip is gentle, reverent, nothing like the desperate way you clung to him moments ago.
“Shit, that’s it,” he breathes, the words barely holding together when you hollow your cheeks and take him deeper.
You soon find a rhythm, bobbing your head up and down, one hand stroking the base of his cock in time with the movements of your mouth. You love the feeling of him filling your mouth, the way he pulses and hardens even further against your tongue. You love even more the sounds he makes, the low, broken groans and sharp intakes of breath that tell you exactly how good you’re making him feel.
He starts to move his hips, a slow, rocking motion that pushes him deeper into your throat with each thrust. You gag slightly, but it’s a good feeling, a feeling of being completely taken, completely used for his pleasure. You take him as deep as you can, your throat muscles contracting around him.
“Fuck, Bambi,” he grits out, his head thrown back against the couch, eyes squeezed shut. And you take a moment to appreciate this stunning view of Hansol. “You’re so good at this.”
His praise sends a thrill through you. You pick up the pace, your hand and mouth working faster, more desperately. You can feel the tension building in him, the way his whole body has gone rigid, his hips bucking more insistently against your mouth. You can feel the tell-tale pulse at the base of his cock that signals he’s close.
Just as you think he’s about to let go, he pulls back, his hands gripping your shoulders. “Wait, Bambi,” he gasps, his chest heaving. “Stop. I wanna be inside you.”
Hansol pulls you up from the floor, his movements urgent. You’re on your feet, swaying slightly, his hands firm on your hips. He doesn’t let you go. Instead, he hooks his thumbs into the hem of his own shirt and rips it over his head in one fluid motion, tossing it onto the floor.
Before you can fully process the view of his bare chest, his hands are at the hem of your shirt. His fingers are scorching hot against the skin of your stomach as he pulls the fabric up and over your head, eyes never leaving yours as he lets your shirt fall to the floor beside his.
The air is cool on your bare skin, but his gaze is molten hot. It drops from your eyes to your chest, and his breath hitches. His pupils dilate, swallowing the brown of his irises until they’re almost black. He looks at you with a kind of raw reverence that makes your heart hammer against your ribs.
“Fuck,” he breathes, the word a prayer. “Bambi, you’re… incredible.”
He closes the small distance between you, and his hands, those beautiful hands you were just worshipping, come up to cup your breasts. The feeling of his palms against your skin makes you gasp. He holds you with a surprising gentleness, his thumbs stroking over your nipples, coaxing them into tight, aching points. You moan, your head falling back as you arch into his touch, a silent plea for more.
That sound seems to break whatever restraint he had left. He pushes you back gently, your legs hitting the edge of the couch, and you tumble backward onto the cushions. He follows you down immediately, settling between your parted thighs, his bare chest pressing against yours.
“You’re still so wet for me,” he growls against your lips, his hand sliding down between your legs to confirm his words. Your slickness coats his fingers instantly, and he circles your clit with his thumb, making you whimper.
“Please, Hansol,” you beg, your nails digging into his broad back. “I need you inside me. Now.”
He positions himself at your entrance, the blunt head of his cock pressing against you, teasing you. He looks down at you, his eyes burning with a possessive glint. “Look at me, Bambi.”
You obey, your eyes locking with his. The connection is intense, electric.
And then Hansol pushes forward.
The feeling of him entering you is breathtaking. He moves slowly, stretching you, filling you inch by glorious inch. It’s a perfect, snug fit, a feeling of completion. You let out a long, shuddering sigh as Hansol sinks into you all the way to the hilt. He stays there for a moment, buried deep inside you, letting you adjust to the size of him. He rests his forehead against yours, his breathing ragged.
“Holy shit,” he breathes. “You feel… perfect.”
The sensation of being filled by him is almost overwhelming. You can feel every ridge, every vein, the incredible heat of him deep inside you. It’s as if your bodies were made for this.
He kisses the tip of your nose before saying, “So polite.”
He begins to move, in a rhythm that has your head spinning. He pulls back almost all the way, the sensation of his withdrawal a sweet torture, before thrusting back in, burying himself deep inside you again. Each thrust is a wave of pleasure, building on the last. He keeps his eyes locked on yours, watching your face as he fucks you.
Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him even deeper. Your moans mix with his grunts, creating a pornographic symphony in your living room. The pace quickens, his slow thrusts turning faster, harder, more frantic. He’s no longer the patient, gentle Hansol you know; he’s a man driven by pure need, and you meet his energy with your own, arching your hips to meet his every powerful thrust.
The friction is building, the pleasure coiling tight and hot in your lower belly. The couch creaks in protest beneath you, the only sound apart from your panting breaths and the wet, slapping sound of your bodies colliding. He leans down, his mouth finding your neck again, sucking a new bruise into your skin as he thrusts into you relentlessly.
“You’re so tight,” he groans into your ear, his voice strained. “So fucking good, Bambi.”
You’re close again, so close. The world is nothing but a blur of sensations: the feeling of him filling you, the heat of his skin, the scent of his sweat, the sound of his voice calling your name.
“Hansol, I’m—I’m close!” you cry out, your voice breaking.
“Me too, baby,” he pants, his thrusts becoming deeper, even more frantic, slamming into you with a desperate intensity. “Come for me. Let me feel you come apart around me.”
That’s all it takes. His words, combined with the relentless pressure of his cock deep inside you, push you over the edge. Your second orgasm hits you like a freight train, even more intense than the first. Your vision whites out, a scream tears from your throat, and your inner muscles clench around him in a powerful, milking release.
You can feel that your climax triggers his, but instead of driving deeper, he rips himself out of you with a wet, slick sound that echoes in the quiet room. The sudden feeling of emptiness makes you gasp. In a single, fluid motion, he positions himself over you, his hips hovering above your stomach.His eyes are squeezed shut, face a mask of pure pleasure as his body goes rigid. You watch, mesmerized, as thick, hot ropes of his cum splash across your belly.
Hansol collapses beside you on the couch, his chest heaving as he shudders through the last aftershocks of his own release. He pulls you into his side, one arm wrapping securely around you. You both lie there for a moment, catching your breath, the air thick with the scent of sex and sweat.
You look down at the pearly mess cooling on your stomach. Slowly, you lift a hand and dip your index finger into the thickest part of it. The texture is sticky and still warm. You lift your finger, your eyes finding his in the dim light, only to discover Hansol already watching you, his own gaze heavy-lidded and curious. You hold his gaze as you slowly bring your finger to your mouth, sucking the tip clean.
A groan escapes his throat, a sound of pure, astonished pleasure. His arm tightens around you, pulling you impossibly closer until your bodies are flush against each other. “You’re going to be the death of me, Bambi,” he rasps, his voice with a mixture of exhaustion and renewed desire.
He buries his face in your hair, and you melt into him, tangled together in a heap of sweaty limbs. The hazy, blissful fog of the weed settles over you like a warm blanket, cocooning you in the aftermath of pure, unadulterated bliss. His body is heavy and grounding next to yours, and you’ve never felt more safe, more sated, in your entire life.
The night was nothing like you expected, and everything you never knew you wanted.
But just then, an afterthought—one that doesn’t belong in this moment at all—surfaces and slips out before you can stop it. “Was that just because we were high?”
The light in Hansol’s eyes instantly softens, replaced by a profound, heavy sincerity that pins you to the spot. He reaches up, his fingers gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his touch incredibly gentle.
“Absolutely not,” he says, his voice steady and absolute. “At least not for me. I wanted you the first time I saw you. I just didn’t wanna mess up what we had, but being around you is kinda messing me up anyway. In a good way.”
Your heart skips a beat, a massive wave of warmth blooming in your chest. The butterflies have completely escaped their cage by now, flying far, far away.
“So what are you saying?” you ask softly. “You like me?”
“A lot more than I could describe probably.” Hansol nods, his brown eyes shining. “But yeah, I do like you. You’re stuck in my head all the time, Bambi.”
You look at him, a wide smile breaking across your face, completely erasing any residual trace of executive dysfunction or anxiety. “What if I like you back?” you tease, tilting your head and resting your chin on his chest.
Hansol’s smile turns incredibly bright, a boyish expression of pure relief taking over his features as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, holding you closer.
“Then I’m the luckiest plug in this city.”
# NAVIGATION | MASTERLIST | PERMANENT TAGLIST
If you’re enjoying it, don’t forget to reblog, helps so much and gets the fic out there!! 💗
Summary: Mingyu complains endlessly about waiting for you until one compliment and a kiss completely distracts both of you.
Wc: 1,041
Warnings: pure fluff :)
MASTERLIST
-
Mingyu is terrible at waiting. Genuinely terrible at it.
He’s stretched across your bed like he pays rent there, all long limbs and broad shoulders, one arm tucked behind his head while the other drums impatiently against his stomach.
he mattress dips beneath his weight, his frame taking up far too much space, far too much attention.
Not that he seems to notice. Or maybe he does.
Because every bit of his attention is fixed on you.
You’re standing in front of your mirror for what has to be the eighth time now, fingers disappearing into your hair as you try to fix a strand that refuses to sit properly.
At this point you can’t even tell if it actually looks wrong anymore or if you’ve just been staring at yourself for too long.
Behind you, Mingyu sighs dramatically.
“You’ve been doing that forever,” he complains, voice deep and lazy.
You snort softly, eyes still trained on your reflection as you slide another bobby pin into place. “You’re so dramatic.”
“I’m serious,” he groans. “It’s literally been an hour.”
“It has not been an hour.”
“It feels like an hour.”
You roll your eyes automatically, smoothing your hands over your hair again before wincing when the pin catches your finger. “Ow—”
Mingyu lifts his head immediately. “See? Your hair is fighting back now. That means it’s time to go.”
A laugh slips out before you can stop it. “Nobody told you to sit there waiting for me.”
“Baby, what else am I supposed to do?” he asks, sounding genuinely offended by the suggestion.
You glance at him through the mirror for the first time in minutes and instantly regret it, because now he’s looking at you with that expression.
That soft, annoyingly pretty look he gets whenever his attention settles completely on you.
His dark hair is messy from lying around, his hoodie pushed up enough to reveal strong forearms, and he’s staring like watching you fix your hair is somehow the most fascinating thing he’s seen all day.
Your movements slow a little under his gaze.
“You could go downstairs,” you mumble, suddenly very focused on fixing a strand near your temple. “Or scroll on your phone. Or literally anything else.”
He hums absentmindedly, clearly not listening.
The bed creaks behind you. Then suddenly, warm fingers curl around your wrist. “Mingyu—”
Before you can react properly, he gives you a gentle tug backwards, just enough to throw off your balance and pull you into him.
A soft gasp leaves you as your back brushes against his chest.
“Are you done now?” he asks, voice quieter this time, the complaint melting into something softer. Something closer to whining.
You can feel his smile before you even see it.
He’s standing right behind you now, close enough that warmth radiates off him in waves. One of his hands slides from your wrist down to your waist, settling there naturally, like it belongs there. Like it always belongs there.
Your eyes lift instinctively to the mirror. And of course he’s already looking at you.
Not at your hair. Not at the outfit you spent twenty minutes changing into. Just you.
“We’re not even going anywhere important,” he murmurs, leaning down until his chin almost brushes your shoulder. “Why are you stressing this much?”
“Because I want to look nice,” you argue weakly, reaching up to touch your hair again out of habit.
The second your hand lifts, he lets out the most pathetic groan imaginable.
“Oh my god, there she goes again.”
You laugh despite yourself. “Leave me alone.”
“No.” His answer comes instantly.
The hand on your waist tightens slightly, pulling you back against him properly this time. You can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest through his hoodie, warm and solid behind you.
“Seriously,” he says, quieter now. “You already look good.”
You narrow your eyes at him through the mirror. “You’re only saying that because you want to leave.”
Mingyu’s mouth curves immediately, slow and easy. Then he leans closer, close enough that his voice brushes warm against your ear.
“No, baby,” he murmurs softly, “I’m saying it because my girlfriend always looks good.”
The words hit embarrassingly fast.
That awful soft feeling blooms in your chest instantly, warm and impossible to hide. You duck your head to hide the smile threatening to break across your face, but it’s useless.
Mingyu notices everything. Especially when it comes to you.
A quiet laugh rumbles out of him as he catches your expression in the mirror.
“There it is,” he teases gently.
“Shut up.”
“You’re smiling.”
“I’m not.”
“You literally are.”
You finally turn around to glare at him properly, but the second you do, you realise he’s already too close. One hand still resting at your waist, the other braced loosely beside you against the vanity, caging you in without even trying.
His eyes flick down to your lips for half a second before meeting your gaze again.
“You’re annoying,” you mumble, though there’s absolutely no bite behind it now.
Mingyu grins immediately, bright and satisfied like he’s won something.
“Yeah,” he says easily. “But you’re obsessed with me, so I don't care.”
You open your mouth to argue, but he kisses you before you can.
It’s quick at first, soft enough to feel teasing, his lips warm against yours for barely a second before he pulls back just enough to look at you again.
Then, because he’s greedy and always has been, he leans in once more.
This kiss lingers. Slow enough to make your thoughts blur at the edges.
His hand slides properly around your waist now, pulling you closer until there’s barely any space left between you, and you can feel him smiling slightly when your fingers curl instinctively into the front of his hoodie.
When he finally pulls away, you’re still staring at him a little dazed. Mingyu looks unbearably pleased with himself.
“There,” he says softly. “Now can we go?”
You blink at him once before narrowing your eyes. “You planned that.”
“Absolutely.”
He steals one more quick kiss before grabbing your hand.
“C’mon,” he says, intertwining your fingers effortlessly. “Let’s leave before you decide your hair needs another emotional support bobby pin.”
Mingyu becomes your boyfriend and quickly realizes 3 things about himself:
1. He’s clingy.
2. Patience brings him nowhere.
3. He is not built for a long distance relationship.
mingyu x f!reader
wc: 2.2k
genre: fluff, suggestive, non-idol au, friends to lovers
content: (newly) established relationship, lots of kissing, making out, biting/hickeys, mentions of alcohol and food, terms of endearment (baby, babe, pretty girl, loverboy), some teasing/banter, they're kinda obsessed w each other, honeymoon phase but for ppl who aren't married yet, their friends are dramatic(?)
divider by hyuneskkami!
Patience has always been one of Mingyu’s best qualities.
It shows when his friends tease him endlessly about his habit of stumbling over his words, and his only reaction is to roll his eyes at them. It shows when his sister makes him get up at 5AM to queue for a special edition bag, and he only grumbles out a total of three complaints. It shows when his boss gives him a too short of a notice about a weeklong business trip, and all he can do is pack his luggage like it’s a race.
That’s why he desperately wishes it would show now, as he sneaks a glance at you from across the dinner table while Seungcheol holds him by the shoulder—barraging him with things he missed due to said business trip.
Mingyu clinks his glass of soju against Seungcheol’s and downs it before his eyes find you again.
You, dressed in a top with delicate straps tied into even more delicate bows. You, with your hair in that effortless updo that he always liked. You, sipping your drink with your glossy lips in a soft rosy shade that drives him crazy.
Contrary to Seungcheol’s eager ramblings, the only thing Mingyu missed during his trip was you.
You and Mingyu—along with your other friends Seungcheol, Wonwoo, Seungkwan, and Jihyo—have known each other since your college days. However, things began to change a few months ago when you developed an interest in running—suddenly influenced by numerous tiktok videos. Mingyu had been excited when you first mentioned it in the group chat and deemed himself your new “running partner” since the two of you lived closest to each other.
Since then, your time together slowly extended into the day—turning from a simple morning exercise to getting brunch together afterwards to spending the night at each other’s apartment because “We’re gonna go on a run tomorrow morning anyways. Might as well sleep over to save time.”
On one of those sleepover nights, Mingyu decided he's had enough. Something had shifted since you started spending more time together—charged moments where gazes lingered longer than necessary and quiet nights that encouraged you to share a bigger piece of yourselves with each other.
Although you've been part of the same friend group for years, it was still uncommon for just the two of you to meet frequently like this. Despite everyone’s busy schedules, the group chat managed to stay active and always made time to meet up.
It was normal for Mingyu to see you once a week or so—sometimes in a dirty T-shirt and mismatched socks for movie night at Wonwoo's, sometimes in coordinating outfits with Jihyo for dinner. And sometimes, he’d even play wingman to help you get a cute bartender’s number.
It was, however, not normal to squeeze onto your small couch just so he could wake up to you in the mornings. It wasn’t normal for him to run backwards so he could see the glow in your smile as the early sunlight shined on you. And it definitely wasn’t normal for Mingyu’s heart to race whenever he caught his mind drifting to you at random times in the day.
So when he shows up to your place without his usual bag of running gear and dressed in loose sweats, you give him a questioning look. “Running in sweatpants is definitely new for you.”
“No, it's not that,” he inhales deeply, lingering by the door, “I wanted to tell you something.”
You freeze in your spot, nodding at him to continue.
"I really like you. I want to be more than a friend. I know this will change a lot of things for us but it was driving me crazy not being able to tell you how I feel," he says softly, inching closer to you. His eyes are rounded and full of affection as he takes your hands in his, "I love being with you and spending time with you. You feel it too, right?"
Your eyes well up with tears as your brain catches up with everything you just heard. If you were being honest, your newfound crush on Mingyu had been your biggest worry recently. Mingyu has always been a good friend, but being in close proximity to him and taken care of by him did stir all the butterflies in your stomach. You had spent countless nights staring at your ceiling, trying to make sense of your feelings, and gathering the courage to tell him.
You roll your lips between your teeth, attempting to hide your smile, "Was it because I kept staring at your chest and ass when we run?"
He throws his head back and lets out a hearty laugh, "Well, I can't lie and say I wasn't doing the same thing."
Your smile spreads wider across your face, "Okay, let's call it even then."
Mingyu tugs your body towards his and wraps you in a firm hug. You lean into him, taking the warmth of his body in as he pats your hair tenderly.
"So are we still going on our run tomorrow or what?," you mumble against his chest.
“You wouldn’t happen to have some of my running clothes lying around, would ya?”
—
As it turns out, you did have an extra set of his clothes by your dresser. He did spend the night. You did go on that run together. And like always, Mingyu did buy you brunch afterwards.
But before he could even celebrate his first 24 hours as your boyfriend, an email from his boss showed up—an emergency request for his presence at a conference being held across the country. He had left your apartment begrudgingly as you kissed him goodbye and promised to wait for his call when he landed.
It has been exactly one week since then.
As soon as he landed back home, he had rushed to the restaurant where you were currently having dinner with the rest of your friends. Much to his disappointment, you had been caught in conversation with Seungkwan and Jihyo when he arrived, allowing Seungcheol to drag Mingyu into the seat between him and Wonwoo.
And that was an hour ago.
So if you ask Mingyu, he’d like to think he’s been patient enough. Patiently waiting to see you again, to have a moment with you, to make up the long seven days without you.
The sudden surge of emotions makes him restless. He slumps lower into his chair and shakes his legs, feeling miffed at the entire situation. There's no way Seungcheol has that much to update him on, right? And why have Seungkwan and Jihyo been hogging your attention all night? The last time he checked, you're his girlfriend, not theirs.
“Kim Mingyu. Lighten up a little," Seungkwan chides, yanking him from his cloud of thoughts.
He scowls at Seungkwan then sighs, “I’m going to the restroom.”
Mingyu sends you a weak smile and mouths a discreet “meet me there” before he pulls away from Seungcheol and heads to the restroom, patting cold water onto his face and neck.
When he steps out, he sees you waiting for him in the corner of the small corridor that leads back out to the dining area, tucking your lip gloss and compact mirror back into your bag.
A smile blooms on your face when you notice him.
“Hi.”
Mingyu manages to rasp out a soft hey back before he presses his full weight into you, face buried in your hair and hands snaked around your waist.
You're surrounded by his body heat and the faint woody notes of cologne. You’ve been giddy all day thinking about seeing him again and the feeling of being in his hold after so long makes your stomach flip.
Mingyu finally pulls away to look at you. “Missed me?”
Your stomach does a second flip. He looks devastating. His hair is tousled against his forehead, eyes bright and glassy, small mole dotting his nose perfectly, and lips pulled into a slight pout.
Your hands tighten against his lower back as you interlock your fingers together and whisper against his lips, “So much.”
Mingyu instantly leans forward to close the distance, slotting his lips against yours. His kiss is filled with so much fervor, as if he couldn’t waste any more time not kissing you.
It takes you a second to react; you’ve only kissed Mingyu a handful of times between the night you confessed to each other and him leaving for his work trip—all of which have been short and sweet.
But this kiss is heavy and passionate, his lips moving over yours with intense focus. You’ve never seen him this worked up before but it’s a new side of him that makes your skin tingle with anticipation.
Once you get out of your initial shock, you kiss him back with equal force, hands moving to roam across the broad stretch of his back muscles. You nibble playfully at his bottom lip before giving it a particular harsh suck. He sighs into your mouth as you soothe your tongue over the seam of his lips.
Mingyu reluctantly pulls away first, “I missed you so bad. So so bad.”
You can feel his rough hands absentmindedly toy with the hem of your top, fingertips pressing into your skin.
Your chest heaves against his as you beam up at him, “I can tell.”
Mingyu swears your eyes twinkled when you smiled at him and he has to take a few deep breaths to steady himself. His eyes lazily trace the shape of your lips before coming back to hold your gaze.
“This lip gloss shade is killing me,” he says, tongue darting out to lightly lick at your lips.
Mingyu can only stare as you reach up to thumb away your smudged lipgloss by the corner of his lips and chin. His vision is a little hazy but he manages to focus on your lips. The rosy tint has lost most of its shine and color by now, replaced by a soft kiss-swollen hue (Mingyu has half a mind to boast about him being the cause of it) but it’s still pulling him in with the exact same force it did when he first arrived.
“Baby, please,” he swallows hard, but his voice comes out in a dry whisper, “Last one, I promise.”
He ducks his head to capture your lips in another heated kiss. His hands alternate between your waist and ass, only pausing to knead the plump flesh of your hips once in a while.
You pull away from him, trying to catch your breath. “How was your flight back?”
“You’re asking all the wrong questions.”
He leans in, attempting another kiss but you dodge his lips as your hand comes up to cover them.
Your smirk is playful as you say, “I thought you said that was the last one.”
"I take it back," he muffles into your hand before licking it, causing you to yelp and clutch his shirt.
He cups your face firmly and tilts your head towards him, “You’re so beautiful.” Then a wet kiss on your jaw.
"My pretty girl.” A gentle bite onto the side of your neck.
He trails light kisses down your throat and makes his way to the dip by your collarbone. You can’t help but let out soft moans at the sensation as Mingyu continues to suck slowly at the spot.
His lips travel to the curve of your shoulder, where his fingers start to fiddle with the thin ends of your tie straps.
He pulls at it teasingly before letting out a choked laugh, “How functional is this?”
“It’s cute,” you whine in defense.
You lightly pinch his sides to get his attention before you pull him into a kiss of your own, swiping your tongue against his. Your hands move in between your bodies, one pressed against his chest while the other cups his neck. This time, it’s your turn to suck and lick at it as he groans. You pick a spot right in the middle, just below his adam’s apple and continue to nip lightly.
“Baby,” he warns with low moan.
You hum a distracted response, pressing quick pecks all over his cheeks with a final kiss placed on top of his heart through his shirt.
He slumps against you, pressing his forehead against your shoulder. You can hear his breathing slowly move from a pant to a steady rhythm.
You gently card your fingers through his hair and press your nose into his temple. “You okay?”
His sigh turns into a dry laugh, “Babe. Whatever happens, let’s never do long distance. Look at what one week apart does to us.”
“That’s just because you’re clingy. I was fine.”
He shifts to narrow his eyes up at you, “I must've kissed you so good, your memories ended up getting jumbled.”
Your cheeks redden, as you giggle and lightly shove him away. “Whatever you say, loverboy. We should head back now.”
He grins as he follows you back to your table, in a much lighter mood than before. Wonwoo eyes him carefully as he settles back into his seat and nods at Seungcheol to take a look. Mingyu manages to stuff a piece of pork belly into his mouth before Seungcheol knocks his chopsticks out of his hands and grabs his collar to inspect his neck.
“Bro.”
Before Mingyu can even respond, the entire table's attention is drawn by Seungkwan who has his hands around your neck, as he shrieks, "What is that?!"
a/n: happy mingyu day week! :) let's pretend this was posted on time...
minnie's note: this is so baddie gf x nerdy obsessed bf
the forest floor is thick with moss and fallen leaves, muffling your footsteps as you lead the way.
behind you, wonwoo's breathing is heavy, labored—each step a battle won through sheer willpower
the walking stick sinks into the soft earth with every plant, his knuckles white around the worn wood.
the camping bag is strapped across his chest and back, bouncing with each uneven stride, but his eyes never leave you.
"you're doing so well," you call back over your shoulder, voice light and encouraging "just a little further, baby. I promise it's worth it."
he grunts in response, too winded for words. his thighs burn, his shoulders ache, and there's a stitch forming in his side that screams for him to stop.
but you're right there, swaying your hips as you walk, casting glances back at him with that mischievous sparkle in your eyes, and he'd crawl through hell itself if you asked him to
"how... much further?" he manages, pausing to brace himself against a tree.
you turn fully, walking backward, giving him a full view of your body in those tight hiking shorts. "not far. you can make it. i know you can."
he groans, pushes off the tree, and follows.
the sound hits him first—a distant rumble growing louder with every step.
then the air changes, cooling, carrying a fine mist that clings to his skin. amd then you stop, parting a curtain of hanging vines, and he sees it.
the waterfall cascades down a cliff of dark rock, plunging into a crystal-clear pool that catches the dappled sunlight like scattered diamonds.
the water is impossibly blue, surrounded by ferns and wildflowers, a secret paradise hidden in the heart of the forest.
"beautiful," he breathes.
But before he can say more, you're already moving.
your shirt comes off in one fluid motion, then your shorts you kick off your shoes, peel down your underwear, and stand before him completely bare, skin glowing in the golden light filtering through the canopy.
he forgets how to breathe.
you walk into the water without a backward glance, the surface rippling around your ankles, your knees, your thighs. The water reaches your waist, and you turn to face him, droplets clinging to your breasts, your nipples peaked from the cool temperature.
your hair floats around your shoulders like dark silk.
"you coming?" you ask, and your voice is honey and sin.
he drops everything. the stick clatters to the ground. the camping bag falls with a heavy thud. his clothes are torn off with none of the grace he usually possesses—shirt over his head, pants kicked away, underwear abandoned in the moss.
he wades in after you, the cold water a shock against his heated skin, but he doesn't care.
he reaches you in three long strides, and his hands find your waist, pulling you against him. he water sloshes around your bodies, and he's already leaning down, capturing your lips in a kiss that's equal parts desperation and devotion.
his tongue slides against yours, tasting the sweetness of your mouth, and you melt into him.
"I take it you like the surprise," you murmur against his lips.
ne laughs, breathless, pulling back just enough to look at you. Water streams down your face, your shoulders, your tits. The droplets catch on your nipples, and his gaze drops, hungry, appreciative.
"you're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," he says, voice rough. "and I'm going to make you feel so good for bringing me here."
his hand slides down your stomach, fingers trailing through the water, until they find the heat between your thighs.
he circles your clit with practiced ease, and you gasp, clutching his shoulders for support.
the water makes everything slick, sensitive, each touch amplified.
"wonwoo," you whimper.
"i know," he breathes, kissing your neck. "i've got you."
he sinks a finger inside you, then two, curling them just right. your head falls back, a moan escaping your lips, and he watches your face with rapt attention—the way your eyes flutter closed, the way your mouth parts, the way your hips roll against his hand.
"that's it," he coaxes. "let go for me. let the water carry you."
the combination of the cool water, his warm body pressed against yours, and the relentless rhythm of his fingers pushes you higher.
your orgasm builds slowly, a deep, rolling wave, and when it breaks, you cry out his name, your walls clenching around his fingers as he works you through it.
he holds you as you tremble, pressing soft kisses to your temple, your cheek, your lips. When you finally open your eyes, he's smiling at you, soft and adoring.
"thank you," he whispers. "for this. for everything."
you smile back, still catching your breath. "we're not done yet."
later, as the sun begins to dip below the treeline, you emerge from the forest into a small clearing. and there it is—a rustic cabin, nestled among the pines, smoke curling from the chimney as if welcoming you home.
you turn to look at Wonwoo, and he's already looking at you, the same thought reflecting in both your eyes.
without a word, you take his hand. he laces his fingers through yours.
amd together, you walk toward the cabin, knowing exactly what kind of night awaits you both.
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